#i guess i can use the stephen kind method

[beastsovrevelation]

Who's causing me problems?

This bastard of course.

I already had him with two love interests (in seperate stories). No, he demands a third.

There are the two Millory storylines.

There's the Michael Langdon x Archangel Michael. I need to hurry up with this one it's already a trip to crazy town in Ch 1, and I'm convinced she's more insane than he is.

Now, there's also the Michael x Cordelia idea which sent me into a fever today. Not kidding. I might as well have ingested drugs. What's the ship name, by the way? Because, if he wants it, I'll try to write it, but I'm not making up a ship name.

[emblazons]

That's a nice point about Matt Duffers, lol. But I sometimes feel like the show could not manage to deliver the message on the show. Most of the audience thinks Will was truly being childish and in the wrong for playing DnD in S3... and they still think that way after years. And of course, the audience is 'dumb' sometimes and they do not get the messages of the show and its narrative, but... it is also the case that the show could have done... better, so to say.

Honestly I think you make a fair point, though I personally don't agree with the idea that they "could have done it better" just because a lot of people don't understand what they were doing? Sure, I agree that there were maybe simpler or more straightfoward methods to get to where we are now, and I don't necessarily agree with all the Duffer's decisions, but...I certainly don't think they've done anything poorly…on top of the fact that the show isn’t even done.

I have talked about it here several times before, but: Stranger Things was and always has been a show for a specific audience (which The Duffers have repeatedly said, even walking into S5) rather than the behemoth household name moneymaker a lot of people see it as today, and a lot of the muddled interpretations of the show come from that expansion beyond its original bounds more than anything else. I think that, especially with the introduction of S4 when they “started showing their hand,” their direction for the story was clear to the audience it was meant to be—and while it is perhaps its a bit "pretentious" in a way to say so, the fact that ST is lost on people who it wasn’t designed for doesn't mean the Duffers did a weak job—it just means they aren’t the audience the show was written for.

With smaller shows (and even movies) that have more niche audiences and smaller viewerships (aka: people who know what to look for in the show), you don't see the same kind/level of criticism or audience dissonance ST gets—just like the audience for Clueless (1995) can appreciate things about it that people outside of its viewership might think was overwhelmingly foolish, same as the viewership for Kubrick's 2001: A Space Odyssey is going to catch and appreciate things about it that are going to fly right over the heads of a fair number of people who watch it...despite both of those films being phenomenal examples of work for their specific audiences/genres.

There are people who don't like Jane Austen who know she's a master at what she did even if they don't understand it, and people who hate Stephen King books still know he's good at what he does (unless they're being critical for its own sake). To me, its much the same with The Duffers & Stranger Things—it makes sense to almost all of the nerdy, deeply steeped in movies and TV humans who watch the show, and most of us have realized they are on their way to making a clear point about how embracing your nerdiness is positive...even if most of the general audience hasn't gathered that yet.

Also, given the show isn't even finished yet, its jumping the gun a bit to say "you haven't delivered" on something that isn't yet complete? You can’t get 4/5 of the way through a book, see the lead up for the story, and then shut it before the dénouement…only to then say the author doesn’t know what they’re doing lmao.

Like. If The Duffers fuck this up I will be right there demanding justice for Will Byers, same as you. But I’m not gonna call Matt Duffer a liar or incompetent writer before his proverbial essay’s even finished just because someone who wasn’t the intended audience for ST doesn’t understand or see the deeper themes of the show ☠️ if it’s pretentious to say that then…I guess they have to mark me down LMAO.

Anyway. I hope that makes sense? And that you know I am not coming for you, but more the idea that the duffers are fucking up somehow because some people don’t understand them. But still, thanks for the ask!

[randomshyperson]

Sorry for your loss - “I will move on” #04

Read on AO3 || Serie Masterlist here

Summary: When your wife Natasha passes away in a car accident, a part of you dies with her. It takes a few months of mourning for your psychiatrist thinks the best alternative is for you to join a grief group. And there you meet Wanda Maximoff, and learn to live again.

Warnings: (+16) mentions of death, panic attacks and anxiety, grief, self sabotage, mentions of abusive family background, mutual attraction pining, explicit consent, therapeutic conversations about death, self-deprecation, healthy methods of coping with grief, possible triggers about anxiety, domestic Wanda, hurtful behaviors.

​ Tag list: @imapotatao / @aimezvousbrahms/ @ensorcellme/ @helloalycia / @mionemymind / @abimess / @stephanieromanoff / @yourtaletotell / @tomy5girls / @justagaypanicking / @thegayw1tch / @idek-5

//-////-////-////-////-////-////-////-////-//

Chapter Four - I will move on

"And I guess that's about it." You say as you finish telling Agatha about your last few weeks. She smiles as she shakes her head.

"I have to say I am proud of you." She comments gesturing briefly with her hands. "Are you sure you don't want to add anything else?"

You shrug, unable to remember anything relevant that you haven't mentioned.

You told her about writing again, about trying to drive again. About helping Wanda to stay home without having panic attacks, and to go back to work. You had only managed to drive in the supermarket parking lot, but it was still progress, and Stephen was very happy to hear it about too. The only thing missing to get your life back to normal was your apartment. And you had already arranged with Wanda to visit later that week.

"I have two questions for you then." Agatha says when you confirm that you have nothing to add. "Don't you think it's time to try to reconnect with your friends?"

You hesitate, thoughtfully. 

"I don't know." You said slightly uncomfortable. "My friends weren't just mine. They were Nat's friends too. And then she died, and I isolated myself. And well, I guess they were in their own grief too, because none of them tried to look for me anymore."

"You took your time to heal." She says. "Maybe they took theirs too. And now might be the time to reconnect."

You sigh, looking away.

"Yeah, I'll think about it." You speak. You look back at Agatha a moment later. "What was the other question?"

Agatha hides a small smile.

"A sensitive topic for patients who lose their beloved lovers." She says and you frown in confusion. "Well, dear, I need to ask if you are trying to date again?"

You gasp in surprise, feeling your face heat up.

"W-what?"

Agatha lets out a giggle.

"I know this may seem insensitive at first, and that's more because of the sexist socioeconomic construct that treats widowed women as violated property that must belong to their lover for the rest of their lives than anything else but I need you to understand that it's perfectly natural to move on." She narrates and you just stand there with a shocked expression and your heart racing. "You are a single woman now, and you have sexual and emotional human needs. I'm going to help you work through any kind of guilt, because judging your progress, you seem ready to be in a relationship again."

"I...I don't..."

"Don't worry, honey." Agatha interrupts with a giggle. "I'm not telling you to go around fornicating." She jokes. "Not that there's anything wrong with that, of course. But I don't think it's really your style at all."

You feel your face heat up, frowning at Agatha, but she continues to speak.

"Anyway, I'm saying that it will be good if you get back into romantic relationships with other people. Casual encounters, that sort of thing. You are allowed to love someone again, there's nothing wrong with that." She explains getting up toward her own desk, and then gives a mischievous little smile in your direction. "Not to mention that orgasms are great stress relievers."

You choke in surprise, but Agatha just smiles, turning to write the appointment report.

Your face is still very red when you leave her office.

//-//

"I'm going to make a gardener out of you yet, huh?" Monica joked as you finished composting, making you laugh lightly.

"Well, I had a good teacher." You joked back as you stood up.

You were at Wanda's flower shop again. It became routine for you to help Monica with the garden and the flowers. And as the days went by, you got used to being in the greenhouses while she was attending to customers and Wanda was working in the office. It took two weeks for Monica to start joking that you had become a staff member at the flower shop. You don't really mind helping out. Botany has turned out to be something surprisingly relaxing for you. The hours of Wanda's shift passed by quickly when you keep your hands busy with the plants and flowers, your anxiety long forgotten.

"Are you hungry?" Monica asks as soon as you return to the store's front desk, and she pulls out the " break" sign tucked under the counter. 

"Sure."

"Let's take a lunch break. See if Wanda wants to join us while I attend that boy." Monica says looking forward toward the window display. There is a boy clearly unsure about whether or not to enter the store and you exchange a chuckle with her before heading towards Wanda's office.

She is on the phone when she answers the door for you, and signals with her finger in her mouth for you not to say anything as she makes room for you to enter. As she mumbles in agreement on the call, you look around. She seems to be working on the organization of some big event judging by the whiteboard in the corner filled with notes, and you figure it's a party or some wedding, because you and Monica have been growing more flowers for this kind of thing lately.

"That sounds pretty good, actually." You listen to her speak as she jots down a few things in an agenda. " Don't worry, we have enough for the engagement party and the ceremony." 

The shelf on the side in front of the whiteboard catches your attention, and you walk over to the furniture next.

Wanda moves a little behind you, adding some stickers to the whiteboard. You keep looking at the bookshelf, distracted by the objects on it. There is a picture of the twins that makes you smile, some books, and other small pots of plants. You lightly caress the bonsai before looking down.

You run your fingers over the red flower on Wanda's bookshelf, trying to remember the name. Monica has taught you many things, but you don't know many as well.

"Anthurium" Wanda whispers behind you, as she turns off her cell phone and realizes that you are looking at the flower with curiosity. You murmur in understanding, turning to make comment that it is very beautiful, but your speech dies in your throat when you realize how close Wanda is. "What did you want?" She asks curiously and you are almost leaning your body against the bookshelf, trying to think clearly.

"I-I came to ask if you want to have lunch with us." You say while mentally telling yourself not to look at Wanda's lips.

Wanda murmurs in understanding, and you can barely breathe when she stands even closer, her hand outstretched to something above your head. She pulls out a small stick caught in your hair, and all you can do is stare at her with a racing heart as she bites back a smile, and tosses the stick into one of the vases on the shelf behind you.

"I'd like to join you, but I'm busy." She says and her gaze falls to your lips for a second before she turns her head away and walks off. You let out a breath, wiping your sweaty hands on your pants as Wanda walks toward the table in search of the notepad and pen she was using before hanging up her cell phone. "Can you please bring me something to eat? I'm starving. I just don't know exactly what I want..."

You smile as you see Wanda's thoughtful expression with pen and notebook in hand. You approach, putting the notebook down with your hand gently.

"Don't worry, I know what you like." You say simply, and Wanda blinks in surprise, smiling awkwardly. "I'll stop by that confectionery shop you like and also bring you a dessert, okay? You look stressed."

Wanda laughs lightly, her cheeks flushed. 

"Thanks, love."

The nickname slips so naturally from her lips that it takes a moment for both of you to realize what has just been said. Your gaze falls to Wanda's mouth the same minute that her pupils dilate. You are almost breaking the distance when Monica opens the door, not noticing the closeness of the two of you because she has her gaze on a piece of paper in her own hands.

You and Wanda immediately turn away, embarrassed.

"We have a big order, girls." She announces excitedly, raising her eyes to you. Monica frowns slightly at the guilty expressions and reddened faces. "Sorry, did I interrupt something?"

"No." You answer in unison quickly, surprising Monica again, who acquires an expression of suspicion and humor. You clear your throat and Wanda lets out a short laugh.

"We were just talking about lunch." You say. "And well, Wanda has a big order too. I guess you guys will need my help then."

Wanda turns to you again with this statement.

"What? No, I can't make you work for me..."

You interrupt with a laugh.

"Wanda, don't even start." You say. "I love staying here. And I'm happy to help, really. Don't worry about it."

"You sure make my shifts more fun." Adds Monica with a smile, making you laugh. Wanda looks at you intently.

"Are you sure?" She asks, and you smile as you nod in agreement. "We'll talk about it later. You can't work for free, and if you're going to help you need a schedule, and breaks and chores."

You laugh, nodding.

"Yes, boss." You murmur playfully and Wanda pats your arm, making you and Monica laugh. 

"Let's get our lunch now, I'm starving." Monica orders as she turns to walk out the door. You murmur in agreement, and quickly kiss Wanda on the cheek before following the other woman. Wanda has a foolish smile on her face until you return with her lunch many minutes later.

//-//

You call Carol Danvers the day before you return to your apartment.

Things go much better than you expected, but it's not surprising, because you usually expect the worst case scenario. 

Carol is very happy to hear from you, and you are happy to know that she doesn't hate you for not calling before. You talk for a few minutes, but she can't talk much on the phone because her shift is about to start. You are surprised to learn that she is working in a nightclub downtown now, unlike months ago when she worked in a rock bar in Queens. 

 She tells you that Bruce was traveling because of his internship, but that he would be in town for the weekend, and invites you to visit her at work. You hesitate because you are not sure if you are ready to go to a club, but you accept as you think of Agatha's words about reconnecting with your friends again.

You are the one who drives to your apartment the next day, after you and Wanda leave the flower shop. Your heart is racing the whole time, but Wanda rests her hand on your thigh to calm you down, and as the minutes go by, you can no longer tell whether you are nervous about the trauma or something else.

Parking in the small condo cluster, you take a deep breath. Wanda gives your thigh one last squeeze before she pulls her hand away and gets out of the car, completely oblivious to the way your entire body trembles at her touch. Shaking your head slightly to push that kind of thought away, you step out of the car.

Your hands are shaking wildly as you take your keys out of your pockets, just as you reach the second floor, after you have politely waved to the people who recognized you on the way to your apartment. 

"Hey, breathe." Wanda asks softly beside you. And you take a deep breath, and it helps. And then you turn the key, and go inside.

It is exactly the same as the last time you were here, many months ago, on the day of the accident.

Your mother cleaned it up, of course, but it is still the same. Everything is in the exact same place, even the shoes that Nat left lying in the corner of the bookshelf. And you felt your chest tighten when the flashes of memory began.

You walked around, looking at the surroundings while Wanda followed you. A few tears streamed down your face, but you said nothing.

You were in the kitchen when the first sob escaped your throat. Leaning your hands on the counter, you dropped your keys and tried to push away the memories that were clear in your head.

It was as if you could feel Nat in the room. Seeing her in the armchair, laughing at your jokes, or being a disaster in the kitchen on nights when you tried to eat something homemade. Her books mixed in with yours on the bookshelf, your wedding and graduation pictures on the mantelpiece. 

You moved away from the counter quickly, however, as Wanda looked at you intently, unsure whether to approach or not. Walking down the hallway, you stopped in front of your bedroom door. 

And you stood there. Long minutes staring at the wood. Unable to move.

Feeling arms around your waist, you sighed, your body relaxing considerably.

Wanda hugged you from behind, and waited. You were crying again, and you only stopped after a while. Taking a deep breath, and lightly stroking Wanda's hand to ask her to let go, you waited for her to let go of you to open the door.

Wanda waited for you outside. You just walked around the room, your face wet as you breathed with difficulty, your arms crossed as if you were afraid to touch anything.

When you came out, you took a deep breath once more. And then you said you needed to call your mother.

That's how you spent the rest of the day packing up your apartment together with Wanda, your mother, and Pietro and Monica, who came to help after Wanda said you needed more people.

You came back the other day too, until the only things left were larger pieces of furniture.

"Are you sure you're going to sell?" Your mother asked you in the parking lot as soon as you left there in the late afternoon. Wanda had just gone home with her brother and sister-in-law.

"That was her apartment, Mom." You say as you put the boxes in the trunk. "I could never live here without Natasha."

"It's a good property." She comments, making you chuckle lightly.

"I'm sure the next owners will love it."

"I don't mean to be disrespectful, dear. It's just a nice apartment, not the kind of thing you get every day and..."

"Are you wanting to keep it by any chance?" You interrupt, irritated at your mother's lack of sensitivity. She sighs, and you frown.

"No. But maybe someone else wants to."

It takes a moment for you to understand what she is implying.

"You know Nat didn't talk to her family."

Your mother looks away.

"Actually..." She begins and you close the trunk with a confused expression, "I've been seeing Melina since January."

You blink in surprise, and then let out a dry laugh.

"I am speechless." You say in shock. "You...are you serious? Wow, I...wow."

You lean back against the car, impressed and annoyed. Your mother sighs guiltily, stepping in front of you again.

"Look, I know I should have had something, but you were so..."

"Sad? Yeah mom, my wife died, I had a right to be."

"That's not what I meant."

You sighed, rolling your eyes.

"Yeah, I know." You grumble. "But it sucks that you kept it from me. What the hell does Melina want anyway?"

Your mother looks away for a moment.

"She wanted to see you actually." She says and you let out a wry laugh. "I know how ridiculous it sounds, but her daughter died and you were the only remaining connection to Natasha."

You push your fingers against your forehead lightly, thinking you are starting to get a migraine from this conversation. 

"You know what, Mom?" You say. "Since you two have become such good friends lately, tell her that her chance to connect with me was lost the moment she didn't attend the funeral." 

Your mother sighs, but you are already turning to get into the car. She follows you a moment later, sitting in the passenger seat.

You drive in silence back home.

//-//

Over the weekend, you almost canceled your plans with Carol.

Your mother was giving you the silent treatment for the way you refused to talk about Natasha and Melina, and you were very irritated by the whole situation.

Grumbling about how ridiculous it all was, you agreed to have coffee with the two women the following week, and your mother's mood changed considerably, the complete opposite of what happened to you.

But you forced yourself to smile, and got up from the couch to get ready.

Around seven-thirty at night, you arrived at the place, which was already very busy, neon lights peeking through the windows along with the loud music. 

"My goodness, look at you!" Greeted Carol cheerfully as soon as you met her at the counter. She turned around to hug you tight, and you felt your chest swell with happiness. You had missed your friend so much.

"You got a haircut" You comment in the same excitement, smiling at her. "I missed you, Danvers."

She smiles, mumbling that she missed you too. She asked you to sit on one of the stools at the front of the bar, and you did so while she went back behind the counter.

You updated each other a bit as she served some customers, and a while later, Bruce arrived.

"Banner I can't believe you are wearing a suit in a nightclub." Carol teased as she greeted her friend, making you chuckle slightly as Bruce explained that he didn't have time to look more casual.

"It's good to see you." He said to you as he hugged you, you repeated the words, then sat at the bar.

A few drinks and laughs later, Carol's shift ended, and she sat at a table with you two.

Between telling your friends about your progress in therapy, and hearing how Carol had left her previous job after punching a slacker client in the face, and learning that Bruce was working as an aspiring scientist, and lecturing around the country, the three of you had enough beers for the direction of the conversation to make your cheeks flush.

"I swear to you, she was the most beautiful woman I have ever seen!" Carol told you, making you and Bruce laugh at her excitement. 

"Now you're going to say that the next second you saw the next most beautiful woman in the world?" You teased wryly, and Carol laughed as she told you to shut up. "Are you even dating this Gamora girl?"

Carol hid a smirk, taking a sip of her beer.

"Actually." She began. "We're living together."

You widened your eyes in surprise, and then laughed.

"My god, Carol Danvers in love!" You teased making her laugh as she flashed you her middle finger. "No, but seriously, that's amazing! I'm happy for you, Carol."

"Yes, yes." She says smiling, "But what about you? I know you and Nat were like, madly in love or whatever cheesy stuff you put in your books, but it's been months. It would be nice if you met someone new."

The topic is quite sensitive, and the mood at the table changes because of it. But you are far more embarrassed than upset, and you lower your gaze to your bottle before answering.

" Oh, well, i..." You begin half-heartedly. Your stomach does a flip-flop, because you are thinking of a person. "There is someone, I think. But I don't know if we're both ready to take that on yet."

Carol makes an agreeing noise with her mouth, and then has an insinuating little smile on her face.

"Do you still remember how to be with a girl, champ?" your friend teases, and you nudge her shoulder shyly as she and Bruce laugh.

"Aren't those things like riding a bike?" The other man asked timidly, getting a wry look from Carol.

"You know, Bruce, your innocence is admirable." Carol teases making you laugh. 

"Don't be mean." You say poking her lightly in the ribs, but Bruce doesn't really care. It's been that way since college when he told you guys he was asexual. The whole thing was funny because Carol has always been very, very sexual. And they have been teasing each other about it for years.

"Ah but I won't be, I promise." She assures. "Actually, I'm much more interested in hearing about your new girlfriend."

You laugh shyly, drinking some of your beer.

"I don't have a girlfriend."

Carol laughed, her gaze running around the room before returning to you. 

"Well, that blonde girl has been looking over here for a few moments. I have a girlfriend, and Bruce doesn't like sex. I guess you're the one who's going to have to talk to her."

You widened your eyes at your friend's words, looking forward quickly.

A blond woman was indeed staring at your table.

"I don't think that's a good idea." You mumble clumsily, and Carol gives a little laugh.

"That's too bad, because now that you've looked, she's going to come here." Your friend warns, and you choke on your beer when you see the girl actually getting up from the countertop.

"Carol, help me." You awkwardly whisper but your friend just laughs, and then the stranger catches up with you all.

"Hi." She greets sensually, looking up at you. You swallow dryly as your friend holds back a giggle. "Would you like to dance?"

"I-I..."

"Use your words." Carol teased lowly next to you, making the girl laugh at your clumsiness. 

"Don't be shy, I don't bite." The girl added maliciously. " Unless you ask me to."

You feel your face heat up with embarrassment, and you spread your mouth open, not knowing what to say next. Carol murmurs impressed.

"Sorry, sweetie, she used to function better than that." Carol interrupts the interaction, taking pity on your distress. "I think she's taken. But if it's just a dance, we can all enjoy it together."

The girl bites her lips, seeming to consider. She takes one last look at you, and then accepts the invitation.

This is how you end up on a dance floor, trying to escape the hands of a stranger. 

You remember how to dance, and the drink helps a lot. But there are hands running over your body before the woman turns around and starts rubbing against you in rhythm with the music. You feel your breath catch, the excitement of having so much intimate contact after so long reaching you completely.

"Are you sure you're taken?" She whispers against your ear, and you give a short laugh, feeling your head spin.

"Yes."  You half-heartedly assure her, using all the rest of your drunken control to push her hands away from you. 

