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coldflasher · 7 months ago

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Answer the Questions and Tag 5 Fanfic Authors

Tagged by @kitkatt0430 and @softboydepot - Thank you both for the tag :D

1. How did you get into writing fanfiction?

So I was about 13 years old, I was scrolling through my brand new One Direction tumblr, username "its-a-1d-world", soon to become "curly-and-boobear-stylinson", a harrowing username that genuinely makes me shiver like someone just walked over my grave. Like I'm sure this means nothing to someone who wasn't in the fandom AND an extreme larrie but let me tell you. Imagine the most intensely cringe superwholock url you could have. It's on that level

And I remember seeing what we would soon come to very derisively refer to as a "harry het fic" on my dash. So like, in 1D fandom, you had your standard self-insert Y/N fics, you had the queer RPF where you were shipping the boys with each other, and then you had the "het fics", which is where someone would make up a female character for one of the boys (usually Harry bc that man had and still has an insane chokehold on teenage girls everywhere) to date. If anyone has had the misfortune to read and/or watch After by Anna Todd... that type of deal

ANYWAYS I was totally unaware of fanfic as a concept, which is quite funny because as a little baby writer I'd been writing extremely derivative pseudo-fanfic for quite a few years by that point, like stories inspired by Young Dracula or Narnia or whatever without really knowing what it was. But this Harry het fic floated across my dash and a little switch went in my brain because I was like WAIT. I COULD BE WRITING STORIES ABOUT THE BOYS?? Like this was so exciting to me because writing is like probably my biggest eternal special interest and One Direction was my like, most intense special interest at the time, so I was like WAIT. I CAN COMBINE THESE THINGS. And also PEOPLE WILL READ THEM AND COMMENT ON THEM and I was sooo convinced I was god's gift to writing at the time so I was like well OBVIOUSLY everyone will read MY fics and I'll get super fandom famous instantly.

So I wrote an incredibly terrible Harry het one shot with an original character and literally got crickets. Nobody read it. Very embarrassing. I think I wrote a handful of these and nobody wanted to know, which is fair enough because I'm sure they were very bad. But THEN I was like okay fine, well everyone is obsessed with Larry, including me (though I very much liked it in a "bromance" way at the time, so I'll write a Larry fic instead. This is Louis and Harry for the uninitiated. It was the biggest fandom ship. We shipped all and every configuration of the boys but Larry and Ziam were the hard hitters. I think I wrote a few different one shots for various pairings but then I did my first Larry multi-chapter

ANYHOO the Larry fic was a big hit, I got all the outpouring of compliments and attention that my enormous thirteen-year-old head was convinced I deserved and that was kind of it really lmao. I was hooked. When I tell you I'd update my fics MULTIPLE TIMES A DAY because I was writing so fast and so obsessively, like god idk what the fuck was going on in my head but it was the greatest high I have ever experienced in my life. I also got incredibly deeply involved in the conspiracy theory about Louis and Harry's secret gay relationship and spent the next five years of my life tinhatting obsessively but that's a whole other story

2. How many fandoms have you written in?

In terms of what I've posted to AO3, only a handful—as mentioned, I started off in the One Direction fandom, I've written for The Flash and Legends, and dabbled in Doctor Who. In terms of fandoms I've written little bits for but never shared... so many lmao, the list (as far as I can recall) includes the following:

Batwoman, Supergirl, The Bold Type, The Devil Wears Prada, Once Upon a Time, Supernatural, Torchwood, Twilight, X-Men, and bizarrely, The Witcher, apparently??? I have ZERO memory of that, but it's in my fanfic folder. No idea what that was about

3. How many years have you been writing fanfiction?

I think I started in 2011/early 2012, so upward of a decade at this point... eesh.

4. Do you read or write more fanfiction?

Definitely write. I do want to read more fic, but I have a hard time choosing what to read and I am very bad at using AO3's search functions to find what I want.

5. What is one way you’ve improved as a writer?

I've finally started finishing shit!! Big moment for me lmao

6. What’s the weirdest topic you researched for a writing project?

I read an entire book on public defenders for a fic where Barry becomes a public defender instead of a CSI. I own a copy of a book called Forensics for Dummies which I'm slowly working my way through for fic reasons... I feel like none of these are that weird lmao

7. What’s your favourite type of comment to receive on your work?

Who doesn't love the mega long comments pulling out random lines the reader liked to yell about them. I sometimes get so excited reading these comments that I lose sleep over it lmao i love them so much

8. What’s the most fringe trope/topic you write about?

Lmaoo this is a very odd one but I once wrote a Larry Stylinson fic where Harry was Slenderman and he was haunting Louis, and either Zayn or Liam was like a Van Helsing type who was trying to hunt Slenderman!Harry down and kill him. Or maybe it was Nick Grimshaw, the at the time host of the BBC1 radio breakfast show. He was the go-to fandom villain at the time

I never finished it but that was a cool time, someone in the fandom actually composed an instrumental piano piece inspired by Slenderman!Harry which is up there with the coolest things that have ever happened to me

In general I don't know if I necessarily go that fringe. I feel like it's somewhat obvious I have a bit of a thing for femdom, and also like. Coldwest/coldwestallen in general lmao, I guess that's fringe-ish

9. What is the hardest type of story for you to write?

Funnily enough probably pwp. I feel like smut is generally considered to be just an easy fun time but I feel like my line-editing process is not conducive to smut writing thing because I write the first draft in a haze of feral horny energy and then edit and revise it over and over to the point where I no longer find it sexy at all and am unable to tell whether it's even still hot or if I've totally killed the vibe in my quest to find the most poetic way of describing the way people fuck nasty. It's very frustrating ngl

10. What is the easiest type?

None of them. This is such a cop-out but everything I write is hard because I'm an insane perfectionist and everything HAS to be beautifully crafted so at this point everything is hard. But ngl I find multichapters easiest to draft in some ways just cos I can kinda cling to the high of "ooh a new idea" whilst also contributing to the same project because the "new ideas" are just new chapters, if that makes sense? It's fitting them all together that's the hard part lmao

11. Where do you do your writing? What platform? When?

I use a combination of Microsoft Word, Scrivener, and a notes app on my phone called Penzu, which is where I scribble down all the random snippets and ideas and bits and bobs that come to me during the day. The bulk of my drafting and editing is done in Word and I basically only use Scrivener for its notecard function where you can move scenes around really easily, and then I transfer everything back into Word because of Tracked Changes. Does Scrivener have that? Probably. Scrivener has everything

12. What is something you’ve been too nervous/intimidated to write, but would love to write one day?

Honestly it's never really a case of "too nervous/intimidated" because I genuinely have never encountered an idea where I was like "hmm idk if I can pull it off", I have extreme faith in my own capabilities to an almost delusional level lmao, it's always just "I do not have time". But I do have this extremely long Coldwestallen fic that's inspired by Hades and Persephone, with Barry as Persephone, Len as Hades, and Iris as a soooort of Demeter figure which i know is weird because Demeter is Persephone's mother, but whatever, she more embodies the familial connection of the whole team rather than being an actual blood relative if that makes sense

So the concept is basically Barry as Persephone spending half his time with Len and the Rogues in the criminal underworld (I thought I was so clever for that one lmao) and the rest with Team Flash, and then the lines blur and it becomes coldwestallen-y eventually, but it's soooo long and basically split into four novels that I have written between 25 and 50k for each. It's gonna take me literal YEARS to tackle this thing so I've kinda put it on hold for now but I miss it so much

13. What made you choose your username?

So I wrote a joke in a fic that I genuinely have no idea whether I even posted it or not, it might have been in Aftermath. But basically Barry's suit gets blown up and he gets photographed literally streaking through the city totally nude (you can't see anything bc he's moving too fast but you can tell he ain't wearing any clothes lmao) and there's a newspaper headline that's like "THE FLASHER???" Let me tell you I was very annoyed the other day when I learned they already made that joke on Supergirl

And then I just added "cold" for Len lmao

#long post for ts

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purplesurveys · 3 months ago

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1914

Name something you keep on the nightstand. The microfiber cloth for my glasses so I can clean mine as soon as needed.

What does a man brag about the most? I uh...don't know. I never hang with groups of dudes lol, and the ones I know don't really do a lot of bragging around me.

What's the most you've tipped your waiter or waitress. The highest I give is ₱500 and that's whenever I host a big party (10-15 pax). I leave ₱200 if I was very impressed by the service; otherwise my standard practice is at ₱100.

As a child, what frightened you the most? Cockroaches, because we had flying ones at home. The fear has carried over to this day because I still hate seeing them.

I also didn't like seeing anyone drunk because the men in my family who did never knew how to take care of themselves. It was horrifying watching them stumble and slur their words; physical altercations were the worst thing I had to witness. Among family. So imagine how pissed I felt when I tried alcohol for the first time and learned that drinking has a lot to do with just knowing how to control yourself.

Name a dish you take to a potluck. The ideal option would be pizza but that's what everybody brings, so my go-to has evolved to be Mama Lou's truffle mac and cheese. They're not what anyone would think to be their first choice, and yet everyone goes crazy over them. As a people pleaser, I always want to make sure it's my tray that makes their way to plates the most haha.

What's a popular vacation location? For Filipinos, definitely any of these: Taiwan, Hong Kong, Singapore. I've been to Singapore but have no interest in the other two.

Name a complaint people have about their job. That they are not paid enough for the life they need to sustain.

Name something you put off doing until the weekend. Taking our pets to the vet. The queues are always unpredictable, and the last thing I'd want to happen is to be 5th in line during my lunch break and be stuck on the road three minutes before a 1 PM call. So say if they were due on a Wednesday, I'd just take them that same weekend.

What's a common remedy for a cold? I just let it pass if it's only a cough or cold. Fever is a different story – I'm rarely sick, so when it happens it crashes hard on me. When I get a fever, I usually find myself asking for soup since it's the only thing I'll have the appetite for.

My mom also has this honey ginger tea that she makes me drink 1-2 glasses of. It's nasty, but I do it for her so it doesn't go to waste.

How many scoops of ice cream do you put on an ice cream cone? 2 max and that's pushing it. I'm a slow eater, so it's sure to melt. It's also why I've always preferred having ice cream from a bowl/cup.

Name a type of nut. If I'm having the nut itself, pistachio. In terms of flavor, almond or peanut.

How long is the typical vacation? Anywhere between 2-5 days. Except for the time we were in Bali for 7 days, I've never been on a vacation for longer than a week.

Name a popular athlete. Simone Biles.

At what age should you have children? Whenever you're ready and financially capable. It's different for all.

During high school, what was your worst subject? Chemistry. I feel like my teacher only passed me out of guilt(??); my test scores ranged from 68-89. Never tasted a line of 9 from it lol.

Name a famous Jack. Jack Nicholson.

How many speeding tickets does an average motorist receive? I have no idea. Speeding's not that big of a problem here to begin with because the Philippines is the Traffic Hellhole of the World LOL

Name a profession a kid wants to be when they grow up. Teacher, doctor, princess.

Name a famous TV detective. Sherlock Holmes.

At what age did you get your first kiss? 16.

What month is popular for weddings? Ber months.

Name something people forget when they're in a hurry. Wallet.

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fortheloveofwonderland · 4 years ago

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A Memory Locked In The Heart - Spencer Reid x fem! Reader

A/N - Requested by the lovely @overduelibrarybooks I hope this was the kind of thing you were looking for!

Find my masterlist here.

My taglists are open and requests are open.

Requested: Yes l No

Request: "could u ever write a spencer reid x reader where reader def works for the cia but more as a translator who’s kinda forced into doing agenty things in order to gather intel and on a mandated break she finds out the UNSUB before the team does so she uses herself as bait, and shoots the guy all very badass fashion n then gets interrogated bc ms girl just shot him coldblood and halfway thru she recognizes spencer bc her mother and his mom lived in the same care facility??? idk sorry my mom has paranoid too so it just hits different but u don’t have to write this if u don’t want to i love ur writing <3"

CW: disclaimer: I know next to nothing about the CIA and what they investigate so please go easy on me here. This is all made up so hopefully it makes some kind of sense. Mentions of violence and sex work, schizophrenia, Alzheimer’s, some swears. Mentions of drug use and overdose. Spanish used towards the end is from Google Translate so I apologise if it isn’t completely accurate. Italics indicate flashbacks.

Plot: Eighteen years ago you met a boy named Spencer Reid whilst visiting your mother at Bennington Sanitorium. This time you are meeting under entirely different circumstances; across the table of an interrogation room.

WC: 5.3K

—————————————————————

How did I end up here?

That was a question you kept asking yourself as you rolled into your third hour of sitting in that cold, dimly lit interrogation room at the FBI headquarters in Quantico, Virginia.

Well you supposed you’d have to go back to the beginning to truly work that out.

The CIA and FBI joint task force for a country wide sex trafficking ring they believed to be operating out of DC.

When your team at the CIA had started investigating it was estimated that the ring had close to a hundred women who had been abducted and forced into the sex industry.

A lot of women were believed to have been taken trying to cross the border. Your job as a translator had involved spending a lot of time in Mexico, helping interview witnesses and family members who didn’t speak English.

The FBI involvement had come when women believed to have been part of the trafficking ring started turning up dead.

At last count they were up to twenty bodies. The Behavioural Analyst Unit had given their profile of the man they believed to be running the show.

White male in his mid to late forties. Bilingual. Possibly born in Mexico or an area surrounding the border but grew up in DC, they assumed based on his knowledge of the area. He’s attractive, charming and has a good level of education, he’d need to be able to charm the women into trusting him. He doesn’t have a full time job because he wouldn’t have time for one. All his time and focus goes on his girls. He was tech savvy, incredibly so, he’d have to be, to be able to set up the network on the dark web which enabled his customers to pay for his services.

It hadn’t been going well. Bodies kept dropping and the task force was no closer to catching the person responsible.

This went on for six months. Everyone was exhausted. You kept hitting brick wall after brick wall. It was demoralising.

Your boss had called for mandated time off. You’d all argued but she had been absolutely adamant. You’d all been working yourselves to the bone and she didn’t want you burnt out entirely.

You’d argued but your words had fallen on deaf ears.

��Can I get you a glass of water or something?”

The voice startled you out of your thoughts. You looked up to see the lanky, messy haired agent who called himself Doctor Reid, sticking his head through the door.

“Is coffee an option?”

He smiled brightly at you, a smile you swear you’ve seen before.

“Coffee is always an option.” He told you. “How do you take it?”

“Strong and black. Please.”

“I’ll be right back.”

With that the door closed leaving you to your thoughts once more.

There was something so familiar about the Doctor. His dark yet sparkling eyes, his awkward smile and the way he dressed. You couldn’t place it. But there was definitely something about him that stirred some memory buried deep in your brain. You just weren’t sure what it was.

He returned a few minutes later, bringing your coffee into the room and placing it on the table in front of you.

“Hopefully you won’t be stuck here too much longer. It’s just standard procedure.” he spoke sweetly, his voice stirring the hidden memory.

