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monkeyspawnskydiamond · 4 years ago

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Prostitution: A Word That UN Women Does Not Want to Hear

by Barbara Crossette

https://www.passblue.com/2015/03/31/prostitution-a-word-that-un-women-does-not-want-to-hear/

On the eve of a speech Ruchira Gupta was to give on International Women’s Day in New York as the recipient of a Woman of Distinction award, she got a strange email. Gupta, who has collected numerous awards for her work against sex slavery in India — including an Emmy for her 1996 documentary, “The Selling of Innocents” — was asked in the message not to speak on prostitution “or put UN Women on the spot.”

The email came from the organization that had chosen Gupta for its highest award, the NGO Committee on the Status of Women, NY (NGO CSW/NY), which supports the work of UN Women and the United Nations Commission on the Status of Women, whose annual session was about to begin on March 9. The NGO Committee had itself used the word prostitution in its announcement of the award in January.

“I was surprised that the UN was trying to censor an NGO, and that they should tell me not to speak on prostitution, when my work was with victims of prostitution,” Gupta said in an email interview to PassBlue. She is the founder of Apne Aap (meaning “self empowerment” in Hindi), a multifaceted support group for women trafficked into sex slavery in Mumbai and other South Asian cities. Apne Aap now has international reach.

In her speech at New York’s iconic Apollo Theater, where UN Women’s executive director, Phumzile Mlambo-Ngcuka of South Africa, was also on the program, Gupta ignored the request and chose to speak forcefully “to represent the voices of victims and survivors of prostitution” in her own organization and others around the world. In late 2013, UN Women, in a note on the issue of terminology, had said it would use the terms “sex work” and “sex workers” and “recognize the right of all sex workers to choose their work or leave it and to have access to other employment opportunities.”

UN Women’s decision and recommendation not to “conflate sex work, sexual exploitation and trafficking” sounds outrageous if not ludicrous to people like Gupta, who work in the squalid brothel quarters of Mumbai, Delhi, Kolkata and other cities, to which young girls from around South Asia are lured by traffickers — or sold by poor families — into a life of miserable bondage, with no chance to make choices. In her speech on International Women’s Day on March 8, Gupta said the youngest girl trafficked into bonded labor she has met was just 7 years old.

“The pimps would hand over these little girls to the brothel keepers . . . and these girls were locked up for the next five years,” she said. “Raped repeatedly by eight or ten customers every night.” By their 20s, Gupta said, their youth is gone and bodies are broken, and they are “thrown out on the sidewalk to die a very difficult death because they were no longer commercially viable.”

In January 2014, 61 South Asian victims and survivors of prostitution as well as women’s groups representing communities marginalized by caste, class and ethnicity and antitrafficking organizations helping girls and women “trapped in bonded labour and other forms of servitude” wrote to Mlambo-Ngcuka to protest the new UN Women policy of avoiding the word prostitution.

“We do not want to be called ‘sex workers’ but prostituted women and children, as we can never accept our exploitation as ‘work,’ ” the letter signers wrote. “We think that the attempts in UN documents to call us ‘sex workers’ legitimizes violence against women, especially women of discriminated caste, poor men and women and women and men from minority groups, who are the majority of the prostituted.”

They are still awaiting an answer from UN Women, Gupta said.

Censoring comment about violence against girls and women is not new in the Commission on the Status of Women or in the UN more broadly. Nafis Sadik, the outspoken executive director of the United Nations Population Fund, or UNFPA, from 1987 to 2000, said in an interview in 2013 that there had been numerous attempts to silence her, often from pressure by governments.

Sadik was told at a session of the commission several years ago, for example, not to relate a story from Zimbabwe to illustrate the hazards women face when trying to use contraception. “This man’s wife wasn’t getting pregnant, and apparently he discovered that she was taking pills,” she said. “And he killed her because she made him look embarrassed [in front of other men]. Furthermore, that defense was being accepted in the court: that you can’t humiliate the husband.”

Groups working with victims of sexual slavery in developing countries often see a widening gap between Western women — particularly “academic feminists,” in Gupta’s view — and the women working to help the most exploited girls at street level in some of the world’s most dangerous slums, where pimps and brothel owners may be not only slave masters but also killers. Gupta had a knife held to her neck on one occasion when she was filming her award-winning documentary. Women rushed to surround her, separating her from her would-be attacker, and saved her life.

The women working with victims and survivors of sex trafficking and bonded prostitution who signed the letter to UN Women fear that campaigns in richer nations, almost all of them in North America and northern Europe, will lead to more moves to decriminalize pimps and brothel keepers — making not only sex workers but all aspects of the sex industry legal.

This is not the only issue that has opened fissures between the richer, progressive nations or societies where women construct views of social change based on their own advanced social and legal environment or well-intentioned views of developing nations’ cultures. They do not always reflect what most poor women — the majority of women in the world — who lack power over their lives really need and want.

Twenty years ago, many Western feminists and officials in countries of the global North dealing with international aid programs criticized campaigners against female genital mutilation or child marriage in developing nations, excusing these harmful practices as “part of their culture.” There are still affluent women who have enjoyed the liberating benefits of contraception for decades who argue against promoting family planning in the developing world, believing that women want to have as many children as possible — sons in particular — because their social status or the family’s economy may depend on fertility.

Global Connection Television - The only talk show of its kind in the world Such condescending Western attitudes began to change, sometimes dramatically, after the transformative International Conference on Population and Development in Cairo in 1994 and the Fourth World Conference on Women in Beijing in 1995, an event that Gupta says has inspired her work ever since. Women in distant lands are now being heard and taking the lead on issues close to home.

Gupta and her like-minded colleagues who signed the letter to UN Women were asking to be part of the discussion on prostitution — in a global context.

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bakugostiddies · 4 years ago

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Please god do a villain!au with Todoroki 🧎‍♂️ I usually don't like those but omfg with him it would totally work

Absolutely. This turned into a 4k word fic, but I am too attracted to this man to be ashamed.

Icarus | Todoroki Shouto x Reader

Warnings: eventual smut, temperature play, impact play, kind of dub-con but not really, degradation, praise, villain!au, corruption kink, no gendered terms but reader has a vagina and breasts.

NSFW | 18+

You had fucked up.

The room was dark and dank, eerily quiet save for the sound of your breathing. You looked around frantically, struggling to break loose from the bonds that held you. Shit. Shit. Shit.

As your eyes adjusted, you noted that there was a door ahead of you, a steel one with two deadbolt locks. You could feel a metal chair beneath you, rattling each time you moved even slightly. Your arms and legs were restrained by some sort of extremely strong fabric, but your mouth was unrestricted. Shit. Shit. What was Endeavor going to say? You were still just his sidekick, but this was your first big operation and you blew it completely. He would kill you when you got back, you just knew it. Endeavor took his temper out on you even when you did well, which meant you had no clue what he would do to you after a fuckup this bad. Shit.

Calm down, Y/N, you told yourself mentally. You were safe and unharmed, so maybe they just wanted information. You attempted to activate your teleportation quirk, but it didn’t work. What happened? You could feel yourself beginning to hyperventilate. You didn’t want to die here, after being kidnapped by some asshole who wouldn’t even fight you face to face.

“If you’re wondering why you can’t use your quirk, we just took it away for a while.”

A voice emerged from the shadows of the room, soft and almost velvety. You flinched. You hadn’t even realized someone was here. How could you have missed something so obvious? You felt like a shitty fucking hero.

“Who are you?” You said after a moment.

“Im surprised you didn’t recognize me. Well, I suppose it is a bit dark in here.”

And suddenly with the flick of a match, the voice became a man and the shadows around the room came to life. You swallowed harshly, all of the moisture in your mouth gone. The man stalked towards you with a sureness of a predator and stopped a few feet away from where you were sat in the metal chair. You looked up at his two toned hair, his strong, rugged figure in the flickering light. He wore a suit not too different from that of a hero’s, but he was tinged with scorch marks and small icy spikes. He looked like he was made of fire.

“Well?” He said it softly, but there was a hint of malice in his tone. “Who am I?”

You couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe, your body almost paralyzed with fear. You knew who he was, of course you did. He was the one who helped blew up that building on the case you were on a month ago. He was the one who ambushed those (kind of sleazy) businessmen on their way to a cartel. He was the one who’s name was whispered in fear and awe on the nations’ streets. He was standing right in front of you, looking… bored?

The man sighed and fiddled with his match. “Hurry it up, hero, I don’t have all day.”

You spoke almost inaudibly. “You’re Icarus.”

He smiled slightly and a chill ran down your spine.

“See? That wasn’t too hard.”

He moved a bit closer to you and leaned down, his heterochromatic eyes almost level with your own. A single gloved hand moved to touch your chin with his thumb and index finger, moving your head from side to side with a feather-light touch. You hoped he couldn’t feel how scared you were, how your body seethed and rejected his very presence.

He finally released your face and you let out a sigh of relief. Icarus removed a single glove and touched his fingers gently to the match. It went out without smoke or a flicker, just a gentle hiss of frozen silence. The room was dark again, and he was moving, knocking on one of the walls.

“Turn on the lights, Red Riot.”

Your eyes widened. Red Riot? Wasn’t he the pro-hero who became a villain after Dynamight? Holy shit, was Dynamight here? Icarus interrupted your train of thought as the lights flickered on almost menacingly. You noted your surroundings carefully, seeing a bed in the corner, a small table, and another chair. The room looked less like a prison and more like a shitty motel suite.

“Do you know why you’re here?” He sat down in a chair across from you, leaning forward with his arms on his thighs and his legs spread slightly.

“I don’t know, Icarus.”

“Heres a hint; it has something to do with your boss.”

“Endeavor?”

You could feel bile rushing up your throat but you swallowed it down. The man before you clenched his jaw rigidly, as if it pained him to hear the name, but returned to normal so quickly you might have imagined it.

“You’re a bright one. Yes, hero, the very same. And do you have any idea on what he’s planning to do, say, sometime in the next six months?”

“I’m not telling you.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

His tone was harsher now and he got out of his chair, moving closer to you again. You felt so small under his scrutiny, yet drawn to him like a moth to a flame, like Icarus himself to the sun.

“You see, I’m the only reason you’re alive. And if you want to keep your pretty little head-“ he circled around behind you- “you will listen to what I say.” His voice was barely a whisper in your ear, and your voice hitched in your throat.

“Do you understand?” He asked, straightening up.

“Yes.”

“Yes, sir.”

This was so goddamn humiliating, like your first day working with Endeavor all over again. With him, it was always a yes, sir, no, sir, please don’t make me work weekends, sir. But you swallowed your pride again and spat it out.

“Yes… sir.”

“A hero that obeys commands, what a find,” he said tauntingly. “But you could stand to lose that attitude.”

You wanted to slap him, to beat him up to the point of him being bruised and bloody and broken and then have him call you sir instead. God, if only you could teleport out of these fucking restraints-

“You’re thinking about using your quirk, correct?” It was like the asshole could read your mind.

“You can’t. Aizawa Sensei took yours away. You know him as Eraser-head.”

Fuck, Eraser-head was here too? All of the biggest villains were gathered here together and you- you could do nothing.

“So I’ll ask you again. What are Endeavor’s plans?”

At that moment, you made yourself a promise; that you would not let Icarus win. Little did you know that you would break that promise a thousand times over.

———-

Two days later:

———-

“Did Endeavor tell you about the attacks?”

“No, sir.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Come on now, you can tell me. I won’t hurt you.”

“...”

“Still no response? No matter, I have time to get it out of you.”

———-

Seven days later:

———-

“Still not talking, hero?

Look at that, the silent treatment.

I never thought an adult could be so petty. Just tell me where I can get more information.

Nothing?

Okay. Eat your soup, I can’t have you dying on me before you start talking.

And hero? You will have to open your mouth sooner or later.”

————

16 days later:

————

“Cut the bullshit, hero. We know he has plans for a big attack sometime during the next six months, so either Deku is wrong, or you are lying to my face. And Deku’s never wrong.”

“Well, I guess he’s wrong this time.”

“Then I guess we’ll return you since this has all just been one big mishap.”

“Really?”

“No. You aren’t the smartest, are you?”

“Maybe my brain will somehow recall something about this totally real attack you think is happening if you give me better food?”

“Don't be a brat, hero. I wouldn’t have gone through all this trouble if I had known you would be so inconvenient.”

“Whatever you say, sir.”

————

20 days later:

————

“Thanks for the bread, sir. It's quite an upgrade for a kidnapped person’s shitty meal.”

“You have low standards, hero.”

“Hey, why do you call me that?”

“What, hero?”

“Yeah. I have a name, you know. It's-“

“I know what your name is.”

“Okay, Jeez. If you knew it, then why not use it? Plus, I’m not even a hero yet. I’m still technically just a shitty sidekick who’s totally blown it on my first solo mission. I’m never going to be a pro at this rate, I might as well just give up.”

“I think you’re good.”

“What?”

“I said, you’re powerful and good at using your quirk. You have a lot of assets and it’s a shame your talent is wasted on Endeavor and the fools at the pro-hero agencies. It was difficult to actually catch you off guard, to get past your guards, to make sure your quirk was out of commission. And we are very strong.”

“Oh. Um, thanks, I guess?”

“Don’t thank me, hero. I’m just stating the obvious.”

————

25 days later:

————

“Why is your name Icarus?”

“It's not my real name.”

“Well no shit, dude. I'm asking why you chose it.”

“Icarus was a boy who followed his father’s instructions perfectly, but the moment he strayed from the path set out for him, he was punished, scalded by the flames of the sun, and cast away. But I think it was worth it for him in the end.”

“Why?”

“Because he was free. Because Icarus flew, and he was able to be his own person, even if it was just for a moment.”

“Do you feel like Icarus?”

“Most of the time I do, yes.”

“Sir?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you think that right now, you’re flying or cast away?”

“At this very moment, I think I am flying.”

“You know what? I think so too.”

————

29 days later:

————

“So what’s your real name, sir?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

“Why?”

“Classified. Also, I don’t need you to know my name.”

“But you know mine!”

“That's because you’re a prisoner, in case you’ve forgotten. You are almost unnervingly at ease here.”

“I’ve met three people so far and you have all given me no reason to fear.”

“Really? Not even Dynamight?”

“His hair makes me laugh. Plus, I can’t take airheads with overinflated egos seriously.”

“I agree with that assessment wholeheartedly.”

“You agree with my assessment- Sir, you sound like an old man.”

“I’m only three years older than you, you know.”

“Really? But you have all of these wrinkles?”

“I do not have wrinkles.”

“Fine, frown lines then.”

“That makes it sound like I don’t smile.”

“Well, you don’t!”

“It’s hard to find things to smile about.”

“God, you’re such an Edgelord.”

“What do you mean by that? hero, stop laughing.”

“You are definitely an old man.”

————

30 days later:

————

There had been a new development a couple of days ago in the kidnapping situation. You could feel your quirk again, which meant a lot of things. It meant you weren’t here against your will anymore, that you were free to go. Yet you remained. You still stayed in the same room with Icarus checking in on you in the afternoons. However, it had been given furniture- a desk and more comfortable chairs, a small rug on the floor, and thicker blankets. It was almost like you weren’t even a prisoner anymore. You could always leave, you reasoned. You could teleport out of here. Your quirk was back, and yet you stayed.

The other villains had taken a liking to you for reasons beyond your comprehension, but all it meant was that you were never short on company. Dynamight would burst in to complain about how Deku always got the best missions, Red Riot would bring in a deck of cards and the two of you would play go fish or bluff, even Deku would occasionally check up on you and make sure you were comfortable. But your afternoons? They were always set aside for your favorite visitor- Icarus.

...

“You haven’t answered my question about your name yet.”

You were sitting on the cot in your almost room, feet dangling off the edge and swinging back and forth. Icarus was sitting on his chair again, but lazily, with his arms locked behind his head and his legs precariously balanced against the edge of the bed.

“You haven’t answered any of my questions since you got here, so I don’t believe you have a right to complain.”

He was right, of course. He always was. But technically, he was equally at fault in this case. He was the one who sucked at interrogation, so much so that you took pity on his colleagues. They would have to deal with his lack of results.

You weren’t complaining, however. You enjoyed talking to him, looking at him, being in his presence. It was a stupid crush to have, but you didn’t care. He was beautiful to look at, the way his biceps curled behind his head, the lean toughness of his body, the sheer strength he possessed. Your eyes trailed down his sprawling figure, tracing each indent and dip and curve of his skin in your mind.

“Are you finished staring at me?” His words jerked you out of your stupor and you felt heat rushing to your cheeks.

“I-I wasn’t- I didn’t-“ you babbled until he stopped you.

“Don’t worry, it’s only natural to find me… appealing. You haven’t spent time with anyone else for a very long time.”

You almost screamed on the spot, burying your face in your hands. You peeked out between your splayed fingers to look at him, seemingly unbothered save for the slight pink tinge hidden beneath his bangs.

“How can you say things like that, sir?”

“Like what?”

“Uhm, never mind.”

You wanted the ground to swallow you up whole. He was so, so dense, it was a wonder he even noticed you basically eye-fucking him. You felt the cot creak beside you and a slight dip in the weight. Icarus had seated himself beside you on the small bed and was looking at you with eyes full of concern.

“I did not mean to shame you for your gaze, hero.”

He said it gently and kindly. It would be almost romantic if not for the situation you were in. You remained silent, so he continued.

“I believe it is normal for you to feel this way towards someone who has been in such close quarters with you for so long a time. You should be glad that you still have these urges.”

You suppressed a groan. This felt like having the sex talk with your parents all over again. “Sir-“

“-in fact, everyone feels them!”

He was rambling, oh god you needed him to shut up-

“I feel them for you all the time, and I’m completely normal.”

And suddenly, the air changed between you into something charged and heated.

“You… have urges around me?” You wanted to hear him say it again, just once, but he turned away from you, tensing up and rising from his seat awkwardly. His face was stony and his hair covered his eyes like bicolored curtains. There suddenly was space between the two of you, some insurmountable gap that could not be bridged.

“I apologize deeply. I have misspoken.”

“Sir, wait, you don’t have to leave!” You cried out as he made his way to the door.

“But I do. You don’t deserve this treatment, and it is cruel of me to hurt you in this manner.”

And that was when something broke within you, something that had been holding you together this whole time.

“No.”

He turned around, almost scared by the anger in your voice.

“This is when you decide to stop? You have literally kidnapped me, interrogated me, left me in all but isolation, for a fucking month. You took me from everything that I wanted and everyone that I love and yet, and YET, I wanted you. Goddamn it, I still want you. I don’t understand why. So don’t apologize to me for misleading me or whatever bullshit excuse you’ve decided to use as a sheild. Apologize for everything you have done to me, you fucking cunt.”

And then your voice broke and you could feel the tears rushing to your eyes, your vision turning glassy as your chest heaved with sobs. You could feel yourself slipping away, your breaths growing shallow and your body shaking. Why did you stay here? Why didn’t you leave when you could? What was the point, if Icarus didn’t even want you?

And then, suddenly, you felt warm.

Icarus, sir, whoever the fuck he was, was holding you tightly in his arms, head dipped down into the crook of your neck, his arms enveloping you in his warmth. He was your sun. And he could scorch you again and again but you would still be drawn to him.

Your panic died down and you wept for the first time since you arrived. The two of you sank down to the floor, his apologies muttered swiftly and quietly against your skin. You were in his lap now, your body curled up into a ball in his embrace, one of his palms cupping your face. He turned you slightly towards him.

His eyes were wet too, but only slightly, and his fingers were thumbing at the tears on your cheeks. One of them got close to the corner of your mouth and slowly but surely, with almost childlike fascination, he pushed the tip of it in. Your tongue ran along the edges of it, the salty taste leaving you wanting more.

And slowly, Icarus leaned forward, his lovely face the closest you had ever been to him. He removed his finger from your mouth and kissed you instead, gently, and then all at once.

It was a furious kiss, on that burned and heated a cold room. You could feel teeth and tongue and hot tears, a clashing finale of a kiss. It was against your lips that he murmured his name.

“My name is Todoroki Shouto.”

He said it softly, leaving your lips to place open-mouthed kisses on your neck that left you moaning and had wetness pooling between your legs. But suddenly, your eyes snapped open.

“Todoroki? As in-“

He kissed you again to silence as you felt the questions racing through your head. Endeavor was Todoroki Enji, right? But he had never mentioned having kids to you? Was Shouto lying to you? Why did he want to destroy his father? And how were you-

“Shh.” Shouto tapped his forehead to yours. “Let me take care of you.”

Fuck it. The questions could wait.

Shouto reached down to pull off your shirt and groaned at the sight of you. He looked at you in wonder.

“You- hero, you make me feel like I’m on fire.” He said it with such sincerity that you nearly cried again were it not for his palming of your breasts, his burning fingertips tweaking your nipples and making you whimper slightly.

“I am so sorry. I’m sorry for everything I put you through-“ you were placed on the bed- “I’m sorry for taking you away-“ He was kneeling, fucking kneeling, between your legs- “but most of all-“ fuck, he placed hot kisses on your stomach as he pulled your pants down-

“I’m sorry I didn’t have the courage to do this sooner.”

And with that, his tongue was lapping at you through your panties, new ones that the villains had provided for you, with reckless abandon. Your hands tugged at his hair and you heard his hum of a chuckle as a vibration on your pussy. There was pressure, so much pressure from him against you, like nothing you had felt before, and when he finally pushed your panties aside, they were soaking wet.