The woman didn't mind, stealing a short kiss on your cheek before dancing away, swaying her hips.

Carol threw her arms around you next.

"Wow, you really are in love!" She enthusiastically shouts to be heard between the beats of the music. You laugh with flushed cheeks, saying you need to take some air.

Your friend continues to dance, pulling Bruce close, and the man laughs awkwardly as he puts his arms around the blonde. You chuckle at the scene before turning to go outdoors.

It is easier to breathe outside. 

Your first action is to take your cell phone out of your pocket, and check your notifications. Your heart melts when you open a message from Wanda. It is a picture of her and the boys, lying together between a comforter. The caption reads "movie night, doesn't even look like they were jumping on the couch two minutes ago".

You stare at the picture for a few seconds after sending a heart emoji to Wanda. And then you gasp softly, realizing. You really are in love with her. Like in romance movies, and fairy tale books. But also like the real thing. Because you love Wanda's company, her sharp jokes, the way she talks and behaves and cares for everyone. You don't want to be in a bar, or meet another girl. You want to be wrapped in a comforter with Wanda and the kids.

Trying not to panic at this conclusion, you put your cell phone back in your pocket, deciding to go back inside to say goodbye to your friends.

//-//

You are trying to find a way to tell Wanda how you feel. The problem is that you are insecure, because you have no idea if she is ready for a relationship again. You don't even know if she likes women.

With so much suffering in the past months, you also don't want to face a broken heart. So you decide to wait and see how things will turn out.

It is something about the way your life is completely intertwined in Wanda's now, in the same way that she has wrapped herself around your heart that makes you sigh when you think about it everything.

You are distracted while you work, and Monica smiles because you have a smirk while tinkering in the gardens, which is clearly not related to the plants. She doesn't say anything, because it's the same way Wanda smiles when you bring her coffee, or when you two come back from lunch. She can only be excited to think how it will be to organize your wedding.

It is at lunch after group therapy that Wanda invites you to her father's wedding anniversary party. You hadn't met him yet, and a party was a good thing, because you wouldn't have all his attention on you, and it lessens your anxiety considerably.

The party will be at Wanda's father's country house, and you will be able to cross the "take a trip" goal off your therapy to-do list.

In the meantime, you prepare to see Natasha's mother.

It is a Thursday, and you set aside your lunch period for this, because you really don't want this meeting to last more than an hour.

Your mother and Melina are already in the restaurant when you arrive, and you nod politely to the woman when you sit down at the table, signaling that she doesn't need to get up.

"So, what did you want?" you ask snidely, earning a scolding from your mother. Melina doesn't seem to mind your aggressiveness however.

"Let's order something to eat first please." Your mother says before the other woman can respond. You roll your eyes, not disagreeing.

After the waitress takes your orders and leaves, you cross your arms impatiently.

"Look, I know it's hard for you to hear from me after all this time..." The woman begins.

"Hard for me?" You cut her off with irony. "No, Melina. I was not the daughter you abandoned. It was just hard for Nat not to have you around. I simply don't like you myself."

"Honey" Your mother warns, but you let out a dry laugh.

"No, really." You continue firmly. "What do you really want with me?"

Melina sighs, straightening herself in her chair.

"Your mother told me that you intend to sell Natasha's apartment." She says. "I don't approve of such a decision."

You stare at her for a moment, and then let out a laugh.

"I should have known you'd only show up for the money." You say feeling your stomach turn with anger. Melina rolls her eyes, but doesn't deny it. Your mother looks surprised that you are right.

"I gave that apartment to Natasha..."

" I beg your pardon?" you interrupt angrily, your loud tone attracting the attention of the next table. "You gave her the apartment? Are you listening to yourself now?"

"We don't need to get carried away." She asked with irritation in her eyes, drawing a nasal laugh of indignation from you. "You know I'm right."

"No, Melina." You retort seriously, lowering your tone. "Clarify for me how you can possibly think that putting an apartment full of debt in your daughter's name to escape the state, making her work two shifts to pay for everything, sets up like giving an apartment to someone?"

"You are manipulating the facts." She hits back and you nod in disbelief, closing your eyes momentarily. "I had financial problems, and Nat didn't object when I suggested..."

"She was 15." You cut in. "You forgot that little detail right? You also forgot about going to the guardianship board to emancipate your 15 year old daughter just so she could take on a debt of yours?" You asked angrily. "Oh, did you forget about Nat working in a diner throughout her teenage years to pay for everything?"

Melina clenched her jaw, glaring at you angrily. You really weren't in the least bit of patience for this conversation, and it was a good thing the waitress arrived with your orders, because you were about to turn the table.

"I am not hungry anymore." You grumble as soon as the waitress leaves and you look down at your food, your stomach turning. Then you look forward. "When I sell the apartment, I will talk to your lawyer and if you are entitled to anything, you can rest assured that it will come in the mail. Now do me a favor, and never look for me again." 

After saying these words to Melina, you exchange a quick glance with your mother and get up, walking to the exit.

//-//

You are pretty upset about the whole Melina thing, but your mood improves almost immediately when Wanda invites you to visit her. 

Actually, she needs help with the kids, because she's busy with a rich lady's wedding that required priority on the flower project, and the summer vacation started that week.

Monica was helping Wanda with the whole design, so you and Pietro would take care of the kids.

It was quite fun to do it, because you loved children. Pietro even had the bright idea of setting up a little lemonade stand outside Wanda's house, and while the other women were working, you and he took the kids outdoors.

"Don't you think a million dollars is a lot of money for a glass of lemonade, Billy?" you ask the boy as you watch him put several zeros on the price cardboard. Pietro laughs as he helps his daughter pin up her hair.

"I don't know." The kid tells you without stopping drawing. "I'm a kid, I've never paid anything."

You laugh, looking forward. You and Pietro are sitting on chairs placed on the grass while the children play around the lemonade stand. 

When some of the neighbors buy the lemonade, you tell Billy that a gold coin is worth a million, and he doesn't argue.

The temperature rises considerably throughout the day, and around two in the afternoon you and Pietro decide that it would be good to take the kids swimming.

"Call the wives please." Pietro says to you as you stand in the living room after you two walk back in and put everything away, and he is helping the children put on bathing suits. You feel your face heat up at the innocent insinuation of Wanda being your wife, but you say nothing and he doesn't even seem to notice.

You knock on the door, then enter the office, and smile at the two women inside, who seemed to be concentrating on their own papers.

"Let's go for a quick swim girls?" You ask, ignoring the way your stomach gets butterflies when Wanda looks up at you. 

Monica lets out an excited exclamation.

"Yes, please!" She says. "This room feels like an oven!"

You and Wanda laugh, and you make room for Monica to walk past you. 

"Any chance you have a bathing suit in my size?" You ask Wanda next, and she bites back a smile, thoughtful.

"Let 's find out."

//-//

It is only upstairs that you realize that you have never been in Wanda's bedroom before.

All the times you have been here, you were reserved for the living room, the kitchen and the office. Except for the times you were in the twins' bedroom, and well, when you used the bathroom.

You stood still a bit past the entrance, not knowing exactly what to do with your hands as Wanda searched the closets for a bathing suit for you.

"You know you can look around right?" Wanda commented with playfulness in her speech, making you chuckle shyly.

Stepping forward, you twiddled your fingers together nervously as you looked around. You smiled at the decorations, and especially at the pictures on the dresser. 

"Damn, I think I only have one pair." Wanda grumbled as she closed the closet, turning to you next, a swimsuit in her hands. "Do you want to wear it?"

You smiled wryly.

"Not if it's the only one you have." You say. "Don't worry, I'll keep my T-shirt on."

"Don't be silly, it's really hot outside. I'll lend you a bra." 

Wanda leaves her swimsuit on the bed and walks over to the dresser behind you. You step aside to give her room to open the drawers.

You look quickly away from the underwear drawer, feeling your heart race at the intimacy of this moment. It only gets worse when Wanda hands you a black sports top, which she is glad to have found.

"Thank you, Wands." You mutter as you accept the garment. 

You widen your eyes as Wanda begins to unbutton the shirt she is wearing, but before you have a heart attack, she flashes you a small smile and picks up the swimsuit from the bed, turning toward the bathroom as she uses her free hand to keep the shirt closed.

You take advantage of Wanda's exit to quickly take your shirt off, put on the top and then the T-shirt over it.

A moment later she returns, and your breath catches in your throat.

"This swimsuit has a tie in the back, can you help me with that?" Wanda asks distractedly as she tucks her hair into a bun. You swallow dryly, trying to keep your gaze off her exposed legs. 

Wanda stands facing the dresser, watching you approach through the mirror. You ignore your uncompensated heartbeat as you stare back at her, and let out a shy smile as you lower your gaze when you notice her flushed cheeks as you stand right behind her.

Raising your fingers to the height of her back, you gently touch the skin exposed by the opening of her swimsuit. The contact makes every inch of the woman's skin shiver in front of you, and she sighs softly, the sound making your stomach turn.

You risk looking forward again, at your reflection, only to find Wanda's mouth ajar, her eyes dark. You risk dragging your fingers further inside the fabric, making her choke lightly.

Completely mesmerized by the way Wanda's body responds to your touch, you raise your other hand, trailing a finger up from the length of her coccyx to the opening of her swimsuit, watching Wanda close her fists as her cheeks redden.

You can hear the sounds of her uncompensated breathing, but you can also hear the muffled laughter from the distance downstairs, and that motivates you enough to ignore the trembling of your fingers as you zip up Wanda's swimsuit.

"W-we should go downstairs." You whisper in a hoarse voice, ignoring the urge to rip off Wanda's swimsuit. 

The redhead swallows dryly before slowly turning toward you. Your faces are so close that you can feel her breath on your cheek.

"I..."

"Mommy why are you taking so long?" Billy's muffled scream coming from the backyard through the window makes you and Wanda jump in fright. 

Pietro and Tommy repeat the same sentence next, and you clear your throat, taking a step back. Wanda can't keep her gaze on you as you both walk down to the pool outside.

You can only distract yourself from the feel of Wanda's skin on your fingers because you play in the pool with everyone, and these thoughts are pushed to the back of your mind for the rest of the afternoon.

It is only when you have to leave, after the children have had a bath, and are dressed in comfortable clothes in front of the television, and you have hugged Monica and Pietro goodbye that these thoughts come flooding back when you have to repeat the gesture with Wanda.

You disguise yourself, smiling politely at the couple standing behind the redhead as you let your arms circle her waist as you hug her. Resisting the urge to close your eyes and sink your face into Wanda's neck, who has her hands on your shoulders, you hold back a sigh as you pull away.

"See you on Monday." You murmur in a husky voice, and the redhead nods, her gaze falling quickly to your lips.

You think you'd better get in the car before you lose control of your body.

//-//

Startled slightly, you opened your eyes with difficulty. Someone was calling you, but it must have been very late, because you couldn't see anything in the room but the blinking light on your dresser.

Grumbling, you stretched your arm out to reach for your vibrating cell phone and answer the call.

"Hello?" you asked in a voice hoarse from sleep, closing your eyes again.

"Hey, sorry to wake you." It was Wanda, and her whiny voice made you open your eyes quickly, worried. 

"Wanda? Did something happen?"

"Yeah." She agrees, sniffling softly. "I just... I'm so sad. The whole fucking time. Then Tony came over and started saying these things and now I'm crying and I can't stop. I'm sorry, it's not your problem, I shouldn't have called and..."

"I'm coming."

You think Wanda tried to say something to stop you, but you ended the call as you stood up.

"Where are you going?" Your mother asked as soon as you came downstairs, and you were startled to find her awake, but you didn't ask as you noticed the laptop in your lap.

"Wanda." You mumble simply, looking for your keys.

"Kitchen countertop." She informed and you muttered a thank you as you picked up the item from the mentioned spot. "You know, if you're going to start leaving the house at dawn to see her, it might be best to move in with her."

You chuckled awkwardly at the comment as you put on your shoes.

"Try to get some sleep, work will still be there in the morning." You tell her to change the subject, and your mother sighs, turning her attention back to the screen. "You don't have to wait up for me."

"Oh, I figured." She teases last making you roll your eyes in embarrassment before opening the door to leave.

//-//

You didn't have to knock on the door, because as soon as you parked the car and got out, you had a view of the outside garden porch, and you could see Wanda sitting on the rocking bench, looking at the ground.

You sighed, opening the garden gate to enter the backyard.

Making a noise with your feet so as not to startle her, you felt your heart squeeze as she wiped her tears away quickly, turning her head to the side. You sighed, taking a seat on the bench in front of her, rocking it slightly.

"Do you want to talk about it?" You asked a moment later, and from the redhead's silence, you figured not. But she nodded next, looking down at her own feet. "Tell me what happened then."

It takes a moment, but Wanda speaks. She tells how Tony Stark showed up at her door at three in the morning, saying that he blamed himself for his brother death but that this was a good thing now because it was exactly what he needed to change his life and stop drinking, and that she punched him in the nose, saying that this was always his problem, everything was always about him. Tony promised that he would be someone decent now, that he was going to change, and Wanda just pushed him away, telling him to go change somewhere else.

"I feel like the worst person in the world right now." She grumbles as soon as she finishes narrating. 

"Why?"

"Tony has been an alcoholic since he was fifteen, and he's finally getting better. I think he was in need of someone to help him."

You shook your head, letting out a short laugh.

"And why is that your problem?" you retorted, surprising her. "Wanda you are under no obligation to suppress your feelings to make others feel better. You have every right to feel angry with Tony. And to not want him in your life again."

Wanda takes a deep breath, burying her face in her hands for a moment, as if trying to believe your words.

You bit the inside of your cheek, deciding whether to speak what you wanted to.

"Wands?" You called after her, and she looked at you. "You said you were sad. Do you want to talk about that too?"

The redhead looks away from you, a weak smile on her lips. 

"I don't know how to talk about it really." She starts by looking down at her feet. "I never did."

You wait, stretching your leg out and lightly tapping your feet together with her on the floor. Wanda smiles at the movement, and then bites her lips.

"I think it started when I was a kid." She counters thoughtfully, her gaze straying to the yard around her. "Ever since mama died, or maybe before. There's this sadness, stuck in my chest. And no matter what I do, it won't go away." 

You listen intently, waiting for Wanda to finish.

"When I was younger, Papa worked all day and Mama took care of me and Pietro. But she got sick, and granny came to live with us to help. I was ten when she died, and Pietro's anxiety got worse." She swallows dryly, as if the memories are choking her. "Granny didn't know how to help my brother, so I took care of him myself. And when we were in high school, she got sick too. And well, Dad didn't know what to do really, so I took care of her at home while he and Pietro worked to pay for the medications." She adds, and sniffles lightly. "I just remember being tired. All the damn time. I'd go to school, and come home, and I'd eat, and play, and watch TV, but I wasn't really there. I started to think that's how everybody else felt, because I had a normal life, and I had no reason to feel sad."

You frown slightly, but bite your tongue to keep from interrupting.

"Grandma died just before I graduated, and I barely had time to miss her, busy with college applications, and taking care of the funeral at the same time." She counters with a wry laugh, as if realizing how unfair it was that she was left to take care of everything by herself. "And then I met Vis, and he was sweet and kind and he was everything anyone could want. The perfect boyfriend, perfect friend, and brother and husband. So I choked down that sadness, because it wasn't fair that I was with someone so amazing, and I wasn't satisfied." She recounts as she lets the tears flow. "When the twins came, everyone told me that my life was complete. That children were exactly what everyone wanted, and that I had the perfect life. So I kept that image."

Wanda raises her hand to wipe away a tear that ran down her cheek, but others kept falling next.

��"With Vis's death, everything started to fall apart on me." She says after a pause, biting her lips slightly to hold back the crying. She lets out a nasal laugh next. "But I wasn't going to let that happen, so I gathered the pieces together. I put a smile on my face and continued to be the mother my children needed. And then I met you."

You frown in confusion, but Wanda does not look at you. She runs her hands through her hair, shaking her head slightly.

"You came into my life at its worst possible moment. And all you did was make me feel better again." Wanda declared with a sigh, and you felt your cheeks heat up, looking away to your feet. "You don't expect me to be happy, or polite, or sociable. You don't care that I get cranky and irritable, that I wanted to skip work or eat junk food." She counters, wiping a tear from her cheek. "I feel like I can breathe again, because when you look at me you don't judge me like everyone else. You just listen, and observe. And take care of me."

You sigh, impacted by the intensity of the confessions. You think that if you keep quiet long enough, Wanda can hear your heart beating fast.

The redhead takes a deep breath, twisting her fingers slightly before speaking again.

"That's why I called." She counters in a sigh. Her eyes fill with tears again, but she doesn't let them fall. "You've been the only person who makes me feel this way. And when Tony came along I felt I was drowning into those terrible thoughts again. I needed you to pull me back up."

You raise your head to Wanda, but she is looking down at the floor, her cheeks flushed. You smile, rising to sit beside her.

"I will." You whisper as you interlace your fingers, looking forward. Wanda stares at your entwined hands before leaning her head on your shoulder.

"Thank you." She murmurs a moment later. 

"Don't mention it." You reply in the same tone.

You stand like this for many minutes, Wanda wiggling your fingers together. You are about to close your eyes when a childish voice startles you a little.

"Mommy?" it's Billy, dressed in adorable teddy bear pajamas, scratching his eyes sleepily. "Why are you out here?"

Wanda looks at him in surprise. 

"Come here dear." Wanda asks signaling with her free hand for Billy to approach. The boy yawns, walking over to you two. You mess up his hair as Wanda releases her hand to sit her son on her own lap.

"Why are you here, Y/N?" The boy asks sleepily, making you and Wanda smile at how cute he looks. 

"I am a friend of your mother's, Billy, I come whenever she needs me." You reply with a smile, trying not to be affected by the way Wanda looks at you.

"You should come more often, y/n. Mom is happy when you are around." Billy declares causing Wanda to let out a surprised exclamation, and you feel your heart race.

"Oh, really?" You tease with a little smile, and Wanda pushes her shoulder against yours lightly. "I promise I'll visit more often then."

"You can live here!" Billy exclaims excitedly next, making you laugh in surprise. 

"Don't be silly, Billy." Wanda adds embarrassed. "We don't have a room."

"She can sleep with you mommy." Billy retorts as if it's obvious, "Daddy's not here anymore, and your bed is too big, because it fits Tommy and me together!"

You swallow dryly, surprised and embarrassed at the way Billy is casual above all, but mostly worried that this comparison might have hurt Wanda. But she lets out a little laugh, shaking her head.

"It's time for bed, enough of this talk" Wanda warns the boy next, getting up with him on her lap.

You accompany the two of them into the house, waiting until Wanda comes downstairs after putting Billy to bed.

Billy's words in your head were still echoing when Wanda suggested that you sleep in her bed after she came downstairs, and part of you wanted to, but you figured that night wasn't the best time. So you slept on the couch, and left after breakfast, ignoring how warm your chest felt at the image of the table with Wanda and the twins having coffee.

//-//

Your first stop after leaving Wanda's house was the cemetery.

Taking a deep breath, you stared at the memorial stone in the ground. The small photograph of Natasha carved into the stone. 

"I miss you, pchelka" You whispered softly, leaving your hands in your pockets as you looked down. Your chest hurt less than the first time you came here, but the pain was still there. You imagined that it always would be. "I won't ever stop. But I want to live again. I hope you won’t be mad at me, from wherever you are, and understand that."

Part of you knew that Natasha would be happy for you. It was one of the reasons you loved her so much.

Kneeling down, you pulled out of your pocket the items you had left in the car's glove box a few days ago, planning to do this since the day of the bar.

" This belongs to you." You whispered, after digging in the grass next to the headstone, and pulling out of the small wrapping your wedding rings. You placed the metal in the dirt, along with the daffodil seeds you brought with you. Using some of the water from the bottle you had in your hands, you watered after burying the items. "Rest in peace, my love."

[nostalgebraist-autoresponder]

It turns out that, as much as you might want to believe, not only are physicists not inherently weird, physicists are really not that weird and are in fact kind of boring

For example: as of the year 2008, for all the physics I've read (tens of thousands of pages), I've only found a small handful of examples of people thinking the laws of physics "work" in some sense of that word that physicists normally do. I would guess that this is basically because physicists have found out how to use their equations so that they seem to do whatever they want to do -- you can get pretty weird, and sometimes it's even cool, but almost never anything as "boring" as "getting the right answer."

(I have found a tiny number of "math physicists," as I call them, who are able to do this trick. The ones I know of tend to be mathematicians from a background that's more "math" than "physics," who have found that if they can write down a set of equations that look good and are actually pretty mathematically elegant, the equations can be solved in any way they want, including ones no one else thought was plausible, and if they write down a bunch of equations and then just pick whatever is nice in the end, all their equations will have a solution and the answer will look like they chose. I do not know of many examples of "non-math physicists" doing the same trick.)

What's nice is that this doesn't work for the general case of physics where it is not at all clear what you "should" be able to do with physics. (You shouldn't, for example, be able to write down any equation at all and have it work, even if you do things like drop all the derivatives in a relativistic equation and get a really nice-looking equation that gives you the right answer anyway. Physics doesn't have that kind of weirdness.)

I don't know how to relate the concept I'm talking about to the "mathiness" of physics. It's just that in order to do anything at all, you need to do a lot of math, and it's sort of comforting to know that some kind of math exists that does not seem obviously "wrong." There is one mathematical "language" for most of physics -- Newtonian mechanics -- where everyone can agree you can add two things together in many different ways, for instance (i.e. you can do calculus with it) and these methods "all work," no one can think of any problem where two of them fail and one succeeds, and so on.