“Yeah I know. I get it.” you sighed as you spoke, wrapping your hands around the coffee. “Thank you for this.”

“You’re welcome.” he smiled before he started backing out of the room. You wished you could ask him to stay because you felt so much more at ease with him around. But you knew you couldn’t.

He turned to you in the doorway.

“You look cold in that.” He smiled a little sadly at you.

You’d forgotten about your outfit choice. No self respecting CIA agent dressed like you were right now.

“I guess I am a little.” You shrugged.

Spencer instantly shrugged his blazer off of his shoulders and laid it in front of you on the table.

“Thank you Doctor Reid.” you spoke again before he disappeared out the door.

“Goodbye Agent Y/L/N.”

The door closed, his voice reverberating in your ears, dragging you into a long forgotten memory.

As you slipped his jacket on, your eyes fluttered closed, his scent wafting up your nose.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Spencer. Spencer Reid.”

“Y/N. Y/N Y/L/N.”

Your eyes shot back open, a frown on your face.

“Spencer?” you muttered under your breath. “Spencer Reid.”

Where had you pulled that name from? And why did it feel oddly connected to Vegas?

You tried to push the thought away, you already had enough on your mind. There were much more pressing things to deal with than a vague memory from your hometown an undetermined amount of time ago.

***

You’d been instructed to switch off. Your time off should be used to recoup, relax and not to think about the case.

Easier said than done you thought.

Before you’d left the office on your mandated leave you’d taken photocopies of some files and slipped them into your bag. You knew you’d be in trouble if you were caught but you couldn’t help yourself. You wouldn’t be able to relax with this case still open.

As far as you were aware the BAU was still working on it but it provided you little comfort. In your time with the CIA you’d never gotten to be involved so heavily in a case. Your skills were mostly utilised in interview capacities and then you were sidelined.

You’d never had the privilege to work on a joint task force or investigate a crime so brutal.

You felt personally invested in this case. You thought if you could just find that one missing puzzle piece you could crack this case wide open.

And then you’d found it. The golden ticket. The smoking gun. The missing piece.

It had taken five days of your leave and copious amounts of coffee but you’d connected the dots no one else had.

You knew how to draw the unsub out. And you were going to do it tonight.

***

“Let’s start again from the beginning shall we?” Agent Rossi linked his fingers together on top of the table as he looked across at you, still slowly sipping your coffee.

“Oh goody.” You sighed. “Could Agent Jareau not fill you in what I’ve already told her?”

“Humour me.” The old man shrugged.

You didn’t have any ill will against him. Far from it. You were actually a big fan of David Rossi. But you were sick and tired of being treated like a criminal.

“Tell me how you managed to work out how to find him.”

You took another long sip of the coffee.

“All the pieces were there, they just hadn’t been put into place.”

“And how did you piece them together?”

“There was a pattern to where the women had been last seen. It was a guess more than anything. A lucky guess.”

“And the pattern was?”

You sighed in frustration.

“As I told agent Jareau,” you sipped your coffee. “The bars they were last seen in all had ties to Mexico. I’m not a native to DC but I know the area like the back of my hand. They were all either Mexican owned, had a Mexican name or were previously establishments such as Mexican restaurants. I made an educated guess that he frequented places such as these looking for his targets. I just got lucky I picked the right one.”

***

You felt incredibly exposed, but you supposed that was the point.

If you were going to get this guy's attention, you had to do this right.

It was a long shot. Just because Western’s bar was known for its famous tacos did not mean it would be the place he chose to pick up girls.

You just had to hope.

You wore a skimpy skirt that barely covered your ass, knee high boots and a crop top that accentuated your assets.

Your firearm was hidden in your left boot.

Your outfit garnered a lot of looks as you headed through Westerns towards the bar.

You felt men’s eyes on you from every angle, making you feel extremely self conscious. But you needed to keep your cool, exude confidence.

If your guy was here he needed to see you shine.

You ordered a soda to keep your head clear and sat at a table over the far side of the bar. From there you had a good view of the entrance and most of the room. And more importantly, the room had a view of you.

Three hours you sat there nursing your soda. It was a huge stab in the dark, you weren’t really surprised.

You finished your drink and headed out onto the cool DC street.

You made it five steps before you felt a presence behind you.

Just as you were about to turn, something covered your mouth.

You struggled against a pair of strong arms.

A smell wafted up your nose seconds before you lost consciousness.

Chloroform.

***

“Why didn’t you tell your unit chief before you went in?”

“Because I thought it was a long shot.” And because she would have been furious I was working the case.

“So you chose to use yourself as bait?”

“Yes.” You shrugged nonchalantly.

“Do you know how dangerous that could have been?” Rossi raised an eyebrow at you.

You had to refrain from rolling your eyes.

“Yes agent Rossi, I’m well aware. But I had a lead and I wasn’t going to ignore it.” You pulled Doctor Reid’s jacket tighter around your scantily clad body.

You caught his scent again. Coffee. Old books. A hint of peppermint.

Another long shut off memory wormed it’s way to the surface.

“So are you here visiting someone?”

“Yeah.” You smiled sadly. “My mom.”

“Oh.” He returned your sad smile. “Me too.”

“Agent Y/L/N?”

You were brought back by Rossi’s concerned voice.

“Hmm?”

“I said, what happened next? You were chloroformed and then what?”

You shook your head, your mind clouded.

“Can we take a break? I could really use some air.”

Rossi sighed with a small nod.

He stood from his chair and motioned you to follow him.

You got some odd looks from his fellow agents as he led you to the elevators. They all recognised what you were wearing as Spencer’s jacket.

You followed Rossi into the elevator and he pressed the button for the ground floor.

“Agent Rossi, can I ask you a strange question?” You asked as the doors closed.

He gave you a curious look.

“I suppose.”

“Doctor Reid. As in Spencer Reid?”

“The one and only.” Rossi frowned unsure what you were getting at.

“Where is he from?”

Rossi’s frown deepened, not sure he should tell you such things about his team. But you were an agent and you didn’t pose a threat to the team.

“Vegas I believe.”

Vegas. Of course.

“Ok.”

“Why do you want to know?”

“I don’t know.” You chewed your lip. “I think I might have known him.”

“Oh?”

You wished you hadn’t opened your mouth. This was not the time or place.

“I’m probably wrong. Just forget I said anything.”

The elevator came to a stop and the doors opened. As you stepped out you pulled Spencer’s collar to your nose and sniffed it.

No you weren’t wrong.

***

Las Vegas, Nevada - 1999

“Hi again.” You smiled at the lanky man, Spencer you’d met a few days ago. “How’s your mom?”

“Still angry at me.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and stubbed the toe of his shoe on the floor.

“She came in recently?”

“Yeah a few months ago. I turned eighteen and I was able to have her put into care.” He blanched, clearly feeling guilty for his decision.

“Do you want to grab a coffee?”

“Uhm sure.” He shrugged.

He followed you through to the day room. It was late and there were only a few patients inside and a few nurses milling around.

You got two cups of coffee from the machine and the two of you sat at a table together.

“Do you mind me asking what’s wrong with your mom?” You dared as you slid him the drink.

He sighed heavily, gnawing on his bottom lip as though his life depended on it.

“She’s a paranoid schizophrenic.” He spoke clinically, words he’d had to say too many times in his life. It was as though he’d distanced himself from it. Like he was giving a patient a diagnosis rather than talking about his own mother.

“Mine too.” You gave him a wry smile. You had something in common, just not something you would like to have in common.

“How long has your mom been here?”

“Three years. She got really bad and my dad couldn’t take care of her anymore. She’s been doing much better since she moved in here.”

“That’s good.” Spencer nodded. “I hope my mom realises I did this for her. For her well being. At the moment she’s just so...angry.”

You reached across the table and placed your hand on top of his. He seemed a little startled by the physical touch but you didn’t move your hand.

“This is the best place for her. I assume from what you said earlier your dad isn’t in the picture?”

He used his free hand to sip his coffee with a sad shake of his head.

“He left when I was ten. He couldn’t handle mom's illness.”

You gave his hand a small squeeze.

“I can’t imagine what it was like for you to have to look after her by yourself. It was hard enough with my dad there. Really makes you grow up fast.”

“It really does.” He agreed. “I’m not sure I ever got to be a kid.”

“I know that feeling.”

After that you spent hours chatting about anything and everything until way into the night. It wasn’t until a nurse came and asked you politely to leave that you realised how late it was.

“I’ll probably see you around?” You spoke as you stepped outside together.

“Maybe. In a few weeks I’m heading out of state. I’m working on a PhD.” He didn’t want to tell you it was actually his second PhD.

“Oh. Ok.” You tried to hide the disappointment from your voice.

Despite the circumstances you’d enjoyed talking to someone like minded, someone who understood. You didn’t have anyone else your own age you could talk to about this kind of thing.

“Maybe we could exchange numbers?” You blushed a little.

“I don’t have a cellphone.” He shrugged.

“Oh.”

“It’s not an excuse.” He sensed you didn’t believe him. “I’m not so into technology. I don’t even have email.”

Normally you would have thought it was just a bad excuse to get out of seeing you again but the look on Spencer’s face told you he was being genuine.

“Ok.” You gave him a shy smile. “Well maybe I’ll see you again before you leave.”

“I hope so.” His eyes sparkled as he looked at you on the dark street.

There was an air between you, some kind of thick tension but you didn’t know what it meant.

“If I don’t see you again,” you spoke trying to ignore whatever it was. “It was really good to meet you and I hope your mom gets used to the facility.”

“You too.” He smiled so genuinely at you, it made your heart skip a beat.

And then you went your separate ways.

***

“Ok, so what happened next?” Rossi wasted no time once you were back in the interrogation room.

“Well I blacked out after I was chloroformed so excuse me if I don’t remember.” You gave him a sarcastic smile.

“What’s the next thing you do remember?” He reworded his question.

“I woke up in a large basement. It was gritty and dingy. And there were other women there too.”

“How many?”

“At least twenty.” You sighed letting your mind travel back to the basement you never wanted to go back to. Not even in your mind.

***

You woke with a start, your head pounding. You gasped for air as though you’d been drowning.

You blinked your eyes trying to adjust to the dark room you found yourself in.

It was cold and damp and you could hear a pipe dripping in the distance.

You tried to roll over but your arm wouldn’t budge. You were met by a loud clanking sound when you tried.

You tugged your arm, hearing the same sound and being met with a sharp pain in your wrist.

“Good luck.” A woman’s voice scoffed. “They don’t come loose.”

You blinked a few more times, looking over to your left arm. There was a heavy metal cuff right around your wrist that was attached to a metal bed frame.

That’s when you realised you were laying on a small cot on top of a ratty, itchy blanket. You were still dressed, thank god.

You suddenly remembered your firearm concealed in your boot. You patted your left calf and sure enough you felt the hard weapon still inside.

That was something at least.

Oversight on their part.

You remembered the voice you’d heard before and turned as much as you could with your arm cuffed to take in the rest of the room.

There were at least forty other cots close together lining the walls, with at least half of them containing the body of other women.

The voice you’d heard belonged to a woman in the cot next to you. She gave you a smile but it didn’t reach her eyes.

Her eyes were broken.

“Hi,” you croaked. “I’m Y/N.”

“Delilah.” Her accent was Spanish. You were sure Delilah wasn’t her real name either.

“How long have you been here?”

She sighed, playing with a strand of curly black hair.

“What month is it?”

“September.”

“Oh.” She frowned. “Not that long then. I’ve been here since July.” She looked confused as though that couldn’t be long enough.

“Delilah?” You narrowed your eyes on her. “What year do you think it is?”

“2018…” she saw your face drop and knew instantly it was no longer 2018.

“Oh gosh.” You felt for her, tears welling in your eyes. “It’s 2020.”

“Oh.” Her face fell. “Wow.”

“It’s ok.” You lowered your voice. “I’m CIA. I’m going to get us out of here. I promise I’ll keep you safe.”

***

“Delilah.” Rossi opened the file in front of him. “Was that Roberta Suez?”

He pulled out a photograph and slid it across the table. You averted your gaze.

“Yes and please I don’t need to see it, I was there.”

“How did she end up in hospital fighting for her life?”

“You know how.” You huffed. “Look I’m starting to get fed up with this now.” You folded your arms. “Carlos Ramirez was a sick son of a bitch. If I hadn’t done what I did he would have killed all those women. I don’t regret what I did.”

“How did she end up in hospital?” He repeated.

“Good lord.” You grumbled. “I’ll talk but I don’t want to talk to you.”

Rossi narrowed his eyes on you.

“No? But I’m so compassionate.” He spoke sarcastically.

“I won’t say another word unless it’s to Reid.” You looked up to the two way mirror. You didn’t know why but you had a feeling he was there.

Sure enough it was barely twenty seconds before the door opened and Doctor Reid himself stepped in the room.

“I got this Rossi.” Spencer told the older man who stood up with a shrug.

Rossi left the room while Spencer took the seat he’d been occupying.

Did he remember you? It had been close to twenty years since you’d last seen each other. Had it not been for the olfactory memory that struck you when you put on his jacket you might never have remembered him.

But you knew the rest of his team was behind the two way glass, or at least some of them were so it didn’t seem an appropriate time to ask such things.

“So agent Y/L/N,” he smiled softly at you. “Can you please tell me how Delilah ended up in hospital?”

“You already know the answer to that Doctor but since you asked so nicely,” you leant your elbows on the table, entwined your fingers and rested your chin the little bridge you’d created. “She had a drug overdose. But you and I both know it wasn’t her who administered the drugs.”

“And who did?”

“I did.”

Your words hung in the air between you and Spencer. He knew the answer, the whole team did. You’d already told Agent Jareau everything.

This was a huge waste of time.

“I administered the drugs because he told me if I didn’t he would kill me. I needed to stay alive so I could save those women.”

“Who said he would kill you?”

“I don’t know his name.”

“It wasn’t Ramirez?”

“No.” You shook your head. “If it was Ramirez I would have shot him. But it must have been one of his right hand men.”

“How would you know that? You’d never met Ramirez correct?” Spencer had a soft tone to his voice which made his line of questioning easier than Agent Jareau’s.

“I’m not a profiler but I’ve been to enough seminars over the years. He didn’t fit the bill. He was young, scatty, he didn’t strike as much fear into the other women as I thought the boss would. I made an educated guess and I was right. If I’d shot at him I would have blown my chance at getting Ramirez.”

***

“Shit shit shit!” You pulled yourself as close to Delilah’s cot as possible with your restraint. “Delilah, keep breathing, try to breath. Fuck I am sorry.”

Tears rolled down your cheeks, the empty needle you’d been made to inject in her vein between your cots on the floor.

He’d held a gun to your head and said he would shoot you if you didn’t do it. You didn’t think he was bluffing.

“It happens a lot.” A woman opposite spoke up. “You’ll soon find out. If she wakes up she’ll have the pleasure of returning the favour.” She gave you an almost manic grin.

If she wakes up. It was the if you were having the issue with.