Shouto looked up at you for a moment, meeting your gaze with his own, eyes sparkling with desire. And then, without a word, He pressed a small kiss to your clit that had you jolt slightly before he dove in. He had you moaning within seconds, his tongue lapping at your folds before swirling around your clit. You felt yourself reaching a climax- it was too good and too fast and too much and- Shouto pushed a finger inside you and crooked it slightly and you began humping your hips upwards as he nursed at your clit. Your climax was swift and powerful, but he didn’t move throughout it. Even as you came down from your high, his mouth planted on you and his finger gently pumped in and out. Shouto added one more easily, and you swore you saw stars when he began thrusting. He fucked you with his fingers, marveling at your reactions, the sounds you made, your pussy pulling him in.

“Fuck, hero, you’re so wet. Is this all for me? Have you gotten off to me fucking you like this in this bed?”

You moaned loudly and Shouto removed his fingers, leaving you feeling empty. There was a dark look in his eyes that you remembered from the first day you arrived.

“Answer me, hero.”

You nodded your head slightly, but that wasn’t enough for him. He rose to his feet and without warning, he smacked your clit. You squealed loudly from the stimulation, the pain turning into pleasure quickly. His palm was cold as ice, and you squirmed dumbly against his touch.

“Answer the question.”

“Yes, yes, sir, I’ve thought about you fucking me everywhere in this room-“

Shouto’s palm reverted back to his normal temperature and you sighed with relief as he cupped your pussy and rubbed it gently.

“What a good, slutty, hero. Have you touched yourself when you think about me?”

You blushed slightly and hid your face behind your hands. God, this was embarrassing. Of course you had gotten off to the thought of him, but to say it out loud was a different feeling altogether.

You took too long and Shouto spanked your clit again. You let out a shriek and tried to wriggle away from him, but he just pulled you closer.

“I want to see your face, doll.” You whimpered at the new pet name. “Now, have you touched yourself when you think about me?”

“Y-yes sir-”

“Y-yes s-sir-‘ so shy for someone who wants a villain to fuck your hero pussy into behaving.” he palmed himself over his trousers, letting out a little huff of pleasure. “I want to, shit, want to fucking ruin you.”

Shouto pulled you to him as your hips thrust desperately against the air.

“Yes sir! Want you to fuck me, want you inside me-“

He groaned and humped into you, the metal of his belt buckle catching against your clit and making you flinch with overstimulation. Shouto noticed and pulled you closer as he stood at the side of the bed, your back flat against the mattress and your hips arched upwards to meet his bulge. He rutted into you again, forcing your pussy to kiss the metal of the buckle once more. You felt your body seizing up, your orgasm building inside you, and Shouto, with a sadistic gleam in his eyes, pressed his buckle harder against you.

The longer it stayed there, the more it heated up, almost more pain than pleasure, until Shouto wrapped your legs around his waist and thrust against you. There was a wet patch on his pants and you kept shrinking away from the burning hot metal that teased at your clit.

“You have no idea what you do to me, fucking hell-” He managed to spit out, “I’m not even inside you and you’re dripping all over me like a bitch in heat-”

He continued to hump you roughly, each time more forceful than the last until you came loudly as Shouto pushed your body into the belt buckle. “No more, Shouto, please, no more- its too much-”

“Too much for you already, hero? I haven’t even come yet. And you- how many times have you reached your climax today?”

You almost screamed with frustration- how were you supposed to know, you didn't fucking keep track-

“I can tell you, brat.” He grabbed your waist and flipped you easily onto your stomach. You were completely exposed to him now, unable to see his face, out of control entirely.

“You have come three fucking times. That doesn’t feel very fair to me, does it? Do you want my cum inside you?”

You buried your face into your pillow, and he pushed down slightly on your lower back, creating an arch. You startled when he teased his cockhead against the surface of your pussy, wetness coating his dick.

“Shouto, I want your cum-”

His palm came down hard on your asscheek, forcing a gasp out of you as he rubbed it softly with his palms. He leaned closer towards you, his voice whispering in your ear.

“Then beg.”

And, with your voice muffled by the pillow, you followed his orders.

“Sir, fuck me, please, please- I need you inside me, I need you to cum for me, please- Shouto, Daddy-“

Your begging got cut off by him thrusting into you. You screamed and he shushed you gently, holding your hand with his own. “Do you think you can take the rest of it?”

The rest of it? There was more? You looked over your shoulder and nearly passed out. You had barely taken half of his length and you were already completely filled up. But… you wanted to feel him, all of him, so you muttered a soft “yes.”

“Okay, baby, take it easy…” he eased a couple more inches into you before you tightened up, your pussy clenching and back arching as he slid in. “Oh fuck,” Shouto groaned. “Do that one more time and I won’t be able to hold back.”

And of course, you grinned. And proceeded to clench yourself around his length again.

Shouto nearly growled. “I warned you, hero.”

And then, he thrust into you. Hard. And he kept going, pumping in and out of your body like a machine, his thumb rubbing against your clit and his other hand on your leg. You are screaming and crying and babbling on about how good his cock is, how good you felt, how this is what you wanted. And Shouto? The cocky bastard was gloating.

“Look at you, such a good slut on my cock. Are you crying? God, thats so fucking hot. I’ve got a cute little hero crying on my dick. I know you can use your quirk now, Hero, I know Aizawa sensei returned it to you. Did you stay because you wanted me to fuck you like this? Did you want to be corrupted?”

“Yes,” you’re almost incoherent, “yes, ruin me, make me a villain, I wanna be a villain!”

Shouto slows his pace for a moment. “You would leave Endeavor? Leave the agency?”

“Yes, I would, Shouto, fuck, anything for you-”

He slapped the inside of your thigh before resuming his pace again. You had never felt so full before, his dick reaching places within you that you didn’t even know existed. His palms gripped the sides of your hips so tightly you thought you might bruise, tiny burn marks already forming in the place of his fingertips. You were close, so close, your tears and drool spilling over your pillow and your body limp and helpless before him. Shouto felt you clenching around him, completely spent.

“Do you want to cum again? What a greedy pussy you have, hero, a needy little cumdump.”

You couldnt get words out, croaking out your mumbled yeses and nodding your head vigorously. He pounded even harder into you and reached around your thighs to your clit, rubbing it in tiny circles as he fucked you. You could feel your climax building for the fourth time and you twitched pathetically beneath him. Finally, Shouto pinched your clit slightly and you came with a wail of his name.

He fucked you through your orgasm, but he was slower now, his strokes hitting you deeper than before.

“Do, fuck- do you want me to cum in your pretty pussy?”

Shouto was hunched over you, his head resting on your back and his arms caging you in so that he was all that surrounded you. His breath came out in cold pants and his thrusts got more and more erratic as he neared his own climax.

“Please, I need you to want this, I need you- shit, I...” You could hear the desperation in his voice, how he yearned for you, and you the words fell out of your mouth before you could stop them.

“Yes, Daddy! Want you to come inside, fucking breed me-”

“Oh fuck, Y/n-”

And then Shouto came with a groan, his cum splattering your insides with warmth. He pressed kisses to your spine, trailing his fingers down your arms as he turned you to the side. He didn’t pull out of you as he did so, causing you to groan slightly. Finally, he released you and gently removed his dick from where you were connected. Some of his cum oozed out and he pushed it back in with his fingers, trapping his seed within you forever.

The pair of you laid together side by side for a moment, Shouto’s fingers tracing your body with slow, lingering touches as if he was afraid you would shatter the moment he pressed too hard.

You were the one who broke the silence. “ You said my real name.”

“I did. I love your name, Y/n. It just felt... wrong to say it when you were my prisoner. It was easier to distance myself from you if I just thought of you as a random hero. But you’re more than that now.”

You stared straight into his eyes, your hands reaching up to run gently through his silky hair. “I’m not leaving, Shouto. I’m never leaving this place. And I’m not just staying for you- I like it here. The villains like me, and they respect me. You aren’t bad people- if anything, the rest of the world has been far worse than anything or anyone I’ve faced here. It feels like I’m finally home.”

Shouto gathered you into his arms and pressed you tightly to his side. “You will be mine now,” he said almost matter-of-factly.

“And you will be mine as well.” You planted a small kiss to his nose that made his eyelids flutter and a slight blush crawl onto his cheeks.

“You deserve the world, Y/n,” he said hesitantly. “And I am not even close to being good enough for you.”

Shouto’s eyes were downcast and you could see the doubt creeping in. You gently pressed your fingers to his furrowed brows and soothed the wrinkles away. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” He asked.

“Put yourself down. You are more than enough for me. And Shouto? I don’t need the world. I already reached my sun.”

He smiled at you then, with no underlying malice, no undertone of darkness. It was blinding. Goddamn it, you would do anything to see that smile for the rest of your life.

“That was terribly cheesy, Y/n.”

“Shut up, Shouto.”

He kissed you, and you could feel the butterflies in your stomach fluttering up a storm. Todoroki Shouto was your sun, and you were his. And even if you both melted away under your flames, it would have been worth the loss.

-Bonus-

2 weeks later:

“So, uhm, Y/n, Todoroki, we were reviewing the footage from Y/n’s old room the other day. While we’re all happy you two are *ahem* together now, maybe you can display your... appreciation for one another in a more private place?” Kirishima was blushing profusely and refused to meet your eyes. Suddenly, it clicked for you.

“WE WERE BEING RECORDED?”

“And?”

“SHOUTO!”

“Ah yes, how horrible and violating, I feel as though I have been exposed indecently without my permission for the perverted public to see. They will be unable to contain themselves when faced with my immeasurably sexy figure.”

“You are NOT being helpful.”

“I beg to differ, Y/n. Kirishima, is there any way you can send me a copy of the tape-”

-----------

A/N: I hope you like this and please let me know if I should do a villain!UA series because I only write under the influence of peer pressure.

#todoroki x you #shouto smut #mha smut #shouto x y/n #shouto x reader #villain!shouto #todoroki shouto #shouto todoroki #bnha smut #bnha fluff #mha imagines #bnha imagines #shouto fluff #shouto angst #nee talks

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pinkypromisesecrets · 3 years ago

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Our Marvelous Mayor

A little birdie told me...

P.D. JOHNSEN IS THE BEST MAYOR HEAVENSVIEW HAS EVER SEEN!!!

He's been fighting tooth and nail to make sure we get this city hall built. It's a damn shame that some people can't appreciate what he does for us!

He may have been slightly inebriated, but the guy just lost his son! Have some sympathy. His son, Dwayne, was everything to him. They did everything together. And then he vanished. No one knows where or why. That poor man probably thinks his son was kidnapped or murdered! Who knows what goes on in the cornfields?? Probably nothing worth investigating.

The mayor was trying to protect his son, and he ended up getting burned alive. And instead of supporting him, some people mock him and think it's funny to try to replace him. We should be mourning alongside our beloved mayor and supporting him, not turning our backs on him in his time of need. He would NEVER do that to us!

Just listen to these comments from the citizens of our town:

"P.D. Johnson is the best mayor Heavensview has ever seen."

"I heard that P.D. Johnson is close to curing cancer."

"Thank you, P.D. Johnson, for saving my nine children and our pet dog from that housefire in the nineties. No one should google it, because it was only talked about in newspapers. Not digitally."

"P.D. Johnson is HOT."

"There hasn't been an incident in Heavensview since P.D. Johnson took office. Please don't go changing that now."

"P.D. Johnson makes me feel safe. Thanks to him, I can walk around naked without fear of being murdered or beaten senseless. I'm very grateful."

"I love P.D. Johnson. He's such a good boss. When I first started working here, I didn't know anything about Heavensview, and he taught me everything I needed to know. I learned every street name, every building, and every secret passage. I still use those things today!"

"Thanks to Mayor Johnson, Heavensview has become the safest place in the entire world! Even if you're a monster, you can sleep soundly knowing that you'll not be attacked in your sleep."

"Mayor Johnson is the best! I'm a big fan. I've read all his books. He hasn't released them yet. He's still proofreading. He's always doing great things for Heavensview."

"That P.D. Johnson is one sexy beast!"

"I voted for P.D. Johnson in the last election, and he won! I can tell you right now, he will win again next year."

"There's no way in hell that P.D. Johnson could be replaced. We need him more than anyone else. I vote for him until the day I die."

"If I had to choose between P.D. Johnson being kicked from office and making out with the devil, I'd go with the devil every time."

"Our mayor is a national hero. He's made Heavensview the most beautiful place on earth. He has brought us peace and prosperity. He is a true leader and a good man. Thank you, Mr. Johnson."

See?? You don't have to take my word for it!! Listen to all those reliable sources! There are plenty of other people who agree with me. Why would I lie? Everyone knows that P.D. Johnson is the best mayor Heavensview has ever seen. It would be a travesty to try to continue on without him.

And anyway, who would want to replace him? It's been decades since he's stepped down. How dare they even suggest that someone is better qualified. It's not like we have anyone better in mind! Honestly, attempting to take his place now when he is suffering so much would be cruel and reflect badly on whoever tried.

Let's all come together as a community and support our dear old mayor. He needs our love and care. He's going through a hard time. Let him know that he's loved by many. All he wants is to help us. He doesn't want to leave us.

Our mayor deserves our support, and I believe that this town can give that to him.

Signing off,

The Promise Keeper

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dreadlockholiday · 4 years ago

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Stucky Fic Rec List #3

by @dreadlockholiday

Part #1 - #2 - #3 of my Rec List.

Note: ALL FICS ARE COMPLETE, some of them belong to a series with additional works.

🍃 Kiss With A Fist by IndigoNight - [Explicit; 5k words]

[Post-Azzano; Spanking; Bottom!Bucky; Cathartic Crying; Hurt/Comfort]

“Undress,” Steve orders, resting his back against the door for just a second while he braces himself for what he’s about to do. He’s only done something like this a few times before; usually it was Bucky pulling him back into line and draining the pent up rage out of him after yet another back alley fist fight. But now Bucky needs him, and he’s damn well going to do whatever Bucky needs.

*****

In the aftermath of Azzano, Bucky is drowning in the pent up rage and fear that he can't let go of. Fortunately, Steve is there to help.

🖤 i think i was blind before i met you by finnhoe - [Explicit; 15,6k words]

[College AU; Barista!Steve; Strangers to Lovers; Bottom!Bucky; Fast Burn]

steve is an unsuspecting barista at a university starbucks and bucky is a college student that just needs some sleep, godammit. making out, phone number exchanges, ice skating, and car sex ensues.

🌇 Every Now and Every Then by shouldbeover - [Explicit; 1,7k words]

[Canon Divergence; Post-Endgame; Retired Stucky; Vacation; Smut; Bottom!Steve]

Just a post-Endgame fixit. Steve and Bucky with no problems.

🌶️ you can't take heart and soul by @endofadream - [Explicit; 4,3k words]

[Canon Divergence; Bottom!Bucky; Rough Sex; Praise Kink; Mild Breathplay]

The way he arches is a thing of beauty: the late-afternoon light paints the wall in slanting tones of faded yellow, casting half of Bucky’s face in shadow. It highlights the arch of his cheekbones, the sculpted hollow of his cheeks. The fanned flutter of his lashes when he closes his eyes.

God. Steve had almost forgotten how good Bucky sounds when he begs. Breathy, a little high-pitched. Every bit Steve’s.

☕ Five times Steve didn't get his coffee, and one time he did by @deadto27 - [Gen; 8,7k words]

[Modern AU; A/B/O; Alpha!Steve x Omega!Bucky; Barista!Bucky; Pre-Serum Steve; Human Disaster Steve; Pining]

Steve just expects a normal morning, getting coffee from his favourite place. Instead, he's floored by the new barista, makes a fool of himself, and tries desperately to win his affection with courting gifts.

-----

For Steve, it’s like being struck by lightning.

One moment everything is the same as it always is, and the next, his world has turned upside down. It’s just visceral, his reaction. Every sense comes to life and he can’t focus on anything except the feeling that he’s just met the person he’s supposed to be with.

🍑 breathe & relax by freshwoods - [Explicit; 4k words]

[College AU; Massage; Ass Worship; Bottom! Steve]

Steve knows from personal experience just how good Bucky can be with his hands, and won’t look a gift-horse in the mouth.

🍓 Forgive Me If You Remember by Judeyjude - [Teen; 53,4k words]

[Shrunkyclunks; Post Infinity War; Enemies to Friends to Lovers; Falling in Love; Canonical Character Death; Grieving; Hurt/Comfort; Temporary Amnesia; Angst with a Happy Ending]

When they finally tumbled into bed, Bucky straddled Steve and said, “Just because we danced, doesn’t mean you can die.”

Steve pulled Bucky down and kissed him slowly. “Never,” he whispered in Bucky’s ear.

–

Part 1: In which Bucky yells at a National Icon, grieves the aftermath of the world losing half its population, and somehow falls in love along the way.

Part 2: When time rewinds five years, everything Bucky had ever wanted suddenly becomes true—to have his family back. The price paid? Worldwide memory loss.

🍽️ Happy Accidents by Slagathor99, art by @elkleggs - [Mature; 11,7k words]

[Shrunkyclunks; Chef/Caterer!Bucky; Cooking; Domestic Fluff; Humor; Making Out]

Bucky and Steve have a date planned. A nice, romantic date. With, of course, some fun plans for "dessert." Which works great, because Bucky is pretty sure he's beginning to fall for Steve. Unfortunately, their kitchen equipment has other plans.

🌬️ one man loved the pilgrim soul in you by ourraeofsunshine - [Explicit; 1,7k words]

[College AU; English Major!Bucky; Smut; Bottom!Bucky]

Bucky doesn’t know when he starts crying, but his arms are wet when he lifts his head. A breeze comes in the window and presses against his face, each tear, and then Steve is there, pulling his head back and pressing a kiss until all the salt is gone and all that’s left is Steve.

Steve. Steve. Steve. This. This. This.

“Everything,” Steve says. “You are everything.”

+ Bonus Series

💫 Invisibuck by @im-weapon - [Explicit; 2 works; 22,5k words]

[Shrunkyclunks; Invisible!Bucky; Dom/Sub Undertones; Bottom!Bucky]

-> Magpie - [10,9k words; Light Bonadage]

"I am picking up life signs indicative of a human adult male.”

“In my bedroom? That sounds unlikely,” Steve said, dryly.

“Nevertheless sir, my sensors are usually highly accurate.”

Steve hauled himself out of the chair on his balcony and silently slid the door open back to the interior of the apartment, high above the baking streets of Manhattan. He lowered his voice considerably, “What are they doing, and how did they get in?”

JARVIS’s voice emitted quietly from the wall closest to his left ear, “The thing is, captain, the intruder appears to be invisible.”

–

-> Not Sorry - [11,5k words; Kink Negotiaion; Praise Kink; Insecure Bucky; Spanking; Hand-feeding; Mild Breathplay]

“Bucky?”

“Bucky, I know you’re in here.”

“Bucky, if you don’t come out, I’m going to go out to eat dinner without you, and leave you locked in here to try and cook for yourself. We both know that won’t end well.”

Minutes of silence passed. Steve sighed and gave up, turning to fetch his jacket and bike keys from the bedroom. He had tried waiting patiently, bribery, asking questions he knew Bucky would feel compelled to answer but Bucky was clearly otherwise occupied in his invisible state. Probably having a crisis over his identity. Like he did every day.

#stucky fic rec #stucky fanfic #fic rec #rec list #dready's fic recs

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puckinghell · 5 years ago

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If The World Was Ending | Andre Burakovsky

Summary: If the world was ending, you’d come over, right? Based on the song with the same name Words: 2.3k Note: I was gonna make this super angsty but it turned out a weird mixture of angst and fluff. I couldn’t be bothered to check this for spelling/grammer/making sense so excuse me for that

---

"We interrupt your programming. This is a national emergency. A significant environmental event has been detected, that will impact the Greater United States. You and your loved ones should seek shelter immediately. Please stand by for further updates.”

The croaky radio voice disappears as the room falls into silence. You look around, but there’s nothing to betray your location: the room is empty, except for a small old school radio in the corner. There’s not even a window.

Then you notice there’s not even a door.

You’re standing with your phone in your hand and somehow, without making the conscious decision to, you lift it. On the screen, there’s an open iMessage thread. On the top, it says the name Do not call.

There’s only one person that can be, and the last message on your screen would confirm that, except you can’t read it. The screen is blurry, too blurry to make out the letters, but you don’t really need to read them anyway: you know the message.

The words have been carved in your heart for the past four months.

You: I love you.

Andre: I know. I just need some space

Andre: It’s just hard to talk to you right now

You: Ok

You: But I’m here if you need me

Suddenly, there’s a noise coming from outside the room. Heavy footsteps, slowly against a wooden floor. You turn around and notice a door has appeared. It opens, and you know who’s there before you even see his face.

Andre.

---

You gasp so loudly you nearly choke on the air you inhale, and sit up straight. The familiarity of your bedroom around you doesn’t quite manage to calm you down, as it’s dark and quiet around you.

Too quiet. No warm body next to you, no steady exhale of air passing lips. The bed is empty.

Slowly, you lower yourself back into your pillow. It’s not the first time you’ve had this nightmare: for some reason your mind loves to remind you of the fact that you’ve lost the love of your life, and it likes to warp it with the fear of the world ending.