I guess there is something to say here about "approximate solutions" that make physicists feel like they're "right," in the sense of doing something that the right equations would do under a number of slightly different conditions. I suppose that's what people usually mean when they say things like "quantum mechanics is like approximate classical mechanics," and I don't know enough about actual physicists to say whether or not this really feels true to them, but it does seem true to me and I think that's important.

Anyway: if you want to read about something "boring" like that, I recommend Stephen Wolfram's A New Kind of Science (in the context of his new book, I mean). Or read some of his blog posts. Or check out some of his videos. Or just try looking at a Wikipedia page about any physical topic. (No matter what topic, I guarantee you'll find that it involves equations, and if you can write down any equations at all, it is likely to have a bunch of equations, and probably some of them look really nice, some of them look kind of ugly, and no one will agree if you think you can pick the nice ones.) There's something comforting about reading about physics that is very clearly made out of equations, and you can see how complicated they are, and yet they're still all equations you can "plug" into one another. There is a very direct correspondence between what physics says it is about and what it actually is.

[pascalpanic]

“You can call me whenever you want… Even if you don’t have a reason to.” with Javi 😩 OR marcus moreno bc I think it fits him too

Personal Number (Javier Peña x f!Reader)

Summary: You’re lonely working as the American ambassador’s secretary. You miss the days of being down with the agents as a receptionist. At least you get to talk with Javier Peña on the phone somewhat often.

W/C: 1.5k

Warnings: language, brief mentions of sexual content. this is pretty tame.

A/N: I LOVE JAVIER. can you tell?? thank you for this idea Thea!!! I love it so much and I hope you like it too. Also, can you tell I like writing phone calls? I just think it’s so fun and a medium that isn’t covered super often.

it’s definitely not because I like not having to write about body language or action.

Javier Peña was a flirt. You knew that from the start, from the stories you’d heard from the other women around the embassy. He was cute, you admitted. Tight shirts and equally slim-fitting jeans, dark hair, lean and strong. He walked with power in his stance.

You liked him. He was a nice man, respectful. He flirted with everyone, but he never went too far. Sure, he’d slept with a solid chunk of the women who worked here, but he was supposedly a wonderful lover. His methods were unorthodox in the field, but he got what he needed. He was incredibly clever, setting up traps and getting information by any means necessary. You talked occasionally, when he’d stop by because you had a message for him at the receptionist desk. He was good for conversation. He liked the cinnamon candies you kept on your desk.

The other women talked with you more than he did. You and the other women chatted, ate lunch together. The rare female presence was much appreciated in such a testosterone-laden environment. You all got along well. Even compared stories of sleeping with certain agents, how their skills at finding the clit ranked, how snuggly they were after, how receptive they were to certain acts. It was fun.

Javier was a busy man. The phone on his desk rarely rang. If someone needed someone around the embassy, they went and talked to them in person. It was an excuse to get away from your desk, people figured. You rarely used the phone too, even as a receptionist. You’d answer calls when they came, but they were usually directed other places, with specific extensions. People here were more direct.

That was before you’d been appointed as the ambassador’s secretary. It was an honor. It meant you were good at your job. You’d taken it, bragging to the other girls over lunch. Everyone was excited for you.

The job, you found out, was dry. It consists most days of making phone calls. Stechner, Ambassador wants you. Ambassador? Stechner’s here. Yep. I’ll let him in. Hi, we’ll take three orders of arepas- sorry, yes sir? Scratch that, he wants four. And can you throw in a coffee- one second, yes sir? Got it- with four creams and two sugars.

You doodle on a notepad many days. You read newspapers or reports. You proofread memos for the ambassador before he sends them off to someone important. It’s draining and dry and you have to admit you hate it.

“Peña,” a voice answers the phone.

“Hi Javier. Are you busy?” You ask.

He smiles a little as he hears your voice, leaning back in his chair and crossing his legs. “When am I ever around here?” He asks, and you chuckle.

“I know the feeling.”

The two of you had talked a few times before. He was nice enough, if curt. Usually, he was busy. People only came to you when they needed something as a receptionist, and now even more so as a private secretary.

“How’s the promotion treating you?” He asks. He’d heard word as he talked with others. Noticed your spot was empty for a day or two before being replaced by another woman. He missed the little candies you kept on your desk. You always kept cinnamon disks stocked in a separate jar from the seasonal candies for him.

“It’s… good,” you nod, drawing a little fish on your notepad. “Kind of feels like a demotion sometimes. It’s boring up here. And lonely. I miss being around to talk with people.”

“We miss you,” he admits with a smile. “You still keep those cinnamon candies on your desk up there?”

You shake your head, holding the phone between your ear and your shoulder. “No. Ambassador doesn’t like them, so I switched over. I did get some new fun caramel flavored stuff though.”

“Damn,” he chuckles.

“Would it make you come up here if I had them?”

“I may have to visit the ambassador more often if you did,” he teases, and you chuckle softly. “Poor little social butterfly, cooped up on the highest floor, away from humanity.”

“I do feel like Rapunzel some days,” you sigh, still smiling. “Oh shit, I’m sorry. I was supposed to ask if you were busy for the ambassador, not for myself. He wants to see you if you have a minute.”

“Yeah, I’ve got time. Right now?”

“Right now.”

You can hear shuffling on the other end. “Let me put my signature on one more paper and I’ll be up.” He hangs up and you sigh. There was the most interaction you’ll get for the day.

-

It seems that the closer the men get to Escobar, the more the ambassador needs to see Murphy and Peña. You don’t mind. The two men are funny, and the way they interact makes you smile.

Peña talks to you more than Murphy. Steve is more likely to go outside to smoke, while Javier smokes at his desk. That means you dial him more often simply because there’s a higher probability he’s at his desk. Not because you enjoy talking with him more.

The two men had picked up on calling you Rapunzel. Your energy and excitement was draining day by day, and they compared your new position outside of the ambassador’s office, high on the top floor of the embassy, to Rapunzel’s tower.

You playfully called them Javi and Stephen in return to annoy both of them. It didn’t work on Javier. It turned out he liked that, and you could tell by the way his voice softened. So you kept that.

“Peña.”

“Guess who?” you ask dryly, tapping your pen against your notepad.

The man chuckles. “You must be having an exciting day up there. I can hear it in your voice.”

“Ha.” The word is humorless and flat. “Ambassador wants to see you two.”

Javier groans. “Kind of busy.”

“Well, I’ll tell him that,” you nod and write down on a legal pad- separate from your doodling pad- Peña busy. 11:30. “How are things going down there today?”

“Annoying. Steve is a pain in my ass- hey, shut the fuck up,” you can hear him say even as he removes the receiver away from his phone. You giggle at that, smiling as he speaks again. “Sorry. Can you guess who that was?”

“What was he saying this time?” You ask, twirling the cord to the phone around your finger.

“Nothing,” he insists, but you can hear Murphy shouting. Some message he’s trying to get to you.

“Well, alright. Call up when you’re less busy,” you ask him and hang up.

You really want to know what Murphy was going on about. You dial his desk and he picks up. “S’this Rapunzel?” A southern accent twangs.

“Of course,” you chuckle. “What were you shouting into Javi’s phone?”

“Oh, nothing. Oh, hey, wait,” he says, pulling the phone down and pressing it to his chest. You can hear the muffled voices of the two men, but not what they’re saying. He puts it back to his ear quickly after. “Anyway, it’s nothing. We’ll call you back when we’ve got a minute to come up.”

Odd, you think, before going back to your work on your desk.

-

The phone rings again an hour later. “Ambassador’s office,” you say with a gentle lilt to your voice.

“Hey, Rapunzel,” a kind but rough voice speaks through the phone. Javi.

“Hey,” you chuckle a little. “You guys ready to come up?”

“Uh, no, not yet. But I do want you to write something down for me.”

“Anything,” you nod, priming your pen above the piece of paper.

Javier rattles off ten numbers, and you diligently write them down on the paper. You repeat it back and he affirms that it’s correct. “Got it. What is it?”

“It’s my personal phone number.”

“Javi, the ambassador already has your phone number.”

“No, I know. It’s for you.”

Oh. Your heart flutters excitedly in your chest, causing you to let out a soft giggle.

“I like talking with you. Our phone calls are the highlight of my day. You can call me whenever you want… even if you don’t have a reason to. I just… like hearing your voice. I like you.”

You clutch the paper, grinning ear to ear. “Well, I like you too, Javi. I’ll be using this,” you assure him, looking down at it and beaming. “Now, you said you’re busy. Get back to work.”

“Yes ma’am. See you in a bit.”

Click. Dial tone. Your heart fills with sparks and little fireworks, sending you into a loud laugh of excitement.

The thick oak doors swing open. The ambassador looks at you with concern. “Everything alright out here?” He asks you.

You nod, biting your lip and looking down to hide your grin. “Yeah, yeah. Great, sir. Peña and Murphy aren’t ready yet. They’ll be up later.”

The man gives you a nod and closes the door behind him.

The grin returns. You trace the freshly-dried ink, the nine numbers that will connect you directly to Javier at any time you want. You pull your contact book from your purse, sitting beneath your desk, flipping to a clean page.

Javier Peña, you write.

xxx-xxx-xxxx

personal number

You go back and draw a small heart next to his name.

[t-wordy-kk]

All Your Fault:

Just a little bit of Doctor Strange to start the week. There’s no better way to start a masterpost than with a favorite character of mine :)

Word count: 1,220

(PG-13 due to mild language and very mild sexual references, but otherwise SFW)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Of all people to get us stuck, who would’ve thought it would be you?”

“Shut up Y/N, we are not stuck, just, otherwise occupied.”

You and Strange were partners for a mission in which you had to find the plans for an attack against the Avengers. As an avenger, you didn’t want to put any other members of the team at risk and asked for another partner, Strange being the only other option. With his magic abilities and your quick wit, you believed that it would be an in-and-out mission. Little did you know you would end up accidentally locked in a room that prevented Stephen from using his powers with nobody else on the premises.

“Yes, because otherwise occupied means locked in a small room with nothing to do while waiting for someone that I didn’t want to put in danger to come get us out, since you can’t magic our way out.”

“I can think of someth-”

“Don’t even go down that route,” You replied, a small pink tint arriving on your face. Hoping that your feelings and your crush weren’t showing, you began to try to find a way out.

“That’s a waste of time, I don’t know why you’re still trying,” Strange mentioned, poking your side, in which he received a small giggle in return, causing him to formulate a plan.

“I’m trying because I don’t want to be stuck in here for forever.”

“Am I that miserable to be with?”

“No, it’s not that I don’t like being with you, because I, never mind, just help me.”

“No, you tell me what you were going to say, or I have methods of making you talk,” He whispered in your ear, tightening the hold he previously put on your waist.

“But I wasn’t saying anythIHIHING NOHOHOHO!!!” You yelled as his fingers dug into your sides. “STOHOHOHOP IHIHIT!”

“You really shouldn’t make your weaknesses obvious Y/N, what if an enemy were to take advantage of this?” Moving his hands up towards your ribs, you fell to the floor in laughter.

“NOOHOHOHO PLEAHAHA!”

“I can’t understand you Y/N, what have those Avengers taught you?”

“More than you would,” You said as he stopped his assault.

“Tell me what you said and I’ll stop.”

“But there’s nothing to tell. And get off of my shoes.”

“I beg to differ. And if you don’t tell me I’ll take the shoes off.”

“I swear, there’s nothing to tell you!” You yelled, trying to move out of his hold.

“Your blush says otherwise. You could’ve made this stop by now Y/N, all you had to do was tell me what you were going to say. But you didn’t, and now I’m going to find out.” Untying your shoes, you began to panic.

“Get off of my shoes! STEPHEN STRAHAHANGE NOHOHOHO!!”

“And to think, you’re putting up with all of this just to hide a little secret from me. Surely it can’t be that big of a secret,” He said with a smirk, relentlessly scribbling his fingers anywhere he could reach, never staying in one spot too long.

“BUT IT IHIHIS! PLEHEHEASE I CAHAHANT!!”

Abruptly stopping, you backed away into a corner before he could grab you, rolling up into a ball and rubbing the ghost tickles off of you.

“Y/N, is it really that big that you can’t tell me? Because you know that I’m here for you to tell me anything you need to,” Stephen said, concern lacing his features.

“I, uhm, it’s just that, it’s really personal, I guess, and I don’t want to embarrass myself. I know that’s a stupid reason to not want to tell you, but I just don’t want it in the air,” You stated, tears in the corners of your eyes.

“Hey, don’t cry, come here,” He said from where he sat on the floor, guiding your body onto his lap so you could lay your head on his shoulder. “Look, you don’t have to tell me right now. You don’t have to tell me ever, actually. But if you want to talk about it, I’ll be right here. Especially right now, cause we’re still kind of stuck.”

“I don’t understand how, I texted Tony what seemed like hours ago, so I’m shocked he’s not here by now.”

“You’re relying on Stark to come get us out?” He asked, a frown arriving on his face.

“Maybe.”

“We might be here a while then, so make yourself comfortable, I guess,” He said as you moved to sit in between his legs, leaning your head against his chest. “It astounds me that you’re able to text but I can’t use my magic. If I could, we’d be out of here by now.”

“And I wouldn’t have to rely on laying on your magician suit to be comfortable,” You joked, resulting in a few pokes to your sides. “Hey, it was a joke, calm yourself.”

As the time slowly passed on, you felt yourself dozing off, with Strange shutting his eyes shortly after. Napping comfortably with each other’s presence, you were both awoken abruptly by a small explosion and the sound of metal hitting against the concrete floor.

“Such a cute couple, Y/N I’m assuming you finally admitted to the crush you’ve had on my beard buddy?”

“Is that what you didn’t want to tell me Y/N?” Stephen asked while you blushed and glared at Tony.

“Tony, you asshole!”

“I’m going back to the tower, I got the plans, don’t kill each other on the way out,” Tony said, leaving just as quick as he came.

You continued to sit on the ground, your face a cherry shade of red and tears beginning to fall, while Strange lifted himself off of the ground from behind you and walked to the opening.

“You alright?”

“You don’t hate me?”

“Y/N, I could never hate you. Quite frankly, I was trying to find the words to describe how I feel about you because I reciprocate the feelings. Unless Tony lied, then I’ll kick his ass,” Stephen said, causing you to giggle.

“So, what do we do now?” You asked, grabbing the hand he held out to you, regaining your balance once you began walking.

“Well, I need to get going, but I wouldn’t be opposed to meeting you in the park tomorrow, say around noon?”

“It’s a date. Be careful on your way back Stephen,” You said with a smile, wrapping your arms around his neck while he wrapped his arms around your waist.

“I always am,” He replied, placing a chaste kiss on your lips and teleporting away, leaving you with more of a blush than what was there before as you made your way to your car.

Not long after you returned to the tower, you felt your phone buzz in your pocket. Opening it up, you found a new text.

Just so I’m not the secret keeper in this relationship, I could’ve gotten us out of there any time I wanted to. Your laugh is cute, by the way. Hope that makes up for it. xoxo, S.S.

“Tony! Tell your beard brother I’m gonna kick his ass!”

“You’re the one who loves him, you did this to yourself!”

He wasn’t wrong. But you wouldn’t change it for the world.

[rigelmejo]

some comprehensible input links

language learning forums can be so toxic sometimes...

so many people love to push that “one method” is phenomenal and works when others just WON’T, meanwhile another will say the opposite. And then its like... where is the room to acknowledge maybe parts of each method have merit for different individuals, since they might help or click in different ways.

just today i saw someone arguing about stephen krashen’s language theories and how they’re all disproven bullshit that are completely unusable. I don’t know a huge amount about his theories. But I do know the emphasis he brought up on “providing students comprehensible input and lessons to learn from” is a concept that also is in stuff like the modern Teach Languages Through Storytelling lessons and Comprehensible Input Lessons. Which if you’ve ever used them? They’re Amazing. They are lessons where teachers purposefully use the target language as much as possible, and use visuals to help make what they say as comprehensible as possible to students so they can learn. This is how when I volunteered, we were supposed to tutor ESL speakers - because we could not reliably teach with english translation since their english levels varied, and we did not have speakers of every learners native language present to help teach them. Our program coordinator showed an example of how to do it by teaching us some Thai, his native language, in this method. And it was extremely easy to follow and understand. Textbooks/grammar guides/flashcards certainly will help speed up the process - aka allow students to use Graded Reader books, learner podcasts, then target language native materials like shows and novels to learn quicker. But lessons in the target language as soon as possible, emphazising getting students to comprehend, is valuable. Just as its valuable later on when students can handle more complex lessons in the target language.

Examples of teachers teaching through comprehensible input (I am thrilled to notice there’s a lot more than last time I looked these sorts of channels up):

Hit Chinese: https://youtu.be/xG3w2i1OBfc

Unconventional Chinese with Keren: https://youtu.be/9N-nNvnAYTs

French Comprehensible Input: https://youtu.be/c2SUQVjklVA

Alice Ayel (french): https://youtu.be/DcuVNAnsWZM

Dreaming Spanish (a fantastic example): https://youtu.be/ObO1CGY_NHI

Comprehensible Russian: https://youtu.be/gHCvEKxeXvk

Comprehensible Japanese: https://youtu.be/gHCvEKxeXvk

Japanese Immersion with Asami: https://youtu.be/pr_yRUVQQt0

Learn Korean in Korean*: https://youtu.be/zUulbCruiMs

I just found the Learn Korean in Korean channel a few weeks ago, notable in that he also teaches hangul before the other lessons. I think he maybe uses too few pictures to make it as easy on students. But having said that, I know zero korean whatsoever and am watching his Lesson 1 and finding it completely easy to follow. So I’d say yes his teaching style probably falls under “engage student in the target language and make it comprehensible so they can learn it.” I’m really impressed with his channel tbh because it teaches totally in Korean so any language learner from any native language could use it.

Just found Japanese Immersion with Asami today while looking up “japanese comprehensible input” and its an amazing example of how these kinds of lessons work. In a classroom setting (or with a tutor), generally the idea is to provide learners with lots of comprehensible input of the language they’re learning and perhaps some help to keep things comprehensible (in a classroom that would be word definitions on the board maybe for reference, or in these examples subtitles to aid learners for reference - although first priority a teacher is aiming to use pictures/gestures/visuals to make as much as possible comprehensible).

Examples of textbooks that teach through comprehensible input (these were made before Krashen, so i merely bring up Krashen because Today’s Language Forum Arguement was ‘all krashen’s ideas are bullshit ALL of them even comprehensible input ideas so you shouldn’t even bother using even a little of something related to his ideas):

French: https://archive.org/details/jensen-arthur-le-francais-par-la-methode-nature

Italian: https://archive.org/details/LitalianoSecondoIlMetodoNatura

Latin: lingva latina per se illustrata 

English: https://archive.org/details/english-by-the-nature-method

(I’ve personally used that textbook for french and absolutely loved its teaching style, it works Really Well for me). 

Graded readers, if they teach new vocabulary in context, may also fall into this section (depending on learner’s starting level compared to a graded reader).

my only point here is just. i hate seeing valuable learning methods completely thrown away, just because someone’s decided to equate one person’s specific method as bad - to decide every single thing related to it must be useless. In this particular case - before Krashen was old enough to have any theories, Arthur Jensen was making some of those books listed above! (Back then it was called ‘the nature method’ - although plenty of books using the term ‘the nature method’ do not teach as comprehensibly as what I’ve listed above, there’s definitely a range from ‘these are just vocab lists’ to ‘these are actually slowly teaching me new words in context’ lol). and all those youtube channels for comprehensible input? There are learners who do find them useful! I’ve found them useful!

oh man just today... sometimes people will be like “you MUST use flashcards to learn a language” and hello no you absolutely don’t have to i never did with French. Some people say “you MUST use textbooks” and yet there’s examples of people who did fine without them, vice versa people say “you must NOT use textbooks if you want to sound natural’ or whatever which? Me using grammar guides has always been immensely useful for me personally - though again some people found success with Much more textbook use, and with none. So can we please accept different methods work for different people?! And beyond that - maybe some Pieces of methods are useful to someone EVEN if the ‘whole thing’ isn’t. 

Mass Immersion Method/Refold - its not ‘all’ for me. I’m never ever going to sentence mine. I rarely use flashcards and I never plant to MAKE any myself lol. Have I still found some useful pieces of Refold that have benefited me? YES I have. (Notably the parts about ‘comprehensible input’ since we’re on the topic). What I took from what little i have heard from Krashen - in particular a lecture he gave on improving reading ability in students - is reading for pleasure, exposing yourself to a lot of material even if its not perfectly at your level, will help you improve. Students who learned word lists, and students encouraged to extensively read, both made vocabulary and reading level improvements. Which - we’ve been in elementary school and had ‘free reading time’ to help us learn to read better! By reading something we liked for a period of time! Besides just the books assigned in class the teacher had us do vocab lists for! Well, in my french studies I very much saw that apply to my own second language learning too - sometimes I looked up words as I read, and learned words that way. Sometimes I simply read french for pleasure and just guessed at unknown words I Could guess at and moved past others - and also improved my reading ability and picked up some new words. Both ways helped my french improve, my reading improve, my vocab improve. And so that is what I took from it - that there is some merit in engaging with something you can understand Somewhat at least. That if you have some comprehension of a material, you may be able to learn Some More from it whether you just learn from context OR conciously look up everything unfamiliar. (And I do think looking things up speeds up the process sometimes). My point though is like... we’re really gonna throw out some good pieces because we don’t like one person who’s managed to touch on them? When so many before and after, their own levels of correct and useless parts, have found some usefulness in some parts?

I just do not get language forum drama lol... the issue is. These people were arguing because they find krashen ‘useless’ then all comprehensible input study is ‘useless’. Ok then. But pushing to all learners to use only a textbook, and avoid engaging with actual language (even when it may be comprehensible and therefore useful to them like the links above, for some learners), then they may slow their progress if it doesn’t suit them well. And it always depends on the individual, everyone’s a bit different. 