“Who’s in charge around here?”

She shrugged.

“Don’t know his name. Big guy. Tattoos. Mustache. You can’t miss him.”

“Does he come down here often?”

Again she shrugged.

“Being down here you have a way of losing track of time.” She clicked her tongue. “But he’ll be here for you later. He has to test his new girls.”

Your blood ran cold.

“Test?” You swallowed, pretty sure you knew what she meant.

“He can’t very well expect you to make him money if he doesn’t know how good you are.”

Oh god.

Your heartbeat raced. No, it was not going to come to that. You were a CIA agent and you were armed.

It was not going to come to that.

***

Spencer’s face paled a little at your words. You hadn’t told Agent Jareau that part.

“He was going to...he didn’t…”

“No.” You cut him off, pushing the memory back down. “I had a gun, remember.”

You offered him a wry smile.

“So you know what comes next.”

“I’d like you to tell me.”

The way he said it was more like he was a therapist than an FBI agent. As though he wanted you to tell him so you could get it off your chest, unburden yourself, rather than for interrogation purposes.

“Ok.” You nodded. “He came for me later that night. And that’s when it happened.”

***

“Ahh look at you.”

A deep, Spanish voice woke you.

Your eyes fluttered open and landed on a strong, tattooed man with a mustache standing over your cot.

This must be him.

“Tan hermosa.”

So beautiful.

You tried not to shudder.

You sat up wiggling your legs in your boots to make sure you could still feel your firearm. You could.

“Su nombre es Rosa.”

Your name is Rosa.

Guess again.

“Su nombre es Y/N.”

“Tú hablas español?”

You speak Spanish?

“Si.”

“Eres perfecta.” He grinned menacingly. “My clients will love you.”

He reached in his pocket and fished out a key chain. He reached over you and unlocked your cuff.

You rolled your wrist to try and get your blood circulating again.

“On your feet.”

You complied and stood up. Your legs were shaky.

He grasped your wrist, hard enough so you couldn’t wriggle free but not hard enough to leave a mark. He started dragging you across the room.

With his free hand he undid the four locks on the large steel door and pulled your through it. Once on the other side he took care to lock them all again, keeping a firm grasp on you the whole time.

You were dragged down a long, narrow corridor towards another steel door, this one with just one lock on.

He slid the key in and opened it, pulled you inside and locked it behind him.

The room was much smaller than the one you’d been held in and only housed a single cot.

He licked his lip as he looked at you. His large, thick fingers stroked your cheek and you had to try and hide your disgust.

“En la cama. Ahora.”

On the bed. Now.

You had to pick the opportune moment. You had to plan this just right. You had no doubt he had a gun on him so if you faltered even slightly, he would kill you.

“Qué tal esto.”

How about this.

You made a show of licking your lips and then dropping to your knees in front of him.

“Whoa, feisty. I like it.” He grinned, his meaty hands going to his belt buckle.

Yes. Right where you wanted him.

While he was fumbling with his belt, you reached your hand back into your left boot, drawing your gun in one swift move.

You head butted him in the crotch, sending him stumbling backwards, crying out in pain.

“Mierda!” Shit. “Usted puta!”

You whore!

You were on your feet in a second, your gun trained on him.

“You will never hurt another woman again.” You spat, furious tears suddenly streaming from your eyes.

He looked up at you, his mouth opened to speak.

But the words didn’t come out as your bullet hit him between the eyes.

“Who’s the puta now?”

***

“I would say,” Spencer chewed his lip. “You did what you had to do to survive.”

You breathed a sigh of relief.

Thank god.

“Thank you.” You smiled softly. “And I did. If I hadn’t shot him, who knows how many other women would have died.”

Spencer pushed his chair back and stood up.

“Just so you know, we got word from the hospital a little while ago. Roberta Suez, Delilah, is going to be just fine.”

“Oh thank god.” You felt tears brimming your eyes.

He opened the door and turned back to you.

“Are you coming?”

“I can leave?”

“You were never under arrest.” He smirked at you.

You couldn’t help but laugh.

You got up from the chair and Spencer motioned you out of the room.

“I’ll walk you out.” He showed you across the bullpen towards the elevators. There was an awkward air between the two of you.

Did you say anything? It didn’t seem as though he remembered you, was it worth reminding him?

He motioned you into the elevator first and he followed, pressing the button.

The elevator started its descent.

Time was running out.

“So uhm…” Spencer turned to you and turned too. “How’s your mom?”

A smile broke out on your features.

“I didn’t think you remembered me.”

“Are you kidding?” He laughed. “I recognised you the second you walked in.”

“It’s been twenty years.” You laughed.

“Eighteen years, seven months.” He corrected you. “But I could never forget your face.”

You blushed a little, averting your gaze.

“My moms doing ok. Thanks for asking. How’s your mom?” You looked back at him.

“Recently diagnosed with Alzheimer’s.” He told you sadly.

“Oh gosh I’m so sorry.”

“It’s ok. These things happen.” He shrugged. “Made it to thirty without having a schizophrenic break but now I have to wait until I’m older to find out if I’ll develop Alzheimer’s.”

The doors to the elevator opened and you stepped out, Spencer close behind.

“I really am sorry Spencer.”

“It’s ok.” He shrugged. “Is your mom still at Bennington? I used to see her when I went to visit my mom but I moved her out a little while ago.”

“Yeah she’s still there. She likes being close to my dad.”

You both hovered by the exit, not ready to say goodbye.

“Can I take you for coffee? If you don’t have anywhere else to be.” Spencer blushed as he spoke.

“I’d like that. A lot actually. But I’d really like to shower and change out of this getup.” You laughed. “How about dinner?”

“Dinner sounds perfect.” He grinned at you.

You gave him a smile and turned to leave but before you made it to the door Spencer spoke again.

“Y/N,” he called your name, his voice cracking a little. “You uh...you forgot something.”

You turned to face him curiously.

He walked closer to you and without a second thought, placed his hands on your face and kissed you.

For a second you stood frozen, in shock of what was going on.

But after a few moments you wrapped your arms around his neck and opened your mouth to deepen the kiss.

When the kiss ended you were both smiling at one another.

“What was that for?” You asked softly.

“Oh you know…” he shrugged with a coy smile. “Just something that needed to be done.”

“I’ll meet you back here in a few hours.” You told him, touching his chest briefly.

“Ok.”

“Bye Spencer Reid.”

“Bye Y/N Y/L/N.” He croaked.

And with that you sauntered out the doors but not out of his life.

***

Las Vegas, Nevada - 1999

“Spencer?” You’d only made it a few paces away from Bennington before you stopped in your tracks, calling his name. “You uh...you forgot something.”

He turned to face you curiously.

You walked closer to him and without a second thought, placed your hands on his face and kissed him.

He stood frozen, in shock of what was going on.

It was just a brief kiss, Spencer was too confused to do anything but stand there dumbly.

“Wh-what was that for?” He swallowed.

“Just something that needed to be done.” You smiled. “Bye Spencer Reid.”

“Bye Y/N Y/L/N.”

And with that you sauntered back down the street, hoping that one day, the universe would lead you back into each other’s lives.

—————————————————————

Taglist (let me know if you would like to be added) -

@muffin-cup

@andiebeaword

@mggsprettygirl @measure-in-pain

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #dr spencer reid #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #david rossi #jennifer jareau #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x fem!reader

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mostlysignssomeportents · 3 years ago

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Facebook algorithm boosts pro-Facebook news

Facebook is a rotten company, rotten from the top down, its founder, board and top execs are sociopaths and monsters, committers of non-hyperbolic, no-fooling crimes against humanity. They lie, they cheat, they steal. They are some of history’s greatest villains. Because Facebook is a terrible company run by terrible people, it periodically erupts in ghastly scandal. Sometimes whistleblowers or reporters reveal historic crimes, including (but not limited to) deliberately helping to foment genocide.

Sometimes, the scandals are contemporary: either Facebook blithely announces it’s going to do something terrible, or we learn of some terrible thing underway from leaks or investigations.

Thanks to a history of anticompetitive mergers — Whatsapp, Instagram, Onavo and more — based on fraudulent promises to antitrust regulators, Facebook has grown to nearly three billion users — except FB doesn’t have users, really — it has hostages.

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2020/07/dont-believe-proven-liars-absolute-minimum-standard-prudence-merger-scrutiny

As Facebook’s own internal memos show, the company doesn’t just buy up competitors so users have nowhere to flee to, it also engineers in high “switching costs” to make it more painful to leave the system.

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2021/08/facebooks-secret-war-switching-costs

For example, Facebook’s internal memos show that the manager for its photo products set out to seduce users into entrusting FB with their family photos, because that way quitting Facebook would mean abandoning your memories of your kids, departed grandparents, etc.

Everybody hates Facebook, especially FB users. The point of high switching costs, after all, is to increase the pain of leaving so that FB can dole out more abuse to its users without fearing that they’ll quit the whole enterprise.

FB’s mission is to increase the size of the shit-sandwich they can force you to eat before you walk away. But they’re not mere sadists: shit-sandwiches have a business model: the more hostages they take, the more they can extract from advertisers — their true customers.

The polite term for what FB has is a “two-sided market” (selling advertisers to users and users to advertisers). The technical term is “a monopoly and a monoposony” (a monopsony is a market with a single buyer).

The colloquial term?

“A racket.”

A scam. A bezzle. A blight.

Facebook gouges advertisers on rate cards, then lies about the reach of its ads (like when it lied about the popularity of video, evincing a media-wide “pivot to video” that bankrupted dozens of news- and entertainment-sites).

Facebook didn’t set out to destroy journalism by price-fixing ads, lying to advertisers and media outlets.

FB set out to acquire a monopoly and extract monopoly rents from advertisers and publishers, with a pathological indifference to how these frauds would harm others.

Having shown a willingness to destroy journalists and media outlets to extract a few more billions for its shareholders, Facebook has attracted a lot of enemies in the media.

If you’re a whistleblower with a story to tell, there’s a journalist whose editor will allocate the resources to report your story out in depth. The combination of a rotten company and a lot of pissed off journalists produces a lot of bad ink for the company.

But the fact remains that FB has a vast pool of hostages, billions of them, and it gets to decide what they see, when and how. I used to joke with my human rights activist friends that the best use for Facebook was showing people why and how to leave Facebook.

FB’s response was predictable. As Ryan Mac and Sheera Frenkel write in the New York Times, FB’s Project Amplify is a Zuckerberg-led initiative to systematically promote positive coverage of FB and its founder — including articles that originate with FB itself.

https://www.nytimes.com/2021/09/21/technology/zuckerberg-facebook-project-amplify.html

That is, FB staffers are charged with writing puff pieces about how great the company is, and FB’s algorithm will push these ahead of reporting by actual journalists who present detailed, factual, multi-sourced accounts of the company’s fraudulent and depraved conduct.

Project Amplify marks a pivot from FB’s longstanding policy of issuing insincere apologies for its scandals. Company sources told the reporters that everyone figured out these don’t convince anyone, so the company turned to pushing happy-talk quackspeak instead.

One of the leaders of this project is Alex Schultz, “a 14-year company veteran who was named chief marketing officer last year,” but the major impetus comes from Zuck himself, one of the most hated men on the planet.

Amplify is just one of FB’s strategies for distorting the discourse about itself. In July, it neutered Crowdtangle, an widely used analytics tool that showed that FB’s top posts were unhinged far-right disinformation and conspiracies.

https://pluralistic.net/2021/07/15/three-wise-zucks-in-a-trenchcoat/#inconvenient-truth

And Facebook has declared all-out legal warfare (accompanied by a disinformation campaign) to kill Adobserver, an NYU project that tracks paid political disinformation on the platform.

https://pluralistic.net/2021/08/05/comprehensive-sex-ed/#quis-custodiet-ipsos-zuck

By shutting down Crowdtangle and Adobserver, FB hopes to control the academic findings about the company’s role in disinformation, hate, and harassment. The company runs its own research portal where academics are expected to access data about the platform.

But as with the journalists who report on it, FB has heaped abuse on the academics who research it.

Its portal data was bad, leaving PhD and masters’ theses are at risk of retraction. Mid-dissertation researchers have been set back to square one.

https://www.nytimes.com/live/2020/2020-election-misinformation-distortions#facebook-sent-flawed-data-to-misinformation-researchers

In retrospect, Facebook’s decision to game its own algorithm to push pro-company quackspeak seems inevitable. It’s not just that no one believes the company’s apologies anymore (if they ever did) — it’s that the company seems incapable of hiring competent spin doctors.

Take the WSJ’s blockbuster “Facebook Files,” a series of reports detailing the company’s willingness to harm children, commit fraud, and allow millions of favored, powerful people to violate its rules with impunity.

https://www.bloomberg.com/news/newsletters/2021-09-16/facebook-s-promised-to-gain-the-public-s-trust

FB’s response was genuinely pathetic. In a perfunctory blog post, its top flack — the widely despised British politician Nick Clegg, paid millions to front FB on the global stage — vilified the WSJ’s reporting without producing any factual rebuttals.

https://about.fb.com/news/2021/09/what-the-wall-street-journal-got-wrong/

It’s the kind of ham-fisted policy advocacy that Facebook is (in)famous for. Who can forget the absolute shitshow in India over its Internet Basics program, when it bribed telcos to exempt FB and the services it hand-picked from their data-caps?

https://www.theguardian.com/technology/2016/may/12/facebook-free-basics-india-zuckerberg

This Net-Neutracidal maneuver, falsely billed as a way to bring the internet to poor people (something is absolutely does not do), was the subject of a consultation by India’s telco regulators.

FB pushed deceptive alerts to millions of its Indian users, tricking them into sending a flood of form-letters to the regulator urging it to leave Internet Basics intact.

But whoever drafted the form letter didn’t bother to check whether it addressed any of the questions the regulator was consulting on. That made these millions of letters non-responsive to the consultation, so the regulator ignored them.

FB lost! It’s almost as though people who are good at fighting policy battles don’t want to work for Facebook, and the only talent they can attract are the kinds of opportunistic blunderers that no one takes seriously and everyone hates.

Weird, that.

#pluralistic

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elendiliel · 2 years ago

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New Friends

Disclaimer: I have not read any Republic Commandos books, so my characterisation of Mij owes a great deal to other fics (notably those of or shared by @itsstrangelypermanent and @imrowanartist), a little to Wookieepedia and quite a bit to my imagination. I hope it's OK.

---

Nothing could have prepared Mij for Coruscant traffic. He’d known, intellectually, that a planet-spanning city meant more people, and thus more speeders, than there were on Mandalore and Alderaan put together, but there was a big difference between theory and the reality of the three-dimensional insanity that was Galactic City. At least his taxi driver seemed to know what he was doing, and things were a bit calmer in the Temple district, his unlikely destination.

His heart rate was definitely elevated as, having paid the driver, he made his way to the entrance to the Jedi Temple, but he hid his emotions well. So, naturally, did the masked Temple guardians, even though he was obviously a Mando’ad, and thus a hereditary enemy. He could, he supposed, have left his armour behind, but he’d been a Mandalorian too long to feel properly dressed without it.