It’s fine. You’re doing great.

Outside, the city of Washington is calm. A single car passes through your street and then it’s quiet again. You focus on it, try to let your thoughts pass in the same way, try to quiet your mind.

It doesn’t work. One memory keeps coming back, keeps itself planted firmly in the forefront of your brain, as if it’s a movie, playing behind your closed eyelids.

Maybe this memory is the reason for your nightmares, or maybe it’s just one of the many memories you can’t forget. Because the moment you forget, you have to let go of him.

You don’t think you’re ready for that yet, which is fine, because you don’t think you’ve figured out how to do that, anyway.

---

1 year ago

“Are you telling me you’re gonna be late again?” you whined into the phone. “Andre, I’m hungry! I’m gonna have dinner without you!”

Your boyfriend giggled, ringing clear over the background noise of his teammates yelling.

“You can start without me.”

That was not the reaction you were hoping for, and you pouted your lips, even though he couldn’t see that over the phone. You were pretty sure your tone of voice portrayed the same emotion.

“But I don’t want to. I want you here. With me.”

“Me too, baby.” Andre sounded remorseful, at the very least. “But we’re gonna watch tape, and I have to...”

“Do anything you can, I know,” you interrupted. You got it, you really did; Andre wasn’t performing to the level he thought he was capable of and he’d promised himself he’d do whatever it took to get to that level.

Unfortunately, that meant you’d been seeing less and less of him.

“I’m sorry.”

It’s those same words he whispered in your ear that night, when he crawled into bed next to you many hours later. You’d been half asleep, but your body reacted to his presence, and when his lips touched your neck you’re fully awake.

“Hey stranger,” you teased him; it was meant to be a harmless joke, but you felt his body tense next to you.

“I’m sorry,” he said, an edge of sadness to his voice that you didn’t get from him often.

You turned around to face him, cupped his cheek in your hand.

“Hey, don’t be upset. It’s just a missed dinner, it’s not the end of the world.”

Andre didn’t answer, simply turned his head so he could press kisses into the palm of your hand.

“If the world was ending, you’d come over, right?” you asked, your voice soft through the quiet night. Andre looked up, brown eyes burning with something you couldn’t quite name, but felt right in your core.

“The sky could be falling and I would be alright if I was holding you.”

---

The nightmares leave your body tired and your mind exhausted, and you find yourself pulling through your day to day life.

Your mind keeps playing tricks on you. One day you’re sitting in traffic listening to the radio when the news anchor talks about an earthquake that happened somewhere far away.

If there was an earthquake here, what would be Andre’s reaction?

It’s a strange thought to have pop into your head and you immediately try to push it away, ignore it, but it sticks with you.

When you go out to a bar with your friends and there’s a Colorado game on in the bar, that about does it.

“Who’s down for tequila shots?” you ask, slamming your credit card on the bar, and your friends cheer. Maddie, your best friend, however, bumps against your shoulder.

“Are you doing alright, Y/N?”

No, you’re not. But there’s not really anything you can do against that: not when the reason for you being miserable is currently in Colorado, playing - and winning, you see - a game against the Ducks.

It’s at least three beers and two tequila shots later that you’re sitting in a cab home, with Maddie next to you.

“You gotta figure out how to get over him, babe,” she says, her voice laced with pity.

You don’t respond. She doesn’t get it, doesn’t understand: how could you ever get over him, when he was the love of your life?

That night flashes through your mind, that night everything went to pieces.

---

4 months ago

“This isn’t working, Andre.” Your lip was trembling but you tried to keep your voice steady. It worked, almost; then Andre’s face fell and you nearly bursted into tears.

You didn’t plan to throw it all out there like this: he was home for the first time since he left for Colorado, for the first time in months you’ve got him back in your apartment, sifting through your kitchen cupboards to find his favorite mug.

Finally he was back where he belongs. And yet...

You could see it. The way his eyes were shining, how he was holding his head up high. It was like a weight got lifted from his shoulders, and it was clear to you now: Washington was weighing him down.

And you, you were the last thread that was keeping him tethered to this place. If not for you, he could finally fully be in Colorado, finally let go of this part of his life.

As long as you’re here, he won’t.

“What are you talking about?” Andre asked, sounding panicked. “Y/N, what’s going on?”

You lied, then. You told him this long distance thing just wasn’t working for you, that you needed more of him.

He wasn’t having it, threw back argument after argument about why this is working. He asked you to come to Colorado with him. He even said he’ll ask for a trade back to Washington; you knew it would never happen but you could tell he’s 100% serious.

He would come back here if it meant keeping you, even when he’s clearly happier over there.

So you said the only thing you know would hurt him, would get him to take you seriously.

The only thing that would make him believe it’s really over.

“You wouldn’t even come over here if the world was ending, and I was about to die alone.”

You saw the words hit him; he recoiled from them, from you, physically took a step back as his mouth set into a hard line.

You knew it’s not true: if the world was ending, he’d come over and he’d hold you, and you wouldn’t even be afraid.

Not like you are now.

If the world was ending, there would be no reason to say goodbye.

---

It’s not like you and Andre parted on bad terms.

After that big fight, you had an adult conversation with him - at least, you hope that’s how he remembers it.

You just remember lying.

You never told him you were just trying to get him to be happy in Denver, with nothing weighing him down in Washington. You didn’t tell him that even if you moved to Denver with him, you were scared your presence was going to bring back that slump in his shoulders, make that brightness in his eyes disappear.

You told him, instead, that you needed someone who was there more. Who could be physically present when you needed someone, not just on the phone. That you loved him, but that he didn’t make you happy anymore.

The only truth you told him that day, in fact, had been “I love you.” And when you had said: “I love you, but you’re not enough”, you had meant: “I love you, and I’m sorry I’m not enough.”

But he didn’t know that.

You had texted sporadically, the weeks after, until that dreaded text came.

It just hurts to talk to you right now.

You didn’t even blame him, and so all contact had ceased.

Now the two of you were only ever together in your mind.

Which is why you nearly drop your phone in the sink when you’re doing dishes and suddenly his name flashes on the screen.

It’s 2 am which means it’s midnight for him, so obviously the first thought that pops up into your head is, oh my God, he’s hurt, and there’s no time for another, more rational, thought before you’ve picked up the phone.

“Andre?”

It’s quiet, for a second, then a deep exhale.

“There was an earthquake.”

A million miles fly through your brain, but Andre continues before you can talk.

“It was just a tiny one. I was in traffic, didn’t even feel it. But it made me think. I always promised you if the world ended, I’d be there holding you. But you never promised it back.”

You suppose that’s right: it wasn’t intentional, and you always felt like it was insinuated in the kisses you shared, the “I love you”’s and the way you looked at him, but you never said it, never promised it.

“Andre,” you start, but he interrupts you, and his voice is small.

“I know you know that we both know you weren’t down for forever, and that’s fine. I know you think we weren’t meant for each other and that’s fine, too. But... If the world was ending, you’d come over, right?”

You don’t tell him he lives over 1600 miles away, you don’t tell him the world isn’t ending. You can’t, because he sounds so vulnerable, so upset, and your heart feels heavy with how much you miss him.

“Yeah,” you whisper softly into the phone. “Yeah, I’d be there.”

“It’s funny,” Andre says, but he doesn’t sound like he finds anything funny at all, his tone humorless and heavy. “It’s funny cause you say that, and I know you’re thinking you can say that without consequences because the world is never gonna end. But you know what?”

“What?” you manage to bring out.

“I fucking feel like my world is ending.” Andre bites out the words as if he’s been holding them in, locking them on the tip of his tongue, for a long time, and now they’re bursting at the seams. “I have been feeling like my world ended the day you told me you didn’t want me anymore. Because you were my world and now you’re gone, so what the hell am I supposed to do? I can’t stop loving you, so now I’m loving you just for the hell of it, and I’m doing whatever I can to keep living my life but it’s not working, it’s not working cause my world ended the day you left and you didn’t come over like you just promised you would.”

He sighs; it’s like now that the words are out of him so is the anger, and he sounds tired and helpless, when he adds: “I shouldn’t even have called. Forget it.”

He hangs up, then, leaving you standing in the kitchen with a dead phone in your hand, staring out of the window and wondering how you could’ve fucked up so badly.

And you know, in that moment, that you have to do something. That you misjudged everything, and that you shouldn’t have just expected Andre to stop thinking about you and be happy.

How could you, when it’s been so impossible for you to think about him without it feeling your heart is getting ripped out of your chest?

You feel your heartbeat in your throat as you search for flights to Denver and buy the first one you see, the one that leaves in a few hours.

You don’t bother buying a return ticket. After all, you promised you’d come over and hold him tight. Fine, you said you would do that when the world ends, and maybe the world isn’t done yet; but it sure feels like the sky is falling and you guess the end of the world is too uncertain, anyway.

The world might never end, but it sure is waiting on you to get your shit together.

Less than 24 hours later you’re standing in front of Andre’s front door, shuffling your feet while you wait for the door to open.

You’re not sure what to expect when it does: you sure hope he’s happy to see you but you can imagine he might not be, he might be angry and upset and he might even slam the door in your face.

But when he does finally open, the only emotion you see is shock.

“Y/N?” he asks, his voice guarded. “Are you okay? Is something wrong?”

Yes, everything is wrong: it’s wrong that you’re standing here as if this is not your home, it’s wrong that you feel like you’re drowning in the familiarity of his brown eyes, it’s wrong that he’s there and you haven’t kissed him yet.

You don’t say any of that. Instead, you say: “You said your world was ending.”

Slowly, the corners of Andre’s mouth turn up, and something that resembles the hint of a smile plays around his lips.

“So you came over?”

“Right,” you say, and when a full, bright smile lights up Andre’s face, you know everything is going to be exactly as it’s supposed to be.

Andre echoes: “Right.”

And that’s exactly it. Suddenly, everything is right.

#andre burakovsky #colorado avalanche #imagine #nhl one shot #nhl imagines #nhl fic

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bolbianddolanhouse · 4 years ago

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BNHA self insert AU [Book 4]

CATCH UP! Book 1 * 2 * 3

Chapter 4: Lets Get Fuckin FUNKY!

Not that big of a time skip, the twins are nearing the end of their second year of middle school. Hanaka has special training time with her dad. Tensei still has to reach out to his mother on quirk training, mainly because he’s been debating and making a new sound for his band.

“...points to the opposed, Iida and Tanaka move on to the next round.”

The room erupted with cheer as the debate duo stood up to give their bows. Tensei was internally psyched out of his mind! He was at Japan’s Grand Prix Debate Tournament and he just got his team to move on to the semi-finals. If they do well in semis, Nationals next year is a guarantee!

“Gentlemen, I won’t lie” Tensei tried to hold it in “the moment they slipped up in their cross examination, they were done for!”

“We saw that! The way you pushed up your glasses before giving your final statement was iconic” gushed one of his teammates.

“Lets go get some food before they do the final draw” suggested one of the boys “They have good food here!”

“Hup! Iida-kun, may I have a word before you go on your lunch?” requested the new coach.

“Ummm sure” Tensei walked toward the coach, then quickly turned back to the group “Get me yakisoba! I don’t know how long I’m going to be.”

The coach waited until the other boys were out of earshot “Alright, you’re not in trouble and nothing is wrong. I wanted to let you know that I spoke to a coach at Waseda Uni.”

“Waseda is here?!” gasped Tensei.

The new coach smiled “I thought you might react like that! They have you on their radar. If you play your cards right, you might be looking at scholarships and offers to get into their humanities programs when you apply for college.”

“That does sound ideal” Tensei pondered out loud “I’ll do my best to make this a clean sweep for our school.”

“Oh and another thing! Are you doing this next year too?”

Tensei got sheepish “I’m not sure anymore. Since I’m still going with my plan to do hero school after middle school” he sighed “That big infraction on my school record doesn’t look too good on me to go to those privates with their absolute units of debaters. I don’t really see the point of doing a third year of this if I’m going down that route.”

“Well, if you change your mind” the coach takes out a pin from his satchel “I’d love to have you as my student coach for next school year.”

Tensei gasped “You want me as Club Senpai?!”

He nodded as they handed Tensei the tiny gold pin “I can’t think of anyone else that’s more than capable.”

“Oh I can’t possibly take this” Tensei handed back the pin “I don’t have a definite answer.”

“Hold on to it, think it over” the coach pushed Tensei’s hand back gently “Give it back on the first day of third year if you’re not joining. I trust you won’t forget nor misplace it until then.”

That was the biggest power move Tensei has ever witnessed. He continued to get his school to the finals and 2nd place overall that day. On the car ride home, Tensei was lost in his thoughts.

“...Tensei? Did you hear me?”

He snapped out of it “Huh?! No, sorry! What did you say mom?”

“I asked if you wanted McDonalds” repeated his Mother.

“Oh...yes please”

His mother turned into the street of the McDonalds their family frequents.

“You’re not as excited as I thought you might’ve been” his mother waited to say until after they ordered “What happened mijo?”

Tensei sighed “I am happy and psyched to get our school into nationals again. And this win is a pretty good note to end on...but should I stop here?”

“Oh I see, you don’t want to quit the team huh?”

“Yeah! And things are making me want to stay” Tensei gushed “Like, coach wants me to be club senpai AND Waseda has me on their radar! Too good to pass up but I want to get started on my quirk training for hero school. I’m not sure if I can juggle everything for my third year.”

They pulled up to the pick up window.

“As a mother, I want to tell you to do the right thing and sacrifice one thing to help you focus” His mother started “But as the chaotic, over-achiever, ‘fuck you, don’t tell me what to do!’ personality I am... Fuckin do it all! Flex on everyone and be THAT bitch. I believe in you.”

Tensei wasn’t expecting that from his own mother “Huh? How is being in a band, being club senpai and hero training flexing on them?”

“Did you listen to yourself saying that sentence?! That sounds cool as hell!” giggled his mother “I’ve gone through all the juggling in my school years and turned out as this absolute beast! Before I married your father I was one of the most powerful women in Japan already with my status as a top agent, college degree and CEO of my security robot company. I didn’t have to get married and start a family Tensei...but I wanted nothing more than to have a family of my own. And I did! All without giving up a single thing, now I’m THE most powerful woman in all of Japan, would you want to mess with a married woman that’s not only smarter, stronger, richer and has four kids?”

Tensei shook his head in fear “If you put it in perspective like that, I would be scared to be on your bad side. With all those titles, it feels like you can make me disappear in a snap.”

“Now imagine yourself! Tensei Oro Iida: Musician, Lawyer and Hero. Serving justice in and out of the court in the day, playing a gigs in the night!”

“Hmmm, that does sound pretty cool” Tensei receives the bag of food on his lap “You really think I can do it?”

“OH I know you can!” his mother exited out of the drive thru and towards home “You’re my son, my children are capable of the impossible.”

That filled Tensei with motivation to juggle all those titles.

But meanwhile, the girls are having a girls night at Petti’s place.

“Oh my! Is this you guys?” gushed Twinkle at the framed photo in the living room “You were so tiny! In your little dresses and with your dads!”

Hanaka looked over Twinkle’s shoulder “Your dad kept this picture framed Petti? This was so long ago!”

“Nya! It’s the only nice picture we took ‘member?” Kyanka giggled as she flopped onto the couch “We threw a temper tantrum so bad that we lost control of our quirks.”

“Ah yes, good times” reminisced Petti as she brought out the snacks “My dad kept that one framed because it was the one time I willingly put on a dress and smiled.” She pointed to the other pictures on the wall “You can see in the other ones that I wear alt-core and scowl.”

Twinkle looked at the other pictures as the other girls ate snacks.

“If you don’t mind me asking” Twinkled started off “Where’s your mother Petti?”

Kyanka and Hanaka stopped their snacking to turn to Petti. They know that she doesn’t respond well to that question and braced themselves in case she activates her Dark Shadow.

“My mom? She’s not in the picture sadly” sighed Petti, surprisingly calm “Dad tells me I was abandoned at his door as an egg. And she never returned to get to know me, so it’s just been my dad and I. Dad doesn’t have family either.”

“Oh I’m sorry I brought it up!”

“No it’s alright! I’m okay telling you” smiled Petti “Like, my dad tries really hard to raise me right. But it’s tough being a single dad and hero! Hanaka’s mom is basically my mother figure and I ask her all my girl questions that I don’t want to ask my dad.” She looks at the her cup of pink drink “I really want to meet my mom someday though. I have her eye color, skin tone and quirk trigger according to my dad. So I get my hot-headed nature from her and I kinda wish I got her normal face and not a bird head! But I don’t have an idea where she could be.”

“That’s so wholesome of you” Twinkle got teary-eyed “I hope you do get to meet your mom. Maybe when we become heroes, you’ll have the resources to find her!”

“That’s the goal” Petti stretched her back “Hopefully she’d want to be in my life at that point, I like to think that she just doesn’t like children.”

Hanaka spoke up “Now that I think about it, all of us look to my mom as their mother figure.”

“But aren’t your parents are together Kyanka?” questioned Twinkle.

“My mom old as hell” blurted Kyanka “How my dad got suckered into getting with an older woman is beyond me, nya. But she’s always away for hero work with the Wild Wild Pussycats, so I ask Hanaka’s mom for girl advice too. She’s a good woman but I wish she’d just, retire and act her age” sighed the cat girl as she flexed her paws “I may not show it, but I’m scared that with her age and not being in her prime anymore, she’s going to die on the job. It’s scary to think about it and I can’t do anything to stop her from going to work. That’s why I want to be a hero, so I can take her place as a rescue hero, making her retire.”

Twinkle was bawling at this point “Such noble causes! You guys are making me miss my mama.”

“Oh geez, get it together girl” Petti stands up “I’ll get you some tissues.”

“Yea, noble causes” Hanaka repeated aloud, making her pause to think “I don’t really have a reason to be a hero. Other than I can and have the means to do so, my parents never made me do something because of our status or family name.” She looked in the reflection of her cup “I don’t really know what I’m good at. Tensei got all the talent and smarts, I have the quirks and good genes.”

“Aww don’t compare yourself with your twin again” Petti said as she walked in with a fistful of tissues “You’re talented in your own way.”

“Oh yea? Name one thing- THAT ISN’T QUIRK RELATED!” Hanaka huffed.

Petti handed the loose tissues to Twinkle “Easy! You’re charismatic, people think you’re cute and go all mushy and do things for you with little interaction.”

“Ooh! You have a good sense of distance” Kyanka blurted “With just a glance, you know how far something is. AND you’re always quick to help out with things, even if you’re not sure if you’re a good fit for the job! ‘member when you volunteered to do the food stall in 1st year?”

Twinkle blew her nose “You’re a good friend! You integrated me into your group and share your food with me. And from the stories Kyanka and Petti tell, you’re always the first one to start things, a natural leader!”

Hanaka was touched “Aww guys, you’re too much!”

“Can you guys not cry at my house?!” Petti tossed a loose tissue at Hanaka “Seriously! I’m trying to chill with the girls, not get all sappy.”

Not too much time passes and it’s graduation season! Of course the ones graduating are Lili and Iwata from their respected institues. Everyone is home for the holidays and decisions have to be made.

“What’s up with you two?” Lili asked as she looked up from her phone “Usually something would be on fire and it’s too quiet for having a full house. What is going on?”

Hanaka and Tensei were face down in the middle of the living room.

“Shh, they’re communicating” Iwata teased “But deadass, why are you guys so quiet?”

Tensei lifted his head to speak “I’m tired as hell! Mom got me on her training regime and my legs are refusing to work.”

Hanaka flipped over “Ow! And Dad had me do so much reading that my brain hurt and eyes burn.”

“Oh man, I remember those days” sighed Lili with a smile “The mental and physical pain of hero training. Aren’t you glad you’re done with all that Iwee?”

“Yup! Thought I’d never get out of that cycle of pain” Iwata sighed back “Just wait until you realize you’re gay after a series of weird events happen.”

“But that part was my favorite!” beamed Lili.

Hanaka furrowed her brow “That sounds like a you thing. We actually have friends.”

“We have friends too!”

“Yea, the ones you’re dating and are going to marry someday!”

Lili and Iwata tried to think of a rebuttal but their little sister was right.

“ANYWAYS! How prepared are you guys for the entrance exam?” Lili asked.

Tensei groaned “Man, I forgot about that! Why can’t we just, take a written exam like a normal school.”

“It’s not that bad, come on Tensei” Iwata coaxed his brother to stand up “The telekinesis shit is kinda hard to master. But you can flex what that metal bending quirk can do to those robos!”

“Literally, you two have the upper hand to easily pass” Lili explained “The test hasn’t changed in decades! It’s always the robots and the ‘big boy’ robot is worth 0 points BUT you get rescue points if you either save someone from it’s path or you destroy it out of safety of others.”

“Then why did you two struggle?” asked Tensei, not believing that the exam is that simple.

“We can go fast but our second quirks aren’t power based” Lili snapped her fingers to instantly transform the curtain into a pair of pants “imagine that but in battle! The most useful thing I’ve done is make netting and a hot air balloon to transport my classmates! I had to learn certain fighting styles and have multiple support items for me to be on par with everyone else.”

Iwa levitated everything in the living room “And I can do all the floaty things but I’m not like mom, where I can crush things with my mind!” he throws a pillow with force at a wall “that’s my ‘force’ with my quirk, yea it helps me fly for a short amount of time but I wasn’t strong enough to stop a robot from attacking me when I was entering UA.”