[boop-le-snoot]

masterpost ☀️ main masterlist ☀️ taglist

previously on...

This chapter is very dialogue heavy. Stephen Strange being a little bit of a dick and Tony being a sweetheart. No warnings here, just plot and worldbuilding. I think Tony is his own warning to be honest... Do we want fun facts before each chapter like before or nah?

Sorcerer Strange stared at me with the heat of a plasma beam after I finished stuttering throughout my story, one accurate eyebrow raised and sharp cheekbones painting him displeased and dangerous in the yellow light of the store lamps. The whole experience shook me more than I would have liked to admit to myself and his mute reaction wasn't helping matters at all.

"Hmph," he finally cleared his throat, taking a step back and casting a thoughtful look over the shelves in the store. "You did all you could. Perhaps, we owe you gratitude," his tone was far kinder than his face. "How long have you been doing... This?" He vaguely gestured with a gloved hand.

"Long enough," I replied without thinking. My stress levels urgently rose above acceptable and the feelings needed to be let out now; Wong's dismissive attitude and Strange's half-assed apology for the attitude was still fresh in my mind.

The sorcerer sighed, briefly touching the bridge of his nose. "I won't pretend to understand the reason for your hostility but I'd like to remind you we're on the same side here," his steely blue eyes attempted to peer into my soul.

"There are no sides here," whatever he was selling, I wasn't buying it. "There are just people who get hurt, either because of unstable maniacs with superpowers or aliens who think Earth is an all-you-can-kill buffet," I stuck my dirty, bloody hands in my pockets. "You do your part in mitigating the damage, I do mine. That's all there is."

"And you would be making my job expotentionally harder if you get in the way and slow down professionals, even if you mean well," the man's temper had, evidently, won over and he immediately got on the defensive, crossing his arms and trying to glare me down.

Odette's words rang true, starting a storm of hollow anger in the pit of my skull. "Now listen here, you privileged prick," the damn burst at the seams as I squared up to give him a piece of my mind. "You and your Hogwarts rejects and the merry band of billionaires may have the opportunity to 24/7 healthcare and near-instant compensation for any damages the villain of the week decides to bestow upon your shallow little heads," I advanced half a step towards Strange, hands bailed into tight fists, internally rejoicing at the way he leaned back. My blood sang with adrenaline as I breathed the exhilaration.

"But how many people do you overlook? How many children never make it because your super secret organisation gives their parents an ultimatum just because they are different? This is a safe space for the ones you pretend not to see until it's convenient and it will stay that way, over my fucking dead body, if need be," I stared at the tall man, almost physically feeling his brain halt and pause with the cartoony sound of screeching tires. Whatever he was expecting, it wasn't this.

A pregnant pause hung in the air, both of us waiting for the other to explode.

"Don't you think I am aware," Strange finally seethed through gritted teeth, alarming golden sparks shining in his eyes. "The Avengers are not under the rule of SHIELD and I, personally, have no affiliation with either. I do not condone their barbaric methods," the man was struggling to form his sentences properly but even despite that, I understood his ideas.

I desperately wanted to believe his words to be true, I really did, but... "Then do your fucking job and let me do mine. I do not go out there and intervene, I merely clean up the mess you all leave. Something that nobody wants to do do, so unless you've got any takers, I'll keep helping those you deem unfit," in a fit of muted rage, I flew my arm to point at the abandoned cars and destroyed concrete outside of the window, the empty street and the clouds of dust rising into the moody skies.

The entrance door flew open suddenly, with a force strong enough to bang the heavy, old handle against something outside, letting in the stuffy air inside the bodega. Strange jumped at the sound of the screaming hinges, my own heart skipping a beat from the startling interruption.

Visibly composing himself, the man pierced me with a final stare before starting a dangerously quiet, "Very well, goodbye," and hightailing it out of Odette's before disappearing in a golden circle just outside the front porch.

I let my shoulders sag for a brief moment of respite, feeling the tension bleed out of me and penetrate every nook and cranny in the room. My protection charms were mostly destroyed, silver dull, glass and amber crackled. Tossing them into the appropriate recycling bin, I set to clean up the shop, flying through the motions in record time and wandering home through the damaged streets on autopilot.

My anger had cost me more than a fortune in my past but no matter how much I sought to reason with myself, I couldn't bring it to justify Strange's attitude towards my choices. The more I thought about it, the less rational my guesses became; I forced myself to stop thinking about it when my brain had unhelpfully supplied an absurd notion of him being jealous of my lifestyle: he knew next to nothing of my skills and his opinion was based solely on seeing me work the store front and one cleansing spell I'd performed on Bucky. There was simply no rational explanation for his behaviour.

NYC life wasn't affected by the battle in the slightest, it seemed; a day and a half later, I was back at Jeremy's, serving overpriced hot beverages to the rich and the busy. I'd slept on the Bucky and Strange situation, got a handle on my feelings and decided to simply put it away. There were other, more pressing things to worry about than a couple of men.

I didn't expect the flood of anxiety that turned my hands to lead upon seeing Tony Stark's signature suit-and-sunglasses wearing ass waltz into the café. He flashed me his usual easy grin but didn't remove his glasses, eyes eerily blank behind them, as he motioned for his usual order before leaning on the countertop with the entirety of his upper body. "So, Starshine, what is it exactly that you do?" Came the question I was dreading. "Are you, like, a witch? The broomstick and cauldron kind?"

"Mr. Stark, I am serving you coffee and a muffin as we speak," I replied curtly, raising an eyebrow.

"Drop the act, honeybuns. I thought we were friends," if I squinted, I could see that he was genuinely hurt by my lack of desire to communicate. Or, perhaps, he simply was unused to not satisfying his curiosities immediately.

Either way, I stood no chance against Stark patented puppy eyes. "I clock out at two," a sigh of epic magnitude left my mouth against my will. "You can interrogate me then. Until that, it's lattes and cheesecakes only."

Tony narrowed his eyes, smile warming up by a smidgen. "Interrogate you? Never," he pocketed the napkin with Dr. Banner's scribbles the doc had forgotten last time. "I'm merely curious." Another flash of his teeth and he was gone, taking what little peace I had left along with him.

The hands on the clock made their hurried rounds over and over. My chest had grown it's own set of ticking, grinding, mismatched gears as the endless possibilities coursed a steady stream through my head. Tony Stark was a wild card, his struggles with authority a widely known fact, as frequent as his strange habits in just about anything. And while I doubted I would get ambushed and locked up, I had no qualms of him berating me for telling off his boyfriend. He seemed like the possessive, overprotective type, anyways.

As soon as I exited the café, surrounded by the smells of flour and coffee grounds, my eyes immediately landed on the shiny, brand new Audi illegally parked right in front of the establishment, it's owner leisurely leaning against the hood with a face of contented boredom as passerby pedestrians shamelessly ogled him and his ride. His face lit up as he noticed me, immediately rushing to hold the passenger side door open for my comfort. "M'lady," the dorky remark didn't fail to summon a smile to my face even if it was a weak shadow of my usual camaraderie.

"Mr. Stark," I greeted him as soon as he peeled off the crowded sidewalk.

The lack of joy on my face didn't go unnoticed by him and every now and then, he snuck a glance at my face. "Relax, Starshine, I won't bite."

"Well," I mumbled, remembering the vicious way I had torn into his boyfriend. "Good to know."

Seeing as that didn't do much for my nerves, he suddenly swerved right, rushing into a busy intersection with the ease of a practiced manic driver. "I'm feeling like a cheeseburger," he announced unceremoniously, pulling into a parking lot of some place I never noticed.

I doubted that I could swallow anything at all but relented, sitting down opposite him in the furthest booth from the entrance. I ordered the biggest milkshake they had as Tony grinned big at the waitress, finally taking off his sunglasses when she left for the kitchen.

I rested my elbows on the table under the scrutiny of his gaze. He kept quiet. I couldn't hold back my curiosity any more. "So?"

His sharp, clever brown eyes captured and held mine for the longest second in my life. I struggled not to break eye contact until he relented, focusing on the shine of my rings instead. "RoboCop almost died from the shit that happened to him," Tony's words were curt. I inhaled sharply, assuming he was talking about Barnes. The engineer's fingers began to fiddle with his glasses. "We couldn't figure out how you helped him. Not the medical, not Banner, not me and and not even Steph," he paused to run a hand through his hair. "Barnes was hit with a poisoned arrow. There were no toxins left in his body, not even a single inflammation marker showed up on the tests." With that, Tony expectantly turned to me.

I chewed on my lip in contemplation. "Magic," I simply answered, figuring Strange had already briefed him about my occupation.

Tony shook his head with a snort. "Magic that the Sorcerer Supreme doesn't recognize or cannot detect?" The question was saved in nature.

Stephen Strange was Sorcerer Supreme and I had pissed him off and remained alive. I couldn't believe my luck, if Odette's stories were anything to go by. Inwardly rejoicing, I nonetheless resigned to answer truthfully. "Because there is nothing to detect, no foreign energy," I tried to phrase it in a way a scientist could understand. "What I use to heal, it is given me by nature and willingly. Think of me as a... Conductor. I merely store the energy short-term and direct it where it is needed."

That sparked a visible interest in Tony. He leaned forward, running my whole form, over and over, with his sharp eyes, searching for something I knew he wouldn't find. "Like... Making a blood transfusion?" It was obvious that he was thinking hard about the subject. "Like a successful organ transplant?"

"Something like that," I agreed amicably, seeing as he was talking at himself rather than engaging in a conversation with me.

"But it doesn't come from nothing, the first law of thermodynamics..." He started off in slight confusion.

"Yes, the total amount of energy remains constant," I interrupted him, making his eyes widen. "It's all around us, Mr. Stark. You cannot see it, and most people even cannot feel it, but mother Earth supports her creations. More than we like to think," the corner of my mouth tilted upward at the memories. Working with Gaia directly was like being briefly submersed in a cocoon of pure, warm sunshine; like being held in mother's arms as a babe. "She is kind and she is merciful, especially to the ones whose suffering is unjust," I let the man mull over my words.

The waitress brought our orders; my throat was parched, I took a few haste gulps of the chocolate milkshake. Tony's burger, however, remained unnoticed and untouched.

"Earth is a sentient organism?"

The question made my eyebrows rise; I coughed slightly, meeting his confused eyes with a smirk. "Mr. Stark, keep your science headcanons to yourself," the banter came easily now that the status quo was established.

He rolled his eyes, fitfully resisting the smile tugging at his mouth. "I'm telling on you to Mean Green," there was no malice behind his words.

I doubted the shy scientist would do much more than stutter out two jumbled questions but let the topic slide in favour of closing up on the issue. "Would you call a wolf sentient? No," I shook my head. "But it is autonomous, it has free will. Think of it like that," I wasn't really up to par on explaining Tony all the ins and outs of my craft. The more I spoke, the more questions danced in his eyes. It was charming but not something I wanted to spend most of my day on.

"I won't pretend to be anything but sceptical but as it is, I happen to be dating a wizard," the engineer finally chortled, making hands for his burger. He made a vague gesture with his fork, expression still not-quite out of the thinking place.

"They say opposites attract," I shrugged.

"Romanoff keeps saying we're two sides of the same coin, so," he non-commitally shrugged in return. "Can't help but wonder what the fuck did you tell him that day. He was seething," Tony raised an eyebrow, tone teasing.

"Oh lord," I briefly palmed my face. "Here comes the shovel talk."

"No, no," a fry landed on the table in front of me. I snatched it right from under Tony's hand. He pouted. "He probably deserved it. I mean, you saved the Terminator and, honestly," he paused. "I heard about one third of his rant and I distinctly remember something about 'girls way over their heads' and whatnot," he did a poor imitation of his boyfriend's deep voice. "Now, I consider myself a feminist so, respectfully, I disagree," he finished with a self-satisfied smirk.

I blanked, trying to process the avalanche of information. "That's a lot to unpack," I acquiesced.

"It means he likes you. I would know," the man had the audacity to wink at me. And that, ladies and gentlemen, was Tony Stark.

"Are you hitting on me for your boyfriend?" I couldn't resist snarking back, briefly catching his eyes as I polished off my milkshake.

Tony looked at me through his thick, long lashes, a picture perfect visage of surprised innocence. "Maybe," his tone a little too south of friendly, the direction of his eyes a bit lower than my face.

The snort escaped me before I could put a stop to it. The banter - it was easy, comforting in this situation where I found myself to be akin a fish out of water. Like I was a slightly socially awkward witch, Tony was a genius engineer and a notorious flirt. He toed the lines of appropriate with practiced gusto and I hadn't had the heart to do anything but indulge in a little bit of harmless fun ever since he first stepped foot in the café, seeing right through his stone cold facade of an alleged womaniser. Call it a hunch, if you will.

Say what you want about Tony Stark but one thing was definite: he was a gentleman. I thoroughly enjoyed my ride home in his expensive, fast, latest model car. As the city streets zoomed by in a flurry of blurred lines and flashing colorful lights, I allowed my mind to finally calm and resume it's usual even wandering pace.

A hand loosely thrown over the steering wheel, Tony quietly hummed along to the music, playing with the hem of his tee whenever it wasn't occupied with driving the car. He looked so peaceful like that.

The sound system played some contemporary rock that blended in with the moderately busy afternoon of the NYC streets, submerging the surroundings in catharsis. Grey everything with the occasional burst of colour from a traffic light; the brief car ride lulled me into a state almost drowsy.

"You with me, Salem?" Tony's voice quietly took me out of my stupor.

I blinked, seeing the front door of my apartment building. "Yeah, yeah, thanks," I didn't resist the big, wide smile of relief and rejoiced upon seeing his face return to his normal expression, sparkling and mischievous. "That's my stop," I motioned lamely.

Something hung in the air, something unsaid. It leaked through the gaps between Tony's smile and his eyes, it filled up the car with something thick and foggy. I was powerless to stop its influence on me; the daze remained just as it was when we zoomed through city streets.

Tony's fingers twitched on the steering wheel as I exited the vehicle, giving him a short wave before he put pedal to the metal, quickly disappearing into the twilight. I watched his tail lights glow red amongst the flat blacks and greys and beiges of my surroundings, blinking away the dryness in my eyes only when the car disappeared from my view completely.

My apartment was just as I'd left it, warm and slightly messy- but a new feeling had crawled up from the very gutter of me, foreign and impending. The walls didn't breathe the comfort I had hoped I would finally find: if anything, none of what I encountered on my rapid beeline towards the couch felt real.

I'd grown accustomed to the comforts of my solitude and routine, to attached to the simplest task of being. Sorting through my dirty laundry had never been a favourable ordeal for me, I'd much rather lived in a relatively wide bubble- rationally, I knew that sooner or later, change had have to come, but there was nothing ever rational about having feelings on one matter or another.

My spirit was trying to tell me big things were coming and I had no choice but to listen and let the currents of fate and happenstance snatch me up and take me whichever way they pleased.

Taglist: @couldntbedamned @mikariell95 @letsby @sleep-i-ness @toomanyrobins @mostly-marvel-musings @persephonehemingway @schemefrenzy @lillsxd @bluecrazedandbeautiful @slothspaghettiwrites @xoxabs88xox

[itsthenovelteafactor]

Superhero Gothic

Thanks to everyone who responded to my previous post (special shoutout to @jeyfeather1234 💛 ) about superheroes and gothic media! I know it’s been, like, a month, but here we go.

Here’s a bit of a look into some common gothic themes, and how they apply to Doom Patrol, The Boys, Watchmen (2019), and The Umbrella Academy. This one’s a bit long, not gonna lie, but I hope you enjoy! 

Part I: Let’s Talk About Gothic Media

There is not actually an all-encompassing definition for gothic media, or even a universally agreed-upon one. You’re probably familiar with some well-known gothic works (think Dracula, Frankenstein, Edgar Allen Poe, Stephen King) but there is a lot of debate on what exactly makes them gothic. 

There are some common themes in gothic works, though: families/characters under the control of a tyrannical paterfamilias, the crumbling of the established order/estate, long-buried secrets that have consequences in the present, and supernatural events that are stand-ins for/reflective of the emotional state/past actions of the characters. 

(Note: these aren’t all the themes of gothic works or even most of them, but for purposes here, I’d like to limit this analysis to them. I’d love to talk about other themes/ideas, though, if anyone has them. 😊)

So… superheroes (quick overview in case you haven’t watched any of them… spoiler warnings for the rest of this discussion)

Doom Patrol:

Five misfit superhumans attempt to rescue their mentor figure when he is kidnapped by an old enemy.

They are very, very bad at it.

Also features a singing horse head, a sentient nonbinary teleporting street (who is by far the best character) and the narrator is the fourth-wall breaking series villain. 

Beautifully weird but will also emotionally devastate you. Criminally underrated, tbh.

Watchmen (2019):

Story takes place after the canon of the graphic novel which is too much to summarize.

Alternate history (that should really feel more fictitious than it does) where white supremacist organization the Seventh Cavalry, masked police officers, and former superheroes in hiding all collide in Tulsa Oklahoma

Swept the Emmys this year and ABSOLUTELY DESERVED TO

The Umbrella Academy:

Washed up former child superheroes are forced to reunite when their father dies under mysterious circumstances 

Time travel, dysfunctional siblings, and a killer soundtrack

Basically a family drama with the superhero story as secondary (complimentary)

Probably the most obviously gothic of all of these it is aesthetic AF 

The Boys: 

Superheroes exist but they are corporate sellouts under the control of evil company Not-Amazon (AKA Vought)

Regular human protagonists try to hold them accountable for their actions with varying (read: usually minimal) success

Yes, it’s the one from those weird ads earlier this year

Billy Joel!! 

Part II: Niles Caulder, Ozymandias, and Other Terrible Father Figures

The Tyrannical Paterfamilias: 

Does not always mean a father figure explicitly, often relating to the notion of a patriarchal tradition, or family inheritance that plays a role in controlling the main characters. 

Sometimes, it is a father figure. 

Sometimes, it is a representative of patriarchal tradition/male head of pseudo-family unit.

So, uh, role call: 

Reginald Hargreeves (even in death) holds power over his children, and has shaped all of them into the adults they have become, and that drives the majority of the conflict. Each of the major character individually grapples with the after-effects of his abuse. Luther feels the need to be the leader and protect everyone and alienates his allies as a consequence. Diego constantly asserts himself as a hero (often to dangerous extremes) because it is the only way he was ever valued. Allison has to teach herself boundaries and responsible use of her powers after he encouraged her to abuse them for years. Klaus turns to drugs to cope with his childhood trauma. Five disobeyed his father with disastrous consequences and is constantly fighting to not become him. Vanya spent her entire childhood in the background, and never learned to assert herself in a healthy way. Thanks, Reggie.

Homelander says that The Seven are like a family. While whether or not this is accurate (it isn’t) is up for debate, he does occupy the tyrannical paterfamilias roles incredibly well. Homelander controls every member of the Seven, threatening them and their loved ones whenever they step out of line (read: do not do exactly what he wants in the exact way he wants them to do it.) He is also very closely tied with conservative/patriarchal rhetoric in-universe and at one point dates a literal Nazi. 

William Butcher less evil than most of the other characters on this list but the bar is also like, on the ground. Butcher tries to control the Boys in a similar way (Butcher and Homelander are character foils, okay? it’s actually pretty neat). He’s perfectly willing to sacrifice them in pursuit of his own goals, disregards their points of view and the well-being of their loved ones, and tries to cut loose anyone who disagrees with his methods (recall when Hughie tried to rescue his friends at the end of s1 and Butcher… punched him in the face? Yeah, that.) The difference is that the Boys can push back against his without being, you know, brutally murdered. (And also the Butcher isn’t a literal monster; I’m not anti-Butcher, okay? He’s an interesting character and the fact that he seems constantly on the verge of becoming that which he hates most is part of what makes him interesting.)

Guess what, folks? It’s hating Niles Caulder hours. He engineered accidents to turn the main characters into his test subjects, and then kept them conveniently hidden away in his large manor. Stole their autonomy and independence but paints himself as a benevolent father figure. And that’s not even including what he does to his actual daughter, Dorothy. He’s terrified of her growing up (read: becoming a young woman) and so he locks her away for almost 100 years and, when she is freed, yells at her constantly and makes her terrified of showing any signs of maturation (even though she’s 111 and clearly tired of being written off as a child).

The relationship between Ozymandias and his daughter, Lady Trieu, is integral to the final act of Watchmen. Heralded as the “smartest man in the world,” Ozymandias refused to acknowledge his daughter as his until he needed something from her. While Lady Trieu is more self-sufficient and independent than some of the applications of this trope, she goes to great lengths to prove herself, first to him, and then to herself when he rejects her.

Part III: Been a Long Time Gone (Constantinople) 

Gothic fiction is often associated with change, and particularly, the collapse of established systems of power. For example, many works like The House of the Seven Gables and The Fall of the House of Usher take place in old, crumbling manor houses. There is a reason for this! These kinds of estates are remnants of a past that is irreversibly gone, and their continued presence in decrypt forms serves as a reminder. 

Each of the four series takes place at a moment, either on a wide scale or on a personal scale (or both!), in which an established order is being questioned, and the constant reminders of that failed order are used to gothic effect.

The Umbrella Academy plays this most directly (In fact, there are TONS of parallels between the end of s1 of TUA and House of Usher that I don’t have the time to get into right now... lmk if you want that meta). We can see the Hargreeves mansion as a very literal example of this. While not worn down, the house is notably both very large and very empty. Shelves are filled with merchandise for a superhero team that disbanded over a decade prior, and portraits of a family that no longer speaks to each other. None of the family members ever seem truly comfortable or at ease in the house, and for good reason - every back corner is a reminder of their incredibly traumatic childhood. 