Besides, these jetiise at least didn’t object to his presence. He gave his name and was told he was expected; when the main doors swung open, they revealed a dark-complexioned human male in Jedi robes, who greeted the newcomer with perfect courtesy, introducing himself as Master Mace Windu. Mij had heard of him – a high-ranking member of the Jedi Council and a famous duellist (and, incidentally, Jango Fett’s killer, not that Mij held that against him; it was surely self-defence), but taking the time to welcome his guest personally. A born Mando, especially one of the more traditional kind, might have been suspicious; Mij, being cin vhetin, merely appreciated the gesture, and the architecture of the graceful, elegant building through which Windu led him. The Jedi evidently valued beauty a great deal, as he’d suspected. He had only met one Jedi before – Shaak Ti, the one who took over the training of the clone cadets after Jango’s death. The Cuy’val Dar had mostly already gone by the time she arrived, but Mij had wanted to be sure his students were in safe hands before returning to his clan holdings. Having met her, he definitely had been. She might not wear her heart on her sleeve, but he hadn’t had to try hard to see her compassion towards her new charges.

He didn’t see her around, though. Windu, probably sensing his curiosity, told him she was overseeing the winding-down of the clone training program on Kamino and the cadets’ transfer to better homes. (And keeping them out of the longnecks’ hands, he didn’t have to add.) The few Jedi they did pass were mostly on their way somewhere else, probably somewhere important. Knowing the Order’s reputation, Mij wasn’t surprised. The war was over, but the Jedi weren’t going to rest until the galaxy was at peace in reality as well as in law, and all the survivors were being looked after as far as possible.

Windu finally led him to what looked like a standard briefing room, containing three more human men – one auburn-haired, bearded, pale and not far short of middle age, one dark-haired, slightly tanned and little more than a boy, and one (the only non-Jedi) a clone, a veteran to judge by his eyes, though the rest of his face looked younger – a near-human young female with a passing resemblance to Tani and a small green being of a species Mij had never seen before, leaning on a wooden cane. All but the last were seated as Windu and Mij entered (the clone and the woman were quite openly holding hands; presumably they were the ones he was supposed to be working with on the upcoming mission, and getting into character already), but rose to their feet with varying degrees of grace to greet them.

The woman spoke first. “Olarom, Doctor Gilamar. Ijaat urcir gar.” Welcome, Doctor Gilamar. It is an honour to meet you. Her Mando’a was good, heavily accented but grammatically sound (not that Mando’a grammar was hard, for a speaker of the linguistic mongrel called Basic), without a trace of hesitation. Where, and why, would a jetii learn it so well?

Mij couldn’t help but return her friendly smile. “Balyc ijaat urcir gar. And Basic is fine.” It was his mother tongue, after all. He’d become bilingual over the years, retaining a distinct Alderaan accent, but still preferred his first language for most purposes.

Windu cut in as a faint blush spread over the young woman’s face (Ka’ra, was she even twenty-two?), introducing Mij to Master Yoda (the green one), Master Obi-Wan Kenobi (the auburn one), Anakin Skywalker (the dark one), Helli Abbasa (the woman) and Sergeant Torrent (the clone). Torrent had apparently trained as a medic under one of Mij’s pupils, alongside the standard infantry track, but Mij forced himself not to let the meeting dissolve into reminiscences. “I assume Lady Kryze briefed you on her plan?” He addressed Torrent and Abbasa in particular, though the question was also directed at the others.

“Brief would be an understatement,” Abbasa commented. She seemed annoyed about something, but was mostly keeping her feelings in check, as a good Jedi should. “Tirade would be nearer the mark. But yes, she did explain it to us.” Lady Bo-Katan Kryze, heiress to her sister, the late Duchess Satine of Mandalore, was determined to dislodge the ex-Sith Lord Maul and his puppet Almec from their stolen positions of power, but she needed the Republic’s help, and the Republic and the Jedi needed proof of wrongdoing. Lady Kryze’s idea was that a clone and a Jedi, posing as an off-world Mandalorian, a son of Jango Fett, and his new bride visiting his ancestral homeworld, could both gather intelligence and confirm Maul’s presence and intentions. Mij, the most reasonable of Jango’s old circle, had been recruited to help maintain their cover and show them around – and perhaps, though she hadn’t said so, keep an eye on the Republic agents. “It’s not a bad idea, not by a long way.”

“I believe even Satine would approve,” Kenobi added. Mij just saw a shadow of pain in the Jedi’s eyes as he named the fallen Mand’alor (Mij felt she had earned the title; it took a great deal of courage to try to reshape a whole society as the Duchess had done). He must have known her, and cared about her – perhaps cared for her.

“And it’ll help that everyone thinks neither Jedi nor clones can get married,” Skywalker put in. “You two already have a perfect cover.”

“We are married,” Torrent clarified. His left hand was still entwined with Abbasa’s right; Mij now saw a durasteel band on his fourth finger, and a matching one on the young woman’s. Not just props, then. He blinked in surprise. “Since when?”

“Yesterday.” Abbasa gave her husband a look full of love, even adoration, which he returned with interest. “But if you mean since when have Jedi been allowed to marry, the general rule does still apply. Though apparently spectacular acts of idiocy masquerading as courage are grounds for exceptions to be granted. I was the idiot in this case, I hasten to add.”

“And pointless to keep these two apart, it is,” Yoda remarked, adroitly changing the course of the conversation. “Destined for each other, they are, as friends or otherwise. The only ones, they are not.” As the Jedi exchanged meaningful but, to anyone else, unreadable glances, Torrent caught Mij’s eye, clearly just as baffled by jetiise at times, despite being married to one. Mij hadn’t expected that, but it would surely make their lives easier if the couple didn’t have to pretend so much. (And it explained why Abbasa was not in a good mood. Being dragged from one’s marriage bed, even with one’s spouse in tow, the morning after one’s wedding would annoy anybody.)

There wasn’t much point in delaying; Abbasa was even packed already, and Torrent’s few belongings were either in her bag or at his barracks, where they would stop off on the way to the spaceport where Mij’s ship was berthed. As Mij followed his new friends to the communal garage to find a speeder to take them there, he found himself eager to discover what else this “working honeymoon”, as Helli (she invited him to use her first name as soon as they were away from her superiors) called it, had in store for them.

---

Mando'a glossary:

Mando'ad (may be shortened to Mando in either language): Mandalorian.

Jetii(se): Jedi (singular/plural).

Cin vhetin: lit. white field; often indicates adoption into a Mandalorian clan, regarded as a totally fresh start, a clean slate.

Balyc: also.

Ka'ra: stars; mythical council of fallen rulers.

Mand'alor: ruler of Mandalore.

#star wars #the clone wars #mij gilamar #mace windu #obi wan kenobi #anakin skywalker #clone trooper oc #original clone characters #jedi oc #original jedi character #yoda #fanfic #healing au

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theparanormalperiodical · 4 years ago

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Top 10 Controversial Horror Films That Are Famous For All The Wrong Reasons *gags* *cries*

At the beating heart of horror is offence.

From that undeniable sense of something not being quite right, to the CGI-blood-spurtin’-adrenaline-fuelled scenes that leave us shaking in our boots, horror pivots on the knife edge of controversy.

It’s used to drive plots. It’s used to drive hype. And at the end of the month, it drives studio executives to the bank.

Horror films can be traumatic enough. But there are some films that bear the cross of controversy more than others. There are some films that have been branded as so damaging to their potential viewers that merely circulating copies of the film is illegal.

And yet their infamy has forged cult viewership. What was once shielded from us has now become ‘must see’.

Today we are going to be counting down horror’s most controversial films and what made them quite so topical.

*I’m going to star the ones that you can actually watch without getting traumatised. Some are controversial not because of their content but because some religious or political groups disagreed with them*

#10 - The Blair Witch Project (1999)*

Let’s ease in with a classic - a classic you can watch without sleeping with the light on.

In this found-footage flick we see a team of film students as they explore a local urban legend. But what they find leads them to unknown and ungodly territory.

The problem with this film is that it was marketed as a true story. No, not based on a true story, a true story. Yep, they claimed what we were seeing was real, found footage of some teens going mad as they forage deeper into mysterious woods.

IMBd went so far as to report that the actors were dead. Then, the movie studio super-charged their efforts to confirm to the public that not only was this film 100% real, the three main actors were still missing. The parents of the actors then started receiving sympathy cards.

There’s even a mocked up website that perpetuates these claims.

#9 - Night Of The Living Dead (1968)*

Time for another not-too-disturbing film.

This is the original zombie apocalypse film saw a group of Americans attempt to survive an incoming attack of the undead while trapped in a rural farmhouse.

But the Motion Picture Association of America wasn’t too happy about it. The film rating system was yet to be in place, allowing children to also show up for an afternoon screening and be greeted by a 97 minute montage of extreme violence.

“The kids in the audience were stunned. There was almost complete silence. The movie had stopped being delightfully scary about halfway through, and had become unexpectedly terrifying. There was a little girl across the aisle from me, maybe nine years old, who was sitting very still in her seat and crying”

#8 - Henry: Portrait of a Serial Killer (1986)

In this psychological film, we watch a random crime spree take place at the hands of a couple serial killers. Loosely based on real murderers Henry Lee Lucas and Ottis Toole, its controversial reputation was founded on the gore ‘n’ guts screened in the movie.

Whilst it didn’t receive much attention from the public, various classification boards across the world ensured new versions edited with certain scenes - often involving sexual assault and necrophilia - removed for viewers.

In 2003, the BBFC (the UK classification board) finally allowed the uncut version to be released and Australia followed suit in 2005.

#7 - I Spit On Your Grave (1978)

It’s the original rape-revenge flick. And it managed to piss everyone off.

Originally titled Day of the Woman, it tells the story of a fiction writer who exacts revenge on a group of four men who gang rape her.

Despite its pro-women claim-to-fame, the 30 minute rape scene begs to differ. Furious debate surrounds its feminist label as a film that forces the audience to endure rape from a female perspective and long-winded violence against men (something which is often reserved for women in horror). Regardless, the graphic violence earned it a steady ban in Ireland, Norway, Iceland, and West Germany.

#6 - Silent Night, Deadly Night (1984)*

You don’t get many controversial Christmas films. They typically stick to a cookie-cutter plot ‘n’ purpose every holiday season. But there are no strong women who need to rediscover the meaning of Christmas here.

Instead, we see a child traumatised by seeing his parents murdered on Christmas Eve go on a seasonal rampage as an adult.

A week after its release in the early 80s, it was pulled from theatres due to backlash. Marketing was focused on a Santa Claus killer with adverts often airing during family-friendly TV programmes and meant numerous children developed a phobia of Father Christmas. Large crowds protested cinemas with one notable protest involving angry families singing carols at the Interboro Quad Theater in The Bronx.

It was only in 2009 - 25 years after its original release - that a DVD of the film was first made available for purchase in the UK.

#5 - Psycho (1960)*

This legendary film follows the disappearance of a young woman after her encounter with a strange man called Norman Bates, one of horror’s most iconic figures. The controversy that would engulf this fim lay not in the violent attack on an innocent woman or even the disturbing content of the film.

Oh, no. It was because of what the leading lady was wearing.

In the opening scene of the film, we see Janet Leigh wearing nothing but a bra.

*gasp*

This racy attire was emblazoned across promotional material, meeting Hitchcock’s high standards of creating controversy around the movie. There was a no late admission policy for movie theaters, and the posters told viewers “Do not reveal the surprises!” to maintain a mysterious aura around the plot twist.

#4 - The Human Centipede (2009) (all of ‘em)

I’ve watched a lot of horror films, in case you couldn’t tell.

I’m used to watching a scary movie, shaking off the anxiety, and moving on with my life. But there are some that stayed with me. I only watched the trailer for the first movie, and it legitimately traumatised me. It gave me quite a severe, sudden bout of a depression for a solid month when I was 13.

Throughout horror’s goriest franchise, we see an evil doctor and amateur mad scientist attempt to sow several people together into a centipede-like chain from mouth to anus.

*retches*

At the heart of promoting the franchise was controversy. Tom Six, the director, forced a narrative that claimed from the first film that this was "100% medically accurate". He even alleged a Dutch doctor helped inspire the film, confirming that with an IV drip, this was entirely possible.

Although it didn’t receive furore that amounted to serious censorship or long-term banning, it was infamous for having its viewers vomiting in the cinema aisles.

The second film, however, was subject to much more severe controversy and could not legally be supplied in the UK until 2011 due to its heavy focus on sexual abuse, more graphic violence than the original film, and it’s pretty vile depiction of a murderer that was intellectually disabled.

Audiences were used to the graphic nature of the franchise by the third and final release. As the least-controversial and least-enjoyable film according to critics, it barely made a dent in the horror community.

Good riddance, I guess?

#3 - Faces Of Death (1978)

I’m not sure I’d recommend this one per se - but I will give it credit for being an interesting project.

This documentary-style film is a montage of footage of people dying in different ways. As a result of its very graphic and very real content, it was banned and censored in many countries. Only in 2003 was it released on DVD in the UK after a scene was cut featuring dogs fighting and a monkey being beaten to death.

Germany, Australia, and New Zealand followed suit, reversing their bans and releasing edited versions.

However, 7 years after its release, the media revamped its interest in the film after a maths teacher showed it to his class at a Californian high school. Two of his students claimed they were so traumatised they received a costly settlement to reimburse their emotional distress. Things took a darker turn a year later, when a 14 year old bludgeoned a classmate to death with a baseball bat; he claimed he wanted to see what it would be like to actually kill someone after watching Faces of Death.

#2 - Cannibal Holocaust (1980)

This Italian film’s title alone hints towards two frightening things: flesh-eating humans and genocide. In this found-footage movie we see an anthropologist lead a rescue team into the Amazon rainforest to find a group of filmmakers that went missing.

The rampant graphic content including sexual assault and animal cruelty showcased in the film (7 animals were killed during filming in some pretty horrific ways) led to it being banned in 50 countries.

Some also alleged that a handful of deaths seen in the film were real, as were the missing film crew. In fact, the actors portraying the documentarians signed contracts that stopped them appearing in motion pictures for an entire year to maintain the illusion of reality.

And only 10 days after its premiere, the director was charged with obscenity and the film confiscated. All copies were to be turned over to the authorities. There are currently a range of versions that have been edited to varying degrees and are allowed for circulation.

#1 - A Serbian Film (2010)

No.

Nope.

Don’t do it. Don’t watch this film.

A Serbian Film follows a retired porn star who agrees to feature in an “art film” for some cash. Little does he know this film will include rape, incest, pedophilia, necrophilia…

Just don’t watch it.

It is still banned in South Korea, New Zealand, Australia. It is supposedly a parody of politically correct films made in Serbia that are funded by foreign groups and allegedly speaks openly about post-war society and the struggle for survival.