Hanaka flails her arms “Okay okay I get it! We’re stronger by default! Put me down now!”

“Oof forgot you don’t like getting levitated” Iwata quickly set everything down “But please don’t feel so helpless, we’d kill to have the advantages you two have.”

The twins faced at each other and exchanged looks.

“If you say so” sighed Tensei “Then I guess we’re ready.”

“YAY!” the older siblings cheered and did the little quick claps.

“Don’t clap and cheer! We’re not babies!” barked the twins.

Just out of sight were their parents, looking on at the sight of their children being their usual selves.

“It was getting too quiet around here” whispered Tenya as he hugged his wife from behind “I feel complete.”

“Enjoy it while you can love” Ita whispered back “Our nest is going to be empty sooner than you think!” She gave her husband a quick kiss “Okay ninos, visitas are at the gates. The living room should be nice and tidy! I got the curtains special made for this year’s theme!”

The kids glanced at the pants that were once the curtains and then to the disorganized furniture, shit!

“Okay mom we’ll fix the living room!” Iwa spoke up “No need to come in here and check! You go and greet the guests!”

Lili frantically fixed the pants-curtains as the twins fixed the couch cushions and Iwa floated everything back to the original layout. Just like when they were younger.

With new confidence and old support, suddenly the new part of the twin’s lives isn’t so scary.

-Chapter 4, End-

#mha #bnha #self insert au #book 4 chapter 4 #not canon #ask me anything #will update regularly #//Palma-sama Speaks #sips iced coffee....what's poppin fam? finger guns #okay so life is just kicking my ass left and right BUT HEY! I got new readers :3 hi!#Hopefully my unprompted hiatus made some in betweener readers go back and read everything else? It's alot!#Yay more Hanaka and the squak interaction! And yes that was some foreshadowing on Petti. Kyanka's mom is just old as hell #This is the chapter that overlaps the end of Iwa's part. Here Iwa just came back from his trip with Beizu #Lets see when the hell the next one comes out! I have character posts for the twins queued so there would be something in line in case #swear I'm gonna finish this book! I see yall in my asks! Bear with me #but thanks for reading! I appreciate yall

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anthonybialy · 4 years ago

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Down with Lockdown

Unlocking lockdowns has been most celebrated by those who inflicted pointless restrictions on liberty in the first place while acting like they preserved life itself. Authorities will never suspect someone who called the tip line. There are better ways to appreciate what we have than taking it away. Getting back to how life is supposed to be is joyous except for how inflicting pain didn't heal.

Appreciation can be misguided. The unsettling tone of many who are seeing other humans again implies they think rights they've always held have been returned. Pretending the freedom to congregate and work was granted by the state isn't as liberated as you'd think. North Koreans grateful their messiah made the Sun rise are ashamed of Americans who think governors grant subjects the privilege of dining inside.

Restrictions faded like the fan club membership of New York's mass-killing New Jonestown executive. Following the lead of Texas must really tick off every fan of coerced cooperation who thought communal separation would get us through this. Convincing themselves a year of state brutality was the cure made everyone sick. The war's over because the virus got tired.

An alarming percentage of people in an allegedly free nation spent time in solitary confinement being glad to be there. Getting permission is not how rights work. Viewing what's ours as something granted leads to dire consequences during the best of times. As present residents of the worst of times, being told an emergency justifies interdiction is both philosophically and practically deleterious. The total twisting of liberty is not a new problem. It's just presently far worse, like going from the flu to COVID.

Nothing embodies big government like lamely trying to halt a virus by being forced to hide. Ceding divine authority to heretical dunces has not created enlightenment or peace, although there have been many people sent to Heaven because of their blessed policies. Pompous dolts who win elections are experts on both policy and science, as otherwise government isn't the supreme authority. They must be authorities, because why else would they be in charge?

People would’ve protected themselves, which surprises those calling to wrap street signs in memory foam so pedestrians survive collisions. Government fetishists never grasp the capacity of humans to be decent, or at least do what'll keep their survival prospects decent. Life's infiltrators never trust markets, whether it's humans buying items they need or keeping themselves from getting infected.

Irrational people are at their worst when they've decided they're hassling you for your own good. Six feet may as well have been 60 feet or 16 inches. And it's easier to announce masks are useless without wearing one. Acting both aggressively and timidly was the semi-impressive feat of fearful people who thought tearing the heads off anyone they deemed in noncompliance created safety. States that let those within their borders breathe freely got healthier much more quickly, but that's not nearly as scientific as shrieking at supermarket free breathers.

Failure is exacerbated by not admitting to it. Pride leads to sticking with what fails. Shutdown specialists have to tell themselves unilateral orders to idle is the only reason anyone's alive to read this or do anything else, as the notion that all this doing nothing made infection just the start of agony. If the idea that they made humanity idled for that long without benefit is tough to bear, imagine how victims feel.

The toughest part to cope with is how the death rate was unaffected by a year without society. In fact, the corpse pile would've been far less teetering if Andrew Cuomo hadn't been allowed to show how much he loves New Yorkers by choosing which ones live and die. The elected savior only killed off a small minority by percentage if you doubted his benevolence.

It's tough for survivors to have to live with knowing they didn't stop death. Seeing there was no benefit is just another bit of evidence those who express a fetishistic love for science are ignoring. Announcing it's better to be safe than sorry ignores how much sorriness there is in pretending to be safe. The incalculable costs of a lost year for humanity didn't accelerate or improve outcomes, but COVID was defeated by autocratic Democrats otherwise.

Good ideas must be imposed by force, according to the quite confident. Affecting your breathing was a too-perfect symbol of everything else government screws up. Kind and good leaders developed the cunning counteroffensive of stopping movement then stabbing everyone to protect from a virus most sufferers had to be tested to learn they had.

Those who spent most of the confinement fantasizing about what they'd do once humans were permitted basic contact again should self-examine and see if they were the ones who prolonged the useless intermission. Worshipers of bumbling Blue State politicians are the ones who supported mandatory global seclusion for this long, which can't be fun for consciences. Opponents of sound epidemiology are the last ones who get to party without everyone swinging around a yardstick.

Celebrate the right to head out by remaining shielded from fresh air. A disturbing percentage of those banished to home confinement concluded they prefer being jailed. The mentally imprisoned would actually prefer their rights remain confiscated like a convict who can't stand the open skies. The comfort of a cell only tops having mealtimes set.

Those still wearing masks while driving alone are ready to be scared of liberty. They prefer the false comfort of pretending a politician can ensure security against infection, especially today's particular politicians. Taking away what's yours is the worst way to make you appreciate it. Thieves aren't entitled to teach the lesson.

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silent-era-of-cinema · 5 years ago

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Clara Gordon Bow (July 29, 1905 – September 27, 1965) was an American actress who rose to stardom in silent film during the 1920s and successfully made the transition to "talkies" in 1929. Her appearance as a plucky shopgirl in the film It brought her global fame and the nickname "The It Girl". Bow came to personify the Roaring Twenties and is described as its leading sex symbol.

Bow appeared in 46 silent films and 11 talkies, including hits such as Mantrap (1926), It (1927), and Wings (1927). She was named first box-office draw in 1928 and 1929 and second box-office draw in 1927 and 1930. Her presence in a motion picture was said to have ensured investors, by odds of almost two-to-one, a "safe return". At the apex of her stardom, she received more than 45,000 fan letters in a single month (January 1929).

Two years after marrying actor Rex Bell in 1931, Bow retired from acting and became a rancher in Nevada. Her final film, Hoop-La, was released in 1933. In September 1965, Bow died of a heart attack at the age of 60.

Bow was born in Prospect Heights, Brooklyn at 697 Bergen Street,[9] in a "bleak, sparsely furnished room above [a] dilapidated Baptist Church". Her birth year, according to the US Censuses of 1910 and 1920, was 1905. The 1930 census indicates 1906 and on her gravestone of 1965, the inscription says 1907, but 1905 is the accepted year by a majority of sources.

Bow was her parents' third child, but her two older sisters, born in 1903 and 1904, had died in infancy. Her mother, Sarah Frances Bow (née Gordon, 1880–1923), was told by a doctor not to become pregnant again, for fear the next baby might die as well. Despite the warning, Sarah became pregnant with Clara in late 1904. In addition to the risky pregnancy, a heat wave besieged New York in July 1905, and temperatures peaked around 100 °F (38 °C). Years later, Clara said: "I don't suppose two people ever looked death in the face more clearly than my mother and I the morning I was born. We were both given up, but somehow we struggled back to life."

Bow's parents were descended from English, Irish and Scottish immigrants who had come to America the generation before. Bow said that her father, Robert Walter Bow (1874–1959), "had a quick, keen mind ... all the natural qualifications to make something of himself, but didn't...everything seemed to go wrong for him, poor darling". By the time Clara was four and a half, her father was out of work, and between 1905 and 1923, the family lived at 14 different addresses, but seldom outside Prospect Heights, with Clara's father often absent. "I do not think my mother ever loved my father", she said. "He knew it. And it made him very unhappy, for he worshiped her, always."

When Bow's mother, Sarah, was 16, she fell from a second-story window and suffered a severe head injury. She was later diagnosed with "psychosis due to epilepsy". From her earliest years, Bow had learned how to care for her mother during the seizures, as well as how to deal with her psychotic and hostile episodes. She said her mother could be "mean" to her, but "didn't mean to ... she couldn't help it". Still, Bow felt deprived of her childhood; "As a kid I took care of my mother, she didn't take care of me". Sarah worsened gradually, and when she realized her daughter was set for a movie career, Bow's mother told her she "would be much better off dead". One night in February 1922, Bow awoke to a butcher knife held against her throat by her mother. Clara was able to fend off the attack, and locked her mother up. In the morning, Bow's mother had no recollection of the episode, and later she was committed to a sanatorium by Robert Bow.

Clara spoke about the incident later:

It was snowing. My mother and I were cold and hungry. We had been cold and hungry for days. We lay in each other's arms and cried and tried to keep warm. It grew worse and worse. So that night my mother—but I can't tell you about it. Only when I remember it, it seems to me I can't live.

According to Bow's biographer, David Stenn, Bow was raped by her father at age sixteen while her mother was institutionalized. On January 5, 1923, Sarah died at the age of 43 from her epilepsy. When relatives gathered for the funeral, Bow accused them of being "hypocrites", and became so angry that she even tried to jump into the grave.

Bow attended P.S. 111, P.S. 9, and P.S. 98.[13] As she grew up, she felt shy among other girls, who teased her for her worn-out clothes and "carrot-top" hair. She said about her childhood, "I never had any clothes. ... And lots of time didn't have anything to eat. We just lived, that's about all. Girls shunned me because I was so poorly dressed."

From first grade, Bow preferred the company of boys, stating, "I could lick any boy my size. My right arm was quite famous. My right arm was developed from pitching so much ... Once I hopped a ride on behind a big fire engine. I got a lot of credit from the gang for that."[15] A close friend, a younger boy who lived in her building, burned to death in her presence after an accident. In 1919, Bow enrolled in Bay Ridge High School for Girls. "I wore sweaters and old skirts...didn't want to be treated like a girl...there was one boy who had always been my pal... he kissed me... I wasn't sore. I didn't get indignant. I was horrified and hurt."

Bow's interest in sports and her physical abilities led her to plan for a career as an athletics instructor. She won five medals "at the cinder tracks" and credited her cousin Homer Baker – the national half-mile (c.800 m) champion (1913 and 1914) and 660-yard (c. 600 m) world-record holder – for being her trainer. The Bows and Bakers shared a house – still standing – at 33 Prospect Place in 1920.

In the early 1920s, roughly 50 million Americans—half the population at that time—attended the movies every week. As Bow grew into womanhood, her stature as a "boy" in her old gang became "impossible". She did not have any girlfriends, and school was a "heartache" and her home was "miserable." On the silver screen, however, she found consolation; "For the first time in my life I knew there was beauty in the world. For the first time I saw distant lands, serene, lovely homes, romance, nobility, glamor". And further; "I always had a queer feeling about actors and actresses on the screen ... I knew I would have done it differently. I couldn't analyze it, but I could always feel it.". "I'd go home and be a one girl circus, taking the parts of everyone I'd seen, living them before the glass." At 16, Bow says she "knew" she wanted to be a motion pictures actress, even if she was a "square, awkward, funny-faced kid."

Against her mother's wishes but with her father's support, Bow competed in Brewster publications' magazine's annual nationwide acting contest, "Fame and Fortune", in fall 1921. In previous years, other contest winners had found work in the movies. In the contest's final screen test, Bow was up against an already scene-experienced woman who did "a beautiful piece of acting". A set member later stated that when Bow did the scene, she actually became her character and "lived it". In the January issues 1922 of Motion Picture Classics, the contest jury, Howard Chandler Christy, Neysa McMein, and Harrison Fisher, concluded:

She is very young, only 16. But she is full of confidence, determination and ambition. She is endowed with a mentality far beyond her years. She has a genuine spark of divine fire. The five different screen tests she had, showed this very plainly, her emotional range of expression provoking a fine enthusiasm from every contest judge who saw the tests. She screens perfectly. Her personal appearance is almost enough to carry her to success without the aid of the brains she indubitably possesses.

Bow won an evening gown and a silver trophy, and the publisher committed to help her "gain a role in films", but nothing happened. Bow's father told her to "haunt" Brewster's office (located in Brooklyn) until they came up with something. "To get rid of me, or maybe they really meant to (give me) all the time and were just busy", Bow was introduced to director Christy Cabanne, who cast her in Beyond the Rainbow, produced late 1921 in New York City and released February 19, 1922. Bow did five scenes and impressed Cabanne with true theatrical tears, but was cut from the final print. "I was sick to my stomach," she recalled and thought her mother was right about the movie business.

Bow, who dropped out of school (senior year) after she was notified about winning the contest, possibly in October 1921, got an ordinary office job. However, movie ads and newspaper editorial comments from 1922 to 1923 suggest that Bow was not cut from Beyond the Rainbow. Her name is on the cast list among the other stars, usually tagged "Brewster magazine beauty contest winner" and sometimes even with a picture.

Encouraged by her father, Bow continued to visit studio agencies asking for parts. "But there was always something. I was too young, or too little, or too fat. Usually I was too fat." Eventually, director Elmer Clifton needed a tomboy for his movie Down to the Sea in Ships, saw Bow in Motion Picture Classic magazine, and sent for her. In an attempt to overcome her youthful looks, Bow put her hair up and arrived in a dress she "sneaked" from her mother. Clifton said she was too old, but broke into laughter as the stammering Bow made him believe she was the girl in the magazine. Clifton decided to bring Bow with him and offered her $35 a week. Bow held out for $50 and Clifton agreed, but he could not say whether she would "fit the part". Bow later learned that one of Brewsters' subeditors had urged Clifton to give her a chance.

Down to the Sea in Ships, shot on location in New Bedford, Massachusetts and produced by independent "The Whaling Film Corporation", documented life, love, and work in the whale-hunter community. The production relied on a few less-known actors and local talents. It premiered at the Olympia Theater in New Bedford, on September 25, and went on general distribution on March 4, 1923. Bow was billed 10th in the film, but shone through:

"Miss Bow will undoubtedly gain fame as a screen comedienne".

"She scored a tremendous hit in Down to the Sea in Ships..(and).. has reached the front rank of motion picture principal players".

"With her beauty, her brains, her personality and her genuine acting ability it should not be many moons before she enjoys stardom in the fullest sense of the word. You must see 'Down to the Sea in Ships'".

"In movie parlance, she 'stole' the picture ... ".

By mid-December 1923, primarily due to her merits in Down to the Sea in Ships, Bow was chosen the most successful of the 1924 WAMPAS Baby Stars. Three months before Down to the Sea in Ships was released, Bow danced half nude, on a table, uncredited in Enemies of Women (1923). In spring she got a part in The Daring Years (1923), where she befriended actress Mary Carr, who taught her how to use make-up.

In the summer, she got a "tomboy" part in Grit, a story that dealt with juvenile crime and was written by F. Scott Fitzgerald. Bow met her first boyfriend, cameraman Arthur Jacobson, and she got to know director Frank Tuttle, with whom she worked in five later productions. Tuttle remembered:

Her emotions were close to the surface. She could cry on demand, opening the floodgate of tears almost as soon as I asked her to weep. She was dynamite, full of nervous energy and vitality and pitifully eager to please everyone.

Grit was released on January 7, 1924. The Variety review said "... Clara Bow lingers in the eye, long after the picture has gone."

While shooting Grit at Pyramid Studios, in Astoria, New York, Bow was approached by Jack Bachman of independent Hollywood studio Preferred Pictures. He wanted to contract her for a three-month trial, fare paid, and $50 a week. "It can't do any harm,"[15] he tried. "Why can't I stay in New York and make movies?" Bow asked her father, but he told her not to worry.

On July 21, 1923, she befriended Louella Parsons, who interviewed her for The New York Morning Telegraph. In 1931, when Bow came under tabloid scrutiny, Parsons defended her and stuck to her first opinion on Bow:

She is as refreshingly unaffected as if she had never faced a means to pretend. She hasn't any secrets from the world, she trusts everyone ... she is almost too good to be true ... (I) only wish some reformer who believes the screen contaminates all who associate with it could meet this child. Still, on second thought it might not be safe: Clara uses a dangerous pair of eyes.

The interview also revealed that Bow already was cast in Maytime and in great favor of Chinese cuisine.

On July 22, 1923, Bow left New York, her father, and her boyfriend behind for Hollywood. As chaperone for the journey and her subsequent southern California stay, the studio appointed writer/agent Maxine Alton, whom Bow later branded a liar. In late July, Bow entered studio chief B. P. Schulberg's office wearing a simple high-school uniform in which she "had won several gold medals on the cinder track". She was tested and a press release from early August says Bow had become a member of Preferred Picture's "permanent stock". Alton and she rented an apartment at The Hillview near Hollywood Boulevard. Preferred Pictures was run by Schulberg, who had started as a publicity manager at Famous Players-Lasky, but in the aftermath of the power struggle around the formation of United Artists, ended up on the losing side and lost his job. As a result, he founded Preferred in 1919, at the age of 27.

Maytime was Bow's first Hollywood picture, an adaptation of the popular operetta Maytime in which she essayed "Alice Tremaine". Before Maytime was finished, Schulberg announced that Bow was given the lead in the studio's biggest seasonal assessment, Poisoned Paradise,[51] but first she was lent to First National Pictures to co-star in the adaptation of Gertrude Atherton's 1923 best seller Black Oxen, shot in October, and to co-star with Colleen Moore in Painted People, shot in November.

Director Frank Lloyd was casting for the part of high-society flapper Janet Oglethorpe, and more than 50 women, most with previous screen experience, auditioned. Bow reminisced: "He had not found exactly what he wanted and finally somebody suggested me to him. When I came into his office a big smile came over his face and he looked just tickled to death." Lloyd told the press, "Bow is the personification of the ideal aristocratic flapper, mischievous, pretty, aggressive, quick-tempered and deeply sentimental." It was released on January 4, 1924.

The New York Times said, "The flapper, impersonated by a young actress, Clara Bow, had five speaking titles, and every one of them was so entirely in accord with the character and the mood of the scene that it drew a laugh from what, in film circles, is termed a "hard-boiled" audience", while the Los Angeles Times commented that "Clara Bow, the prize vulgarian of the lot ... was amusing and spirited ... but didn't belong in the picture", and Variety said that "... the horrid little flapper is adorably played ..."

Colleen Moore made her flapper debut in a successful adaptation of the daring novel Flaming Youth, released November 12, 1923, six weeks before Black Oxen. Both films were produced by First National Pictures, and while Black Oxen was still being edited and Flaming Youth not yet released, Bow was requested to co-star with Moore as her kid sister in Painted People (The Swamp Angel). Moore essayed the baseball-playing tomboy and Bow, according to Moore, said "I don't like my part, I wanna play yours." Moore, a well-established star earning $1200 a week—Bow got $200—took offense and blocked the director from shooting close-ups of Bow. Moore was married to the film's producer and Bow's protests were futile. "I'll get that bitch", she told her boyfriend Jacobson, who had arrived from New York. Bow had sinus problems and decided to have them attended to that very evening. With Bow's face now in bandages, the studio had no choice but to recast her part.

During 1924, Bow's "horrid" flapper raced against Moore's "whimsical". In May, Moore renewed her efforts in The Perfect Flapper, produced by her husband. However, despite good reviews, she suddenly withdrew. "No more flappers ... they have served their purpose ... people are tired of soda-pop love affairs", she told the Los Angeles Times, which had commented a month earlier, "Clara Bow is the one outstanding type. She has almost immediately been elected for all the recent flapper parts". In November 1933, looking back to this period of her career, Bow described the atmosphere in Hollywood as like a scene from a movie about the French Revolution, where "women are hollering and waving pitchforks twice as violently as any of the guys ... the only ladies in sight are the ones getting their heads cut off."