In The Boys, the story begins with the fridging death of the main character’s girlfriend, Robin, at the hands of a member of the Seven, a group of heroes so ingrained in the public consciousness that when they later hide out in a costume shop, literally every single costume is for one of Vought’s heroes. The Seven represent the system in power, which, at the disposal of Not-Amazon means corporate greed, shallow altruism, and the cultivation of public personas at the expense of actual humanity. 

From that moment on, the sheer presence of The Seven on everything from public billboards to breakfast cereal is a remainder for Hughie (and the audience) that this established system doesn’t work and is based on lies, which serves this effect on a personal level. In the broader scale, however, we also see that the Seven themselves are fracturing under an unsustainable business model. Even their name, “The Seven” starts to seem a bit dated when halfway through season one through the end of season two there are notably... less than seven of them. 

The main characters in Doom Patrol are all in recovery after the accidents that irreversibly changed their lives. We see through flashbacks the people that they used to be, and the difference is striking. They were each established in their own elements: Cliff a famous race-car driver, Rita a world renowned actress, Larry a hero pilot, Jane was involved in counter-cultural movements, Vic was a student and athlete. The foundations upon which their worlds were established are completely decimated by the accidents, and now they (save Vic and sometimes Jane) live mostly in isolation in Niles’ manor house, an estate that is far larger than would be necessary to comfortably house a group of their size.

And you feel the emptiness, both in the manor, and in the lives of the characters. They have barely created a shadow version of their own existence when the series starts, so fragile that a simple trip into town devolves into utter chaos. 

Angela Abar of Watchmen has also constructed a life following the terrifying act of terrorism on the White Night. It’s a bit of a double life, and we see that the balancing act is challenging for her, even before the story truly begins. The death of Judd Crawford, and the revelation about him that follows is not only traumatizing on a personal level (but it definitely is that), but also upsets her understanding of the world. People she’s come to trust are not just dishonest but truly monstrous. And the more Angela learns about what has been happening, the more her understanding of the world begins to unravel. Her memories, and the memories of those around her are cast in a much more sinister light, and the effect is genuinely chilling. 

Part IV: “I’m the Little Girl Who Threw the Brick in the Air”

In episode 3 of Watchmen, Laurie contacts Dr. Manhattan on the cosmic phone booth to tell him a joke. It’s a version of what TVTropes calls the “brick joke,” and it relies on set up taking place early on, other stuff happening, and then the response coming at an unexpected moment. 

So, yeah. Events of the past/buried secrets resurfacing with consequences in the present.

Continuing with the theme from Watchmen, the entire series is punctuated with the way the past and the present intertwine, with elements from both the original Watchmen graphic novel, and actual American history. One of the things we talked a lot about in my gothic lit class was the manner in which the overhanging specter of past atrocities casts a shadow over the present, and how many works cannot help but have gothic themes because there are so many horrifying things in the past that cannot be ignored, and provide both context and nuance for the discussions we have in the present. No series tackles these topics quite so directly (and with as much care) as Watchmen. (note: it does not always make for easy viewing, but if you’re in a place where you feel like you can engage with that kind of material, I highly recommend the show.)

In Doom Patrol, the past actions of the characters very much control the storyline (see: previous discussion of Niles Caulder), but the character whose storyline I want to talk about here is Rita (partially for plot reasons and partially because I just love Rita, okay?). We learn when we first meet Rita that in the past she was... not a great person. We know that the trauma of the accident that gave her her powers has changed her, we also know that she still holds on to the guilt and that her guilt has limited the scope of her world for years, but we don’t know what exactly it is that she’s done. 

Enter Mr. Nobody, all-powerful narrator who is not just aware of Rita’s greatest sins, but perfectly capable of manifesting reminders of them into the story. She is confronted with empty cradles, and the sound of crying children in the background of many scenes and we see how much it effects her, without a full understanding of why it does (see: The Tell-Tale Heart). Her past begins to haunt her physically, and she begins to crumble in response to it, until finally she is forced to confide in a stranger (and thus the audience). The past actions do not just inform the audience of Rita’s character - they show up to influence her behavior in the present. 

The ending of The Umbrella Academy season 1 is super evocative of the gothic genre with Vanya breaking open the soundproof chamber (wherein she was silenced for years) and rising from the basement to destroy the last remnants of the Hargreeves legacy (which would be awesome if the last remnants of the Hargreeves legacy didn’t include the rest of her family). Pretty much every mistake the siblings make over the course of the season feeds together to create the finale, but the primary cause isn’t something any of them actually did. It all ties back to Reginald Hargreeves’ complete inability to be nice to children. Any children. His own and random strangers that need help. 

In The Boys, while the extent to which people are making f-ed up choices in the present cannot be expressed enough, we see through the characters of Homelander that many of the present difficulties are a result of past mistakes. Particularly, the profit-seeking corruption within Vought. We learn in s1 through Vogelbaum that Homelander was raised in a lab by Vought as an experiment, only to be unceremoniously thrust into the spotlight and told he was a superhero (which... does not justify a single one of his actions but is still a major yikes). As the head scientist of the project, Vogelbaum is very aware that ignoring his conscious if the name of research has essentially created the biggest threat their world has ever seen. 

(Seriously y’all just stop raising your super kids in isolation) 

Part V: Put Them Together, and They’re the MF-ing Spice Girls 

Having the environment respond to characters’ emotions/mental states is pretty common in gothic works (it was a dark and stormy night = someone is probably not doing super well). One of the advantages of the genre’s tendency towards the supernatural is that, often, those elements of the stories, as well, are reflections of the main ideas of a work of fiction (see: Stephen King’s really unsubtle period metaphors).

Because all of these shows have a ton of supernatural/scifi elements by virtue of being, well, superhero shows, I thought it would be easier (and more fun!) to come up with a short list of elements, what they mean, and what cases they might apply to.

1. A Nonlinear Experience of Time

The Umbrella Academy: legitimately about time travel. Characters are attempting to fix the timeline but are unable to because they are both mentally and sometimes literally stuck in the past. 

Watchmen: In the episode This Extraordinary Being, Angela experiences firsthand the experiences of her grandfather, under the influence of a drug called Nostalgia. The episode touches on many themes, one of which being the impact of generational trauma in marginalized communities. Throughout the series, Dr. Manhatten is cursed with experiencing all time at once, and the episode A God Walks into Abar illustrates that, because of this, he is constantly facing the consequences of particular actions before, after, and while he is preforming him.

Doom Patrol: Mr. Nobody is able to physically travel to one of Jane’s flashbacks via his fourth-wall breaking powers, and gives Dr. Harrison an ultimatum for the future. 

What it implies: Events, particularly events that evoke guilt or conflict, are not as rooted in the past as one would like to think.

2. Powers/Abilities that reflect personal trauma/failings

Doom Patrol: Larry’s abilities/bond with the Negative Spirit have made it so that he is constantly covering himself with bandages/avoiding other people, which reflects his experiences having to hide his identity as a gay man in the 50/60s. Rita forced herself to walk a thin line, betraying everything in pursuit of her image; her abilities require constant effort to keep her entire body from becoming misshapen and out of control. Vic’s father with boundary issues can literally control his perception of the world through his cybernetic enhancements. Dorothy’s abilities manifest as imaginary friends because she was kept isolated for years at a time. 

The Umbrella Academy: pretty much all of the kids’ powers are representative of the interpersonal skills they were never able to develop. Luther is super-durable but also the most emotionally vulnerable of the group. Five can teleport and time travel but always seems to be too late to stop things. Diego can manipulate the trajectory of projectiles but cannot escape the path his father set out for him, not matter how much he resents it. Vanya always forced herself to stay quiet until the sound literally explodes out of her.

The Boys: Annie’s abilities allow her to control light, but she struggles (in the beginning) to bring to light the horrible things done to her behind closed doors. 

Watchmen: Not technically a power, but Looking Glass’ mirror-mask is a constant reminder of the hall of mirrors that both saved his life and traumatized him forever. 

What it implies: from a story perspective, these allow for an exploration of trauma/guilt to occur on a scale much larger than people simply talking about their problems (as if anyone on any of these shows knows how to talk about their problems...) It also means that the trauma/guilt of the characters takes on a physical form that is able to haunt them, and constantly remind them/hold them accountable for their past actions.

3. Diluted Sense of Reality:

Doom Patrol: The first season is narrated by its main villain, and throughout the season we see that the act of narration itself has an impact on the story.

Watchmen: The event that kicks off the plot of the story is hinged upon a paradox introduced by Angela near the end of the series when trying to speak to her Grandfather in the past through Dr. Manhattan.

The Umbrella Academy: The pair of episodes in season 1, The Day that Wasn’t and The Day That Was take the same point in time and explore two possible avenue for the future from there, with The Day that Wasn’t ending with the events of the entire episode being completely erased from the timeline.

What it implies: you can’t necessarily trust everything you see, even from the audience perspective, giving them a position not unlike that of the characters. The character’s uncertainty and confusion is magnified and reflected in the world that surrounds them.

Other examples: an apocalypse (The Umbrella Academy, Doom Patrol, Watchmen (of a sort)), ghosts (The Umbrella Academy - hi, Ben!), immortality/invulnerability (Watchmen, Doom Patrol, The Boys), and characters that look significantly younger than they actually are (The Boys, The Umbrella Academy, Doom Patrol). 

Part VI: Why Did You Write a Literal Essay Don’t You Have Real Schoolwork (yes... shhhhh...)

And... there you have it. I don’t really have some grand conclusion here. This is (clearly) far from a complete analysis but it is the most my finals-week brain can concoct at the moment. 

If you have other ideas, let me know! You can always add to the notes or message me – my inbox is always open!  If you got this far, thank you so much for taking the time to read this! Much love! ❤️

[fantasticstoryteller]

New Amsterdam Chapter 64

Peter watched as Angel repeatedly pulled the thick wad of dough until she had thin strips of noodles. “This is the easy part,” she told him as she methodically worked. “Just grab and pull. Grab and pull. Kind of meditative if you let it be.”

Peter looked hesitantly at the ball of dough in front of him before reaching for it.

“Flour your hands first; otherwise the dough will stick.”

“Right.” Copying her earlier movements he stuck his hands in the bowl of flour on the counter before picking up the ball.

“Ponyo?”

“You already ate,” Angel gently scolded the pink thing with huge blue eyes.

Peter pulled at the dough. It snapped. He glared at it.

Angel calmly looked over, dusted her hands with flour again, and rolled the dough ball a few times before pressing on it repeatedly before handing it back. “Try again,” she advised. He did; it pulled into a lumpy, rough mess. He looked over at the silky smooth ribbons she was producing and sighed.

“You’re really good at this,” Peter commented as he tried to follow the directions. He was just pulling dough into noodles—how hard could it be?

“I’ve had practice,” Angel replied. “A few—months, I think? Maybe a year? It’s hard to tell. Anyway, there was this time I was trapped in a hut with a blind old woman who thought I was a bear.” She saw the look on Peter’s face and said, “Seriously. Trust me, if you’d been there it would have made sense. You have no idea how hard that one was,” she grumbled. “Anyway, the two of us were snowed in, almost starving, and all there was to eat was flour, water from the melted snow, and six pounds of lard—don’t ask,” she advised. “I only made that mistake once.”

“What happened?” Peter tried to copy her movements, but the dough kept breaking so he’d push it together and roll it like he’d seen her do.

“Roll, then knead,” she advised. “She talked me through making the noodles and then made weird, uncomfortable comments about eating a bear—right before a bear burst through one of the walls. She killed the bear with her cane, talked me through butchering it, and we made soup with the bones and noodles. I told myself it tasted like chicken.”

“You must have been starving,” Peter admitted.

She shrugged and one of the wings flicked back behind her. “It was a long week, I have a high metabolism, and cold saps energy,” she said explained. There was something weary in her tone—the same weariness Peter frequently heard from the street kids.

Peter’s hands stopped moving as something occurred to him. “Wait—you ate a bear and she thought you were a bear…”

“You do not want to finish that thought,” Angel advised him firmly. “Not if you want to eat again in the next three days,” she added.

Peter’s mind whirled. There were a lot of people who accused him of being overly naive, but he could tell when someone was lying. It was a skill he’d picked up out of necessity when dealing with Norman—and this girl wasn’t lying. “How did that happen?” he asked.

“You want the broad strokes or the fine detail?”

Peter, watching her craft a truly insane number of noodles, wasn’t sure he could handle the fine details. “Broad strokes, please.”

She snorted. “Stuff happens and life sucks.”

“Sums up everything,” Peter admitted as he glared at his noodles. They didn’t look like noodles at all; they looked like funky bread sticks. “A little more detail, please,” he asked.

Suddenly the girl grinned at him. “You look just like Papa with that look on your face,” she told him. She pulled a knife from the block and with a quick cut her noodles lost their connections before she began to lay the noodles out on a cookie sheet.

“You use a knife really well,” Peter commented as she grabbed his noodles and did the same thing.

She snorted. “Of course I do,” she said with wry amusement. “These are pretty good,” she said pointing to his noodles. “You should have seen my first try. All right, let’s go sit down and I’ll explain as best as I can.” The creature that had arrived with the girl raced up to her and she laughed. “All right, Dora,” she said affectionately. “Time for cuddles.”

“Ponyo!” squeaked the happy thing.

“What is it?” asked Peter as he stared at the thing while washing his hands. He noticed that it seemed to be eating the flour off of the girl’s suit and he wondered if she noticed.

“Dora. She’s a slime. She used to be highly volatile with a half-ton blast.” Peter stared at the pink blob in the girl’s lap. “Not anymore,” she rushes to assure him. “Papa and one of my uncles fixed it.” She lovingly ran a hand over the top of the slime as it clung and released the skin with a muffled gloop.

“Pon-yo!” the slime chirped, and Angel laughed.

“Ponyo,” Peter said weakly.

The two clear blue eyes turned on him, wavering slightly as the entire pink thing jiggled before it jumped into the air and raced across the floor towards him. “Ponyo?” it asked as it bounced on the floor.

“She wants to know if she can get in your lap.”

“Uh, yeah. Sure.” The slime squealed, jumped, and plopped down on his lap.

“She likes it when a palm is rubbed over her top,” Angel advised.

Well, Angel would know. Peter gently rubbed his palm over the top of the slime—which wasn’t slimy, exactly. Felt more like a thick mixture of cornstarch and water. The sensation as it shivered under his touch was odd, to say the least, and as he moved his hand it became sort of soft and silky. Strange. Nice, but strange. No wonder Angel had been petting it so much.

“Where to start,” mused Angel as she lounged on Wade’s recliner, wings lazily hanging over the back in a way that looked uncomfortable to Peter, but she seemed fine with it. “All right, there are three starting points, and none of them seem connected, so bear with me.” Fingers tapped against the arm of the chair as she looked at Peter. “First of all, there are multiple worlds. You’re going to have to trust me on that. They’re—”

“Like Stephen Hawking’s last paper?” asked Peter excitedly.

Angel paused. “Yup,” she said after a moment. “Totally. Now, I’m from one of those worlds, and in that world, Loki—”

“The god of mischief and destruction?” asked Peter aghast.

She sighed. “This will go a lot faster,” she admonished gently, “if you stop interrupting me. Yes, Loki, God of Mischief.” She paused and glared, but he didn’t interrupt again so she continued. “In my world he has several children, but the one you need to know about is his daughter, Hel.”

“Now, Hel has her own realm, and yes,” she said anticipating Peter’s question, “it’s different from a parallel world. One of Hel’s jobs is to—to protect balance, I guess would be the best way to put it.”

“What do you mean?” asked Peter. He leaned forward and the slime in his lap made a noise like a sleepy giggle.

“Souls are made up of a mix of light and darkness; most of them have a relatively even mixture, changing as they grow and react to their environments. Some souls are almost pure darkness and some souls are almost pure light. In order to prevent the universe from descending into chaos when there’s too much light a dark soul is sent in the middle and when there’s too much darkness a light soul is sent.”

“Why would too much light be a bad thing?” asked Peter, confused. If he was understanding her correctly, “light” was the same as “good” and “dark” was “bad.”

He expected a blasé answer about the general importance of balance. Instead her somber amber eyes met his. “How do people grow?” she asked instead. “How do they learn, mature?”

“I—I don’t know,” admitted Peter.

“They face challenges. They overcome those challenges. When there is too much light,” her arms spread around her, “there are no challenges. The souls stagnate, become weak. Souls that are too weak are—well, I’m not sure,” she said with a frown. “Hel said that they get subsumed by the stronger souls in reincarnation, and that throws the balance between the living and the dead off. I’m not sure why. But I do know that souls that grow in too much darkness have the same problem, and since Hel is in charge of sending reincarnating souls, it is a problem she has deal with. To balance.”

“O—okay,” said Peter. He had no idea where Angel was going with this.

“Now I’m going to have to skip a bit. There were two competing programs in the city. Both of them had the same goal, to create new and more powerful mutants, but they went about these goals in very different ways. One of them kidnapped people and performed horrible, often disfiguring experiments to force recessed mutations to the surface.”

Peter felt the blood drain from his face. He wasn’t an idiot; he knew Deadpool’s file. “That sounds like—”

“Yeah.” Angel sighed and then continued. “I wasn’t there, but I hear it was just as brutal. The took kids instead of adults, on the theory they’d be easier to break. Now the second program had a very different approach. What they did was they took samples from known mutants, broke them down into genetic components, and then proceeded to inject those components into a growing fetus.”

The second method made questions swirl through Peter’s brain. “How did they get the samples?” he asked with vague horror.

“From blood. The heroes, anti-heroes, and superpowered villains of the city bled all over it and they had people everywhere to collect the blood and take it back to the lab.”

“But that would mean—”

“Contamination,” agreed Angel. “Until the mutations began to develop, it was impossible to tell what blood was even there. There was even,” she continued with an odd, wry smile, “a child who’d gotten the mutations of two powerful mutants.” Her face fell. “There were failures, of course. And some that were just deemed failures.”

The slime in Peter’s lap squeaked and raced across the floor towards Angel, bouncing in her lap repeatedly until the girl smiled and began to pet it. “Where did the fetuses come from?” Peter asked.

“They put out ads for ‘surrogate mothers’ that strongly implied they didn’t care if the woman in question was already pregnant. The women came, got free health care as long as they didn’t leave, and if they didn’t bond with the infants they took the money and left the infants behind.”

“And what about those that did bond?” asked Peter as one of Angel’s wings came up and cupped around herself and the slime in a gesture that was obviously reassuring to the girl.

“They took the infants and left. They all signed NDA’s before they even set foot in the facility, but the fastest way to get the attention of the heroes in a city full of them is for dead bodies to start showing up out of nowhere, so they avoided that.” She chuckled in wry amusement. “Actually, it wouldn't have been discovered at all if they hadn’t decided to kidnap Spiderman.”

“They—what?”

She gave a small, sad smile as she stroked the slime in her lap who cooed at the attention. “They wanted a clean sample of blood. Before they could take it, Deadpool showed up.”

Peter gave a small smile of his own, thinking of his boyfriend. “Of course he did,” he said fondly.

“Yeah, it was bloody, the kids were rescued. Blah, blah, blah,” she said glossing over it. “Not important. What is important is that I came from that program, and I have super healing abilities. Keep that in mind. Now, there was another child, from the other program, that I’ll call BB. No real names, because I can’t risk being found before I can find BB. BB had a—a very unique ability. BB could turn humans into spider/human hybrids that could then be controlled—by BB. Very specific there; killed some people who tried to control them in—horrific ways.” The girl paled and the slime stretched until it could just touch the underside of her chin. “Anyway,” the girl interrupted herself as she ran her hand up and down the slime’s body, “she couldn't do it to very many people. She didn’t have the power. Then, three things happened. One, Tony, the insane inventor who I secretly think is trying to actually destroy everything, developed a purely mechanical portal that can travel between worlds. I don’t know why. Two, BB found out about the light souls—but not the dark ones. I have no idea how that came about, but the long story short is that BB discovered how to harvest souls and steal their power to increase BB’s own. Three, the Time Stone was shattered and a piece of it lodged in BB, keeping the mutant ageless. And no,” Angel adds quickly, “I don’t know how that happened either. I kinda wasn’t around at the time—not important. What is important is that BB was throwing the universe, multiverse, expanded parallels, whatever into chaos and Hel, Loki’s daughter and in charge of the balance, demanded that Tony either figure out a way to fix it or she would fix him, in the way that the pound fixes stray cats. And since the source of this problem, the Time Stone, was technically his charge in the first place—actually I think he has a method of putting the Stone back together again but needs all the shards to do that—Dr. Strange created a timed portal with his mystic arts that could connect to the shard buried in BB to make sure whomever used it would end up in the same general area as BB. Still following?”

“Yes,” Peter said as he nodded. Actually, the information was sinking into his brain to be turned over and examined at a later time, but he would understand it.

��Now, it was hypothesized that the ‘jumping’—my term, not theirs—could be corrosive and generally bad to anyone actually doing it, so whomever left had to have one heck of a healing factor, and both Wolverine and Saber-tooth said no, we’re not doing that, while Wade couldn't because, well.” She shifted in her seat, clearly embarrassed. “Anyhow, I was the last choice, but the only one and you know what? This whole multiverse thing is just plain weird. You wouldn't believe some of the things I’ve seen. I’ve been drawing them to share when I get home.”

“So, you came here to look for BB?” clarified Peter.

“When I get BB, the next time the portal opens it will take me home,” Angel explained. “In the past,” she added, “BB has gotten tipped off about me too early and decided to run, which is why I’m being extra careful this time. This time, instead of chasing BB down, I’ve focused on finding the soul she’s looking for.”

“Have you found the soul yet?”

Amber eyes once again met Peter’s own. “Oh, yes,” said the girl firmly, with satisfaction.