*shakes head*

Off to have a 3 hour shower, brb.

If you, uhhh, liked this post please like and reblog.

And if you want to hear more about horror and the supernatural every week hit follow!

#horror #Horror Movies #horror films #best horror movies #scary movies #banned films #video nasty #a serbian film #human centipede #the blair witch project #cannibal holocaust #faces of death #banned movies #censorship #night of the living dea #controversy #controversial films

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longitudinalwaveme · 3 years ago

Text

Arkham Files: Mirror Master I (Samuel Joseph Scudder)

Hugo Strange: From the patient files of Dr. Hugo Strange, director of Arkham Asylum. Patient: Samuel Joseph Scudder, also known as the Mirror Master. The patient displays a number of antisocial and narcissistic tendencies, and clearly has a nicotine addiction, but no formal diagnosis has ever been given to him, and since he, like the rest of the so-called “Rogues”, arrived at Arkham only a few days ago, I have not had the time to give him a complete psychological examination. Session One. So, Mr. Scudder, how are you today?

Mirror Master: (Blows puff of cigarette smoke) For suddenly having been sent a thousand miles away from home? Not bad, I suppose.

Hugo Strange: Yes, I can see how that would be stressful. Believe me, having suddenly gained over a dozen new patients in one fell swoop is not an ideal situation for me, either.

Mirror Master: Don’t sweat it, Doctor. I’ll be out of here in a few days anyway.

Hugo Strange: I very much doubt that, Mr. Scudder. Arkham Asylum’s security has been improved considerably since the days of the unfortunate Dr. Jeremiah Arkham.

Mirror Master: It doesn’t matter how good the security is, Doctor. The prison hasn’t been built yet that can keep me locked up.

Hugo Strange: You are not a metahuman, Mr. Scudder. As long as we do not allow you undue access to technology, you will not be able to effect one of the fantastic escapes for which you are so well known.

Mirror Master: (Blows a puff of smoke) You a betting man, Doctor?

Hugo Strange: Not particularly, Mr. Scudder.

Mirror Master: Too bad. I was going to bet you that I’d be out of this joint in a week or less.

Hugo Strange: If those are the terms of your ‘bet’, then I might be willing to relax my standards on betting. In the parlance of gambling, my victory will be a “sure thing”.

Mirror Master: So, do we have a bet, doctor?

Hugo Strange: Do we not need to, ah, set the terms for victory first?

Mirror Master: You’re right. If I win, well...I’m out of prison, and you have to acknowledge that I can beat your supposedly impervious security system.

Hugo Strange: And if I win, you will make no more escape attempts and will attend psychological sessions with me regularly.

Mirror Master: It’s a bet. (The two shake hands)

Hugo Strange: Now that that is out of the way, Mr. Scudder, I would like to make it clear that Arkham Asylum is not a prison. It is a mental hospital; a place of psychological healing.

Mirror Master: Then why am I here? I’m perfectly sane.

Hugo Strange: You call yourself the “Mirror Master” and commit crimes whilst wearing a hideous orange-and-green leotard. If that isn’t a sign of emotional disturbance, I do not know what is.

Mirror Master: It’s a costume, Doctor. You know, like the ones actors wear while putting on a show? If they’re not insane, then neither am I.

Hugo Strange: The two situations are not at all synonymous, Mr. Scudder. Crime is not a performance.

Mirror Master: (Blows puff of smoke) The crimes aren’t the performance, Doctor. I commited crimes a long time before I put on the costume. The performance is being the Mirror Master.

Hugo Strange: Ordinary criminals do not turn their crimes into elaborate performances, Mr. Scudder.

Mirror Master: And that, my dear Doctor, is what separates the criminals...from the supervillains.

Hugo Strange: So, in your mind, the crimes you commit as the Mirror Master, with the silly costume and the incredible technology, they aren’t for money?

Mirror Master: Well, the money’s nice...but the real fun of being the Mirror Master is the challenge. Matching wits with the Flash, outwitting security, getting my name in the papers-that’s the real reason I became the Mirror Master. If I’d just wanted to get rich, I could’ve done that easily.

Hugo Strange: Yes, I was just about to mention that. Your records indicate that, among other things, you have invented or discovered an alternate dimension known as the Mirror Realm, which enables you to teleport between locations, mirrors that can hold people’s reflections, a 3D printer that makes perfect mirror images of people, hypnotic technology that works over long distances, a mirror that predicts the future, a mirror that lets you switch your legs with other people’s legs, a number of laser weapons, some sort of flying car, a mirror-powered jet pack, a mirror that allows you to shrink and enlarge yourself and other people, mirrors that create a wide variety of fantastical illusions, a weapon that turns people into glass, a weapon that reverses the way that the brain perceived the world, guns that can transform stolen jewelry into light beams (and back again) for the purposes of easy transport, and a weapon that distorts people’s bodies.

Mirror Master: (Blows out a puff of smoke) I’m a man of many talents, Doctor.

Hugo Strange: Obviously. What’s more, when you arrived here, we administered a number of psychological and intelligence tests to you, and the results were remarkable.

Mirror Master: How so?

Hugo Strange: In spite of the fact that your records indicate that you never graduated from high school, your overall intelligence score was somewhere around 174. In other words, Mr. Scudder...you are a genius.

Mirror Master: (Whistles) Well, I always knew I was smart...but I’ve gotta admit, I didn’t realize I was that smart.

Hugo Strange: Mr. Scudder, you are, quite bluntly, one of the most astonishing scientists of our generation. You could easily have made yourself rich and famous legitimately.

Mirror Master: Yeah, well, here’s the thing, Doctor. By the time I made those discoveries, I was already a convict. People don’t exactly line up to hire liquor store robbers from Skid Row, even if they are geniuses. Besides, why should I try to help science and society? What did they ever do for me, except put me behind bars?

Hugo Strange: After you had robbed a liquor store, Mr. Scudder.

Mirror Master: (Blows puff of smoke) In case you haven’t figured it out, Doctor, I’m not a very good person.

Hugo Strange: No, Mr. Scudder, you are not a good man...but you are also a very sick man, and it is my duty to help you.

Mirror Master: What do you mean, I’m sick?

Hugo Strange: By your own testimony, you dress up in costume and commit crimes as though it’s some sort of grand performance. You have repeatedly ignored opportunities to make money legitimately, and even your crimes focus more on showmanship than on actually making a profit. In fact, the only times your crimes show a profit requisite to the amount of effort you put into committing them are when you are working alongside the other so-called Rogues, which, I suspect, is largely attributable to the fact that Mr. Leonard Snart puts some effort into keeping your idiosyncrasies in check when you work together. All of this suggests that you are emotionally disturbed, Mr. Scudder.

Mirror Master: So I’m dramatic. That hardly makes me a candidate for a rubber room, Doctor.

Hugo Strange: I’m afraid I would have to disagree, Mr. Scudder. And I am the medical professional here. (Pause) So, Mr. Scudder, I repeat: why the costume? Mirror Master: I told you already. It’s part of the performance.

Hugo Strange: And your decision to wear this costume had nothing whatsoever to do with the costumed vigilante who runs around Central City?

Mirror Master: What, you mean the Flash? He really didn’t have much to do with it. I put on the costume before I ever met him. He makes commiting crimes more fun, but I would’ve become the Mirror Master regardless of whether there was a Speedster around to fight.

Hugo Strange: So the Flash did not inspire the Mirror Master?

Mirror Master: (Blows puff of smoke) No.

Hugo Strange: Then what, exactly, inspired you to put on the spandex leotard?

Mirror Master: Well, you’ve gotta admit it’s memorable.

Hugo Strange: I suppose so.

Mirror Master: But in all seriousness, I was a big fan of JSA comic books as a kid. I always thought their costumes were pretty cool; if anything inspired my costume; it was theirs.

Hugo Strange: So the Mirror Master was inspired by the so-called Mystery Men of the 1940s and 1950s?

Mirror Master: Yeah. Let me tell you, if anyone understood showmanship, it was the JSA. Those guys were my heroes.

Hugo Strange: In that case, is it not counterintuitive that you became a supervillain? I was under the impression that the JSA comics presented those vigilantes as unambiguous heroes.

Mirror Master: (Blows puff of smoke) You know, I never really thought about it like that before.

Hugo Strange: Then allow me to posit my own theory. (Strange pulls out Mirror Master’s file, papers rustle as he does so) According to your files, you were born to Percival and Martha Scudder. Your father died of cancer when you were only seven months old, and his medical bills consumed all of your parents’ money. As a result, your mother was forced to move with you to a glorified tenement building on the spot where Morrow Street and Baker Street met. The area was colloquially known as “Skid Row”, and poverty, crime, and drug addiction were rampant. Your mother, a seamstress, had to work long hours just to make ends meet, so you were often left at home alone. You and your mother never had enough clothes or enough to eat. When you were six years old, your next-door neighbor was murdered in a violent drug dispute; you were at home to hear the gunshot. When you were eight, you witnessed a violent brawl that ended in a man being sent to the hospital; when you were twelve, you watched another neighbor die of a drug overdose.

Mirror Master: (Obviously uncomfortable) Can we please stop talking about this?

Hugo Strange: Mr. Scudder, until you acknowledge what happened to you, you cannot make progress.

Mirror Master: I do acknowledge what happened! I know Skid Row was a crappy place to grow up; I’m not pretending it wasn’t! But that doesn’t mean I want to talk about it!

Hugo Strange: Mr. Scudder, I understand your discomfort, but unless we talk about what happened to you, I will not be able to help you. (Pause) To continue: As a boy, you were very close to a young girl named Jennifer Conners, who lived in the apartment across from yours. Her father, a minister at a local church, soon became like a father to you. He even served as your Scoutmaster. You were a Boy Scout, Mr. Scudder. You even earned the title of Eagle Scout when you were fourteen. That’s highly irregular for a costumed criminal.

Mirror Master: (Trying to change the subject) Yeah, well, I’ve always been extraordinary.

Hugo Strange: That is not the point, Mr. Scudder. The point is, until you were sixteen years old, you were a remarkably well-behaved child in spite of your dreadful environment. You got good grades, you loved comics about so-called superheroes, you were a Boy Scout-you were not a juvenile delinquent in any sense of the word. What changed, Mr. Scudder?

Mirror Master: (Angry) Why do you need me to tell you? Isn’t it in my files?

Hugo Strange: It is, but I think it is important that you admit it, Mr. Scudder.

Mirror Master: (Blows puff of smoke) Fine! What changed was that I watched Mr. Conners get shot right in front of me! (Blows another puff of smoke) He was the best man I knew, and it still didn’t stop him from getting murdered by one of the Candy Man’s drug dealers.

Hugo Strange: The...Candy Man?

Mirror Master: Jack Monteleone. (Blows puff of smoke) He controls Central City’s drug empire.

Hugo Strange: I see. So, your beloved father figure was killed in front of you. I’d imagine that produced a great deal of anxiety.

Mirror Master: (Blows puff of smoke) No duh, Sherlock.

Hugo Strange: As such, you decided to start self-medicating with alcohol and cigarettes. Eventually, this got you mixed up with the party crowd at your school. Your grades slipped rapidly, and, by the time you were seventeen, you had dropped out of school and run away from home so that you could better feed your addictions. You committed a number of petty crimes before robbing a local liquor store at the age of 19, whereupon you were sent to prison. While serving your sentence, you discovered the Mirror Realm, and upon your release, you became the Mirror Master.

Mirror Master: (Blows puff of smoke) So, how exactly does my life story prove that I’m crazy?

Hugo Strange: Mr. Scudder, you are not “crazy”. What you are, however, is a child living a fantasy life. You used to self-medicate with alcohol; now you deal with your trauma by putting on a mask and playing an elaborate game of cops and robbers with your city’s scarlet-clad vigilante. By becoming this “Mirror Master”, you are reenacting the comic book stories that you loved as a child. You may be a warped reflection of the JSA, but you have nevertheless created a world for yourself where good and evil are simple and clear-cut and no one will ever really get hurt. And the Flash is enabling your fantasy.

Mirror Master: (Blows a puff of smoke) Or-and here’s a novel concept-I do it because I like money and attention.

Hugo Strange: Nothing is ever that simple, Mr. Scudder.

Mirror Master: (Blows a puff of smoke) I’m really looking forward to watching you have to eat your words when I escape, Doctor.

Hugo Strange: And when you fail to escape, I will look forward to helping you deal with your nicotine addiction, Mr. Scudder. Regardless, I think that it is time for this session to come to an end. We have covered enough ground for one day.

#flash rogues #dr. hugo strange #flash comics #batman comics #mirror master #sam scudder #fanfic

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boop-le-snoot · 4 years ago

Text

PARTY FAVOURS | CHAPTER 4

Rating: Explicit.

‼️TW: Reader is EIGHTEEN! Recreational drug use, smoking and alcohol consumption, deeply internalised self-loathing, very questionable moral standards. Daddy kink taken half-seriously. BDSM themes in later chapters - explicit content will come with it's own TWs. FIRST PERSON POV. Bullying and non-explicit violence in this chapter, Peter whump.

Summary: You're Peter's classmate, a child of rich and famous but uncaring parents. Getting paired up for a lengthy project with the boy was an interesting turn of events and you don't know whether to feel blessed or cursed when you develop, seemingly, a perfectly normal, harmless crush on Tony Stark. Fueled by feelings of inadequacy and boredom, your life spirals out of control - and you're lucky your newfound friends are there to pick up the pieces even if you cannot find it in yourself to believe these amazing human (and not so human) beings voluntarily give you more than a fleeting glance and an offhanded thought. And they brought cake!

A/N: WE'VE GOT PLOT! Peter Parker deserves better. Steeb needs a vibe check cuz he keeps failing them :( Boomers are hot but ... Boomers. KitKat, anyone? Natasha is a Brain Cell™. Enjoy, deviants.

THE TAG LIST IS NOW OPEN! @another-stark-sub @mostly-marvel-musings @vozit @littlegasps @pilloclock @shereadsinquiet @hermione-grangers-wife @downeyreads @individualistfem

Beta read by the lovely and patient @miscmarvelwritings 👑 - titty gators assemble! 👀

I scheduled a visit to the tower two days after my "illness" episode. Most of my lows passed without any lingering, the headache was gone and so was the nausea. My mood was still somewhere between "please kill me" and "I could eat a lot of cake right now" but it was bearable. I was very much looking forward to occupying myself with the project if only to divert my focus from overthinking about my own misery.

Peter said he was going to see Tony straight after school and offered for me to tag along with him: Tony sent his driver to pick up the boy. I didn't have the heart to refuse, seeing no point in waiting for an Uber on a rainy workday afternoon. Traffic was horrendous in New York city no matter the weather but a downpour took the congestions to a new height.

When I spotted the sleek, black brand new Audi I made a beeline for it, waving to Happy as I crawled inside as fast as I could. "Don't get the seats wet," The chauffeur grumbled.