By New Year 1924, Bow defied the possessive Maxine Alton and brought her father to Hollywood. Bow remembered their reunion: "I didn't care a rap, for (Maxine Alton), or B. P. Schulberg, or my motion picture career, or Clara Bow, I just threw myself into his arms and kissed and kissed him, and we both cried like a couple of fool kids. Oh, it was wonderful." Bow felt Alton had misused her trust: "She wanted to keep a hold on me so she made me think I wasn't getting over and that nothing but her clever management kept me going." Bow and her father moved in at 1714 North Kingsley Drive in Hollywood, together with Jacobson, who by then also worked for Preferred. When Schulberg learned of this arrangement, he fired Jacobson for potentially getting "his big star" into a scandal. When Bow found out, "She tore up her contract and threw it in his face and told him he couldn't run her private life." Jacobson concluded, "[Clara] was the sweetest girl in the world, but you didn't cross her and you didn't do her wrong." On September 7, 1924, The Los Angeles Times, in a significant article "A dangerous little devil is Clara, impish, appealing, but oh, how she can act!", her father is titled "business manager" and Jacobson referred to as her brother.

Bow appeared in eight releases in 1924.

In Poisoned Paradise, released on February 29, 1924, Bow got her first lead. "... the clever little newcomer whose work wins fresh recommendations with every new picture in which she appears". In a scene described as "original", Bow adds "devices" to "the modern flapper": she fights a villain using her fists, and significantly, does not "shrink back in fear".

In Daughters of Pleasure, also released on February 29, 1924, Bow and Marie Prevost "flapped unhampered as flappers De luxe ... I wish somebody could star Clara Bow. I'm sure her 'infinite variety' would keep her from wearying us no matter how many scenes she was in."

Loaned out to Universal, Bow top-starred, for the first time, in the prohibition, bootleg drama/comedy Wine, released on August 20, 1924. The picture exposes the widespread liquor traffic in the upper classes, and Bow portrays an innocent girl who develops into a wild "red-hot mama".

"If not taken as information, it is cracking good entertainment," Carl Sandburg reviewed September 29.

"Don't miss Wine. It's a thoroughly refreshing draught ... there are only about five actresses who give me a real thrill on the screen—and Clara is nearly five of them".

Alma Whitaker of The Los Angeles Times observed on September 7, 1924:

She radiates sex appeal tempered with an impish sense of humor ... She hennas her blond hair so that it will photograph dark in the pictures ... Her social decorum is of that natural, good-natured, pleasantly informal kind ... She can act on or off the screen—takes a joyous delight in accepting a challenge to vamp any selected male—the more unpromising specimen the better. When the hapless victim is scared into speechlessness, she gurgles with naughty delight and tries another.

Bow remembered: "All this time I was 'running wild', I guess, in the sense of trying to have a good time ... maybe this was a good thing, because I suppose a lot of that excitement, that joy of life, got onto the screen."

In 1925, Bow appeared in 14 productions: six for her contract owner, Preferred Pictures, and eight as an "out-loan".

"Clara Bow ... shows alarming symptoms of becoming the sensation of the year ... ", Motion Picture Classic Magazine wrote in June, and featured her on the cover.

I'm almost never satisfied with myself or my work or anything...by the time I'm ready to be a great star I'll have been on the screen such a long time that everybody will be tired of seeing me...(Tears filled her big round eyes and threatened to fall).

I worked in two and even three pictures at once. I played all sorts of parts in all sorts of pictures ... It was very hard at the time and I used to be worn out and cry myself to sleep from sheer fatigue after 18 hours a day on different sets, but now [late 1927] I am glad of it.

Preferred Pictures loaned Bow to producers "for sums ranging from $1500 to $2000 a week" while paying Bow a salary of $200 to $750 a week. The studio, like any other independent studio or theater at that time, was under attack from "The Big Three", MPAA, which had formed a trust to block out Independents and enforce the monopolistic studio system. On October 21, 1925, Schulberg filed Preferred Pictures for bankruptcy, with debts at $820,774 and assets $1,420. Three days later, it was announced that Schulberg would join with Adolph Zukor to become associate producer of Paramount Pictures, "catapulted into this position because he had Clara Bow under personal contract".

Adolph Zukor, Paramount Picture CEO, wrote in his memoirs: "All the skill of directors and all the booming of press-agent drums will not make a star. Only the audiences can do it. We study audience reactions with great care." Adela Rogers St. Johns had a different take: in 1950, she wrote, "If ever a star was made by public demand, it was Clara Bow." And Louise Brooks (from 1980): "(Bow) became a star without nobody's help ..."

The Plastic Age was Bow's final effort for Preferred Pictures and her biggest hit up to that time. Bow starred as the good-bad college girl, Cynthia Day, against Donald Keith. It was shot on location at Pomona College in the summer of 1925, and released on December 15, but due to block booking, it was not shown in New York until July 21, 1926.

Photoplay was displeased: "The college atmosphere is implausible and Clara Bow is not our idea of a college girl."

Theater owners, however, were happy: "The picture is the biggest sensation we ever had in our theater ... It is 100 per cent at the box-office."

Some critics felt Bow had conquered new territory: "(Bow) presents a whimsical touch to her work that adds greater laurels to her fast ascending star of screen popularity."

Time singled out Bow: "Only the amusing and facile acting of Clara Bow rescues the picture from the limbo of the impossible."

Bow began to date her co-star Gilbert Roland, who became her first fiancé. In June 1925, Bow was credited for being the first to wear hand-painted legs in public, and was reported to have many followers at the Californian beaches.

Throughout the 1920s, Bow played with gender conventions and sexuality in her public image. Along with her tomboy and flapper roles, she starred in boxing films and posed for promotional photographs as a boxer. By appropriating traditionally androgynous or masculine traits, Bow presented herself as a confident, modern woman.

"Rehearsals sap my pep," Bow explained in November 1929, and from the beginning of her career, she relied on immediate direction: "Tell me what I have to do and I'll do it." Bow was keen on poetry and music, but according to Rogers St. Johns, her attention span did not allow her to appreciate novels. Bow's focal point was the scene, and her creativity made directors call in extra cameras to cover her spontaneous actions, rather than holding her down.

Years after Bow left Hollywood, director Victor Fleming compared Bow to a Stradivarius violin: "Touch her, and she responded with genius." Director William Wellman was less poetic: "Movie stardom isn't acting ability—it's personality and temperament ... I once directed Clara Bow (Wings). She was mad and crazy, but WHAT a personality!". And in 1981, Budd Schulberg described Bow as "an easy winner of the dumbbell award" who "couldn't act," and compared her to a puppy that his father B. P. Schulberg "trained to become Lassie."

In 1926, Bow appeared in eight releases: five for Paramount, including the film version of the musical Kid Boots with Eddie Cantor, and three loan-outs that had been filmed in 1925.

In late 1925, Bow returned to New York to co-star in the Ibsenesque drama Dancing Mothers, as the good/bad "flapperish" upper-class daughter Kittens. Alice Joyce starred as her dancing mother, with Conway Tearle as "bad-boy" Naughton. The picture was released on March 1, 1926.

"Clara Bow, known as the screen's perfect flapper, does her stuff as the child, and does it well."

"... her remarkable performance in Dancing Mothers ... ".

Louise Brooks remembered: "She was absolutely sensational in the United States ... in Dancing Mothers ... she just swept the country ... I know I saw her ... and I thought ... wonderful."

On April 12, 1926, Bow signed her first contract with Paramount: "...to retain your services as an actress for the period of six months from June 6, 1926 to December 6, 1926, at a salary of $750.00 per week...".

In Victor Fleming's comedy-triangle, Mantrap, Bow, as Alverna the manicurist, cures lonely hearts Joe Easter (Ernest Torrence), of the great northern, as well as pill-popping New York divorce attorney runaway Ralph Prescott (Percy Marmont). Bow commented: "(Alverna)...was bad in the book, but—darn it!—of course, they couldn't make her that way in the picture. So I played her as a flirt." The film was released on July 24, 1926.

Variety: "Clara Bow just walks away with the picture from the moment she walks into camera range."

Photoplay: "When she is on the screen nothing else matters. When she is off, the same is true."

Carl Sandburg: "The smartest and swiftest work as yet seen from Miss Clara Bow."

The Reel Journal: "Clara Bow is taking the place of Gloria Swanson...(and)...filling a long need for a popular taste movie actress."

On August 16, 1926, Bow's agreement with Paramount was renewed into a five-year deal: "Her salary will start at $1700 a week and advance yearly to $4000 a week for the last year."[78] Bow added that she intended to leave the motion picture business at the expiration of the contract, i.e., in 1931.

In 1927, Bow appeared in six Paramount releases: It, Children of Divorce, Rough House Rosie, Wings, Hula and Get Your Man. In the Cinderella story It, the poor shop-girl Betty Lou Spence (Bow) conquers the heart of her employer Cyrus Waltham (Antonio Moreno). The personal quality —"It"— provides the magic to make it happen. The film gave Bow her nickname, "The 'It' Girl."

The New York Times: "(Bow)...is vivacious and, as Betty Lou, saucy, which perhaps is one of the ingredients of It."

The Film Daily: "Clara Bow gets a real chance and carries it off with honors...(and)...she is really the whole show."

Carl Sandburg: "'It' is smart, funny and real. It makes a full-sized star of Clara Bow."

Variety: "You can't get away from this Clara Bow girl. She certainly has that certain 'It'...and she just runs away with the film."

Dorothy Parker is often said to have referred to Bow when she wrote, "It, hell; she had Those."[109] Parker in actuality was not referring to Bow or to Bow's character in the film It, but to a different character, Ava Cleveland, in the novel of the same name.

In 1927, Bow starred in Wings, a war picture rewritten to accommodate her, as she was Paramount's biggest star, but was not happy about her part: "[Wings is]...a man's picture and I'm just the whipped cream on top of the pie." The film went on to win the first Academy Award for Best Picture. In 1928, Bow appeared in four Paramount releases: Red Hair, Ladies of the Mob, The Fleet's In, and Three Weekends, all of which are lost.

Adela Rogers St. Johns, a noted screenwriter who had done a number of pictures with Bow, wrote about her:

There seems to be no pattern, no purpose to her life. She swings from one emotion to another, but she gains nothing, stores up nothing for the future. She lives entirely in the present, not even for today, but in the moment. Clara is the total nonconformist. What she wants she gets, if she can. What she desires to do she does. She has a big heart, a remarkable brain, and the most utter contempt for the world in general. Time doesn't exist for her, except that she thinks it will stop tomorrow. She has real courage, because she lives boldly. Who are we, after all, to say she is wrong?

Bow's bohemian lifestyle and "dreadful" manners were considered reminders of the Hollywood elite's uneasy position in high society. Bow fumed: "They yell at me to be dignified. But what are the dignified people like? The people who are held up as examples for me? They are snobs. Frightful snobs ... I'm a curiosity in Hollywood. I'm a big freak, because I'm myself!"

MGM executive Paul Bern said Bow was "the greatest emotional actress on the screen", "sentimental, simple, childish and sweet," and considered her "hard-boiled attitude" a "defense mechanism".

With "talkies" The Wild Party, Dangerous Curves, and The Saturday Night Kid, all released in 1929, Bow kept her position as the top box-office draw and queen of Hollywood.

Neither the quality of Bow's voice nor her Brooklyn accent was an issue to Bow, her fans, or Paramount. However, Bow, like Charlie Chaplin, Louise Brooks, and most other silent film stars, did not embrace the novelty: "I hate talkies ... they're stiff and limiting. You lose a lot of your cuteness, because there's no chance for action, and action is the most important thing to me." A visibly nervous Bow had to do a number of retakes in The Wild Party because her eyes kept wandering up to the microphone overhead. "I can't buck progress .. I have to do the best I can," she said. In October 1929, Bow described her nerves as "all shot", saying that she had reached "the breaking point", and Photoplay cited reports of "rows of bottles of sedatives" by her bed.

According to the 1930 census, Bow lived at 512 Bedford Drive, together with her secretary and hairdresser, Daisy DeBoe (later DeVoe), in a house valued $25,000 with neighbors titled "Horse-keeper", "Physician", "Builder". Bow stated she was 23 years old, i.e., born 1906, contradicting the censuses of 1910 and 1920.

"Now they're having me sing. I sort of half-sing, half-talk, with hips-and-eye stuff. You know what I mean—like Maurice Chevalier. I used to sing at home and people would say, 'Pipe down! You're terrible!' But the studio thinks my voice is great."

With Paramount on Parade, True to the Navy, Love Among the Millionaires, and Her Wedding Night, Bow was second at the box-office only to Joan Crawford in 1930. With No Limit and Kick In, Bow held the position as fifth at box-office in 1931, but the pressures of fame, public scandals, overwork, and a damaging court trial charging her secretary Daisy DeVoe with financial mismanagement, took their toll on Bow's fragile emotional health. As she slipped closer to a major breakdown, her manager, B.P. Schulberg, began referring to her as "Crisis-a-day-Clara". In April, Bow was brought to a sanatorium, and at her request, Paramount released her from her final undertaking: City Streets (1931). At 25, her career was essentially over.

B.P. Schulberg tried to replace Bow with his girlfriend Sylvia Sidney, but Paramount went into receivership, lost its position as the biggest studio (to MGM), and fired Schulberg. David Selznick explained:

...[when] Bow was at her height in pictures we could make a story with her in it and gross a million and a half, where another actress would gross half a million in the same picture and with the same cast.

Bow left Hollywood for Rex Bell's ranch in Nevada, her "desert paradise", in June[120] and married him in then small-town Las Vegas in December. In an interview on December 17, Bow detailed her way back to health: sleep, exercise, and food, and the day after[122] she returned to Hollywood "for the sole purpose of making enough money to be able to stay out of it."

Soon, every studio in Hollywood (except Paramount) and even overseas wanted her services. Mary Pickford stated that Bow "was a very great actress" and wanted her to play her sister in Secrets (1933), Howard Hughes offered her a three-picture deal, and MGM wanted her to star in Red-Headed Woman (1932). Bow agreed to the script, but eventually rejected the offer since Irving Thalberg required her to sign a long-term contract.

On April 28, 1932, Bow signed a two-picture deal with Fox Film Corporation, for Call Her Savage (1932) and Hoop-La (1933). Both were successful; Variety favored the latter. The October 1934, Family Circle Film Guide rated the film as "pretty good entertainment", and of Miss Bow said: "This is the most acceptable bit of talkie acting Miss Bow has done." However, they noted, "Miss Bow is presented in her dancing duds as often as possible, and her dancing duds wouldn't weigh two pounds soaking wet." Bow commented on her revealing costume in Hoop-La: "Rex accused me of enjoying showing myself off. Then I got a little sore. He knew darn well I was doing it because we could use a little money these days. Who can't?"

Bow reflected on her career:

My life in Hollywood contained plenty of uproar. I'm sorry for a lot of it but not awfully sorry. I never did anything to hurt anyone else. I made a place for myself on the screen and you can't do that by being Mrs. Alcott's idea of a Little Woman.

Bow and actor Rex Bell (later a lieutenant governor of Nevada) had two sons, Tony Beldam (born 1934, changed name to Rex Anthony Bell, Jr., died July 8, 2011) and George Beldam, Jr. (born 1938). Bow retired from acting in 1933. In September 1937, she and Bell opened The 'It' Cafe in the Hollywood Plaza Hotel at 1637 N Vine Street near Hollywood Boulevard in Los Angeles. It closed in 1943. Her last public performance, albeit fleeting, came in 1947 on the radio show Truth or Consequences. Bow was the mystery voice in the show's "Mrs. Hush" contest.

Bow eventually began showing symptoms of psychiatric illness. She became socially withdrawn, and although she refused to socialize with her husband, she also refused to let him leave the house alone. In 1944, while Bell was running for the U.S. House of Representatives, Bow tried to commit suicide. A note was found in which Bow stated she preferred death to a public life.

In 1949, she checked into the Institute of Living to be treated for her chronic insomnia and diffuse abdominal pains. Shock treatment was tried and numerous psychological tests performed. Bow's IQ was measured "bright normal", while others claimed she was unable to reason, had poor judgment and displayed inappropriate or even bizarre behavior. Her pains were considered delusional and she was diagnosed with schizophrenia; however, she experienced neither auditory nor visual hallucinations. Analysts tied the onset of the illness, as well as her insomnia, to the "butcher knife episode" back in 1922, but Bow rejected psychological explanations and left the Institute. She did not return to her family. After leaving the institution, Bow lived alone in a bungalow, which she rarely left, until her death.

Bow spent her last years in Culver City, under the constant care of a nurse, Estalla Smith, living off an estate worth about $500,000 at the time of her death. In 1965, at age 60, she died of a heart attack, which was attributed to atherosclerosis discovered in an autopsy. She was interred in the Freedom Mausoleum, Sanctuary of Heritage at Forest Lawn Memorial Park Cemetery in Glendale, California. Her pallbearers were Harry Richman, Richard Arlen, Jack Oakie, Maxie Rosenbloom, Jack Dempsey, and Buddy Rogers.

#clara bow #silent movie stars #silent era #silent hollywood #silent cinema #golden age of hollywood

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lily-blue · 5 years ago

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characters: BTS & Red Velvet genre: thriller, futuristic au warning: none summary: The twelve most ambitious and promising university students are welcomed in Choego, the world’s first entirely artificial intelligence-driven city, to compete for five job contracts that could change their life. But what if something goes wrong? What if they get trapped? What if the city suddenly turns against them? Can they find a way out before the countdown reaches zero? words: 4,3K tagged: @philosopher-of-fandoms

➼ Chapter Index

Bae Joohyun looked in the mirror in the common bathroom with pure desperation in her eyes while she was trying to arrange the messy locks atop her head in a presentable manner in vain.

‘Come on! You can do this…’ she whispered under her nose out of anger when her shaky hands found the edge of the metal sink along with the support that she needed. As her long fingers clenched around the stern material, her knuckles became white from one minute to another and the girl majoring in Psychology failed to calm her ever so jittery heart. Joohyun’s chest was bouncing like crazy which meant no good as her breathing became heavy. And the fact that the first drops of sweat ran down her temple didn’t help either. She was on the verge of throwing up.

As her right shoulder crashed into the cool wall, she closed her eyes counting to three, four and five. It took all her willpower to overcome her past that seemed to haunt her ever since she’d crossed the threshold of their temporary accommodation. Just like her annoying roommates, she was willing to do anything to get one out of the five contracts the company in charge promised them, yet with every passing moment she became less and less confident that she actually had a chance. With that genius brat who had all the background knowledge this place could have ever needed and the one with bunny teeth who had been aware of the hidden cameras before that powerful woman could even mention them…

Joohyun took a breath trembling like those withered leaves that couldn’t resist the will of the storm then slid along the wall with faint sobs as she tried to whisper a little courage into the void. After all, she was a grown-up woman now and nothing like the street trash, her ex classmates had used to call her. Considering all those years when they had bullied her, it wasn’t a surprise that she felt uncomfortable sharing her bedroom with her rivals. What truly amazed her was the fact that she’d almost fallen asleep before that stupid kiddo next room had shut that damn door a bit louder than she’d supposed to.

Speaking of noises, Joohyun lifted her head up as soon as she noticed the slight change in the atmosphere. Something was off outside of the bathroom’s protecting shelter but the unmistaken sound of someone’s firm order was quiet as if it came from under heavy layers of water. She couldn’t really put her finger on the upcoming problem nor the possible solution of it that indeed was quite troublesome.

Joohyun pinched her arm multiple times so that she could gather enough power to stand up without falling onto her knees. Dizziness still lingered in hear body when she leaned over the sink to wash her face.

The psychology student left the bathroom with fierce eyes following the noises that came from the common area perfectly halfway between the girls’ and the boys’ dorm.

‘What the heck is going on?’ she asked as her feet bumped into the threshold yet no one listened or gave her a detailed explanation of the messy situation. So lack of any better idea, Joohyun chose to head back to her room staying out of Jimin’s way who seemed quite lost with a sleepy Hoseok at his heels. The Sociology student from Seoul National clenched his jaw in fear when the girl accidentally pushed his bag out of his hand.

The Gangnam girl in her room, Sooyoung or whatever she was called, was still asleep when Joohyun’s hand reached the handle absentmindedly playing with the lock before she would have stepped inside. The girl with the cool, American name, the one that didn’t freak her out, sent her a relieved smile then rolled her eyes turning towards the nuisance drooling all over the sheets. Joohyun felt sorry for her but didn’t lift a finger to help her nor the sleepyhead.

‘Wake up! We have to leave,’ Wendy prodded Sooyoung in the ribs chewing her own lips out of frustration. She couldn’t just walk away leaving the girl behind whether or not Seokjin and his sister were right about the simulation that was supposed to start after a hearty breakfast or at least a relaxing nap. This whole situation was so out of the blue just as she expected from a competition. After all, only a handful of them would be able to sign these dream contracts of wealth and acknowledgement. It was only fair to get their chances to prove their worth.

According to Seokjin’s explanation, their first task was simple. They had to get out of the third area of the town or at least the building before the clock would hit three and the electrical grid would be turned off by the scientists watching them from afar. In a real life situation, if they hadn’t gotten out of the dorm or any other building in Choego in time, they would have stuck inside without a functional air exchange system doomed to die in suffocation. They were testing their abilities in emergency.

‘It’s still dark outside, so please do me a favor and fuck off!’ Sooyoung murmured under her nose before she pushed the redhead further away with one of her hands. Then she turned her back on the chaos and pulled the pillow onto her face as a lame attempt of shutting out all the noises coming from the corridor. She couldn’t care less, seriously, since she was absolutely sure that there was already a contract waiting for her classy signature in the upper drawer of that smarty woman’s desk. ‘I need my beauty sleep because this face looks hella gorgeous for a reason. You should try it too instead of those cheap products you use.’