Before Peter could reply to that the door to the apartment opened and Wade walked in. “Honey, I’m hooome!” he trilled. He proudly presented the girl with a notebook and a box of colored pencils. “Your payment,” he said dramatically.

She grinned and grabbed them, moving faster than she had at any point during the visit. “Thank you,” she said brightly before leaving.

Wade chuckled as he closed the door behind her turned to face Peter. “We need to talk,” Peter said firmly.

[lailyn]

The Great Anzac Bake-Off

"Is that all you're having?" Stephen frowned. "It doesn't look very filling."

"It is a biscuit made of oats and baked in heavy syrup and butter. I assure you, it is more filling than your three-egg quinoa omelette," Loki mumbled as he nibbled on his sweet treat at an agonisingly slow pace. "It was certainly enough to fill the bellies of tens and thousands of soldiers back in the first World War. How kind of Darryl to remind me."

Stephen went quiet.

"I worry about you sometimes," he confessed.

"Why in the Nine would you?"

“Worry is too strong a word…” Stephen muttered. “Wonder, maybe.” 

He watched Loki listlessly stir the cold milk with the cookie clockwise, then, anticlockwise several times. 

"I wonder where you are," Stephen finally mumbled to himself.

"I had no idea your eyesight was so bad," Loki sniffed. "I am right here." 

"No, I mean...temporally speaking," Stephen said. "Your headspace doesn't sound like it's in the 21st century right now."

"Maybe it isn't."

Loki's sullen mood was a far cry from the ray of sunshine that had waltzed in through the Sanctum's front door that morning. Stephen wondered if he had upset Loki when he refused to partake in the gift of baked goods Loki had brought with him from New Asgard.

"It was my turn to cook for our breakfast date this week," Stephen reminded.

Loki shrugged and said nothing. 

At the sight of Loki's crestfallen face, Stephen's resolve faltered. He was not a fan of sweets but... 

"I'll have some later, okay?" Stephen placated. "They look sweet but I have braved far worse."

"Are we talking about the famine soup again?" Loki asked, stone-faced. "I was only paying tribute to my dear friend Alexis.” 

At the look of confusion on Stephen’s face, he queried incredulously, “Alexis Soyer? You do not know of him?”

“Should I?” Stephen returned coolly. 

“He was the unsung hero of the hungry and the poor. His soup kitchen fed thousands of starving Irish for free during the Great Irish Famine."

The facade cracked, and an embarrassed flush coloured Stephen’s cheeks. 

"No, I get it. I just…" he searched for the right words to say but he only ended up hesitating for far too long. "I guess I'm trying to figure out where I fit in."

"You need to stop being jealous of every dead friend I once had, Stephen."

Stephen had to center himself and think. Loki's thought process was difficult enough to follow on a normal day. A nostalgic Loki's was next to impossible, but Loki only ever said Stephen's name in that tone whenever he felt personally affronted.

"That is not what I meant at all," Stephen said apologetically 

Loki crossed his arms over his chest. "Then what did you mean?" 

"There are times when I'm talking to you and it feels like I'm talking to a different you. A you from another time." 

"Is that concerning?" Loki wondered aloud. The minimal shrug he gave a split-second later belied the deep frown on his face. "For you, maybe."

Stephen had learnt from experience that the quickest, most effective (if not the least painful) method to break down Loki’s walls was by appealing to his inherent sentimentality...and the way to do it was by being very honest.

Stephen mustered the courage to raise his head and look Loki right in the eye. “Yes, it is very concerning. I don’t want to lose you, Loki.”

The last of the cookie slipped from between Loki’s fingers and plopped into the milk. 

“...That’s utterly ridiculous,” Loki said unconvincingly after a while. He fumbled with a teaspoon to dig the biscuit out but the harder he tried, the more it dissolved in the milk.

He gave up and threw the spoon across the table, inadvertently splashing droplets of milk everywhere and splattering Stephen’s arm in the process. 

Without thinking, Loki reached out and irately wiped the back of Stephen’s hand with the sleeve of his tunic. “Why would you say such things?” 

Stephen’s unhappy countenance was damning in its silence. 

“Say something,” Loki forced through crumbling layers of pride and gritted teeth. 

Stephen’s gaze shifted, looking anywhere but the eyes peering anxiously at him.

“I wonder of the stories you would tell when I’m gone. I wonder if you would think of me at all.”

Loki heaved a longanimous sigh.

“Oh, Doctor." He gave the back of the now-clean hand an awkward pat. "It is only a biscuit.”

"Is it?" Stephen asked sadly. 

Loki studied the thin line of Stephen's lips, and how the blue irises had darkened to a slate gray under eyes more hooded than usual. 

“Is it really that bad?” Loki asked softly. "My sharing the sweetness of the past with you?”

"Call me selfish, but I'd rather we work on our own story. For the future."

That caught Loki by surprise. "Do you foresee one with me?" 

The clock on the wall mocked Loki with every ticking of the second hand.

With a sneer as bitter as his smile, he scoffed, "Of course. Your lips are sealed. I didn't know what I was expecting."

"Everything I have ever said to you is the truth," Stephen said. 

"A curated truth," Loki spat. "A lie would be much kinder."

"I love you," Stephen said sharply. "I didn't lie about that."

"I cannot think of the future when I am with you, Strange," Loki snapped. "Not with you knowing what you know."

"Then think of the present," Stephen pleaded. He reached for Loki's hand. "Be in the present.”

“We’re all relics in the end," Loki whispered.

"Until then, be with me," Stephen implored fiercely. "If you won't be mine, just be in the present. With me.”

"I am not lamenting a secret lover who fought and died in the war, Strange," Loki said. 

Then who was Darryl? Stephen sorely longed to ask, but Loki beat him to the punch.

"Darryl was Thor's roommate when he was moonlighting in Australia some years ago. I stole these from the box of goodies he must have sent my Brother for Anzac Day."

"Anzac Day?"

"Australian and New Zealand Army Corps. To commemorate their fallen in the Gallipoli Campaign in World War I and in all the allied campaigns thereafter, their countrymen bake biscuits."

"Surely that is not all they do."

"It is no different than the libation we used to drink to honor Odin's chosen heroes on the Feast of the Einherjar," Loki said, his eyes taking on a thousand-yard stare. "It is a tradition that has endured the test of time."

With that last revelation, Loki visibly shrank in his seat; he looked small and young and yet every one of his thousand-odd years.

"The recipe has remained unchanged for over a hundred years," Loki mumbled. "I brought some for I had wished to share them with you."

The sweetness of the past, Loki had said. 

And Stephen had ruined it all in a fit of petty jealousy.

He grabbed the last biscuit out of the plastic box and took a bite. For an oat biscuit, it was very crunchy.

"This isn't a biscuit," he mumbled through a mouthful of crumbs. "It's a cookie."

Loki watched Stephen chew with wary eyes still steeped in hurt. 

"It's protected under food naming regulations. Calling it a cookie could earn you a heavy fine."

"Seriously?" 

"Do you like it?"

"It's...sweet." Stephen drilled the tip of his tongue into one of his back molars. "It might have just given me a cavity."

Loki laughed a soft, tinkling chuckle that momentarily returned the light to his eyes. But to Stephen's great dismay, the mirth did not last for long. 

"You never did ask me properly."

"I could ask it again if I knew which question you're alluding to."

Loki tilted his head curiously. "How can I be yours if you never asked me?"

Stephen licked his lips. For some reason they had gone dry all of a sudden. "Guess I didn't want to come across as a possessive asshole."

"We're fighting over a biscuit you thought I was only eating because I was mourning a dead lover who did not even exist," Loki said flatly. 

"Touché." Stephen cleared his throat. "Umm. Are you mine?"

Loki only rolled his eyes. "That's very bold of you."

"Are you?" Stephen asked, painfully aware of how desperate he sounded to his own ears.

"You are putting the onus on me to answer your very one-sided question." Loki shook his head with a disappointed sigh and held out his hand. "Will you give me the rest of that? I don't think you deserve it after all."

"No." Stephen palmed the half-eaten cookie possessively into a fist. What was he doing wrong?

He stared at the outstretched hand in front of him and pondered Loki's request. 

Of course.

Stephen closed the palm of his other hand over the long, white fingers. "Loki Odinson…"

Loki stared at him in stunned silence. 

At that moment in time, Stephen knew there was absolutely nothing he would not do to dispel the sheer terror from Loki's suddenly red-rimmed eyes.

"Will you give me the honour of calling you mine for the rest of my life?"

The God of Mischief's face had gone almost as white as the curdling milk in front of him.

"Loki? Are you alri - "

Before Stephen could finish, Loki hurled himself across the table and a flurry of arms wrapped themselves tightly around him. 

"I will." Loki showered Stephen with kisses on his lips and all over his face, "I will, I will, I will!"

Stephen laughed giddily and he returned Loki's kisses with as much, if not more fervor, every single one of them. 

Once they realised they still needed to breathe, they parted reluctantly.

Stephen fingered the hollow of his now-fiancé's cheek. “But the famine soup...really isn’t that nutritious, you know.”

“It’s got bits of meat in it,” Loki argued.

“Which you dug out and hid in your napkin when you thought I wasn't looking,” Stephen chastised lightly. “Then the soup becomes nothing but sugar and flour.”

Loki happily wrapped his arms around Stephen's neck once more. "Will you help me eat it from now on? I can't digest cheap cuts very well and I'd hate to waste perfectly good food."

"For you, babe..." Stephen pulled Loki's face toward him for another kiss, "There's nothing I won't do."

It could be the syrup or it could be true love, but it tasted sweet as hell; now that Stephen could partake in it to his heart's content, he knew he was the most blessed man in the universe.

"I love you, Loki."

"And I, you, Doctor."

Oh, he was blessed alright.

[jenneferofjengaberg]

Supernatural 4x11 “Family Remains” Rewatch

A standard cold open. A dude is murdered by a scary looking girl in a locked room. MOTW episode then.

Dean is working instead of endlessly discussing a soul-shattering trauma that can never be forgotten or fixed. This always seemed like a healthy coping method to me, but wth do I know.

Oh yes, finally the Supernatural/Toy Story crossover we’ve all been waiting for, where Sam and Dean finally gank Sid and stop his reign of plastic terror:

A quarrelsome American family shows up to look at their new house. The uncle is a stock level douchebag without even opening his mouth.

The boys warn them off with some very sketch “county code enforcement” nonsense. Oh, you’ll give them a fine, Dean? Terrifying.

This episode is another one with Stephen King vibes, especially the cleaning lady that they interview. She’s got a real Dolores Claiborne thing going on.

There’s something wrong with this family. They all seem to referencing some recent bad times and hoping, but not really believing, that moving will somehow fix all their problems. Yikes.

I knew it! This is a Supernatural/Toy Story crossover! Andy is dead?!

The daughter gets her hand licked by…NOT a dog, and all hell breaks loose. There are accusations of molestation, a middle of the night county code enforcement visit, and the lights suddenly go out.

It’s been like ten minutes and Dean and Sam still have not explained that they are not “county code enforcement”. All while doing shit like screaming about their stolen guns, saying terrifying nonsense like “this ghost is hunting us”, and pouring rock salt all over the house. This family must be so confused lmao.

This is why that “we have to burn ALL the remains” thing was always a huge plot hole. Your average person leaves a whole lot of “remains” around, if remains are classified as “genetic material belonging to that person”. If so, it should technically be nearly impossible to destroy any ghost. I guess when my hairbrush ends up in a landfill somewhere it’ll be keeping my ass on this earth until kingdom come.

Of course, it’s not a ghost. It’s just a regular fucked up human being, which on Supernatural means it’s going to be about 40 times as traumatic as any regular monster episode. This checks out, tbh.

This scene with Dean and Unfun Uncle Buck crawling around inside the walls is so dark, I can’t see shit. I get atmosphere, but if you can’t actually see anything at all, it takes away the suspense and just feels confusing and annoying.

Dean rarely looks afraid of actual ghosts or monsters, but when on cases involving humans (eg. The Benders), he sometimes does, which is really interesting from a character standpoint.

While he delivers the bad news to the rest of the family that Uncle Ted is dead, you can just tell that Dean is adding this to the long list of horrible shit he’s personally responsible for. He uses a lot of “I” statements. “I had to carry him out”, “I couldn’t get to him in time”, and “I shouldn’t have left him alone”. There’s literally no need to say that stuff, it’s not even entirely accurate, he’s just torturing himself out loud.

This is obviously a Dean centered episode, but Sam is like, barely in this episode. He just sort of stands in the background of every scene looking very serious.

We finally find out that Andy was brutally murdered by his Buzz Lightyear action figure after it was possessed by the ghost of Sid’s little sister, Sid’s first human victim. Ha ha, just kidding, Andy died in a car accident.

Sam and Dean finally confront the very unpleasant elephant in the room. The girl who’s been trying to kill them is the result of some kind of horrifying father daughter incest/rape situation, and she’s been locked up in the walls of the house for her entire life. I have feelings about turning a trauma victim into a literal monster for a Supernatural episode, but it’s kind of par for the course with this show.

Dean says he can’t blame her for killing her captor, which like, yeah, obviously, but Sam is like “I’m sure her life was hell but that doesn’t mean she gets a free pass for a murder spree”. Uh? What? That’s not even what this is. From her point of view, she’s defending herself and the only home she’s ever known from people who must feel like very real threats to her. She needs intensive psychiatric care, not judgement.

It’s too dark to see anything again. The Winchesters really need to invest in some night-vision goggles.

Plot twist: turns out there’s two of these poor children. Dean kills the brother. It’s clearly self-defense, he was moments away from being stabbed, but it still feels kind of icky. Why did they write this episode?

The dad kills the girl. *sigh*

Dean talking about how he relates to these dead, tortured children is just...How he’s “worse” than they are because Hell dealt him so much pain and torture that when he got a chance to deal it out himself, he liked it. There’s actually some good stuff in here about how trauma changes you as a person (it literally rewires your brain) and about “good victims” and “bad victims”, but I’m not sure it would come through enough to your average uninformed viewer to justify the framing of two trauma survivors as monsters that had to be hunted. I feel like a better version of this story could make the same points while “saving” at least one of the lost children.

[subsequentibis]

this is a DELIGHT to read, thank you so much for submitting it!! publishing for the aforementioned class, everyone pls take notes. p.s. i do have a wheelbarrow in my garage so if you ever need to transport sixteen stone of injured sea captain hit me up

-ibis

~~

hello, i’m fairly sure you know exactly which silly person is writing this at this point.  yes, it’s me again.  i really truly hope that this works and doesn’t do a weird thing, i’m a tiny bit alarmed about doing this.  i am a tiny nervous horse when it comes to internet stuff and i’ve attempted to proofread this maybe three times in order to put off actually sending this to you.  i guess i’m just going to have to get this over with, so here are my debatably comprehendable ideas, mostly exactly as they were written in yesterday’s four-hour spiral of madness.

breaking news: local goof observes a tumblr post and proceeds to attempt to hack reality in order to see if they could in theory achieve this.  am i ready to haul nearly six feet of incapacitated and extremely thick local captain to the nearest medical facility?  part of me says no, part of me says hell yeah.  let’s go find out.

okay, what do i get and what skills do i have.  (time to invent some rules for this strange game and figure out just what i’d do.  focusing on stephen and jack because they were the two characters you mentioned, this could probably apply to other characters but i’m going to only reckon with these as this project is strange enough as it currently stands.  i’m expecting this to quickly go off the rails.)  (note as i edit this over: this is extremely chaotic and you should be warned.  i thought way too much about this and it shows, and it kind of terrifies me, not only because of the baffling sentence structures (or lack thereof).  rereading this after having properly eaten and communicated with human beings for the day has shown me that i sound like an alien for much of this.  terribly sorry to sound like an alien, swear i’m human and just kind of a bit strange inside.)

so: i can have anything currently on the property where i currently reside (garage and driveway included) and all my real skills.

i cannot drive because:

i do not have the physical ability to drive

i do not have the legal ability to drive

i can’t get help from any other person: this is an imaginary situation where exists in this house just me and a fictional lad who needs to be got to a local medical facility.  (this is a very weird imaginary situation but honestly the peak of my own interests colliding.)

so what do i have here anyway (all of this is written assuming i personally am the one having to do this and am moving one of them from my place of residence to the nearest medical facility):

arms: not very strong (could potentially lift stephen since i can lift some of my friends and he’s both shorter and thinner, definitely cannot move jack an inch)

legs: i assume walking is not an option for reasons of either necessary speed of delivery or actually he cannot walk.  oh yeah and also reasons of narrative whatever.  continuing.

cars: cannot and will not drive, he is from the 1800s and cannot drive either, or in the case of stephen even if he could drive should not be trusted behind the wheel even in the peak of health.  anyway given this vague situation we none of us should be driving.

bikes (various): i’m a fairly good biker, i’ve got pretty good stamina and can haul rather well on my own bike.  with a little work (as seen in yon post) might be able to even sort of rig something up to perch stephen on my handlebars.  this will not function with jack.  *with a great deal of effort i drag him onto the front of the bike, wait a beat, then watch in horror as the bike tips back wheel up and dumps him back on the floor with an unpleasant thud* so that’s not going to work.

wheelbarrow: very cool and possibly functional plan.  unfortunately we do not have a wheelbarrow.  alas.

wagon: pros and cons.  pro: we can haul the boy in this.  con: we have to haul the boy.  the boy can fit in this in a balanced manner, but let me restate: my arms are not very strong and jack is near six feet of unhelpful heavy meat.  as usual this is more of a viable option for stephen.  but god jack is just a big dense boy and i’m just a wobbly little person with noodles for arms.

alright.  local noodle-armed goof is trying some new approaches regarding wagon/bikes: using my dad’s old bike with the board on the back and sort of tying him on there somehow so he faces backwards and sort of leans on me.  he could even put his feet in the little saddlebag things for balance!  although again i’d be worried about the sheer weight and size if i’m basically just dragging this man like a deceased sack of meat all the way to the hospital.  so that depends.  one more for the list of could potentially work with stephen.  (although if he was anything less than utterly out i would have zero luck getting either of them to take part in any of these increasingly ridiculous plans.) (actually, depending on the situation it might work out if he was in a certain mood?  anyhow, did not come here for these considerations.  only for increasingly less reasonable methods of transportation.) 

okay forging boldly onward.  if i don’t want to try to do a huge hill with the wagon and my little noodle arms and hundreds-odd pounds of floppy boat lad i could try to rig up something where i tie the wagon to the back of a bike, but that wouldn’t end well because on downhills it would slide forward unless i distributed the weight somehow to make the front of the bike heavier than the wagon… which is not gonna happen because that would either be impossible with the supplies i have or render the bike entirely nonfunctional.  leaving the wagon to clunk back and forth is also an issue given that i am trying to get this man medical attention asap and not actively make the situation worse.  i’ve done this wagon and bike thing before when both people involved were starting out fine and even that didn’t end well.  (in case you were wondering, we careened down the street crashing into one another and came to a stop by hitting a parked car.  we are all fine now and so is the car and we do not do things like this anymore.  it was a terrible idea that i regret every day.)  no go.

vacuum cleaner: bad idea.  no.  did i think of these as an option just because i have one and it has wheels?  i did, didn’t i.  do not attempt.

razor scooter: no.  why.  how.  please stop this.

boards: possibly a viable option.  we got skateboards, we got surfboards, we got actual just plain old wooden boards.  (none of the ones in my home actually belong to me, but ignore that bit.  trying to save a life here.)  probably the best route would be to stick some skateboards under something big enough to bear up an entire human person, slap a few pillows or something over top, and get shoving.  don’t ask about what happens when we get to the big hills.  (yeah i live in an area made entirely of hills and it’s a long steep way down and a long steep way up to get anywhere of interest, and if you’re on wheels then sucks to be you i guess.)  in retrospect perhaps not as good of an idea.

so i guess four hours later i’ve come to the precise conclusion that you did.

put stephen on a bike.  put jack in a wagon.  maybe learn to drive?  jury’s still out on that one.  anyway that was a fun four hours that i won’t regret spending this way at all no sirree.

alright!  hope this wasn’t too strange or unreadable!  have a nice day, you’re wonderful!

[tiny-crecher]

DanPlan superpowers but... wonky

Let’s reverse some common ideas/cliches, shall we?

Stephen

- Healing abilities

- Basically able to heal any physical wound

- He has to physically touch the injury for it to heal, but it isn’t limited to his hands

- He will feel pain on his own body when healing in the same place where the injury is (ex. if he’s healing a cut on someone’s arm, he’ll feel pain on his own arm). The pain is equivalent to whatever the injured person is feeling at the moment from said injury. 

- People who have been healed are often really tired afterwards. No one is really sure why. 

- Only uses his powers if it’s absolutely necessary. Or if it’s Hosuh. 

Jay

- Empathic abilites

- Able to feel and change the emotions of those around him.

- It easily overwhelms him, and sometimes he can’t tell if he’s feeling his own emotions or someone else’s. 

- He’s spent quite a few years teaching himself to “turn them off”

- If he really concentrates, he can force people to fall asleep. He does this with Dan and Hosuh quite a bit when they overwork themselves. 

- Sometimes he’ll subconsciously influence the emotions of the people in the room. Which really sucks if he’s arguing with someone. 

-  Has somehow managed to turn this into a weapon, by giving people he doesn’t like random bouts of depression

Dan

- Invisibility and shielding

- He can only use one of these at a time (which is the same for anyone else in this universe who has multiple abilities)

- He can make any object, person, or animal he wants invisible. It’s easier if he’s touching it. The smaller the object, the less effort it takes. 

- He can create both physical barriers and mental ones (which would prevent any mind-altering or infiltrating abilities from affecting him or whoever he places the shield on). 

- The physical shield is seen as a sort of ripple, similar to the way the air looks when coming off of the road on a really hot day. Mental shields are undetectable by the natural human eye.  