"It's wet outside," I rolled my eyes into the next dimension. Whoever thought his nickname was in any way appropriate needed a psych eval. Peter sat on my right side looking wet and downright miserable. I had to swallow a string of expletives at the sight in front of me: the entirety of Peter's right cheek was an ugly shade of blue, eye on it's way to swelling shut and lip busted open. "What in the everliving fuck happened to you?!" Breathing through my nose, I fought bubbling rage inside of me. Peter looked like he went toe to toe with a Hulk.

"Flash happened," The boy mumbled, whining and brooding simultaneously. His cheeks glowed.

"That little runt?" I took another pause to steady my breathing, tentatively reaching out for Peter's hand. He grasped it tightly in gratitude. "Well, did you at least fight back?"

"No, I... I can't do that," Peter became even smaller, curling into the seat and in himself. I was disappointed for sure as I wouldn't just stand there and take a beating, but Pete was different. He was sensitive-a total pacifist to boot.

"Do any of the teachers know? I'm guessing this isn't the first time," Sure, I've seen Parker with an occasional scrape or a bruise but I'd always figured it was just him being a teenage nuisance. Curtain of depression I had over the previous days slowly began morphing into cold fury.

"No, well, they probably do. But Flash is the principal's son so they ignore it, I guess," Peter sighed in defeat. "Mr. Stark doesn't know either. Please don't tell him," He begged.

"Abuse thrives in silence," I parroted our sex-ed teacher but otherwise made no promises. My mind raced between comforting Peter and ordering Happy to turn the car around so I could find the shitty excuse of a human named Flash Thompson and violently make it known what happens to people when they get me pissed off.

"What are you going to tell Tony?" I asked Peter as we herded into the elevator, slightly wet and mostly miserable.

"I have an idea or two," The boy answered darkly.

"You have been summoned to the common floor, I was instructed to notify you there is food to be eaten before sciencing, per Doctor Banner's orders," Friday announced, rerouting the elevator to the aforementioned destination. Peter groaned loudly, burying his face in his hands.

"What the fuck happened to you, kid?" Bucky decided screeching like a banshee and attracting at least five of his teammates to come running from the dining room was the best way to approach an obviously spooked Peter. The boy shuffled his feet awkwardly.

"Our classmate beat him up," I answered before Pete could lie. "The fucking runt that doesn't know his damn place. His two cronies probably too," The venom in my voice could've melted steel. I was genuinely furious.

"What's his name?" Captain-Steve growled. I was taken aback at the large blonde man suddenly standing up, fists clenched. My feet moved involuntarily, taking a step back from the enraged supersoldier and Pete cowered, startled.

I stepped in front of him immediately. "I'm gonna need you to chill the fuck down, Cap," The trembling in my voice persisted but I stood my ground nonetheless. "Your roid rage is going to land you in prison if you keep going," In my own rage, self-preservation went out of the window along with common sense. The hairs on the back of my neck were standing up, Peter was downright shaking behind me.

"She's right," Bucky darkly eyed his friend. "Off to the sparring mats with you." He grabbed Rogers by the shoulder with his prosthetic arm all but hauling the blonde towards the elevator. Thor immediately took the Captain's other side, not quite touching him but obviously giving his friend a vibe check. I could've clapped. Not that Steve resisted much, but still.

"Everyone calm down, please," The Black Widow piped up in an even tone. I can always count on a fellow woman to keep calm in a situation where men's tempers almost cause a disaster. "Now, tell us what happened," She approached Peter on quiet feet. The boy shuffled around me looking every bit as dejected as I felt about the situation. "And someone fetch some ice for that bruise," Romanoff's offhand gesture had Barton scrambling into the kitchen.

Peter sat down on the couch, looking at the floor. "Flash has been bothering me since, like, forever and today I just ignored his usual remarks because I had a calculus test, I- I wanted to make sure I knew everything, and I was sitting in a really quiet corner, and I- Ned was hanging out with MJ somewhere and I guess Flash got angry that I didn't answer," Peter rambled in his usual nervous fashion, sentences jumbling together. Natasha kept nodding, simply hugging the boy softly with one arm. As soon as Clint came back with a bag of frozen peas wrapped in a towel Natasha's other arm pressed it gently to Peter's bruised face. The assassin frowned at the pained whine that left Peter's lips.

"Honestly, that dude is a fucking piece of shit, I'm surprised how he's not in jail yet," I piped up from where I was pacing along the large window overlooking the city skyline. Wound up and tense, I couldn't stay still. "He stole a senior's car for a joyride, last year. He routinely picks on the freshmen and I've personally dislocated his wrist from slapping me on the ass in, like, eight grade," Peter's eyebrows raised at my admission and Natasha gave me a vaguely approving hum.

I caught Peter's eye the moment elevator doors opened revealing a panicked looking Tony and a worried Bruce with Loki standing behind them, talking to a man in... Robes? And a red cape?

"What happened to my science child?!" Tony's fury rang high. The engineer rushed over to Peter, frantically checking him over and growling at the state of his face, letting out a string of expletives seeing the busted lip had started to bleed again.

I gave a tiny tilt of my lips to Bruce who had the oddest compilation of worried, confused and amused in his expression.

"You should probably get him to a doctor, I think his mouth is cut on the inside," I scooted closer to Banner, informing him quietly.

"I'm a doctor," The man in the cape announced, ... strutting (!) over to Pete. There was really no other way to describe his long, precise strides. He quickly butted Tony out of the way and instructed Peter to open his mouth.

"This is utter chaos," Loki muttered, sitting down on the furthest end of the couch.

"It is and I'm living for it," I sighed. The situation was very disorganized with Tony flailing about in blind panic, Bruce just standing there, Cap's rage quit and subsequent intervention by his buddies. Then the new strange dude... Loki was brooding and honestly? Big mood. The only person who made some resemblance of order out if this cluster fuck was Natasha.

All and all, it was quite endearing. I imagined that's what a large, close family would look like. When I said I was enjoying myself - no lie there, even despite the grim situation.

"How are you? Are you hurt?" Bruce quietly asked me, laced with concern. His shoulders relaxed somewhat when I shook my head negative. "Hungry?" I nodded affirmatively and the doctor produced a kit kat bar seemingly out of nowhere, winking at me with a boyish smile. I just about melted on the spot, tearing off a block and giving it to him to avoid any embarrassing reactions I might possibly spout in the wake of my recently acquired crush.

We munched in silence as the Cape Guy explained to Peter (and anxious Tony) that a few butterfly stitches would be needed as well as CT scan to rule out a possible concussion. At that point Tony was steadily turning purple in colour, rage and anxiety combining for a large storm that no doubt will hit sooner or later.

I felt responsible, I guess. Peter must've known Tony was going to react so strongly to his science son getting hurt and well, I hated seeing Tony so mad and helpless. On soft feet, I padded over to the engineer, making sure to stay within direct line of vision. "Tones?" He shot his eyes at me. He was furious. "Look, I'm going to make that fucker's life a living hell," Tony made an agitated noise of protest however I wasn't having it. I knew I'd be in trouble later but for now, I firmly placed my palm over his mouth, enjoying the surprised widening of his eyes at the frivolous gesture. "Listen, right now you can't do shit. You guys are super-powered individuals and Flash is just a nasty kid. You'll get in a big fat mess and he'll get to go away with a slap on the wrist," Tony sagged, visibly, bodily, and I felt it was safe to remove my hand from his face.

"I hate to say it but she's right," Bruce piped up behind me, voice soft.

I nodded. "I'm going to ruin the guy without putting a single finger on him," Tony nodded grimly and Cape Guy halted his examination of Peter's head to give me a mildly concerned stare. "My mother is a litigator, a vicious one at that. I've learned a trick or two," I winked with a grim sort of amusement causing the man to snort. Tony chuckled humorlessly. "As much as I hate to be the voice of reason, it would be a shame for anybody in this tower to end up behind bars. Even if it would be for a good cause," I finished my speech, patting Tony on the shoulder. The surprised squeak made its way out of my mouth when the billionaire pulled me tight against his chest, wrapping his arms around me in a desperate hug.

Ignoring my skyrocketing heartbeat, I wrapped myself around him as best as I could. Whatever issues the man had, they had to be quite painful if he reacted to the situation so intensely. I was selfish, but not heartless, so I gave into the affectionate gesture despite the inappropriate feelings that blossomed within me.

"I don't know what I've done to deserve you," Peter whined, fat round tears beginning to drip down his cheeks. I could tell he was embarrassed beyond Hell but his feelings overwhelmed him enough to just spill through. I immediately made my meanest big eyes to Natasha and Cape Guy who immediately hugged the life out of Pete. There, all set.

"Now go get that scan done," I frowned, seeing Peter start to nod off. "I don't know your name, but can you arrange that? Since you're a doctor," I nodded to the Cape Guy.

"I'm Stephen Strange," he replied, effortlessly picking up a dozing Peter and carrying him to the elevator. Before I could react, he waved his one free hand in some sort of a circle and a glowing ring appeared with what seemed to be a ER room - Strange hastily stepped through, followed by Tony suddenly withdrawing and hurrying after the ... Wizard? The portal closed immediately after.

"What the fuuuuuck..." I gaped at the now empty space. Strange, indeed. Even Loki's scoff didn't put a dent in my perplexed curiosity.

"So, lawyer family, huh?" Natasha, who I'd forgotten about, spoke up, mildly interested.

"Just my mother," I replied casually. They were the last thing in the world I wanted to talk about, especially after being so upset for the past hour. Man, I needed a drink. My hands itched for a cigarette.

"What about your father?" The spy didn't relent, pushing the issue with deadly politeness - I was actually sure she'd threaten me into talking about it even if I refused to.

"He's a celebrity manager."

"Cool," Her tone perked up at that. "Know anyone famous?"

"Know? No," I thought about all the A-list Hollywood stars I've been around, the endless parade of one-hit-wonder musicians that my dad hung out with on a daily basis. "I've crossed paths with at least half the Billboard TOP 40 but that's about it. Katy Perry was really nice," I added as an afterthought.

"I see," Natasha gave me a thoughtful once-over, patting the seat next to her. "So tell me, what do you have in mind for this Flash kid?"

My smile came out sharp and vicious. People tended to underestimate the quiet, quirky loner and I was about to remind them exactly why my kind of kids usually ended up with either millions in their bank accounts or a lengthy criminal record. "I'm going to annihilate any chance he has with having a social life, a girlfriend and I'll be damned if he gets into college without his parents going bankrupt. It goes like this..."

The ominous beginning of my plan attracted everybody in the room, even Loki. If anything, he offered the most constructive advice and the smirk he wore was positively devilish. Steve, Bucky and Thor emerged sometime during the scheming and hastily joined us, identically grim expressions on their faces. We barely managed to get done with our nefarious cackling when a portal appeared once again, Stephen stepping out of it with Tony carrying a sleeping Peter. The boy's head was bandaged, he looked like a mummy.

I stood up, beelining for Tony. "Is Pete okay? Did you call May?"

"He's not concussed but he's taking the day off tomorrow. Yes, I called May. Pete is staying here tonight," Tony looked and sounded like an exhausted, worried parent.

The urge to squee appeared again and I stomped it down with a hard "Good. We made a plan. The fucker is going to choke on his own misery," I gestured to the people sitting in a circle behind me.

Strange snorted.

Furious. I was furious.

Hands on my hips, I swerved towards him, instantly recognizing the ridiculousness of the situation. Here I stood, an eighteen year old high school student, in my fluffy rainbow sweater and denim overalls, staring down a whole grown ass man with magic powers. I digress, my pride won the race against my common sense. "Ex-fucking-cuse you, Voldemort, that's my fucking friend on the line," I seethed, giving him my best death glare.

"Language," Tony barely held together his laughter, looking at the unfolding mess with amusement. Somewhere behind me, somebody chuckled, then I recognised Loki's signature "ehehe" and it kind of went downhill from there. It's a miracle Peter didn't wake up.

"I'd be careful, Strange, she holds up against Stark very well," Loki's quiet compliment only made me preen and puff out my chest in a display of dominance. Stephen's responding eye roll was more fond than annoyed. I counted it as a win.

#tony stark x reader #tony stark x y/n #bruce banner x y/n #bruce banner x reader #stephen strange x reader #Stephen Strange x y/n #bun writes #party favours #repeat after me: PETER PARKER DESERVES BETTER

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orsuliya · 4 years ago

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This part (4 of who knows how many) of my Awu/Xiao Qi married headcanons resembles nothing more that a dying whale full of confused feelings. Which is exactly what I would swiftly turn to left alone with this drama without @madeleineengland’s continuous friendship and support. What I actually want to say is: Happy Birthday, my dear! I am thankful to have met you. I hope you like this instalment, even if I couldn’t quite manage to fit in a kneeling Song Huaien. Sorry!

There are some things that no woman can choose for herself. Some things simply happen – or not – as they please with no regard to wishful thinking or social status. A princess or a gravedigger’s daughter, a young maiden or a stately matron, none can simply will themselves pregnant, no matter how many prayers have left their lips and how many offerings have graced the altars, set there by gentle hands yearning to hold a living, breathing child instead of a bowl of rice or a stick of precious incense.

And yet, no matter how many times she whispers this truth to herself in the middle of the night, Xiao Qi’s broad hand resting on her lower belly in a sincere attempt to soothe the twinges of pain that come every single month without fail, there are still moments when Awu cannot help feeling as if she’s failing in the worst of ways. Not failing her husband, for until the day she dies she will never forget the truth shining in his eyes, still fever-bright from Wang Qian’s vile mixture despite the self-inflicted blood loss. And not even the twelve generations of Wang Empresses. After all, hadn’t she courted their disapproval already by choosing to walk through life hand in hand with her husband instead of living torn in half until her very last breath? No, the person whom she fails is always herself.

And in her mind she fails a lot. There is a bitter taste on her tongue as she pushes Xiao Qi’s wise, warm hand off her abdomen and rises from their shared bed to stand at the window, throwing open the shutters and trying to breathe, even as the feeling of warm blood pooling between her thighs makes her remember her first and worst failure, committed right in the middle of the palace courtyard. There were pamphlets, she knows, vicious, cruel rumours of how she bled her baby out from sheer disgust of having been bred by a man born nobody knows of whom and where. Only after every wagging tongue had already been silenced with a cloak of red silk set around her shoulders, did she realize that half the court must have been tittering excitedly over the prospect of seeing the proud Wang daughter set aside and brought as low as she had once sat high. And they hadn’t been kind about it, going as far as to comment that her swift appearance at the scene of the coup must have been motivated by her eagerness to be rid of her spouse as the balance of power finally shifted. Fools, what blind, base-minded fools all those high-born courtiers – many of them her distant kin – have turned out to be!

Princess Shangyang wouldn’t have felt such dark, all-consuming anger. Princess Shangyang, as Awu has learned in all her years as Princess Yuzhang, had been something of a fool, a bird kept in a gilded cage, encouraged to sing and chirp happily regardless of how the bars of that cage withered her wings. It was only later that this caged songbird discovered that she was no songbird at all, but a bird of prey. And like a bird of prey Awu wishes she had known of every single salacious rumour – but only so that she could tear their originators to shreds for using her poor never-born first child for their own vicious purposes, for making a spectacle out of her – their – pain.