Joohyun almost burst into giggles at Gangnam girl’s sassy reply while she was packing her stuff paying extra attention to her energy bars and water bottles just in case the simulation turned out to be more tiring than they’d thought. Not to mention that there was always a slight chance of them not being able to come back to the closed area until this whole thing was over. She couldn’t be careless even though she was finally satisfied and full of confidence now that she found someone who wasn’t a real match for her.

‘Come on! We’re teammates, don’t you remember?’ Wendy tried to reason as she pulled the blanket off of daddy’s princess throwing the soft textile onto the carpet. She put her hands onto her waist, flames dancing in her eyes, then kicked the wooden frame of the bed three times to got Sooyoung’s attention. She was scary in her own, warm-hearted way. ‘I won’t leave you here, so get your shit together and get up before I stop asking you nicely.’

After a few more grumpy moans, Sooyoung finally realized that she had no other choice left but to follow Wendy’s orders and the fact only made her already irritating personality worse as if it was possible. She changed her clothes with utter care regardless of the pressure that her roommates failed to put on her shoulders then made a high ponytail and also applied some dark blue eyeshadow just to get on their nerves. If Wendy hadn’t insisted on cooperation so badly, Joohyun would have left the room by then without regret washing over her. She had to admit, the redhead seemed to be a strong ally against the others. She needed Wendy’s fearless attitude - at least, until she didn’t find someone better.

When Sooyoung finally finished wasting their precious time with unnecessary things like searching for the world’s sweetest perfume in her flower patterned dressing case or putting a bedside lamp on the threshold to hold up the door that had constantly closed itself while she’d tried to take her bags out, she burst out of the room acting as their leader that boiled both of the girls’ blood. While the redhead’s face became a light shade of crimson, Joohyun’s nails dug crescents deep into her palms.

‘How dares she! That little piece of s…,’ she started with clenched teeth, a wide vein pulsing on her neck. She was more than furious but then she noticed a familiar object on Sooyoung’s bedside table and it cut the air out of her lungs. It was the same, neutral bracelet she had on her left wrist, the one that could open most of the doors in their accomodation along with some others outside of the building. It was more than a nice accessory which made it hard to believe that anyone - including daddy’s little princess too - would actually leave something as important as their master key behind. Yet, it was laying on the bedside table therefore Joohyun chose to take advantage of Sooyoung’s dense personality and put the accessory into her pocket with a satisfied smile playing on her lips. For the first time since they crossed the dorm’s threshold, she was happy to be in the same team as the Gangnam girl.

It took the Psychology major a whole minute to catch up with her roommates but eventually, her shoulder crashed into Wendy’s who greeted her with the same smile she had done barely twenty minutes ago. She didn’t care why the other girl was late, the only thing that mattered was Joohyun finding them in the middle of the mess. For the rest of the way, they stuck together as if they were indeed each other’s best chance although a part of Joohyun knew that without Wendy’s maternal instincts, the redhead would have never stayed by their side. As sad as it sounded, they were both useless - while Joohyun couldn’t help her win, Sooyoung was a real pain in the ass.

‘Holy Versace! Where is it? Aish. It’s supposed to be here!’ the Gangnam girl in her perfect leather jacket, ripped jeans and high heels combo cried out, lips trembling in agony. She looked devastated as if she was fighting with tears and for an ephemeral moment Joohyun almost felt sorry for her. ‘I must left it in my room. It has to be there!’ she came to a conclusion as her left fist crashed into her right palm.

Sooyoung gave her bag to Wendy paying no attention to the number of those bags the girl had already carried then turned her back on them and rushed back to her room regardless of the redhead’s opposition. If one could kill with a single glance, Miss Better Than Everyone Else would have been dead by now.

Wendy’s struggle was obvious, Joohyun could see it in her eyes. She couldn’t decide whether she should have run after her roommate or wait in one place completely clueless therefore she put her weight from one leg to another everytime she made up her mind.

‘Come on! We have to hurry,’ Joohyun cried out wrapping her fingers around the girl’s wrist at the same time as a pastel haired guy grabbed Wendy’s backpack.

‘Thank God, I’ve found you,’ Namjoon said pulling his dumbfounded girlfriend close to his chest. He was still in his pyjamas as if he had come looking for Wendy as soon as he had gotten out of his bed and a part of Joohyun felt bitter being unable to tear her gaze away from the lovebirds. She was twenty-six, three years older than Wendy, yet she’d never had anyone who would have looked at her the way Namjoon looked at his girl.

Chewing on her lips, Joohyun couldn’t help but to consider herself as the unwanted third wheel in a cheesy relationship therefore she felt truly relieved when Namjoon took two bags out of Wendy’s hands then pulled her towards the exit. Being left behind, the Psychology major’s breathing became heavy that didn’t take her by surprise. Whenever anxiety took control over her body, the symptoms appeared. Yet, as she recognized Seokjin’s calm voice from somewhere behind her back, she had the presence of mind to go after Sooyoung. She had to tell her that she’d found her bracelet. Wendy would have been furious if she had found out that she had taken it on purpose.

She arrived at their room’s threshold when Gangnam girl threw her blanket onto the ground finding the limited edition lipstick she’d been looking for and the fact only that she had noticed its absence before the bracelet’s pushed Joohyun to her limits. When the corridor seemed completely empty, she closed their room’s door, getting the lamp out of the way. For a few more seconds, she watched Sooyoung who smiled with satisfaction then ran out of the accommodation.

Jeon Jungkook was one of the last candidates who reached the common area that also meant that he got the ungrateful task to check every single room looking for abandoned fellows. It sucked and was most likely a waste of time but he couldn’t have come up with a proper excuse - as Seulgi did - when Seokjin had asked him to do this little favor for him while he helped the said girl with her belongings. He had to check the girls’ dormitory since the boys’ was already empty. All this trouble for a weak girl and her weak arms.

Fixing both straps of his backpack, Jungkook turned his back on the others with an annoyed face pouting like a child who didn’t get what he wanted. If that idiot roommate of his with his lilac hair and bad attitude hadn’t left his stuff in the way making it impossible for the younger to pack his things, Jungkook would have been the first who made it outside. It was something the engineer would bet his life on unlike on Taehyung’s intentions. That guy was a mystery.

‘You better see that I’m doing this for the team,’ he cursed under his nose reminding himself of all those hidden cameras the company had installed to observe every tiny step they made. He hoped that his cooperative skill was rather an advantage than a negative point written right under his name.

He stood in front of the bathroom’s door knocking on its cool surface when one of the girls ran across the corridor without even noticing his presence. Truth to tell, Jungkook wasn’t any better either since he couldn’t put his finger on the girl’s identity. They were all the same to him with their dark eyes, slim lips and long hairs. They were his rivals, his enemies and those who couldn’t accept the cruel reality were all fools destined to lose. Like Seokjin and his little sister who warned every candidate instead of leaving them behind. If he had been in their shoes, he wouldn’t have bothered with such things.

When he didn’t get any response from the bathroom, Jungkook walked down the corridor kicking an imaginary rock as if he had been on the street near to his family’s home. They lived in the suburbs in a small rooftop house, a flickering lamp pose guiding their way after a rough day at work. Because if there was something Sooyoung was actually right about, it was this place being everything his parents couldn’t afford but Jungkook was ready to change their fate.

As his steps died in front of the double room, the boy found it amusing that its owners had spent a couple of minutes to make the beds arranging the sheets and the blankets that he’d left alone as messy as it’d become while he was sleeping.

‘What a waste of time,’ he said tilting his head to right as he swallowed an inappropriate laughter and let his hand fall back to his side. One room was down and another had left to go.

Scratching his nape out of boredom, it took him six tiny steps and two annoyed sighs to reach the next room on the opposite side of the hallway. Unlike the other, this one wasn’t exactly clean nor empty - creasy sheets on the floor, bedside lamp broken and a girl with her back leaning against the wall - but the fact that Park Sooyoung was the one playing with the handle as if she’d had all the time in the world didn’t get the boy in the mood to play the selfless teammate. He stopped only for a mere minute to check the place behind her figure through the transparent door before he continued his way back to the common area.

Sooyoung didn’t understand what was happening but one thing was for sure, she couldn’t open the damn door without her bracelet. Fucking high-tech security. And that idiot, ugly, little accessory was nowhere to be found.

‘Hello! As you can see, I’m still here! Open the stupid door!’ she screamed into the void addressing her disrespectful words to no one in particular. She was mad at the company, their programme and the simulation that had started way too early for her liking. She prefered long naps and lazy mornings over hectic tasks out of nowhere and also liked her hot americano served with cold milk and sugar before she got out of bed. If only her father hadn’t insisted on putting her onto the list of the candidates! She would have been one of their employees by now.

She snorted when a dark shadow came across her view forcing her gaze to stick on the young boy whom she had called a charity case not so long ago. His features were kind of cute although tiredness dug itself into his appearance not to mention his clothes that were too cheap for Sooyoung’s taste. She hated the idea of begging for a poor guy’s help yet she tugged on the handle with all her might to got Jungkook’s attention. As awful as it sounded, she needed him. Well, his help to get her a girl who could have opened the door to be precise.

‘Hey, you! Help me!’ she screamed over and over again until her throat went dry and the saliva started to taste like iron in her mouth. A part of her - to the Gangnam girl’s honest surprise - was eager to prove her father wrong showing him that she was capable of passing the tests yet it would have been so easy to give up, throwing a tantrum as she always did. Last summer, she’d gotten a new car after she’d cried her eyes out in public. Getting the coolest job on Earth should have been as easy as pie.

When the girl’s hand flinched, Jungkook’s sank into his pockets, his brows knitted to each other with a strange mixture of confusion and annoyance. After all those things the Gangnam girl had said, he would have rather burnt his hands than carrying her designer bags full of unnecessary items like her expensive perfumes and golden accessories. He rolled his eyes then turned his back on the girl, walking back to the common area. By the time his sneakers crossed the dining room, everyone else was outside.

Sooyoung screamed when the boy disappeared and her knees turned into jelly as she fell onto the ground. She was trembling with rage meanwhile her hands slid down the glass leaving some dirty lines behind. She couldn’t believe that no one came back to rescue her when she was everything a guy could look for. She was beautiful and wealthy. Everyone desired a piece of her time.

‘Screw you! Screw you all!’ she whispered under her nose as the first teardrop fell onto her light blue jeans. Her knuckles became white when she clenched both of her shaking palms. The glass felt cold against her skin although Sooyoung’s forehead was burning as if desperation could have literally set her on fire.

But as it was bound to be, eventually the flames of her rage and sorrow died off followed by a couple of salty tears, tiredness sucking out all of the Gangnam girl’s energy. By the time she quitted playing with the handle, her eyes became heavy walking on the edge of falling asleep. Yet, her entire body twitched when the clock finally hit the next hour and the super modern building ran out of juice. As the silence melted into the darkness, Sooyoung felt nothing but loneliness.

Jungkook on the other hand was surrounded with people as his arm leaned against the door that had shut behind his back. He was panting although he couldn’t have been happier as he wiped the sweat off his forehead, smiling like an idiot. After all, he had done it! Regardless of Seokjin’s tiresome orders, he’d indeed completed the first phase and had gotten out of the dorm within their limited period of time. Thus unlike daddy’s little princess who had made a mockery out of his financial state in front of everyone, Jungkook was still in the game.

‘Hah! Who’s the pitiful now?’ he asked in a voice so faint that his question was barely above a whisper. He didn’t mean to be rude since that kind of behaviour wasn’t exactly his cup of tea but he hated when someone looked down on him simply because he couldn’t afford expensive clothes and fancy dinners and Sooyoung’s failure truly pleased his soul. It felt as if the universe had been in balance once again giving a little piece of bread back to those who worked hard enough to earn its kindness.

He sat down on the stairs far away from the others who were busy to find out what was this situation all about and what could have been the next task on the company’s list. If he had heard correctly, the guy in the fullcap insisted on staying in one place while the young heir of the Park family wanted to keep going. Considering the disfuncional public lighting, he personally was on Jimin’s side although Hoseok was right about the risks of an unknown area. If the scientists were measuring their abilities in emergency, sooner or later they had to make some tough decisions or else they would lose.

‘Is everybody here?’ Seokjin asked after he tousled his sister’s hair, sending her an encouraging smile. He stood up from the base of the nearest lamp pose then looked around in the dark, observing the groups that had been formed during the mess. Other than Jungkook, Yoongi was the only one who didn’t look for unnecessary company as he was sitting on his own a few metres from the wall. He stared back at the younger with his characteristic, emotionless gaze although when their eyes finally met, he was the one who turned away.

Jungkook snorted before he leaned his head against the concrete facing the bottom of the first floor’s balcony. What could he say, even a blind person could have told that he tried to avoid Seokjin’s question on purpose.

‘Sooyoung’s still missing,’ one of the girls declared out of the blue and to Jungkook’s honest surprise, there was concern in the smooth velvet of her voice as if she had been truly worried about the gossip girl with her unbearable attitude. Putting his weight onto both of his elbows, Jungkook looked at the redhead ever so confused, brows knitted to each other with disbelief. ‘She left something in our room so she ran back and…’ she rambled and her hands were living their own lives as they fidgeted with the hem of her tee.

It didn’t take long, the boy lost his interest in no time even though his gaze stuck on the scene when Seokjin shot a disappointed glance at him. Jungkook gulped when the older managed to decipher the details and caught him red-handed. Both of his ears became tomato red the moment Seokjin’s shoulders tensed up, nails digging into his own flesh.

‘You’re right,’ Jungkook agreed on the fact that Sooyoung had gone back to her room in order to find something really precious although he truly doubted that anything in that damn place could have been more valuable than the contracts they were all fighting for. He rolled his eyes at the thought then stood up and walked towards the biggest group including Wendy and Seokjin. ‘She seemed pretty busy even asking for my help to carry her stuff.’

He stopped right in front of the girl after all it was her whom he was talking to. Then he took a deep breath as if he could have sucked some confidence out of the cool air.

‘And?’

‘And as you can see, she ran out of time,’ he replied as he crossed his arms in front of his chest that was bouncing like crazy. He couldn’t let a girl make him unsure of himself, he couldn’t let her put all the blame on him when Sooyoung was the one who had chosen an object over their task. Jungkook lifted his chin up with a loud snort before he continued. ‘I’m not her puppet, it’s not my problem.’

And not my fault either, a tiny voice added whispering in his head.

‘You selfish little…’ Wendy screamed pointing at the boy’s back when he was ready to leave. If Namjoon hadn’t wrapped his arms around her petite figure, she would have surely gone after Jungkook to punch him in the face.

‘He’s right,’ a deep voice said on the boy’s right and Jungkook didn’t really know how to feel about Taehyung’s statement. It was true that he felt grateful for him for taking his side but it didn’t change the fact that something was off with him. A person like the guy with the lilac hair, a person who acted all mysterious meant no good. In Jungkook’s opinion, he could have been more dangerous than the guy with his Computer Science degree and gaze as cold as ice. ‘It’s a competition. We’re better off without her.’

Taehyung’s claim was followed by dead silence. No one could find the right words to say hence no one dared to speak. And it was worse than any lecture Jungkook had ever gotten.

➼ chapter III.

#bts scenarios #red velvet #ssbyme #thriller #code zero #futuristic au

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shlrzy09 · 5 years ago

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A Letter To My Mother

To my mother,

As it was said in class, fear is an identification that I am at risk. Ma, what I am about to tell you is something I have never shared with you. When Donald Trump was running for president, I did not think that his bigoted self would win. I really had hope for this country. Coincidentally, that was around the same time that I was very involved here in the university and I put in a lot of work to make changes organizing with student leaders and my community. When the news channels said he won the election, I remember being in the student center here at Rutgers University and the shock that went through my body caused me to drop my stuff on the floor. I immediately went back to my off-campus housing and I cried the whole night. I thought about myself and the people who similarly identified as me- queer bisexual scholar, artist, activist woman of color. I thought about you, Frankie (my sister), and Alex (my step dad). I thought about my community and the closer communities we work with. I panicked, I did not know what to do so I went home the next day. You thought I visited to taste your home cooked meal but in my head, it was hell’s kitchen. I needed to know that you were safe because fear took over me and somehow, I imagined what life would be like after these four years and what it would be like for us. I coped through writing and came up with this poem:

“Before listening to me,

Remember that what you hear,

And how you’re listening

Is a projecting force from within.

So, bear with me.

Take this to your deepest core.

If you ask me why I am the way I am,

I want you to know that

I am the way I am.

But

if I had one chance to pray,

I would pray this,

Please bless me, bless me, bless me because-

Here I am, pouring sweat on my body,

But it hurts every time it touches me.

It burns like acid-looking/wax-burning on a candlelight, lit with fire

as if I was made from one.

As if I carry the ocean waves of tears

Of my ancestors crying for

Not another day where

They had to give little pieces of themselves,

Willingly being robbed or their tongues,

Bear,

To ride the bandwagon of such a white blanket.

Spaces.

No.

My tears speak for how heavy my heart feels.

its weight pushing down my organs

trying to find the right ways to escape a body so whole,

yet so hollow.

As if I stand a chance.

I can feel my ancestors’ footsteps marching,

Running, crawling,

a smoke of sand blowing everywhere,

Stumbling back home.

No.

Rooted from my veins, my blood-

My blood always find the right points of temperature enough just to boil immediately

as if it was a default setting,

regularly bound to happen.

Like my body is not mine to keep

Every single time someone who does not

Look like me speak.

My blood boils

Ooh

My blood boils.

As if my body was wrapped up,

bonded by the pacific ring of fire.

My blood boils.

No.

On schedule, there was no structure as to how I scrape the walls of my bones

And no, it doesn’t hurt,

And no.

(I mean)

yes,

red alert,

But not

to then revert

the forbidden tending motion

Of the protection I had

From this

Red

White

Blue

Land of the

Red white blue

Land of the

Free?

United Snakes of America,

Land of the free,

Applies to you,

And you,

But not for me.

One nation

Under God,

Indivisible,

With liberty,

And justice for all

- except if you’re not white.

I knew all along.

Somebody like me will never really be

My skin so brown

My eyes so wide

My hair so black.

My teeth so bright.

I can’t quite find the silver lining.

How could I have been so foolish?

I want to feel the privilege of

Sleeping peacefully

Knowing that racism,

Misogyny,

And

Intolerance will not affect me.

But

I am young

And foolish

Full of ambition

But

I am young

And foolish

Full of ambition

In this country.

Need I say more?

I’m not mad. I just want you to feel what it feels like.”

Ma, we got here ten years ago and it still feel like I do not belong here. There is this concept we talked about in class about humanitas vs anthropos and I could not help to think that I am the other (anthropos). The white folks (humanitas) have done their job again making me feel like I am under them instead of next to them. What it means to me now is that my work is not just for me. This degree is not just for me. This is for you and the family, everyone after me, my brothers and sisters, and everyone who needs love in this country. And then I ask, are we inside the border of something we did not expect to be in or we were just really blind to the reality that this country was not meant to be for us? I believe in the power of visibility. This is our struggle and what I am about to tell you is theirs.

James Baldwin’s “I am Not Your Negro,” and Ta-nehisi Coates’ “Between The World and Me,” covered the stories of black bodies here in America. Let me tell you, the subjects of their books were not so different than us. Baldwin and Coates were phenomenal writers who exposed so much about their truths. They wrote about their communities with respect and power. I will never turn my back against any writers who talk about the concepts of their communities’ realities because I aspire to be like one of those writers.

Vulgar racism was one of the concepts that were mentioned in their books. Vulgar can mean rude, distasteful, overdone, or in our language- “bastos.” I do not need to explain to you what racism is. You know what it is. Ma, do you know that the Black communities face this vulgar racism the most? I thought that my middle school bullies were the worst, but no. This is beyond calling me chink and making fun of how I say “detention.” This is beyond the point where I hold my tears all day, run to our bathroom, cry, and cause harm to my body because this country was a huge adjustment for me so I had to learn how to assimilate the hard way.

Ma, in Baldwin’s book, he shared his despair about the time that they had heroes who fought many battles for them but with this concept of vulgar racism, their heroes were only able to fight for a limited amount of time. I pray my respect to Malcolm X, Martin Luther King Jr., and Medgar Evans.

There was also another incident when Dorothy Counts, a powerful black student, was taunted and disrespected by white folks for attending an all-white, non-integrated school. That could have been me, ma. I think back about middle school and how nice and cruel the folks were but never this much. Ma, this bigoted white community willingly hurt these humble people for the color of their skin and their desire to mobilize. All they wanted was love and to be treated equally.

And then in Coates’ book, he shared many examples of police brutality. Tamir Rice, Eric Garner, Michael Brown, Trayvon Martin, and many more. You’ve watched the news. You’ve seen how they drop dead like flies. Ma, I learned that it is important to say their names, to remember them, and to know how they died. This is all out of respect. They are constrained in their black bodies. I see chains tied up all around them to the point where it is questionable how they even breathe. They operate through the concept of fear, ma. There are many African-American families and other intersectional identities in the Black communities that live through fear.