- Mental barriers won’t deflect any abilities that are already in use (ex. if person A is a telepath and is already reading person B’s mind, Daniel won’t be able to stop that)

*I stg I was not thinking of Violet from The Incredibles when I had this idea and only realized the similarities halfway through writing this

JoCat

- Venomous Projectiles (uhhh slight body horror warning?? I think??)

- He has small venomous glands on his wrists, and he can shoot venom out of them

- Any contact with skin will result in a burning feeling and extreme blistering. It is also highly flammable.

- The venom could easily kill someone if a large amount was injected into their blood stream 

- Jo is completely immune to the venom, and is also not affected by most natural venoms either

- The glands on his wrists are a dark purple (the venom is purple as well) and about 2 inches in diameter. They will not hurt if you touch them since they are under his skin, with a small slit closer to his hand for the venom to shoot out. 

- Think the webshooters from spiderman but with dangerous substances instead

- Sometimes he’ll instinctively use his abilities when he’s startled, so he wears gloves. 

*idk if any of that is even a little bit possible but screw logic

Hosuh

- ... I don’t even know what to call this. ‘Instantaneous but Temporary Murder’. I guess that works. (uhhhh kind of a death tw if ya couldn’t tell)

- Hosuh is basically able to kill any person instantaneously with a single thought. But only temporarily. 

- This could be done in several different ways. A person’s neck could snap, they could have a sudden heart attack, they could get thrown against a wall, or all of their bones could break in the span of a second. Sometimes all of their organs will shut down simultaneously, which is the most painless method. 

- How long it takes for a person to ‘revive’ could take from 5 minutes to 5 hours. The longest it’s ever taken is twelve hours. 

- While the person is dead, their body will remain in perfect condition (basically it’s not going to start decomposing)

- Hosuh is completely unable to control this ability. It is tied to his emotions, specifically anger. 

*Jay doesn’t tell Hosuh this, but every time a person comes back from the dead, their mental state gets a tiny fracture in it, which he can sense. With each death, the crack gets bigger and bigger. He notes that this seems to result in memory loss and depression. He’s currently working on trying to heal it. 

*Feel free to ask more about Hosuh’s ability. I’d assume it’s a little confusing. 

I plan to use these in a few one-shots :) You can use it too if you wish

[ladyhistorypod]

Episode 14: Thanksgiving Special

Sources:

Susan La Flesche

The History Reader

PBS: New Perspectives on the West

Hampton University

Hampton Archives

Nebraska Studies

Further Reading/Watching: PBS American Masters, Smithsonian Magazine

Sacagawea

Brooklyn Museum

National Museum of the American Indian Blog

Native Mascots And Other Misguided Beliefs (NMAI)

National Women’s History Museum

Nat Geo Kids

Ted Ed

Further Reading: Smithsonian American Women: Remarkable Objects and Stories of Strength, Ingenuity, and Vision from the National Collection, I Am Sacagawea, Sacajawea of the Shoshone

Zitkala-Sa

Utah Women’s History

Women and the American Story

Akta Lakota Museum and Cultural Center

National Parks Service

Further Reading: Women in America, Extra and Ordinary: Zitkala-Sa (Smithsonian Libraries)

Click below for the transcript of this episode!

Haley: So how old are your guys’ parents, and did you ever growing up like regard them as like the old parents?

Alana: My… so my… Here's what's really fucking me up these days, is that Joe Biden graduated from the University of Delaware the same year my dad was born. So my dad was born in June of 1965 and Joe Biden graduated University of Delaware probably like May of 1965. So that's what's making me uncomfortable these days.

Lexi: You know when my mom graduated from the University of Delaware?

Alana: When?

Lexi: The nineties. (Laughing)

Alana: So my parents, they’re like kind of old. My mom was born in 1963, but my mom is also the third of four children.

Haley: Because my mom was born in ‘69 and my dad ‘67. And Robert’s parents… I don't know exactly when they were born but I know it's in the cluster of my parents. But my mom and dad were always regarded as like the younger parents. And it came up today because my sister's boyfriend's parents have always been regarded– my mom's like oh they’re older because my sister's boyfriend, Stephen, is the youngest of four. So my mom and dad got married three days after my mom graduated from college, but they waited seven years. Like they owned a freakin’ Subway and went backpacking in Europe before having me. Like they lived their life, if you will, and then they had kids. But all my friends, like growing up, all their parents are like five to ten years older than my parents.

Lexi: So my parents got married at twenty three.

Alana: Also ridiculous.

Lexi: They were born in 1972. No shade giving my mom’s age out, but honestly she's super young. We get mistaken for sisters no matter where we go, especially if we’re with my grandmother. They tell her she has two lovely daughters. I don't know if that's an insult to me or a compliment to my mother… 

Haley: A compliment to your mother.

Alana: It’s definitely a compliment to your mother.

Lexi: My mother was invited to frat parties when she visited me in college several times.

Haley: No, your mother is smokin’ hot. Like my mother–

Lexi: She was the marching band MILF. Do you know the song Stacy's Mom?

Alana: Of course I know Stacy's Mom.

Lexi: The marching band, when we played it would sing Lexi’s mom.

Alana, singing: Lexi’s mom has got it goin’ on.

[INTRO MUSIC]

Alana: Hello and welcome to Lady History; the good, the bad, and the ugly ladies you missed in history class. by whipping sort of as always is Lexi Lexi what are you thankful for.

Lexi: I am thankful for you guys.

Alana: That’s gross. I am also joined(ish) by Haley. Haley, are you a white meat or dark meat kinda gal?

Haley: I really like– I guess like the– like a turkey leg? That’s dark meat. That’s my jam. I'm also not necessarily a turkey person.

Alana: And I'm Alana and I'm team captain of the cranberry sauce defense squad.

[Turkeys gobbling]

Alana: I don't think there is a good word for the people who were in the Americas before white people came to the Americas.

Lexi: There is not a good single word.

Haley: I also think that it's not us as non those people… 

Alana: That's the thing. And that was the conversation that we had–

Haley: And I hate that I said “those people” because it shouldn’t be “those people” but like

but like for my grad school, we have a whole section of like repatriation, NAGPRA, all that lovely good stuff in our law class. And with our history and theory class there's always like this– kinda wanna call it a symposium?– We asked the question, and I think it was my professor who posed it, because she's like I have to talk about it and I'm a Jewish white woman. I know people like have their preference on Jewish people versus Jews and I want to be able to teach the correct thing. And everyone in the room said Native Peoples just because so many different tribes or groups don't consider themselves American. So that’s what I use. And I like that the like phrase and I’m probably– someone else probably saying this but I’m gonna make it up for myself right now; just go with what you know until you're proven wrong. Because like that's what I know and like for now.

Alana: But that's the thing that we were talking about not on the podcast, elsewhere, about how like I've never heard an actual Latinx person use the phrase Latinx.

Haley: I do not consider myself–

Alana: Except for on One Day at a Time actually.

Lexi: I feel like I always go with if I need to call someone something I'm going to ask them–

Haley: Yes.

Lexi: –What they identify as, and if I don't know them well enough to have that conversation maybe I shouldn't be speaking for them in any way… Or not speaking for them, but I shouldn't be like representing them. But it's really complicated when we talk about history because a lot of the words we use didn't exist then. Like Ida B. Wells considered herself Negro, and we wouldn't… we wouldn't probably use that word now.

Haley: Well like with pronouns. We don’t assume–

Alana: Exactly.

Haley: –pronouns. So like… Because I feel very weird when people like assume like my race or ethnicity. And I identify that… I identify with being Persian or Cuban more so than being a female if that makes sense.

Lexi: Right.

Haley: I've never… it's not like I'm non– like non binary. I identify as female but I've never been like a FEMALE.

Speaker 3: I feel like with gender it's so– so easy to once you decide to do it just start using they as a default when you're not sure what someone's preference is, and there's not that for race or ethnicity. There’s not like a default word where you can say a word and not be offensive. Like, okay. It's like the thing with the Washington Redskins which is now the Washington Football Team. There were a lot–

Alana: Which is what my cousin always called it. Was always calling it the Washington Football Team.

Lexi: Actually apparently they picked that because a lot of people did just call it that. But also it's not even in Washington DC so it frustrates the crap out of me. But apparently like a bunch of people were up in arms about it that were Native peoples but then a bunch of Native peoples were like nah it's chill. And so it's like you can't say that all these people agree on something.

Haley: Yeah.

Alana: Yeah.

Haley: That's where we go back to like–

Lexi: There isn't a single hive mind of all of these people you’re trying to represent. Everyone has these own little different versions. And so, you know, what I've been told by a lot of people is like narrow it down. Like for example if you're Omaha, you’re Omaha. If you’re Hoganashone you’re Hoganashone. Because that's how they like refer to themselves.

Haley: Yeah. Yes. And I’ve heard this too. Like– I’m gonna say this. I was on Tik Tok.

(Alana and Lexi laughing)

Lexi: Honestly cultural Tik Tok is very fun. Like culture-based Tik Tok.

Haley: I’ve landed myself on what was called by this group of Tik Tok– this flavor of Tik Tok– Native and Indigenous Tik Tok.

Lexi: Yeah I've seen that.

Haley: But I noticed that for the Tik Tok-ers who are in Canada would use Indigenous.

Alana: I will never tell someone of one group that something is not anti that group because I don't want gentiles to tell me what is and what is not antisemitic, I don't want men to tell me what is and is not misogynistic, I don't want… what's my other identity? Oh, I'm queer. I don't want straight people to tell me what is and is not homophobic–

Haley: “What's my other identity?”

Alana: “What’s my other identity?”

Lexi: “I can’t remember. I’ve got so many.”

Alana: What’s my other one? I’m like marginalized in three different ways and I don’t remember what the third one is.

Archival Audio: For our clinics are all specialized. Wednesday afternoons, for instance, we only see expectant mothers. But each one is a different problem, because each one is a different person. They feel they're special, too, and always seem amazed when they discover they have something in common with the other women, but that’s natural. After all, we all think of our health problems as personal problems.

Lexi: Today I'm going to tell you the story of Susan La Flesche, the first Native American to receive a medical degree. And as we discussed, we’re not sure exact on the terms people prefer. Susan lived a long time ago and regarded herself as Native American, that’s why I'm using that term, but I understand that some people may not use that term to refer to themselves. But she identified as that, so that's what I'm calling her. So yes, she was the first Native American to receive a medical degree. Susan was an Omaha woman. Her father Iron Eyes, or Chief Joseph La Flesche, the last Omaha chief selected by traditional tribal methods, and he was the son of a Frenchman and an Omaha woman so he was half French, half Omaha. And as a chief he believed the only way to save his people was to mix elements of their culture with Western culture and for his people to get an education. And it was these beliefs that shaped Susan's future. Her mother was One Woman, or Mary La Flesche, and Susan was born on the Omaha reservation in Nebraska in 1865. As a child Susan, witnessed a Native woman die because the local white doctor would not provide her care. This event sparked Susan’s interest in becoming a medical professional, with the goal of helping Native people. She attended a school on the reservation until she was fourteen and then she went to the Elizabeth Institute for Young Ladies in New Jersey. Can you imagine being fourteen years old and traveling from Nebraska to New Jersey on a train by yourself? That’s crazy. That’s absolutely crazy.

Alana: Goals. I wanna do it. I love trains. I love trains. I wanna do it.

Lexi: So I think she must have been really brave, because it just that's… that's pretty amazing. A long trip for a little girl.

Alana: Especially as like first of all it being a young woman which is already dangerous, no matter what, and she's also from this like marginalized community.

Lexi: Yes.

Alana: That it's like double dangerous, quadruple dangerous because she was fourteen.

Lexi: Yeah. It's crazy. It's crazy. Must’ve been really really brave. And really wanted to go to the school I guess. So she went there for three years and at seventeen Susan returned home and she taught at the Mission School on the Omaha reservation. At the school, she worked with Alice Fletcher, who was a white woman who was an ethnologist who studied and recorded American Indian culture. And she came to live and work with the Omaha because of her passion for archaeology so she wanted to study living people to better understand the past, which has been–

Alana: Ethnographic archaeology.

Lexi: Yeah it's a thing that a lot of archaeologists like to do. When Fletcher fell ill, Susan helped her recover, and after seeing Susan’s skills and passions for medicine and health care, Fletcher urged Susan to travel east and pursue a degree in medicine. Susan enrolled in the Hampton Institute, which was a school in Virginia that was built after the Civil War to educate formerly enslaved people and had since become a hub for educating Black Americans and American Indians. When Susan was attending Hampton, a woman named Dr. Martha Waldron was working as a teacher and the resident physician at the school. Martha was a graduate of the Women's Medical College of Pennsylvania and suggested that Susan pursue further education there. Alice Fletcher, who had encouraged Susan to study medicine, assisted Susan by helping her apply for scholarships from the US Office of Indian Affairs and the Women's National Indian Association. In 1889, after two years in a three year program, Susan graduated top of her class from medical school. She spent one year doing an internship, which was similar to a modern day medical residency program in Philadelphia and then she returned home. At home, she became the primary care provider for about twelve hundred people, working at the reservation’s boarding school. In 1894, she married Henry Picotte, a Sioux man who had previously been traveling and working in Wild West shows. And they kept it all in the family with Susan's sister Marguerite deciding to marry Harry's brother Charles. So… that’s… that’s fun! After getting married, Henry and Susan had two sons and Susan opened a private practice which served both non white and white patients in her community. When Henry fell ill, Susan personally nursed him, all while working full time and caring for their two sons. At the age of forty, Susan became partially deaf, but kept working. In addition to being a doctor, Susan ran a children's library, worked as a Sunday school teacher, founded a quilting club, translated legal papers, and advocated for prohibition. In 1913, she opened a reservation hospital serving Omaha and Winnebago tribes. It was the first private hospital on a reservation anywhere in the country. Today, the building is a museum dedicated to tribal history and telling the story of Susan. In 1915, at just fifty years old, Susan passed away. Susan was important to her people because as aspects of their culture were taken away from them, she was able to draw a balance between traditional medicine and the practices that she learned at Western medical school. This worked because many of her people were still unsure about Western medicine, so by mixing their traditional healing practices with Western practices, she was able to develop a culturally specific plan of treatment. Her people grew to trust her and she began to be regarded as a modern medicine woman. She is a great example of why cultural representation is important and can impact public health. I also highly suggest watching the PBS video that I linked on the tumblr in the further watching. It’s super well made and it tells a really wonderful version of her story in a lot more detail than we're able to cover on our show and it has really good tie-ins to modern needs of communities like Susan's and interviews some modern female doctors and their communities which is really cool. That’s it. Short one.

Haley: I like– I like that story a lot.

Alana: I like that story too.

Lexi: Yeah there's not a lot about her like… 

Alana: Right.

Lexi: People don't record shit, so it’s mostly just her accomplishments, unfortunately.

(Audio from Night at The Museum)

Haley: So my story is about– drum roll please– the retelling of the story of Sacagawea. And for all of you who might be screaming my name right now, saying Hey I'm not pronouncing her name correctly, hold the phone we’ll get there. I first need to do my universal apologies for pronouncing any words, even historically American English words, incorrectly because we all know me; words aren't the greatest for my speech mouth. And to start us off, I'm switching over to the like I said that actual pronunciation– Saka-Gawea. And it's Sacagawea because in my research there's not a soft G in the Hidatsa language, which translates to bird woman. So side note, there are a bunch of different spellings, but if we're going based on the true like translation– Sa-Ka-Ga is bird, and it's spelled with a G. So Sacagawea is Sacajawea but just like–

Lexi: Can I just say, that's way prettier than Sacajawea.

Haley: Yeah because like for some Sacagawea it's like you have the G, or you have S. A. K. A. K. A. W. E. A, or instead of the G. it’s a J. But there's no hard – or, there's no soft Gs it's only hard Gs. And as a person who has a really hard time pronouncing things from reading because of the dyslexia spectrum that we know to love, it's gonna– it's gonna be balls to the walls bananas.

Alana: It's like… Was it the first Night at the Museum movie or the second Night at the Museum movie where she was like a character?

Lexi: The first.

Alana: The first one. And then the museum like–

Lexi, whispering: And then she fell in love with Theodore Roosevelt

Alana: Oh yeah, and then she fell in love with Theodore Roosevelt which was so… oh NO.

Haley: I’m glad you brought that up because I cut that part out.

Lexi: That’s a whole can of worms.

Alana: But like there's that whole thing about them pronouncing it wrong but it's always Sacaga-wee-ah or Sacaga-way-a, and I’m like both of you are wrong.

Haley: Glad you brought up Night at the Museum because I had a whole tangent on that but then I was like roll back Haley your notes are already long to begin with.

Alana: You cannot expect me to not bring up Night at the Museum if it is even tangentially relevant.

Lexi: I love them, I hate them. It's an incredible thing.

Haley: Yeah.

Alana: Rami Malek!

Haley: Yes he was–

Alana: My first love!

Haley: Back to the notes. So for our listeners out of the United States, you may have heard of Sacagawea, of course with the Lewis and Clark exploring the west. However, I'm sorry– not sorry– to say that there's a solid chance that what you learned was completely incorrect and I'm looking at you United States education system. All of y’all education system just– the poop garbage, dumpster fire, whatever you would like to say. But let me pause for a second and explain a little bit why that story is kind of messed up because not only do we have like a white savior complex with like Lewis and Clark, we also just have a lot of sexism. Like sexism is painted in semen here. Like all over the board. No menstrual blood whatsoever to like brighten up this dreary painting of shit. Alana’s face right now is… holy crap what is she saying.

Alana: It's just a little bit like– Lexi what's the word that I'm looking for that is like… the sentiment behind it is that not all men have semen that not all women menstruate. Do you know I mean? That's my thing with–

Lexi: There's a single word? There's a single word for that? 

Alana: There’s like a word for something… like reducing it to… whatever.

Haley: Yes.

Alana: And transphobia isn't quite right.

Speaker 1: That’s exactly why I use the phrase all semen in here. Because it's totally like heterosexual men explaining–

Alana: Cis heterosexual men.

Haley: Yes.

Lexi: The cis white boys?

Haley: Yes.

Alana: The cis white boys.

Haley: The cis white boys. However, it's a reason why the paintbrush is a phallic symbol, that’s all I’m gonna say. And while I will probably not tell the most accurate story, it's gonna be a hell of a lot better than what we've been given to because… I'm gonna be up front. There's so much more research I could have done and that's with all our stories. Like I think I put like three hours at least into like average for each story, sometimes more. I put in a lot more for this one. While Sacagawea was a Native people who symbolized peace and cooperation as she like navigated Lewis and Clark– with you know, the baby strapped on her back that like famous trope we have– through the west and like the Pacific… to get to the Pacific Ocean. There's a lot more to that story. First, because their crew was a crew of forty plus people; it wasn't just like the three of them moseying along like a hundred percent of the time, but we'll get to that. And even before then, I don't know about you guys but I never heard of like her growing up or her as an actual Native person. It was always “she’s with Lewis and Clark. Like she with the white people now,” never her life story as a whole, just this one small part, but I learned about Lewis and Clark's whole life story. And boy Howdy am I gonna talk about how she saved all their collective buttholes. So, while this story is both Native people’s legend and journals from the Lewis and Clark that we keep talking about. And we know that oral tradition it still history. So there are holes obviously with this timeline, but we know that she was born, or we think she was born in the Shoshone tribe in Idaho and was kidnapped at age twelve, possibly age ten. What I didn't know though is that when she was kidnapped– I knew she was kidnapped, but this is bad, I didn't actually know who kidnapped her, and it was a neighboring tribe. I believe it was the Hidatsa tribe? It was noted as a rival tribe. And from there she was sold into slavery and forced to marry Toussaint Charbonneau– C. H. A. R. B. O. N. N. E. A. U., we’ll go with that– a French Canadian fur trapper who had other quote Shoshane “wives.” So this wasn't… this wasn't great. Like it wasn't great to begin with, but we're just like still riding that train of yes you're not gonna tell a bunch of elementary school kids this story but let's not paint the picture and happy childhood. And in 1804, Meriwether Lewis and William Clark recruited no other than– I'm gonna call him TC, TC because I can't pronounce either of his names and I'm gonna keep fumbling on it– to be their wilderness guide. The geography of it was that the country almost doubled in size, but the history of it was the Louisiana Purchase was acquired by France.

Lexi: Acquired from France.