In her anger she barely notices how her fingers have curled tightly over the windowsill… at least until big, calloused hands descend onto hers and she finds herself cradled in Xiao Qi’s loose, yet strangely grounding embrace. For a moment she wishes to slip away, to escape and simply be angry, no matter how futile it may be after so many years… And had he tried to lead her back to bed, had he spoken a single word, she might have done just that, but there is only silence between them. Only slightly unreal, moonlight-washed silence and Awu feels the flames of her anger sputter and go out, leaving only bitter, choking ash of regret.

Yet there is one kernel of failure she can exorcise right here and now for both of their sakes, even if it can never be made right in this life. If I have children of my blood, she says, allowing herself to let go of the magical ‘when’ this one time, seeing them entered into the Xiao family book would bring me greater honour and joy than if they were feted as princes and princesses of the first rank. And maybe after a moment she feels the need to explain further, to say that she would have been honoured to act as a filial daughter-in-law to his parents, no matter their birth and status, but before she can get out a word, he manages to catch her off-guard. Not with a kiss to the side of her neck, that much she has come to expect always, but rather with his quiet, sleepily tender reply: Before we get to filling any pages, we need to have a book in the first place. Help me with that in the morning? And what can she do in response to that except hum in agreement and lean backwards?

____________________________________

Some things simply happen – or not – as they please. Which does not mean one should not help them along in any way that comes to mind. Or several minds, as it happens in this case.

Doctor Shen, however wise and famous, is far from the only – or even the best – available authority on the matters of female body, partially due to not being of female persuasion himself. Unlike, for example, his assistant and niece Shen Yunxin, an aspiring female doctor in her own right. Once that accomplished, if rather young lady managed to make herself heard, she swiftly rose in Xiao Qi’s regard, and would have done so for her gumption alone, even if her medical skills hadn’t been excellent in the first place. Shen Yunxin, skipping the dancing-around that most of her male colleagues invariably tended to degrade to in the presence of any person of power, rather daringly announced that perhaps instead of concentrating solely on curing Awu’s infertility – and thank you, the acupuncture treatments she herself administers every week are going just as planned – they should perhaps focus on the picture as a whole. That is, after all, what a doctor should look at first, right? Especially as there is no material proof of Xiao Qi’s high fertility. The ‘or is there now?’ part remained unspoken; even though Shen Yunxin came to like her primary patient a lot and had her own reasons to distrust men and their promises, she – this time and always – held to the standards of professional behaviour.

Awu, for her part, really enjoys seeing Xiao Qi drinking bitter herbal concoctions of his own. Even if she might not be all that convinced by Shen Yunxin’s words, it surely cannot hurt anything. And why should she be the only one to suffer under a tyrannical medical regime? What’s good for the goose is good for the gander. And if in truth Xiao Qi doesn’t mind the taste at all, who would blame him for exaggerating a little for his wife’s amusement? Certainly not his wife, who has seen through his play-acting at once and swiftly decided that there is something to this mouth-to-mouth method of feeding particularly vile medicines to recalcitrant patients.

And yet Shen Yunxin isn’t the only fount of knowledge to be found in Ningshuo and, truth be told, has shown much interest in the secrets of folk medicine herself, especially as practiced by Alima’s kinswomen. Although some of those women, in particular Alima’s crone of a grandmother, have proven astonishingly… direct and rather shameless with their advice, to the tune of making a fully-fledged practitioner and an old married woman such as Awu, both of them hardly prone to prudishness, blush like girls not yet through their hair-pinning ceremonies. Or perhaps the advice was actually fine and tamer that one might expect. The enthusiastic appreciation that Alima’s kinswomen seem to hold for Xiao Qi, however, could probably fluster anybody, much less the man’s wife!

____________________________________

It is not entirely out of the realm of possibility that Awu decided to follow the kindly-meant advice of Alima’s grandmother. After all, the woman had successfully given birth to nine babies and gotten eight of them to adulthood, which would make anybody pay attention. Perhaps there is something to be said for the value of hard-won experience? And perhaps it was Shen Yunxin’s acupuncture skills that helped in the end, or even her insistence to look at the greater picture first. Or Doctor Shen’s bitter tinctures, or Xiao Qi’s unwavering, ah, helpfulness. Or possibly the fact that Awu finally decided that what will be will be and threw herself with doubled energy into the whirlpool of domestic concerns… which are truly never-ending, if one counts an entire province as one’s home.

Whatever the cause, Awu eventually achieved her goal… And yet she was among the last ones to actually suspect anything, the first being Xiao Qi and A-Yue, who had informed Doctor Shen and Shen Yunxin respectively, after having noticed some rather peculiar changes. A lady’s maid knows her mistress better than her own husband, although in this case, with the husband being an exceptionally affectionate one, that might not ring quite so true. Incidentally, the symptom that both of them had noticed was Awu’s sudden heightened sense of smell combined with a rather noticeably expressed aversion to her previously favourite perfume, which, you must admit, is a rather worrying sign.

As it turns out, both the uncle and niece had a good idea of Awu’s state, going by her last bleeding being more of a spotting than anything else – and you may bet Shen Yunxin monitors that closely – and yet they remained unable to fully ascertain their suspicions without any clear accompanying signs, nor were they willing to give any early hope, which may later be dashed. In fact, Doctor Shen would have preferred to avoid any agitation whatsoever for at least a week or two more, having had difficult experiences with this patient in particular, but one look at Prince Yuzhang’s face had him rethink that plan. Had Hu Guanglie been there – or alive in the first place – he would have immediately recognized that expression as Xiao Qi getting ready for battle, which he is quite sure he can win… but not entirely sure, with his doubt rising with every hour of there being no news of enemy movements. But even an amateur would be immediately wary of this sudden tension, for all that it might be hidden under an impressive facade of pretended calm. And Doctor Shen, after thirty years of practicing medicine among the upper echelons of Cheng nobility and staying alive – which is no mean feat – has learned to be quite sensitive to his powerful employers’ moods. As a survival tactic, if nothing else.

Another important skill, which Doctor Shen hasn’t yet imparted onto his niece, is judging when and where a doctor’s presence might be wanted... and when and where it is most certainly not needed. Pulling Shen Yunxin from the room by her sleeve might seem like a rather abrupt reaction, but it was by no means unjustified. Some things are simply not meant to be seen by outsiders. Prince and Princess Yuzhang facing each other and simply looking into each other’s eyes in perfect, tremulously joyful silence before the Princess lets out a hiccuping laugh and hides her suspiciously shining eyes against her husband’s collarbone is certainly one of those.

____________________________________

Xiao Qi’s first emotion after hearing the news is joy, then absolute panic – as far as that man ever panics, that is – and then steely determination most usually reserved for military planning. Having heard one word too many about miscarriage being a real possibility this early on makes him frantic and this in turn means that something really, really foolish is about to happen. Something like riding for the capital with only ten thousand troops. Something like going into Hulan alone. Something like dealing ungodly amounts of damage and letting his hair fly loose. Hu Guanglie would call this state a silence before mass decapitation. Were he there and alive, that is. Thankfully Hu Yao is both alive and there (deal with it, people!) and manages to redirect this thrumming energy into something actually constructive, which is probably the only thing that saves Awu and Xiao Qi from having an epic row over a series of very unreasonable ideas. Like, for example, shutting Awu in her rooms in the middle of Ningshuo Fortress and standing guard over her until the baby is born.

Meanwhile, Awu’s behaviour couldn’t be more different from that exhibited by her very own husband. Now that her years of continuous disappointment are over, she refuses to even consider that something might go wrong. At least not during waking hours, when she’s surrounded by a steady throng of people and children; and there is no way she would ever agree to being imprisoned in her rooms, although she agrees to retiring at the first sign of true fatigue and actually keeps her word, which causes her to share more than one nap in the middle of the day with little Song Guanglie. Which, in turn, makes for a pretty mellow Princess, especially right after she rises.

Which is exactly why this is the exact moment the brilliant tactician Hu Yao chooses to inform Awu that her fool of a husband (even if she doesn’t use exactly those words, she means exactly that) has evaporated with a troop of six into direction unknown, which may or may not be Hu Yao’s fault. Awu confirms that yes, Xiao Qi came in as she slept, woke her up briefly and said something about going on a short trip, promising to return as swiftly as possible. The look on Hu Yao’s face is rather telling and a tiny bit guilty.

That little overnight trip? Hu Yao is reasonably certain it is a hunt for something big and impressive. A local variety of wolf? A big feline of unfriendly persuasion? Probably not Hulan raiders, such as they are those days; she is rather insistent on that last point and for a good reason. That reason being that Xiao Qi had been making things strangely tense in the training yards, which are Hu Yao’s rightful domain, and so she decided to get rid of him by asking about preparations for the birth, no matter that the happy event may be six months away yet, and describing in great detail the extent of the prospective father’s involvement in those.

And seeing as it’s paramount – for future good fortune and the safety of both the mother and the baby – that no products of the birth are allowed to touch the ground, hence the need to provide a layer of ash, rushes or perhaps a cow’s skin as is the case in the wealthier families of Hu Yao’s acquitance, and taking into account that Xiao Qi has never done things by halves, his plan is rather obvious. Awu doesn’t know whether to feel strangely amused, immensely flattered and touched… or perhaps increasingly annoyed by losing her bedmate for such paltry a cause. For the moment she chooses option one, if only because amusement helps her forget about any apprehension the word ‘hunt’ might be causing her for rather obvious reasons. She will hold her judgement on options two and three until she sees the result of Xiao Qi’s bout of paternal madness.

The hero of the hour returns four days later, impossibly smug and with a bloody enormous salted pelt of a great brown mountain bear. Which he will then proceed to cure himself, because why wouldn’t he. Awu doesn’t have the words for what she’s feeling. Exasperation? Fond exasperation? A sudden onset of unexpected horniness? And I mean really unexpected, because bears smell and she’s still not over her olfactory oversensitivity. But mainly a burst of love and womanly pride. Sure, her man might be a fool, but he’s her fool and… I mean, it is a really big bear. Very, very impressive, if one was prone to being impressed by such things. Which Awu usually doesn’t find herself to be… Oh, who is she even trying to fool?

____________________________________

Xiao Qi has made something of a study of his wife’s body, which she had always been cognizant of to a certain degree. So it’s rather hard to say that it comes as a surprise that he’s able to tell when she begins to show even before she herself does – and she shows very early due to her general slimness. All the other things, however, are somewhat more out of the left field.

Like how he starts to send Awu’s maids out every time he catches one of them with a comb even before she confesses that somehow her scalp became really, really sensitive and in a rather peculiar way. Which he has apparently noticed and decided to take shameless advantage off, especially as the pleasure is mutual; Awu’s hair has become somehow both thicker and softer, a true delight to touch for a person as tactile as Xiao Qi.

Or how he suddenly stops going after Awu’s earlobes to her sincere confusion and irritation. She liked it, dammit, and what Awu wants, Awu gets, so the next time his mouth appears anywhere in the vicinity of her neck, Xiao Qi finds himself rather brusquely pointed at the desired target. The problem is, upon his acquiescence Awu finds it not as pleasurable as all that and really rather painful, her ears apparently having become rather sensitive practically overnight. By which point she has no other choice but to demand how had he guessed before she realized this about herself. His answer turns out to be rather disarming: You haven’t worn a single pair of dangly earrings for half a month.

The worst thing is, he is absolutely right. Every single time, which at the beginning causes no little exasperation, especially when Awu’s body starts rapidly changing and sometimes she feel like she hardly knows what she even looks like anymore. Is that pale, drawn face in the mirror actually hers? Why are her eyebrows suddenly so pale and whispy? And has she always had dark patches on the underside of her breasts? As time passes, all those other changes start looking less and less dire, having taken second fiddle to the most important thing of them all: a growing, living child nestled between her hipbones, which have lost all pretense of sharpness during those last few months. And so she starts asking questions. Not to fish for compliments – she truly cannot complain of a shortage of those – but out of true curiosity. What have you noticed that I haven’t? Show me.

And he does show her, claiming and re-claiming every inch of her skin as it changes and there is not a single moment in which she does not feel beautiful, or wanted, or loved, even when she’s absolutely miserable and sick, and bloated. Although she calls him a liar the one time he truly earns it by announcing her stitches on the newest piece in the increasingly elaborate layette to be the height of perfection despite them being crooked and all over the place due to her suddenly clumsy fingers. But just as he is her guide to her own body, she is his and there is little that she finds herself unable to complain of.

It’s their journey, their child, perhaps their only chance at this miracle and she absolutely refuses to hide, especially as her time comes near. Refuses to hide both literally and metaphorically, spending hours upon hours of increasingly warm, stuffy summer evenings laying naked on top of the covers and drawing nonsensical labyrinths upon her own skin with the tips of her fingers, every line closely followed by eager eyes, calloused hands or gentle lips; every single tap or movement from within met with genuine fascination and something not quite unlike worship.

____________________________________

There has hardly been a military campaign that involved more meticulous planning than the birth of this one tiny child, Ningshuo’s first princeling. Taught by Wanru’s premature experience with childbirth, both Awu and Xiao Qi remain rather wary of any fixed dates. The child will come when it will come, rather like the enemy, announces Xiao Qi, stopping the rather spirited discussion between the womenfolk about the necessity of early preparation and earning himself a fiery glare from Awu for using such inappropriate comparisons. By which I mean there is little to be done aside from observing the terrain and getting ready for an ambush, which may or may not come at any time, he explains, trying to mollify Awu and enclose her into his self-imposed bubble of confidence, usually reserved for use upon soldiers on the verge of panic, which is exactly what this discussion of premature birth has brought into their home.

And you know what, it actually helps, if only a little. Enough to take Awu’s mind off the possible complications and redirect her nervous energy into consulting with the astronomy charts and then choosing an appropriately situated side room, setting up curtains around the bed to serve as a birthing tent and getting that blasted bearskin out of storage. Which process they will ultimately go through four times, as the star charts – and thus best orientations – keep changing every month. And which neither of them will begrudge, as every single time they move the birthing tent Awu grows just a tiny bit more confident in the success of the upcoming labour and also more attuned to her own needs. At the very last milestone – during which she is comically enormous, but no less able to give out commands – she is an absolute nightmare, having everyone running around to and fro as well as throwing an absolute fit over the birthing rope, which she has agreed to previously.

Doctor Shen, being a great believer in getting his clients through labour alive and having a long-standing grudge against the usual way of birthing practiced in the Imperial Palace – which means supine, surrounded by a crowd of panicking women and with the doctor hardly able to see the patient in order to preserve their chastity – instills a certain regime, which is perfectly in accord with the traditional ways dictated by medical practitioners of old. By which he means peace, no more that two calm attendants at one time and letting gravity do part of the work; the last thing meaning that a length of rope or cloth should be suspended from the ceiling or perhaps stretched between two pillars at at appropriate height, so that the mother can support herself while kneeling or squatting.