This similar fear, I empathize when Donald Trump became president. When my stuff dropped on the floor of the student center, I felt their pain on top of my fear for the future of this country. I am a permanent resident trying to naturalize myself into a citizen of this country I am supposed to love and die for but this is how they treat their people. Tell me how to maneuver around that, please. You always know what is best for me.

Other concepts are the causes and effects of racism. I have mentioned a little about what happens after racism exposes itself in the air but for the Black community ma, again, they have it worse.

In Baldwin’s book, he mentioned a statement that struck me with multiple reflections about how the black community have been treated since the centuries of slavery back in the day. He said, “Blacks are not human, or as human as they are,” (pg 40). This automatically sets a divide between their community and the rest of us. But I understand that it is not their fault. This institutional racism played a huge role that made their lives play out like this.

In Coates’ book, he mentioned one of the young honorable children who died through police brutality. Ma, he was the same age as RJ (my cousin) the year this happened. The black body is not going to be truly safe in this country unless they know the ins and outs of the streets or even in stuff like higher education. The cause of racism is their black bodies. The effects other than death equals fear throughout their lives. A black child cannot grow up the same way a white child would. The black child, to me, has to grow up faster in different routes.

Because I know it is not about me, selfishly, what this means to me is that I am not alone. I am not the only one who struggles with some type of institutional system set up against me and people like me. Positively, I know that I will be able to determine who can help me understand the struggle and how to get out of it. I know you are thinking that this does not affect you but to think about it, the foundation of the oppression we face roots from the hatred this country has against people of color, especially the Black communities.

Ma, I know my tattoos do not mean much to you and in fact, I remember you resenting me for them. I have a safety pin to symbolize a safe haven within my body for people to see that they are safe with me. I have “Love Yourself First” to remind me to healthily love others. I have arrows moving forward to remind me that I am a force that gets set back in order to build momentum for the push forward. My narrative, along with the Black communities only scream unity within adversity. Our narratives need to be heard and I believe that visibility matters. I am your daughter and this is the reality I live in my head. All you know is that I am a college student working for a degree so then I can have better opportunities in the future so then I can buy you a house in the Philippines that you always wanted, and to get us out of Irvington. What you do not know is that Irvington raised me along with you. My friends from middle school are the foundation of my knowledge through the streets and they helped me improve my English. My high school friends taught me about love and relationships with people. And my college friends, I know I am going to cherish for the rest of my life. The people I met, the teachers who believed in me, and the experiences I have seen and heard of all helped shape who I am today. I made the decision to dedicate the rest of my life to my community. Do not worry. You did not raise a quitter. Ma, there are some good in the bad after all. It is just that people like us need to look for the good using different routes and we have to work three times harder. That’s all. Thank you for giving birth to me because I believe in healthy, gradual change and I will be responsible for some of it.

Para sa iyo,

Ang anak mo’ng si Patricia.

#words #personal #iamanimmigrant #firstgen #cortado

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webcomixwastaken · 6 years ago

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I’m getting some real emotional fatigue from the protests. Because China’s now doubled down on an attrition strategy, revealing their not-so-hidden hand of not caring at all about the state of the city. I’ve always suspected this; I’ll bet Beijing has wanted to “put HK in its place” for while. They’ll gladly gun the kids down. They don’t have much to lose from it anymore. And they know, just like the protesters also know, that in the long run they will win and we will die.

It sounds like hyperbole but meaning that our way of life will die, our ideals and what formed HK identity that was shaped so much by both pre and post-WWII, but mostly post because of the flood of refugees from Big 6 in the 50s and 60s seeking safety and food under the shade of Lion Rock. If China has its way, and it probably will, history will be pushed aside and rewritten to forget these things. They’re already nitpicking at weird details like our use of English -- you’ve been back to China for 20 years now, why haven’t you renounced the 150+ you spent under British rule?! Not saying anything how 80% of my current primary students speak Mandarin over Canto. Go watch Ten Years, it’s on Netflix now.

We don’t remember our colonisers as fondly as you think we do -- in fact, the young age of protesters out in the streets means that most of them barely have any memories of the Brits. A friend I sheltered on Aug 5th after he was teargassed a few blocks away from my apartment was born AFTER the handover, for example. They have no nostalgia goggles to speak of at all. They are fighting for THEMSELVES.

And they’re exhausted. Some crossed a line the other day but when I peer into my heart I find something more akin to compassionate pity and apologies that they have been stretched so thin and so desperately that it’s come to this. But they are literally being beaten up week after week after week, their patience, grief and fear has turned into rage. There’s a girl permanently blinded and a guy whose teeth broke. Three suicides if not more? How you gonna say that they’re being PAID for this shit?!

Oh yeah, those “leftist” Twits who point at the American flags (which make up like 3% of the crowd of thousands and is NOT a leading tactic of the protest whatsoever. they’re often just kind of ignored) and whining foreign influence are just as tiring because a) you ain’t never been here ya numbnuts, your opinions are baseless and demonstrate nothing but an acute misunderstanding of actual HK mindset and b) we don’t want them here either and the half-handful of folk waving them about don’t know shit about America other than “hey, they’re a powerful country let’s pander to them”. Seriously, do you think that if they had even a smidgen of clarity about the current US government that they would even bother? A choice moment is our Great Field Commander (of french fries and loud shirts) Hong Kong Hermit telling the literal TWO Proud Boys trying to ingratiate themselves into our affairs to fuck right off. More than anything, these stupid hot takes are free fuel for wumao to retweet and sow more discord and confusion. I fuckin hate it.

Why is Nationalism a thing at all. It’s the dumbest ideology in the world with zero evidence ever to back it up EVER. You see it happening here. You see it happening there. And over there, too. UGH.

And on a non-political note, the two books I’ve tried to start reading this month are just boring/hint at a pedophilic subplot that if depicted romantically I will immediately NOPE right out of (I bought it only because it was incredibly cheap at book fair and the title amused me). Maybe I just need to mark as DNF and reserve another Peter Mayle from the library because I’d rather be gorging on cheese in the French countryside than dealing with all this

#Hong Kong #Comix rants

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feministdragon · 6 years ago

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Peter Jackson’s Cartoon War

When director-producer Peter Jackson’s World War I film, “They Shall Not Grow Old,” which miraculously transforms grainy, choppy black-and-white archival footage from the war into a modern 3D color extravaganza, begins, he bombards us with the clichés used to ennoble war. Veterans, over background music, say things like “I wouldn’t have missed it,” “I would go through it all over again because I enjoyed the service life” and “It made me a man.” It must have taken some effort after the war to find the tiny minority of veterans willing to utter this rubbish. Military life is a form of servitude, prolonged exposure to combat leaves you broken, scarred for life by trauma and often so numb you have difficulty connecting with others, and the last thing war does is make you a man.

Far more common was the experience of the actor Wilfrid Lawson, who was wounded in the war and as a result had a metal plate in his skull. He drank heavily to dull the incessant pain. In his memoirs “Inside Memory,” Timothy Findley, who acted with him, recalled that Lawson “always went to bed sodden and all night long he would be dragged from one nightmare to another—often yelling—more often screaming—very often struggling physically to free himself of impeding bedclothes and threatening shapes in the shadows.” He would pound the walls, shouting “Help! Help! Help!” The noise, my dear—and the people.

David Lloyd George, wartime prime minister of Britain, in his memoirs used language like this to describe the conflict:

… [I]nexhaustible vanity that will never admit a mistake … individuals who would rather the million perish than that they as leaders should own—even to themselves—that they were blunderers … the notoriety attained by a narrow and stubborn egotism, unsurpassed among the records of disaster wrought by human complacency … a bad scheme badly handled … impossible orders issued by Generals who had no idea what the execution of their commands really meant … this insane enterprise … this muddy and muddle-headed venture. …

The British Imperial War Museum, which was behind the Jackson film, had no interest in portraying the dark reality of war. War may be savage, brutal and hard, but it is also, according to the myth, ennobling, heroic and selfless. You can believe this drivel only if you have never been in combat, which is what allows Jackson to modernize a cartoon version of war.

The poet Siegfried Sassoon in “The Hero” captured the callousness of war:

“Jack fell as he’d have wished,” the Mother said, And folded up the letter that she’d read. “The Colonel writes so nicely.” Something broke In the tired voice that quavered to a choke. She half looked up. “We mothers are so proud Of our dead soldiers.” Then her face was bowed.

Quietly the Brother Officer went out. He’d told the poor old dear some gallant lies That she would nourish all her days, no doubt. For while he coughed and mumbled, her weak eyes Had shone with gentle triumph, brimmed with joy, Because he’d been so brave, her glorious boy.

He thought how “Jack,” cold-footed, useless swine, Had panicked down the trench that night the mine Went up at Wicked Corner; how he’d tried To get sent home; and how, at last, he died, Blown to small bits. And no one seemed to care Except that lonely woman with white hair.

Our own generals and politicians, who nearly two decades ago launched the greatest strategic blunder in American history and have wasted nearly $6 trillion on conflicts in the Middle East that we cannot win, are no less egotistical and incompetent. The images of our wars are as carefully controlled and censored as the images from World War I. While the futility and human carnage of our current conflicts are rarely acknowledged in public, one might hope that we could confront the suicidal idiocy of World War I a century later.

Leon Wolff, in his book “In Flanders Fields: The 1917 Campaign,” writes of World War I:

“It had meant nothing, solved nothing, and proved nothing; and in so doing had killed 8,538,315 men and variously wounded 21,219,452. Of 7,750,919 others taken prisoner or missing, well over a million were later presumed dead; thus the total deaths (not counting civilians) approach ten million. The moral and mental defects of the leaders of the human race had been demonstrated with some exactitude. One of them (Woodrow Wilson) later admitted that the war had been fought for business interests; another (David Lloyd George) had told a newspaperman: ‘If people really knew, the war would be stopped tomorrow, but of course they don’t—and can’t know. The correspondents don’t write and the censorship wouldn’t pass the truth.’

There is no mention in the film of the colossal stupidity of the British general staff that sent hundreds of thousands of working-class Englishmen—they are seen grinning into the camera with their decayed teeth—in wave after wave, week after week, month after month, into the mouths of German machine guns to be killed or wounded. There is no serious exploration of the iron censorship that hid the realities of the war from the public and saw the press become a shill for warmongers. There is no investigation into how the war was used by the state, as it is today, as an excuse to eradicate civil liberties. There is no look at the immense wealth made by the arms manufacturers and contractors or how the war plunged Britain deep into debt with war-related costs totaling 70 percent of the gross national product. Yes, we see some pictures of gruesome wounds, digitalized into color, yes, we hear how rats ate corpses, but the war in the film is carefully choreographed, stripped of the deafening sounds, repugnant smells and most importantly the crippling fear and terror that make a battlefield a stygian nightmare. We glimpse dead bodies, but there are no long camera shots of the slow agony of those dying of horrific wounds. Sanitized images like these are war pornography. That they are no longer jerky and grainy and have been colorized in 3D merely gives old war porn a modern sheen.

“When the war was not very active, it was really rather fun to be in the front line,” a veteran says in the film. “It was a sort of outdoor camp holiday with a slight spice of danger to make it interesting.”

Insipid comments like that defined the perception of the war at home. The clash between a civilian population that saw the war as “a sort of outdoor camp holiday” and those who experienced it led to profound estrangement. The poet Charles Sorley wrote: “I should like so much to kill whoever was primarily responsible for the war.” And journalist and author Philip Gibbs noted that soldiers had a deep hatred of civilians who believed the lies. “They hated the smiling women in the streets. They loathed the old men. … They desired that profiteers should die by poison-gas. They prayed to God to get the Germans to send Zeppelins to England—to make the people know what war meant.”

Military studies have determined that after 60 days of continuous combat, 98 percent of those who survive will have become psychiatric casualties. The common trait among the 2 percent who were able to endure sustained combat was a predisposition toward “aggressive psychopathic personalities.” Lt. Col. David Grossman wrote: “It is not too far from the mark to observe that there is something about continuous, inescapable combat which will drive 98 percent of all men insane, and the other 2 percent were crazy when they got there.”

The military cliques in American society are as omnipotent as they were in World War I. The symbols of war and militarism, then and now, have a quasi-religious aura, especially in our failed democracy. Our incompetent generals—such as David Petraeus, whose surges only prolonged the Iraq War and raised the casualty figures and whose idea to arm “moderate” rebels in Syria was a debacle—are as lionized as the pig-headed and vainglorious Gen. Douglas Haig, the British commander in chief, who resisted innovations such as the tank, the airplane and the machine gun, which he called “a much overrated weapon.” He believed the cavalry would play the decisive role in winning the war. Haig, in the Battle of the Somme, oversaw 60,000 casualties on the first day of the offensive, July 1, 1916. None of his military objectives were achieved. Twenty thousand lay dead between the lines. The wounded cried out for days. This did not dampen Haig’s ardor to sacrifice his soldiers. Determined to make his plan of bursting through the German lines and unleashing his three divisions of cavalry on the fleeing enemy, he kept the waves of assaults going for four months until winter forced him to cease. By the time Haig was done, the army had suffered more than 400,000 casualties and accomplished nothing. Lt. Col. E.T.F. Sandys, who saw 500 of his soldiers killed or wounded on the first day at the Somme, wrote two months later, “I have never had a moment’s peace since July 1st.” He then shot himself to death in a London hotel room. Joe Sacco’s illustrated book “The Great War,” a 24-foot-long wordless panorama that depicts the first day of the Battle of Somme, reveals more truth about the horror of war than Jackson’s elaborate restoration of old film.

https://www.truthdig.com/articles/peter-jacksons-cartoon-war/

Jackson closes the film with an army ditty about prostitution. “You might forget the gas and shell,” the song goes, “but you’ll nev’r forget the Mademoiselle! Hinky-dinky, parlez-vous?”

Tens of thousands of girls and women, whose brothers, fathers, sons and husbands were dead or crippled, and whose homes often had been destroyed, became impoverished and often homeless. They were easy prey for the brothels, including the military-run brothels, and the pimps that serviced the soldiers. There is nothing amusing or cute about lying on a straw mat and being raped by as many as 60 men a day, unless you are the rapist.

“Give sorrow words,” William Shakespeare reminded us, “The grief that does not speak whispers the o’erfraught heart and bids it break.”

It is fortunate all the participants in the war are dead. They would find the film another example of the monstrous lie that denied their reality, ignored or minimized their suffering and never held the militarists, careerists, profiteers and imbeciles who prosecuted the war accountable. War is the raison d’être of technological society. It unleashes demons. And those who profit from these demons, then and now, work hard to keep them hidden.

https://www.truthdig.com/articles/peter-jacksons-cartoon-war/

#war #Iraq War #warmongers #cowards #technological society #technology #lies we have been told #lies we tell ourselves

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bitchinhanscom · 7 years ago

Text

Pictures of You Pt.3

Parts: [1] - [2]

Pairing: Slowburn!Richie x Reader

Summary: You and your friends discover you’ve all had similar haunting experiences and you welcome a new member into the Loser’s Club

Your nose is stopped up and your eyes feel small and puffy. It was a result of all the crying you did last night. After dinner you had went back to your room and cried some more. You cried until you were dried out. Then you laid down in your bed and stared at the ceiling for a good hour. You couldn’t remember when you actually fell asleep.

Your mom had left for work early in the morning. You didn’t have any plans for the day and you honestly didn’t want to do anything. You felt like shit. You thought you would probably lay in bed all day. Maybe you would watch a movie in the living room later or something.

Your plan to do nothing is ruined around eleven when you get a knock on your door. Your hair is a mess, you’re still in your clothes from yesterday, and your eyes are probably still a little puffy, but honestly you don’t really give a fuck.

You open up your front door and standing on your front porch is none other than Bill Denbrough.

“Hey. Are you busy?” he asks

“Uh, no. What’s up?”

“B-B-Beverly called. She t-told us to come over right away.”

“Us?” you ask. Then you look over Bill’s shoulder and notice Richie, Stan, and Ben waiting on their bikes.

“Okay. Just give me a minute to change.” you quickly put on a different pair of jeans and a t-shirt. You couldn’t really remember if the t-shirt was dirty or not, but you were in a rush and it smelled okay so you just went with it. You brush your hair and then walk out of the front door.

Eddie is out there now and you figure that they collected him while you were getting dressed. You grab your bike and you guys head to Beverly’s.

Eddie and Stan are arguing over whether it’s better to go through the alley or side street when you arrive to Beverly’s apartment.

“The side streets are like the same. They smell like piss and shit.” Stan says.

“Okay. Can you please tell me exactly what she said?” Eddie says.

“She didn’t say anything. Just to hurry over.” Stan replies. Beverly comes running to you guys when you pull up in front of the fire escape.

“You made it. I-I need to show you something.” she says. Richie is assigned to keep watch in case Beverly’s dad comes back and you all rush inside.

She points to the bathroom and you all walk towards it while Eddie rambles on about how dangerous and unsanitary bathrooms are. When Bill opens up the door you’re shocked at what you see. There’s blood everywhere. It looks like he just opened up the gates to Hell.

“Holy fuck. Did Aunt Flo and Cousin Red come for a visit?” you say. You hear Eddie give an annoyed sigh and you can see Stan roll his eyes out of the corner of your eye.

“You see it?” Beverly asks

“Yes.” Eddie replies

“What happened in here?” Stan asks

“My dad couldn’t see it. I thought I might be crazy.” Beverly says.

“Well if you’re crazy, then we’re all crazy.” Ben replies

Bill says that you guys can’t leave it like this and next thing you know you’re all cleaning Beverly’s bathroom.

You, Eddie, Stan, and Ben go throw away the trash bags. Stan and Eddie go to Richie and explain what happened. Ben goes back inside to get the last of the trash bags. You decide you’ll help him, but when you get inside you see him in Beverly’s room. You wait for him to come out and when he does you say “What the fuck were you doing?”

“Oh, uh, n-nothing.” you can tell he’s lying.

“Really? Because it looks to me like you were snooping in Beverly’s room. That’s really weird, Ben.”

“I wasn’t snoo-“ he cuts himself off after looking towards the bathroom. Bill and Beverly are standing in there talking and laughing.

“I anonymously wrote a poem for Beverly. I just wanted to make sure she got it.” he says in a low, sad voice.

“Did she?”

“Yeah. She’s never gonna think it’s from me though. She likes Bill. That doesn’t really matter though. I just wanted to make sure she got it.” he responds. You feel bad for the boy. He seems real sweet. It wasn’t fair that most girls wouldn’t give him a chance because of his weight.

“If it makes you feel any better, you’re most teenage girls’ dream guy. Personality-wise.” you say. He perks up a little bit.

“Really?”

“Yeah, most girls would kill to have someone write a love poem for them. One day a girl will see past the bullshit and appreciate you. Maybe it won’t be Beverly Marsh, or maybe it will. Who knows? But one day someone will.”

“Do you actually think that?” he asks you.

“Yeah, but here’s a little tip. You probably aren’t going to win brownie points with her if she catches you in her room without her permission.” you tell him. He laughs and says “Okay. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Bill and Beverly come out of the bathroom after that. Bill asks what you guys are laughing about and you tell him that it’s nothing.

You’re all walking down the street, pulling your bikes along with you. Richie is pissed about how long you guys took to clean the bathroom. He’s riding in circles around you guys and making it clear that he thinks you all imagined what you saw.

“She didn’t imagine it. I s-s-saw something too.” Bill speaks up. You all stop.

“You saw blood too?” Stan asks.

“Not blood. I saw Juh-Juh-Juh-Georgie. It seemed so real. I mean it seemed like him, but there was this..”

“A clown.” Eddie finishes “Yeah, I saw him too.”

“Me too. In the woods. The day I met you guys.” you say. Ben and Stan shake their heads that they saw him too. You get chills. It turns out you weren’t seeing things and it wasn’t a prank. This was real.

“Wait, can only virgins see this stuff? Is that why I’m not seeing this shit?” Richie speaks up. Before anyone can respond you all hear yelling.

Eddie points out Belch Huggin’s car and Bill notices a bike.

“Isn’t that the home schooled kid’s bike?” he asks. You have no idea who the home schooled kid is.

“Yeah, that’s Mike’s bike.” Eddie responds. The homeschooled kid’s name is Mike apparently. Everyone runs to help him and you follow suit.

You get closer and closer to the noise until you’re faced with what you guess is Henry Bowers on top of Mike. Henry is about to bash Mike’s head in with a rock. Then Beverly throws a rock and hits Henry in the head.

Henry gets off Mike and Mike crawls across the stream and joins you all.

“You losers are trying too hard. She’ll do you. You just gotta ask nicely like I did.” he says. You’re pissed. Beverly is a good person. She doesn’t deserve to have a false reputation and be hated because of said reputation.

Ben yells and throws a rock at Henry and next thing you know you’re in a fucking rock war. Your adrenaline is pumping and you’re throwing those rocks like your life depends on it.

You go into the water to get closer and Eddie joins you. You get a nice hit at one of Henry’s goons. The one with the bleach blonde hair. You didn’t know which one is Victor and which one is Belch and, to be blunt, you really didn’t give a fuck.

Suddenly Belch and Victor are running and Henry is lying on the ground defeated. You all start to walk away. You hear Richie yell “Go blow your dad you mullet-wearing asshole.” You wait for him and you both laugh together as you join the group.

You all collect your bikes and start walking to a nearby field.