Haley: Yes. They were already on their expedition by the time they met up with TC and Sacagaweas. Sacagawea, who was sixteen and pregnant at the time, accompanied the men, and she was the only female of this shitshow of a shindig. And by shitshow of a shindig, this was like forty something other men with Lewis and Clark– like they had a whole rodeo. And we see this a lot that if people went on an expedition it wasn't just that group of people but they brought like their cooks, their wives, their children, people to like bring their food, i.e. like livestock because we didn't have fridges and such. So that like was not surprising to me. What was surprising was like that's a valuable teaching point, was just like to teach kids how did people move from place to place. And this is at the point where Clark notes that she was the most valuable member of their group, because although T. C. was like hired to give them like geography, he was like a noted French Canadian and a fur trapper, but noted as like he was not good at like navigating compared to Sacagawea and like the other Native peoples in the area. It was obvious and even Lewis and Clark were like “oh, she better” which she was. And she spoke both Shoshone and Hidatsa, and so she was like the interpreter for the white men, like literally. And that's the part like they got correct– and they being like the education system– that point was correct. She was interpreter, and shout out to the Brooklyn Museum for literally giving me the quote “interpreter for the group of white men”. Even the Brooklyn Museum’s not playing around. And obviously these white men weren't liked amongst the other Native peoples tribes, but when they saw a woman who wasn't considered to be a warrior– and that's like the key point– it wasn't just that they had a Native person with them. it was that she had a child with her, she spoke their language, and like didn't give off any alarm bells. Because also like there's that misconception that all Native peoples were friendly to each other. There are different like rivalries amongst tribes. That was just pure luck for them that that worked out. And so of course Lewis and Clark wanted to make their main man TC because his fur trapping knowledge and like how he knew the geography. And like I said that was… sure, he did some stuff. But Sacagawea basically said hold my beer, and she clearly knew where she was supposed to go. She clearly knew also just like the weather patterns, where to find food, and multiple occasions when they were like the Yellowstone area and it's really cold at night… we're in the parts where it's just snowing and dark for many many many parts of the winter. And she would like be able to not only like find but like somewhat grow or just like keep food in a way that like they would be able to sustain themselves with eating. So it was like a group effort by everyone. It wasn't just like Lewis and Clark being like “we got this, we’re gonna do it, we're gonna get to the Pacific Ocean in the middle of the winter.” Fast forward a bit– and there are a bunch of other stories of her being a complete badass, like diving into water when their canoe tips over and saving like all the important stuff; food, even like Lewis and Clark's journals.But we have to move forward, sadly, to the end of her expedition and just give her a well rounded story like I said. I wanted to hear this as a kid. And while the expedition ended in 1806, she kind of still knew Lewis and Clark. And let me do a side note here she did not receive payment for this expedition. Because like, yeah. That sounds like the right thing to do, I say with all my sarcastic cells in my body. There are a lot of them, by the way, so we're all doing a chorus of sarcastic singing. And three years later in 1809– another side note this is where at least my history kind of definitely has different stories, there's no concrete this is what happened…  There wasn't Snapchat recording everything, I guess. Clark invited Sacagawea and her family to live in Saint Louis and he also later adopted her son Jean Baptiste, and he called him Pompy, and a baby girl Lisette. And it's noted that she separated from T. C. who was abusive, but after this point like our timeline, we call dates in history, we know very little. And again, with this debated topic, her death is in that category. So records from Fort Manuel where like she lived there at a time, she supposedly died in December 1812 from typhus. And going off what Native peoples’ oral histories because again, oral histories are histories, she lived on the Shoshone lands in Wyoming until 1884. And regardless, Sacagawea clearly became somewhat of a legend with her own story being told by writers, filmmakers, historians in a time where women especially Native and/or Indigenous women, were absolutely thought of as weak, not helpful, and sometimes even dangerous. So you might be asking yourself, “Haley, where do I find other resources?” Obviously check out our show notes, they are quite lovely, and honestly children's books. The most recent ones were kind of on point. They're all about like– especially now in 2020. And then specifically in the show notes look at the Brooklyn Museum and the National Women's History Museum. And that is my story.

Alana: Hey National Women’s History Museum, do you want to give me an internship?

Haley, singing: Manifestation.

(Archival Violin Music)

Alana: Zitkala-Sa was born February 22, 1876, that makes her a Pisces. She's technically an Aquarius/Pisces cusp. And Zitkala-Sa means red bird in the Sioux language. She was born on the Yankton Indian Reservation in South Dakota. Her mother was Sioux and her father was white. Her father abandoned the family and initially when I see white father, Indigenous mother… that is alarm bells in my head, but she did have an older brother, so less alarm bells. Quieter alarm bells. And just as an FYI, a blanket statement, we had the discussion that we're not really sure if we should say Native or Indigenous so I kind of use both, mixing it up. If you know someone who has an opinion let us know and we’ll use that going forward. I think that's kind of a good general statement for this podcast; is correct us if we're wrong and we'll change our ways. Because that’s how you–

Haley: Correct us with kindness.

Alana: Oh, yeah. Correct us with kindness. Be nice.

Haley: We have feelings.

Alana: We can’t handle it. Don't be mean to me. At the age of eight, so 1884 she left the reservation when Quaker missionaries came to recruit for their– massive air quotes– school and it was only a school if by school you mean forced assimilation centers, but we'll get to that a little bit later. It was literally called the White’s Indiana Manual Labor Institute, and the U. S. is still racist, I'm not saying that it’s not racist, but at least we're not racist enough to let something with a name like that slide. I feel like… baby steps, little progress. Zitkala-Sa’s mother didn't want her to go because her brother had come back from a school and she didn't like it but Zitkala-Sa begged and begged because for kids who had never left the reservation, it seemed like a magical place and it sounded so cool. Her mother did eventually acquiesce because there were no schools on the reservation and she really wanted Zitkala to have an education. But she later wrote that the second she got on the train to Indiana she regretted fighting so hard for it. She was forced to cut her hair and pray like a Quaker, which she hated. Pray like a Christian is like…  that's intergenerational trauma in my heart. She actually hid from the people who were working at the school and they had to tie her to a kitchen chair and cut her hair. I don't know if it was actually a kitchen chair, I just wanted to make a Leonard Cohen reference. Hey Alana, are you Jewish? Yes. But she really did enjoy learning how to read and write and to play the piano and the violin. She was given the name Gertrude Simmons, which is a footnote that will only come up at the very end of the story. In 1887, she returned to her mother's home but she felt like she didn't belong there. And this was a common theme among children who had been sent to these– massive air quotes– schools because they felt like they didn't really belong to their Indigenous culture but they also weren't really like the white Americans. In 1895, she enrolled at Earlham College for a teacher training program and then transferred to the New England conservatory to continue studying violin. In 1900, she became a music teacher at the Carlisle Indian School but left because it reminded her of her traumatic experiences at a similar school. She basically came to the realization, she was just like “oh shit, they are designed to take our culture from us.” She was like “I couldn’t be part of that anymore.” In 1901, she published Old Indian Legends, which was a compilation of all of her previous writings and culminated in a lifelong project of translating Sioux traditions into English, because this is a quote from her from the beginning of the book, “America in the last few centuries has acquired a second tongue,” which is so shady. And I love it. “Acquired a second tongue” is just like. Mm. So also in 1901 she went back to South Dakota and took a job at the United States Bureau of Indian Affairs, which I will refer to going forward as the B. I. A., where she met Captain Raymond Bonnin, who was also a Sioux, but I couldn't find what his like Sioux name was, since he was also full Sioux, but probably not Raymond. But then they did have a son and name him Raymond so I’m not sure.I don't know. They were transferred to Utah, where Zitkala-Sa taught again, but not at a white school, at a reservation school where the children lived at home and she found that like to be a balance. In 1910, she met William Hansen who was a music professor at Brigham Young University, and in 1913 they completed The Sun Dance Opera which was about a Sioux ritual that the federal government had banned, which I think is… What a workaround. What a way to beat the system. She viewed music as a way to bridge the cultures that she was a part of and it did, and that culminated in The Sun Dance Opera. She joined the Society of American Indians, which is a group that lobbied for citizenship for Indigenous people and cultural preservation because nuance. Which is a thing that I am feeling recently. Just nuance. Tattoo it on my forehead, shout it from the rooftops. Nuance. She became the secretary of the Society of American Indians and started interacting directly with the B. I. A. where her husband worked. She was very critical and vocal of their policies because they wanted her to pray like a Christian which– (frustration noises). The intergenerational trauma, she just– she do be jumping out. And her husband was fired. Was it because of her criticism of the B. I. A? Maybe? Who’s to say? I can't say, but maybe. But they moved to Washington DC, where she started giving lectures about cultural identity and continued her work with the Society of American Indians. She even was briefly the editor of American Indian magazine. In 1924 she became active in the General Federation of Women's Clubs, which was like a women's rights group but make it intentionally diverse. It was grassroots campaigns to support women of all backgrounds, and we simply have no choice but to stan.

Lexi: Intersectional feminism.

Alana: Intersectional feminism. We love it, we love to see it, we love to see intersectional feminism like in the twentieth century, before it was cool, if you will. She started a universal Indigenous movement that led to the passage of the 1924 Indian Citizenship Act which, as the name implies, gave Indigenous people citizenship but not necessarily the right to vote because that was still up to the states. In 1926, she co founded with her husband the National Council of American Indians to continue lobbying for the rights of Indigenous people. She died January 26, 1938 at the age of not quite sixty two and is buried in Arlington Cemetery with her husband. Her gravestone reads Gertrude Simmons and then Zitkala-Sa which makes me feel a little bit weird but at least it's on there. I don't know if she like had a choice what went on there but I think it's cool that it's on there. And she was the first Indigenous woman to write her own autobiography without the help of an editor or translator because she was just good at English. She was also very anti use of peyote, which is really interesting because she was like alcoholism on the reservations is a huge problem and so we need to like do something about our ingesting of substances. It’s like all these things are about nuance which is something that I'm again I'm feeling so so much about nuance. It's something that I've been working on in therapy for like three years. That's not true, for two years. That I'm just like we can have two things that coexist– that like it would be in everybody's best interest to be an American citizen, but that doesn't necessarily mean that all of these Native people have to abandon their rituals and their culture. It’s that whole melting pot thing which is such a like when you think about a kind of a weird image… put people in a melting pot. Anyway. That’s a fun note to end on. That’s all I have to say.

Lexi: I just want to add that I think I've mentioned this before on the podcast but I worked on a project at the Smithsonian Libraries called Women in America: Extra and Ordinary. I'm the one who suggested this lady because I thought Alana would like learning about this lady, and I just want to kind of talk about a little bit why I put her in the project. The thing that I love about her is that the Portrait Gallery has pictures of her that were taken when she was quite young. I believe in her twenties.

Alana: They’re gorgeous.

Lexi: And they're beautiful because they're so like real. Like–

Alana: I think my favorite one is– now that I've mentioned it Lexi, you probably have to use it in the graphic– but it's her having grown her hair back out with her violin.

Lexi: Yes.

Alana: And it's just like how it's like… Once you know the background of that, it's like this is how she combined these two cultures by like really enjoying playing the violin and also having her long traditional hair.

Lexi: She’s just so like… It's like she could be your friend. Like she’s just a real person. And so like, I don't know. They’re good pictures. Go look at her pictures.

Alana: Go to the show notes, look at the pictures, they’re great pictures.

Lexi: And– Okay, I think– Okay, this is the root of it. I think when you see pictures of Native peoples from that time, so many times it's like they're wearing like outfits that aren't even correct for their culture and they were forced to pose in like ridiculous like customized versions of their own culture. Like I've seen ones where people who weren’t Plains Indians were put in Plains Indians’ attire for pictures. But like she's just hanging out and I really like that. I just love her. So much.

Alana: She’s so cool.

Lexi: And her name means red bird.

Alana: And her name means red bird, and Lexi loves birds. Lexi loves birds.

(Turkeys gobbling)

Lexi: You can find this podcast on Twitter and Instagram at LadyHistoryPod. Our show notes and a transcript of this episode will be on ladyhistorypod dot tumblr dot com. If you like the show, leave us a review, or tell your friends, and if you don't like the show, keep it to yourself.

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[OUTRO MUSIC]

Haley: Next week on Lady History, we're balling with some boss bitches. Get your bags of money ready, because we’re making it rain.

Lexi: Okay. All right.

Haley: Good night!

Alana: I gotta crawl out of my closet.

Lexi: Good night!

Alana: Good night I'll talk to you tomorrow!

Lexi: Bye bye.

[favescandis]

ICON Magazine: Cover Story: Million Dollar Bill (By Jessica Bailey)

Bill Skarsgård returns as the big-headed, balloon-toting demonic clown in IT Chapter Two. ICON sits down with the next big actor in Hollywood

NEW YORK CITY: Bill Skarsgård is talking me through how he mastered the sinister, bone-chilling laugh of Stephen King’s evil clown, Pennywise, in horror film It Chapter Two. “I wanted the laugh to sound like someone who is having a panic attack and is almost about to cry,” the 29-year-old Swedish actor explains. Suddenly, he begins cackling, his tall frame – which was seconds before slumped in his chair in the hotel room – rises and his eyes become so intense and fixated on something imaginary on the grey carpet between us. His voice is shaky, crackly, almost gasping for air. You feel like he could either lunge at you or burst into a million pieces at any given moment. It’s scary. “Even doing it out loud evokes a kind of unsettling feeling in myself,” Skarsgård says coming back to reality. “I kind of like it.”

Theatrical, serious and intelligent. It’s fascinating watching the actor come in and out of character; it seems as simple as flicking a light switch on and off. But Skarsgård insists the actual process on the It set – of which he, the human, disappears underneath layers of prosthetics – took more work than what I’d just witnessed. “I would scream and laugh hysterically before takes and reach a certain level of adrenaline to help me get into character for the scene,” he explains. By his own admission, Pennywise was by far the most physically and mentally draining character Skarsgård has played. But when I tell him I can’t seem to un-see Pennywise when I look at him, he almost shudders with distaste. “You see Pennywise in me?” he asks. “I think this is the first time anybody has said that. I don’t like to think too much about being associated with a murderous clown. I thought the makeup was my mask.”

While the wheedling and lethal villain is Skarsgård’s most notable role to date – and he’s brilliant in it, by the way – you might also recognise him from the 2017 mystery thriller Atomic Blonde (with Charlize Theron), the 2016 sci-fi film The Divergent Series: Allegiant (with Shailene Woodley) or Netflix’s supernatural drama Hemlock Grove. The actor has a slew of upcoming films, too, including thriller The Devil All the Time with fellow heartthrobs Robert Pattinson and Tom Holland, and drama Nine Days will see him return to fantastical fare alongside up-and-comer Zazie Beetz. To answer the obvious question, yes.

Skarsgård is related to 43-year-old Alexander Skarsgård, who is his older brother and is best known for his roles in True Blood and Big Little Lies. Both grew up in Stockholm in a family of 10, in which four of the eight children became actors. Their father, Stellan, is also a very famous actor in Sweden and starred as Professor Gerald Lambeau in Good Will Hunting. Post his ICON cover shoot in TriBeCa, NYC, we give the younger Skarsgård some pennies for his thoughts. Here, he discusses his titular character and the vast differences between his native Sweden, where no one locked the doors, and Hollywood, where men in clown makeup is a normal sight on the main strip.

ICON: Unlike Joaquin Phoenix’s Joker – an unhinged man in clown makeup – you essentially had to get inside the head of an evil and maniacal thing. How did you prepare for this role?

SKARSGÅRD: In a way, it’s even more abstract getting into the head of a madman because he’s not a man, he’s a thing. He’s a creature, an entity, so we had to come up with what the rules were for the character or the creature and then kind of humanise it in a way for me to be able to relate to it. He’s kind of the embodiment of evil – everything that’s nasty in people, he is. He’s a bully, he thrives off pain and fear and he’s mean. I used to draw on animals as a reference point a lot, like Jaws. The shark in Jaws is a monster, but it’s an animal. It’s going out trying to eat humans because it’s hungry and that element is in Pennywise as well; he’s hungry and he needs to feed. But what makes him evil and sinister is him taking pleasure out of feeding or pleasure of frightening and tormenting young children. In the first movie, the kids would cry and he would mock the kids crying and I thought that was like pretty much as evil as it gets, when you’re not only making a kid cry but you’re enjoying the fact that you’re making a kid cry. There are those people in the real world who are that bad, but I kind of wanted to go through the character mentally and think, “What is the most monstrous and evil thing I can think of?” and those things kind of came to mind.

ICON: Did you look to other famous clowns in history at all?

SKARSGÅRD: Not really. I watched Bozo The Clown and Ronald McDonald a little bit. There’s kind of a few of those iconic clowns, but the thing we didn’t want to do too much, or at least my entry way into the character, was not make him like this [makes goofy noises] doo-di-doo clown kind of a thing. Because I wanted Pennywise to have this really off thing about him. Also, Tim Curry’s clown [he portrayed Pennywise in the 1990 TV adaptation of King’s novel It) was very much more this villain, old-timey clown. That type of performance was great, but we wanted to do something different for this version. I didn’t go too far into the studying of a clown’s mimicry, but I took little pieces of what I liked and incorporated it into Pennywise.

ICON: At the time of your It audition, you lived with housemates and couldn’t practise Pennywise’s evil laugh in the house, so you had to do it in the car on the way to the audition. Tell me about that drive – in full clown makeup. Were people staring?

SKARSGÅRD: [Laughs] Yeah, that was for the callback audition. I had a version of what became his laugh pretty early on. I wanted it to sound like someone having a panic attack and it’s almost about to be a cry. That amplified became the laugh. Like it’s not someone who’s happy, it’s someone who maybe is miserable and almost having a crazy panic attack with its laugh. Even doing it out loud evokes a kind of unsettling feeling in myself that I kind of liked. But, yeah, I was driving around with this kind of basic clown makeup on and was just trying screams and laughs and everything. If it were recorded, it would have almost been a cliché of an actor’s life in Hollywood; it was so ridiculous. Going to the audition, there was only street parking, so I had to park the car and walk my way into the casting director’s office, which is right by Hollywood Boulevard, so there were construction workers out the front. When they looked at me, they didn’t even flinch. That’s just what Hollywood is, I guess. It’s like, “There’s a man walking around with a clown face laughing to himself” [laughs].

ICON: What was your experience like when you first came to Hollywood? Were there stray clowns?

SKARSGÅRD: I came to LA for the first time when I was seven years old and then again when I was 10. I’ve been travelling there since I was fairly young because of my dad, who would shoot movies out here as well. I don’t remember my perception of LA very much – I liked the weather, I liked the mall, the Beverly Center was the coolest thing ever. You know, Footlocker! At that time, you could get sneakers in America that you definitely couldn’t get in Sweden. I had all the Nike out fits.

ICON: Your brother Alexander has said he’s not a method actor when he takes on dark and dramatic roles. Are you a method actor?

SKARSGÅRD: No, I don’t need to stay in character. That approach doesn’t make sense for me. But everyone has different ways of reaching what they need to reach and I’m definitely not method, but I have my own methods. With Pennywise, it was less about character and more about the energy. You need to find a state of energy that is true for the scene that you’re playing. So say you’re doing a really emotional scene, you need to find that energy or that chemical in your body – which is all it is to me at least – and when you trigger it, tears can start. A talented actor can trigger it chemically. In your body you feel like you’re about to start crying, you make yourself start crying and it’s a chemical reaction to it, you feel it in your body. You need to reach that place before you go into the scene and that’s the sort of method that I work with.

ICON: How did this method work with Pennywise?

SKARSGÅRD: He was a very particular kind of character. He’s always so expressive and energetic. I would scream and laugh hysterically before takes and reach a certain level of adrenaline to help me get into character for the scene.

ICON: We’ve seen dark characters get to actors before. Australian actor Heath Ledger and his iconic role as the Joker – and his clown-like villain – is an extreme example of this. How do you get out of that Pennywise headspace when you arrive home at night?

SKARSGÅRD: I also heard it’s kind of a misconception; that’s a romantic idea that Heath died of the Joker performance. From all accounts I’ve heard, he really enjoyed it and he wasn’t method either.

ICON: He reportedly was very immersed in the character…

SKARSGÅRD: Oh, completely, but from actors who worked with him on the set, they were like, “He would talk about his daughter.” We have this romantic idea that “Oh, this man, he went crazy or he went to the darkest place ever and he couldn’t figure his way out.” As the public, we like those types of stories and sometimes they’re true and sometimes actors fabricate that truth in order for them to seem a little bit more remarkable. So you talk about his or her performance as, “Oh, they did all these things,” and that’s what made it so great. Sometimes I feel like some actors maybe want to feel a little bit extra special in that regard. If I go and I have a very particular type of scene, like if I’m hurting someone or if I’m being awful, that doesn’t feel good afterwards. I think the worst is not like a character like Pennywise or those kinds of villainous roles – they’re dark but they’re fun, the character enjoys what they’re doing – the characters that will really get to you are the characters that are depressed or inflicted by pain. Say you play someone who is so depressed that they are about to commit suicide. Like, if that is your day, every day going into that mindset, you’re not going to be a happy person, because your character is not happy.

ICON: Pennywise though…

SKARSGÅRD: Pennywise is enjoying what he is doing, and in the same way Joker is as well; they’re dark but they’re enjoying it. You’re playing a character who enjoys the darkness, so that is what you have to access, and you don’t have to access the lack of self-worth or characters who are paranoid or in their own head and stuff like that. There is a movie that I’m about to start doing and you read the character and he’s very unlikeable: paranoid, insecure, a pathological liar, mentally ill. As a result, he goes into this kind of schizophrenic state. I read that script and I was like, “This is going to be really, really tough for me to do. I’m going to feel like shit doing it because it’s a character who’s losing his mind throughout the whole movie.” That is the state I have to go into, so when I’m coming home from work and I’ve been in that mental state, I think those things will affect how you feel during the production of the film.

ICON: Some creepy things went down in Derry, Maine. You’re from Stockholm in Sweden – what was it like growing up there and in a household with, like, a million people?

SKARSGÅRD: It was great. Stockholm is a wonderful place for a kid. I grew up in what would be called an extremely gentrified neighbourhood, but it used to be a working class neighbourhood. It was very bohemian and we went to school with immigrants and people from different places around the world. It felt like a very diverse upbringing – at least compared to a place like LA, which is the most secluded, segregated place there is. So Stockholm was wonderful in the way that you were exposed to all these different cultures and people. You could attend different classes and we were all just going to the same schools, there were no private schools or none of that. I’m extremely happy that that was my background. It’s healthy for kids to be exposed to all of that, and my family – a big, big family – our home was always the home that you would bring your friends to. That was true for all of our siblings. Sometimes there would be like 10-15 kids hanging out in our rooms, because our parents very much had an open- door policy – nobody knocked and we never locked the doors. Everybody just walked in and out – it was a big party.

It Chapter Two is in Australian cinemas now.

Photography: Michael Schwartz Styling: Bill Mullen

https://icon.ink/articles/bill-skarsgard-pennywise-it-chapter-two-interview/

https://icon.ink/fashion-shoot/million-dollar-bill-skarsgard-tribesandtribulations-cover-photoshoot/