“Thanks guys, but you shouldn’t have done that. He’ll be after you too now.” Mike says.

“Oh, no. Bowers? He’s always after us.” Eddie replies.

“I guess that’s one th-th-thing we have in common.” Bill comments.

“Yeah, Homeschool. Welcome to the Loser’s Club.” Richie says.

You all sit down and Mike pulls a book out of the basket of his bike. He sits it gently next to his bike.

“What is that?” you ask.

“It’s a book about the history of Derry. I borrowed it from the library.” Mike replies

“You went to the library?” you ask.

“On purpose?” Richie continues.

“Well I’m home schooled. I have to go there a lot and I don’t really have a lot of friends to hang out with either. Plus it’s really interesting.” Mike replies. You ask if you can see it. He hands the book to you and inside is a folder. It’s full of notes and pictures. Everyone gathers around to look at it.

“Why is it all murders and missing kids?” Richie asks.

“Derry is different from most towns. One time they did a study and it turns out people die and disappear six times the national average. That’s only grownups. Kids are worse.” Mike answers.

You flip through the history book and land on a page about the Easter Explosion of 1908. You almost miss it. At first you’re not even sure it’s what you think it is, but you look closer.

“Guys look.” You show the book to all of them.

“What? I don’t see anything.” Eddie says.

“Look very closely in the corner.” you respond. You see it hit each of their faces. The fear.

“It can’t be.” you hear Beverly say.

“You guys have seen It too?” Mike asks. You all shake your heads yes.

In the corner of the page, standing behind all of the chaos, is It. The clown. He’s smiling that same sinister fucking smile.

You slam the book shut. You’re hand is shaking now and you swear it feels like you’re being watched.

Stan is the first to speak up. “I need to go home.” he says

Everyone else agrees. They get up and start going their own separate ways home. Richie rides back with you and Eddie. You don’t really know why, but you don’t ask questions. You bike in silence. What can you say after something like that?

“I’ll see you guys later.” Eddie says as he pulls his bike into his driveway.

“See you, Eds.” Richie says.

“You know I hate that, Richie.” Eddie responds. Richie smirks.

“Yeah I know.”

Eddie walks into his house and you stop in front of yours, but you don’t walk towards it.

“Isn’t that your house?” Richie asks sort of curiously.

“Yeah, I just don’t really feel like going home yet.” you reply.

“Oh. Well, do you wanna hang out?” he asks. You get this weird feeling when he asks this question. It’s almost like nerves, but not quite.

“Why not?” you answer and you two drop your bikes and sit on the curb.

“Why do you call Eddie “Eds” even though you know he hates it?” you ask.

“He doesn’t hate it.” he responds.

“He just said he did.”

“He didn’t mean it.” Richie responds

“How do you know that?” you ask.

“Just do. Did you really see a fucking clown in the woods?” He asks.

“Yes, I really saw a fucking clown in the woods. And a snake.” you respond.

“Well yeah. Woods usually have snakes, y/n.” he says.

“The clown like conjured up this snake or something.” you say.

“How do you know that?” he asks. You grow a little irritated.

“Because it was at least six feet tall, had arms and legs, and had the face of a human. That’s how I know.” you snap back.

“Oh.” he responds. Minutes pass in awkward silence. You were a little pissed. Your night before was shit, today you found out that some weird ass clown is haunting you and your new friends, that Derry is full of child murders, and now some boy is questioning what you saw and acting like you’re stupid.

You turn to face him. The light from the setting sun looks really nice on him. That weird sort of feeling starts to grow. No. This wasn’t happening.

“Why did you even come with me and Eddie?” you ask.

“You aren’t the only one who doesn’t want to go home, y/n.” he responds. Oh. You don’t say anything. He speaks up first.

“Why were you in the woods?”

“I was going for a walk. I had nothing better to do.”

“So you went for a walk in the woods?”

“It wasn’t exactly my first choice of things to do. I didn’t really have any friends then and I didn’t have any money, so I couldn’t go to the arcade.” you respond. This boy was really annoying you. You hated being questioned.

“You play at the arcade?” he asks rather excitedly.

“Yeah?”

“What’s your favorite game?”

“Frogger.” you answer

“Frogger? Frogger?!? Frogger fucking sucks. Street Fighter is the best.” he exclaims.

“Street fighter is fucking stupid.”

“Frogger is fucking stupid. All you do is move some damn frogs. Who finds that fun? In Street Fighter you get to beat the shit out of people. How do you think that’s not cool?”

“It’s not real and that game is stupid. I’m not gonna waste my time with it.” you answer.

“You haven’t played it? Well there’s your problem. One day we are going to the arcade together and you’re gonna play it.”

“No I’m not.” you say.

“I’ll convince you.”

“Good luck with that, Tozier.”

He smiles at you and you smile back. He has such a nice smile.

“I should probably go home. It’s starting to get dark.” he says.

“Yeah. I should probably go inside.” you say.

“Alright. I’ll be seeing you.”

Taglist: @it-reader @only-if-it-matters @gay-ships-and-tea-sips @thelosers-lovers-club @veryweirdintrovert @meliketozier @stan-the-losers-club-man @longlivethetampon

#richie tozier #richie x reader #richie tozier x reader #beverly marsh #ben hanscom #bill denbrough #billy denbrough #mike hanlon #eddie kaspbrack #stan uris #stanley uris #it 2017

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sonofhistory · 7 years ago

Text

Those Executed For Involvement In the Irish Easter Rising in 1916

Francis Sheehy-Skeffington (died age 37)

Sheehy-Skeffington tried to organise a citizen police force to stop looting on the Tuesday of the Rising. Heading home, he was arrested in for no reason by British troops. Capt JC Bowen-Colthurst used him as a hostage while attacking the shop of Alderman James Kelly, at the top of Camden Street. Bowen-Colthurst destroyed the shop with grenades, and shot dead a 17-year-old boy before marching Sheehy-Skeffington and two journalists to Portobello Barracks. The next morning, they unaware they were going to be shot to death until moments before it occurred. They were executed the next morning on April 26th, 1916. Those involved attempted to cover up what they did.

Thomas “Tom” Clarke (died age 58)

Clarke was stationed at headquarters in the General Post Office during the Easter Week. Clarke wrote on the wall of the house after surrender on April 29th, "We had to evacuate the GPO. The boys put up a grand fight, and that fight will save the soul of Ireland." He was arrested after the surrender. He and other rebels were taken to the Rotunda where he was stripped of his clothing in front of the other prisoners. He was later held in Kilmainham Gaol. He was court-martialled and sentenced to death. Before his execution, he asked his wife Kathleen to give this message to the Irish People:

"My comrades and I believe we have struck the first successful blow for freedom, and so sure as we are going out this morning so sure will freedom come as a direct result of our action . . . In this belief, we die happy."

He was then executed by firing squad on May 3rd, 1916.

Patrick Pearse (died age 36)

Easter Monday, April 24th 1916, it was Pearse who read the Proclamation of the Irish Republic from outside the General Post Office, the headquarters of the Rising. Pearse was the person most responsible for drafting the Proclamation, and he was chosen as President of the Republic. Six days after he issued the order to surrender. He was court-martialled and executed by firing squad on may 3rd, 1916. He was said to be whistling as he came out of his cell to be killed. The day before his death he wrote:

"When I was a child of ten I went down on my bare knees by my bedside one night and promised God that I should devote my life to an effort to free my country. I have kept that promise. As a boy and as a man I have worked for Irish freedom. The time, as it seemed to me, did come, and we went into the fight. I am glad we did. We seem to have lost. We have not lost. To refuse to fight would have been to lose, to fight is to win. We have kept faith with the past and handed on a tradition to the future."

Thomas MacDonagh (died age 37)

MacDonagh's battalion was stationed at Jacob's Biscuit Factory. Despite MacDonagh's rank and the fact that he commanded one of the strongest battalions, they saw little fighting. MacDonagh received the order to surrender on April 30th, though his battalion was prepared to continue. Following the surrender, MacDonagh was court martialled, and executed by firing squad on May 3rd, 1916. In his last message to the Irish people he wrote:

"I, Thomas MacDonagh, having now heard the sentence of the Court Martial held on me today, declare that in all my acts, all the acts for which I have been arraigned. I have been actuated by one motive only, the love of my country, and the desire to make her a sovereign, independent state."

Joseph Mary Plunkett (died age 28)

Following the surrender Plunkett was held in Kilmainham Gaol, and faced court martial. Seven hours before his execution, he was married in the prison chapel to his sweetheart Grace Gifford, a Protestant convert to Catholicism, whose sister, Muriel, had years before also converted and married his best friend Thomas MacDonagh, who was also executed for his role in the Easter Rising. Grace never married again after his death on May 4th, 1816. Days before his sentence Plunkett had written in a letter to Grace:

"Listen--if I live it might be possible to get the Church to marry us by proxy- there is such a thing but it is very difficult I am told. Father Sherwin might be able to do it. You know how I love you. That is all I have time to say. I know you love me and I am very happy."

Edward “Ned” Daly (died age 25)

Daly's battalion, stationed in the Four Courts and areas to the west and north of the centre of Dublin, saw the most harsh fighting of the rising. He was forced to surrender his battalion on April 29th by Patrick Pearse. He was executed by firing squad on May 4th 1916. Men in his battalion spoke of him as a good leader.

Michael O’Hanrahan (died age 38)

O’Hanrahan was second in command of Dublin's 2nd battalion under Commandant Thomas MacDonagh. He fought at Jacob's Biscuit Factory, though the battalion saw little action other than intense sniping throughout Easter week. O'Hanrahan was executed by firing squad on May 4th 1916 at Kilmainham Jail. His brother, Henry O'Hanrahan, was sentenced to penal servitude for life for his role in the Easter Rising.

William “Willie” Pearse (died age 34)

Willie followed his brother into the Irish Volunteers and the Republican movement. He took part in the Easter Rising in 1916, always staying by his brother's side at the General Post Office. Following the surrender he was court-martialled and sentenced to be executed. It has been said that as he was only a minor player in the struggle it was his surname that condemned him. However, at his court martial he rather exaggerating his involvement. On May 3rd, William was granted permission to visit his brother in Kilmainham Gaol and to see him for the final time. While Willie was en route, Patrick was executed first and they never saw one another again. Willie was executed on May 4th, 1916.

John MacBride (died age 47)

In 1905 MacBride joined other Irish nationalists in preparing for an insurrection. Because he was so well known to the British, the leaders thought it wise to keep him outside their secret military group planning a Rising. He was in Dublin early on Easter Monday morning to meet his brother Dr. Anthony MacBride, who was arriving from Westport to be married on the Wednesday. The Major walked up Grafton St and saw Thomas MacDonagh in uniform and leading his troops. He offered his services and was appointed second-in-command at the Jacob's factory. After the Rising, MacBride, following a court martial under the Defence of the Realm Act, was shot by British troops in Kilmainham Gaol, Dublin.

He was executed on May 5th 1916, two days before his forty-eighth birthday. Facing the British firing squad, he said he did not wish to be blindfolded, saying:

"I have looked down the muzzles of too many guns in the South African war to fear death and now please carry out your sentence."

He is buried in the cemetery at Arbour Hill Prison in Dublin.

Executed two days before his 54th birthday on May 5th.

Éamonn Ceannt (died age 34)

After the unconditional surrender of the 1916 fighters, Eamonn Ceannt was detained. While Ceannt was being picked for trial, volunteer James Couhlan remembers him being determined in looking after the welfare of “the humblest of those who had served under him”. Ceannt was tried under court martial as demanded by General Maxwell. May 2nd, Ceannt was sent to Kilmainham Gaol to face trial and execution.

Written a few hours before his execution from cell 88 in Kilmainham Gaol, he wrote:

“I leave for the guidance of other Irish Revolutionaries who may tread the path which I have trod this advice, never to treat with the enemy, never to surrender at his mercy, but to fight to a finish...Ireland has shown she is a nation. This generation can claim to have raised sons as brave as any that went before. And in the years to come Ireland will honour those who risked all for her honour at Easter 1916.”

Ceannt was held in Kilmainham Gaol until his execution by firing squad on May 8th 1916. He is buried at Arbour Hill.

Michael Mallin (died age 41)

When Connolly was inducted into the Irish Republican Brotherhood in January 1916. On Easter Monday Mallin departed from Liberty Hall at 11:30am to take up his post at St Stephen's Green with his small force of ICA men and women. Upon arriving at the park they evacuated it, dug trenches, erected kitchen and first aid stations, and constructed barricades in the surrounding streets. Mallin planned to occupy the Shelbourne Hotel, located on the north-east side of the park, but insufficient troops prevented him from doing so. The next morning under intense machine gun fire Mallin ordered his troops to retreat to the Royal College of Surgeons on the west side of the park. The garrison remained in the barricaded building for the remainder of the week.

Mallin surrendered on April 30th 1916. The garrison was taken first to Dublin Castle then to Richmond Barracks, where Mallin was separated for court-martial. At his court-martial he downplayed his involvement. In his statement, Mallin stated:

“I had no commission whatever in the Citizen Army. I was never taken into the confidence of James Connolly. I was under the impression that we were going out for manoeuvres on Sunday . . . Shortly after my arrival at St Stephen's Green the firing started and Countess Markievicz ordered me to take command of the men as I had been so long associated with them. I felt I could not leave them and from that time I joined the rebellion."

Mallin was found guilty and transported to Kilmainham Gaol for his execution. He was executed May 8th 1916. The night before his execution he was visited in his cell by his mother, three of his siblings, his pregnant wife and their four children. In his last letter to his wife, who was pregnant with their fifth child, Mallin said:

"I find no fault with the soldiers or the police [I ask you] to pray for all the souls who fell in this fight, Irish and English . . . so must Irishmen pay for trying to make Ireland a free nation."

He wrote to his children:

“Una my little one be a Nun Joseph my little man be a Priest if you can James & John to you the care of your mother make yourselves good strong men for her sake and remember Ireland”

His funeral mass took place at the Dominican Church in Tallaght on May 13th, 1917. People from the procession clashed with police outside the church with two policemen injured.

Con Colbert (died age 37)

In the weeks leading up to the Rising, he acted as bodyguard for Thomas Clarke. During Easter Week, he fought at Watkin's Brewery, Jameson's Distillery and Marrowbone Lane. They were marched to Richmond Barracks after surrender, where Colbert would later be court-martialled. Transferred to Kilmainham Gaol, he was told on Sunday May 7th he was to be shot the following morning. He wrote no fewer than ten letters during his time in prison. During this time in detention, he did not allow any visits from his family; writing to his sister, he said a visit "would grieve us both too much".

The night before his execution he sent for Mrs. Ó Murchadha who was also being held prisoner. He told her he was "proud to die for such a cause. I will be passing away at the dawning of the day." Holding his bible, he told her he was leaving it to his sister. He handed her three buttons from his volunteer uniform, telling her "They left me nothing else," before asking her when she heard the volleys of shots in the morning for Éamonn Ceannt, Michael Mallin and himself would she say a Hail Mary for the souls of the departed. The soldier who was guarding the prisoner began crying according to Mrs. Ó Murchadha, and recorded him saying "If only we could die such deaths."

Colbert was shot by firing squad the next morning on May 8th 1916.

Sean Heuston (died age 25)

Heuston was the Officer Commanding of the Volunteers in the Mendicity Institution on the south side of Dublin city. Heuston was to hold this position for three or four hours, to delay the advance of British troops. This delay was necessary to give the headquarters staff time to prepare their defences. Heuston was arrested after the surrender and transferred to Richmond Barracks. O May 4th 1916, he was tried by court martial. May 7th 1916, the verdict of the court martial was communicated to him that he had been sentenced to death and was to be shot at dawn the following morning.

Prior to his execution he was attended by Father Albert in his final hours. Father Albert wrote an account of those hours up to and including the execution:

“…We were now told to be ready. I had a small cross in my hand, and though blindfolded, Seán bent his head and kissed the Crucifix; this was the last thing his lips touched in life. He then whispered to me: ‘Father, sure you won’t forget to anoint me?’ I had told him in his cell that I would anoint him when he was shot. We now proceeded towards the yard where the execution was to take place; my left arm was linked in his right, while the British soldier who had handcuffed and blindfolded him walked on his left. As we walked slowly along we repeated most of the prayers that we had been saying in the cell. On our way we passed a group of soldiers; these I afterwards learned were awaiting Commandant Mallin; who was following us. Having reached a second yard I saw there another group of military armed with rifles. Some of these were standing, and some sitting or kneeling. A soldier directed Seán and myself to a corner of the yard, a short distance from the outer wall of the prison. Here there was a box (seemingly a soap box) and Sean was told to sit down upon it. He was perfectly calm, and said with me for the last time: ‘My Jesus, mercy.’ I scarcely had moved away a few yards when a volley went off, and this noble soldier of Irish Freedom fell dead. I rushed over to anoint him; his whole face seemed transformed and lit up with a grandeur and brightness that I had never before noticed.”

Father Albert concluded:

“Never did I realise that men could fight so bravely, and die so beautifully, and so fearlessly as did the Heroes of Easter Week. On the morning of Sean Heuston's death I would have given the world to have been in his place, he died in such a noble and sacred cause, and went forth to meet his Divine Saviour with such grand Christian sentiments of trust, confidence and love.”

Thomas Kent (died age 50)

During the Easter Rising, the Kent residence was raided in a gunfight lasted for four hours. Eventually the Kents were forced to surrender. Thomas and William was tried by court martial on the charge of armed rebellion. His brother was acquitted, but Thomas was sentenced to death and executed by firing squad in Cork on May 9th 1916. He was buried in the grounds of Cork Prison.

Sean Mac Diarmada (died age 33)

September 1915, he joined the secret Military Committee of the IRB. In 1914 he said:

"the Irish patriotic spirit will die forever unless a blood sacrifice is made in the next few years.”

Due to his disability, Mac Diarmada took little part in the fighting of Easter week, but was stationed at the headquarters in the General Post Office. Following the surrender, he nearly escaped execution by blending in with the large body of prisoners. He was eventually recognised by Daniel Hoey of G Division. Following a court-martial on May 9th, Mac Diarmada was executed by firing squad on May 12th. In his final letter he wrote:

"Miss Ryan, she who in all probability, had I lived, would have been my wife".

She and her sister, Phyllis also visited Kilmainham Gaol before his execution. Before his execution, Mac Diarmada wrote:

"I feel happiness the like of which I have never experienced. I die that the Irish nation might live!”

James Connolly (died age 47)

Connolly considered the rest of the leaders too bourgeois and unconcerned with Ireland's economic independence. During the Easter Rising, Connolly was Commandant of the Dublin Brigade and was de facto commander-in-chief. Following the surrender, he said to other prisoners:

"Don't worry. Those of us that signed the proclamation will be shot. But the rest of you will be set free."

Connolly was not held in gaol, but in a room at the State Apartments in Dublin Castle, which had been converted to a first-aid station for troops recovering from the war. Connolly was sentenced to death by firing squad for his part in the rising. On May 12th 1916 he was taken by military ambulance to Royal Hospital Kilmainham, across the road from Kilmainham Gaol, and from there taken to the gaol, where he was to be executed. Visited by his wife, and asking about public opinion, he commented:

"They will all forget that I am; an Irishman."

Connolly had been so badly injured from the fighting but the execution order was still given and he was unable to stand before the firing squad; he was carried to a prison courtyard on a stretcher. His absolution and last rites were administered by a Capuchin, Father Aloysius Travers. Asked to pray for the soldiers about to shoot him, he said:

"I will say a prayer for all men who do their duty according to their lights."

Instead of being marched to the same spot where the others had been executed, at the far end of the execution yard, he was tied to a chair and then shot. His body (with other leaders) was put in a mass grave without a coffin. The executions of the rebel leaders deeply angered the majority of the Irish population, most of whom had shown no support during the rebellion.

Sir Roger Casement (died age 51)

October 1914, Casement sailed for Germany via Norway. Casement spent most of his time in Germany seeking to recruit an Irish Brigade from among more than 2,000 Irish prisoners-of-war taken in the early months of the war and held in the prison camp of Limburg an der Lahn. His plan was that they would be trained to fight against Britain in the cause of Irish independence. Casement did not learn about the Easter Rising until after the plan was fully developed. The German weapons never landed in Ireland; the Royal Navy intercepted the ship transporting them.

Casement departed Germany in a submarine. In the early hours of April 21st 1916, three days before the rising began, the German submarine put Casement ashore. Suffering from a recurrence of the malaria, and too weak to travel, he was discovered at McKenna's Fort and arrested on charges of treason, sabotage and espionage against the Crown.

"He was taken to Brixton Prison to be placed under special observation for fear of an attempt of suicide. There was no staff at the Tower [of London] to guard suicidal cases."

At Casement's highly publicised trial for treason, the prosecution had trouble arguing its case. Casement's crimes had been carried out in Germany. During the trial, Casement’s personal diary detailed his homosexual encounters was uncovered. The British government circulated fake reports to portray Casement as a sexual deviant. Casement tried to appeal the violation of his human rights and against his conviction and death sentence. On the day of his execution, Casement was received into the Catholic Church at his request. He was attended by two Catholic priests. One said of Casement that he was:

"a saint… we should be praying to him [Casement] instead of for him".

Casement was hanged at Pentonville Prison in London on August 3rd 1916. His last word was “Ireland”.

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