In Awu’s case the arrangement changes from a hanging horse bridle – which while a show of status and a portent of good fortune proved to be not that comfortable after all – to a length of silk, to a rope stretched between two pillars. Which apparently doesn’t suit Awu any longer, not providing her with a steady enough support. While A-Yue and Alima keep tying and retying the rope to Awu’s continuous disapproval and even irritation, Xiao Qi doesn’t get involved. Yes, partially because in contrast to everybody else he doesn’t find his heavily pregnant wife a nightmare to deal with. Adorable, more like, the man is that hopeless. And partially because as long as Awu acts out on her irritation, she’s not getting apprehensive or despondent. So let her rage to her heart’s content. Now, the moment she goes silent and perhaps a little bit bashful over her previous outburst, he decides it’s high time for an intervention. Any intervention, even an absurd one. Which means that he disappears for a moment and brings back his spear, which he then secures in place of the rope to the growing disconcernment of everybody present. Awu finds it steady enough for her needs and it’s not like anything else matters.

Seeing as she goes into labour the very next day and finds herself properly appreciative of this improvised solution, Xiao Qi can’t find it in himself to really mind the rapidly growing slew of jokes and ditties starting to make rounds, although he makes a point of trouncing the most intrepid joker rather soundly. Or perhaps five of those, not that he’s in the right mindset to actually keep count once the entrance to the birthing room is barred to him. Before it is, there is still time to tell Awu– not for the last time, this isn’t going to be the last time! - of her bravery, of how only now does he start to truly appreciate what it means to send a loved one into battle and of how they’re going to carry this moment through their whole lives. You’re Princess Yuzhang, you will come back with a victory, hale and whole. You will always come back, he whispers into her hair, not sure who is he actually trying to convince as he hold his entire world in his arms, desperately trying to hide his fear. And failing miserably, which Awu cannot help but notice… once she gets through the current set of contractions. Don’t you dare to be a coward now, my Prince Yuzhang, she scolds, resting her sweaty forehead against his chin. Don’t you bloody dare. I have asked for this and I don’t take upon myself what I cannot carry. And now get out and let me fight my war. You know what I’m capable of.

And by all gods, he knows. And this steely determination in her voice scares him as little has ever scared him before. This time, unlike every other time when she’s risked her life this bravely, there will be nothing he can do to help her, no miraculous rescue, no last-minute shot, no hand ready to break her fall. Has he been too greedy, he ponders, only by a miracle avoiding skewering Tang Jing straight through the gut and then actually earning a light graze from Hu Yao’s blade. Useless, she pronounces, confiscating their weapons and hurrying both men off the training field. Absolutely useless. Go and do whatever it is that men actually busy themselves with while women do all the work.

It turns out that what men actually do in highly stressful situations is sharpen their swords as well as any other blade they may encounter. They are joined in this endeavour by Xiaohe, who will later be unilaterally – and wholly unfairly – blamed for each and every single skewed edge. Of which there will be quite a few. But then, what does an imperfect sword or ten actually matter, when after long hours of absolute hell, during which Xiao Qi has imagined at least five different worst scenarios ending in a pool of blood – just like that terrible day – and prayed to all the gods he has ever heard of, A-Yue finally comes, her wide smile speaking for itself.

#the rebel princess #monarch industry #Awu and XQ headcanon time #and unto us a child is born #although the aftermath must wait #this was getting a bit too long and me a bit too weepy #I am an absolute disgrace of a human being #oh well #HAPPY BIRTHDAY MADELEINEENGLAND #also I might have read a book about childbirth in ancient China #it was full of dead babies but on the whole very interesting

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phantomofthepairofdice · 4 years ago

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Double Features 2: Splatter, Splicer, Slander, Slasher

Considering the fact that we’re locked down and most folks aren’t going out much, why not settle in on a weekend with double feature. As part of a series of articles, I’ve decided to suggest some titles that would make for an interesting pair. It’s a time commitment like binging a few episodes of a TV show, and hopefully these double features are linked in interesting enough ways that it has a similar sense of cohesion. They also can be watched on separate occasions, but the lesser the distance between them, the more the similarities show. Do it however you want, really. I’m merely a guy on the internet, and that qualifies me for absolutely nothing! Enjoy at your own risk.

This template is back! I wanted to suggest a few more double features, but this time keep them in a specific genre: horror. I love horror movies, and I realized that I hadn’t really given them their due on this here blog, so I wanted to remedy that by showing a lot of love across a lot of different movies. I’ve put together some international movies, some classics, some that are silly, some that are serious, and even a bonus suggestion hidden in one of these blurbs. So without any more ramble in the preamble, here are four new suggested double features.

Note: The pairs are listed in the order I think best serves them being seen.

Hausu & Evil Dead II:

Hausu aka House (not to be confused with 1985 American horror film of the same name) has sort of transcended cult movie status to become a staple of off-center horror-comedy. Directed by recently deceased Nobuhiko Obayashi, the film shows his roots in advertisements with every shot designed for maximum effect, a (still) cutting edge approach in the edit, and a joyous, playful approach to special effects. It’s a gauzy and dreamy romp about a group of schoolgirls who head to the countryside on vacation. While staying at one of their aunts’ house, the supernatural hauntings begin, and heads start to roll (as well as bite people on the butt). It’s the type of movie where the main cast of characters are named Gorgeous, Kung Fu, Melody, Prof, Mac, Sweet, and Fantasy and they each have corresponding character traits. I was lucky enough to catch this at a rep screening at the Museum of Fine Arts a few years ago (further proof that this has gone beyond the cult curio status), and this is absolutely a movie that benefits from having a crowd cheer and laugh along - but it’s fairly easy to find and still has lots of pleasures to be enjoyed on solo watch. I’m pretty much willing to guarantee that if you enjoy it on first watch, you’ll want to share it with others. Now, where does one start when talking about Evil Dead II? Sam Raimi is rightfully as well known for his start in the hair-brained splatter genre fare as he is for his genre-defining Spider-man films. The influence of the Evil Dead movies is nearly unquantifiable, apparent in the work of directors like Edgar Wright, Peter Jackson, Quentin Tarantino, and the Korean New Wave filmmakers like Bong Joon-ho and Park Chan-wook. There’s a reason that the second film of his Evil Dead odyssey is the one that people hold in highest esteem, though. There is an overwhelming gleeful creativity, anything goes, Looney Tunes approach to it that makes the blood geysers, laughing moose heads, and chainsaw hands extend beyond gore and shock into pleasure. It’s been noted over and over by critics and Raimi himself that the Three Stooges are probably the biggest influence on the film, and by golly, it shows. Evil Dead II and Hausu are pure in a way that few other movies can be. Both of these movies are an absolute delight of knowing camp, innovative special effects, and a general attitude of excitement from the filmmakers permeating through every frame. They’re a total blast and, in my mind, stand as the standard-bearers for horror-comedy and haunted house movies.

Total Runtime: 88 minutes + 84 minutes = 172 minutes aka 2 hours and 52 minutes

The Thing (1982) & The Fly (1986):

Feel free to roll your eyes as I explain the plots of two very famous movies. The Thing is John Carpenter’s body horror reimagining of Howard Hawks’ The Thing from Another World and the story that was adapted from, “Who Goes There?” by John W. Campbell Jr. The film is centered around a group of men in an arctic outpost who welcome in a cosmic force of shape-shifting annihilation. What ensues is a terrifically scary, nihilistic, paranoid attempt to find who isn’t who they say they are before everyone is replaced with the alien’s version of them. The film is a masterpiece of tone in no small part due to Dean Cundey’s photography and Ennio Morricone’s uncharacteristically restrained score. The real showstopper here, though, is the creature effects designed by Rob Bottin with an assist from Stan Winston – two titans of their industry. There may not be a more mind-blowing practical effects sequence in all of movies than Norris’ defibrillation – which I won’t dare spoil for anyone who hasn’t seen it. The story is so much about human nature and behaviors, that it’s good news that the cast is all top-notch – anchored by Kurt Russell, Keith David, and Wilford Brimley. While The Thing is shocking and certainly not for anyone opposed to viscera, David Cronenberg’s The Fly is the best example of a movie not to watch while eating. Quite frankly, it’s got some of the most disgusting things I’ve ever seen on film. Chris Walas and Stephen Dupuis’ makeup effects are shocking, but the terror is amplified because this builds such a strong foundation of romance in its opening stretch between Jeff Goldblum and Geena Davis in what might be their career-best work. The story is simple: a scientist creates a teleportation device that he tries out himself, but unknowingly does so with a fly in the chamber with him. When he reatomizes on the other end, his DNA has been integrated with the fly. Slowly his body begins to deteriorate, and he transforms into a human-fly hybrid. While this is first and foremost a science-fiction horror film, it’s truly one of the most potent love stories at its center. The tragedy is that the love, like the flesh, is mutated and disintegrated by the hubris of Goldblum’s Seth Brundle. Here are two remakes that – clutch your pearls – outdo the original. They both serve as great examples of what a great artist can bring by reinterpreting the source material to tell their version of that story. The critical respect for Carpenter and Cronenberg is undeniable now, but both of these movies make the case that there are real artists working with allegory and stunning craft in less respected genre fare. It doesn’t take a lot of effort to transpose the thematic weight of the then-new AIDS crisis onto both films, but they both have a hefty anti-authority streak running through them in a time where American Exceptionalism was at an all-time high. If you want to get a real roll going, fire up the ��78 Invasion of the Body Snatchers first to get a triple dose of auteur remakes that reflect the social anxieties of the time and chart from generalized anxiety to individualistic dread to romantic fatalism.

Total Runtime: 109 minutes + 96 minutes = 205 minutes aka 3 hours and 25 minutes

Theatre of Blood & The Abominable Dr. Phibes

That old Klingon proverb that Khan tells Kirk about revenge being a dish best served cold is challenged by these two Vincent Price tales of the macabre. They posit that revenge is best served in extremely convoluted and thematically appropriate predecessors to the Saw franchise. Where Saw trades in shock and extremity, though, these classic horror tales offer an air of panache and self-satisfied literacy. In Theatre of Blood, Price plays a disgraced and thought-dead stage actor who gets revenge on the critics who gave him negative reviews with Shakespeare-themed murder. There’s good fun in seeing how inventive the vengeful killings are (and in some cases how far the writers bend over backwards to explain and make sense of them). It’s a little rumpled and ragged in moments, but Price is, of course, a tremendous pleasure to see in action as he chews through the Shakespeare monologues. Imagine the Queen’s corgis with a chainsaw and you’re on track. Phibes came first and, frankly, is the better of the two. The story is about a musician who seeks to kill the doctors who he believes were responsible for his wife’s death during a botched surgery. The elaborate angle he takes here is to inflict the ten plagues from the Old Testament. I hesitate to use a word that will probably make me come across as an over-eager schmuck, but it really feels best described as phantasmagorical. It’s got this bright, art deco, pop art sensibility to it that’s intoxicating. It also has a terrifically dark sense of drollery - it knows that you can see the strings on the bat as it flies toward the camera. Aesthetically, it feels adjacent to the ’66 Batman show. The music is great and the indelible image of his tinker toy robot band, The Clockwork Wizards, is a personal obsession of mine. Both Theatre of Blood and The Abominable Dr. Phibes feature great supporting turns from Diana Rigg and Joseph Cotton, respectively. Settle in for a devilishly good time and enjoy one of cinema’s greatest vicarious pleasures: getting back at those of criticized or hurt you.

Total Runtime: 104 minutes + 94 minutes = 198 minutes aka 3 hours and 18 minutes

Blood and Black Lace & The Bird with the Crystal Plumage

The final pairing comes from beyond American borders and, to some, beyond the borders of good taste. Mario Bava and Dario Argento are likely the two biggest names in Italian horror, and that’s for very good reason. Bava, who started as a cinematographer, has made loads of movies (even the film which gave Ozzy Osbourne and crew the name their band name) that have tremendous visuals and terrific sense of mood. Argento, probably most famous now for Suspiria, emerged onto the Italian film scene a handful of years later and picked up that baton from Bava to crystallize the dreamy logic puzzles cloaked in hyper-saturated colors. These two films are regarded as quintessential in the giallo genre – named for the yellow covers of the pulp crime fictions that inspired them. As someone who loves the flair that can be applied to make a slasher film stand out amongst their formulaic brethren, I found that the giallo made for a smooth transition into international horror. Blood and Black Lace is a murder mystery that’s as tawdry and titillating as its title suggests. Set in an insular world of a fashion house in Rome, models are being murdered. The plot feels like a necessity in order to create a delivery system for the stunning set pieces that revolve around a secret diary. Bava puts sex right next to violence and cranks up the saturation to create something thrillingly lurid. Six years later, Argento made his first film which has often been credited for popularizing the giallo genre and already is playing around with some of his pet themes like voyeurism and reinterpretation. Built around an early set piece (that stacks up as one of the best in thrillers) in which a man is trapped but witnesses a murder, the film sees said man trying to find the piece of evidence that will make the traumatic killing make sense. Like Bava, it blends sex and violence with tons of flair, including a score by the aforementioned Ennio Morricone. The film is absolutely on a continuum between Hitchcock and De Palma. If you’re looking for a pair of exciting horror/thrillers, or even an entry point to foreign genre cinema, this is an accessible and enjoyable place to start.

88 minutes + 96 minutes = 184 minutes aka 3 hours and 4 minutes

Well, there you have it. Eight movies, and hours of entertainment curated by some guy with no real qualifications. If you’re interested in some more suggestions (in horror and other genres), stay tuned for the next entry in this Double Features series. And if you’re looking for a way to watch these movies, I highly recommend the app/website JustWatch where you can search a title and see where it’s available for streaming or rental. Happy viewing.

Thanks for reading.

#evil dead #evil dead 2 #hausu #hausu 1977 #the thing #the fly #theatre of blood #dr phibes #blood and black lace #bird with the crystal plumage #double feature

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gaylorlyrics · 4 years ago

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the last great american dynasty

Rebekah rode up on the afternoon train, it was sunny

Her saltbox house on the coast took her mind off St. Louis

Rebekah is Rebekah “Betty” Semple West Pierce a sculptor, and philanthropist born on April 17, 1915 in St. Louis. She also composed music, one of many similarities between her and Taylor.

Bill was the heir to the Standard Oil name, and money

Bill refers to William Hale "Bill" Harkness, the grandson of David Harkness who invested with John Rockefeller in Standard Oil. When David died he left what would today be over a billion dollars to Bill’s father, who was also named William Harkness. Eventually Bill inherited what would today be approximately $185M dollars from his father (approx 70% of this wealth was from Standard Oil shares).

And the town said "How did a middle class divorcée do it?"

In 1939 Rebekah married Dickson Pierce, descendent of President Franklin Pierce. However they divorced in 1946, and then in 1947 she married Bill. Her father was a stockbroker, and her grandfather started a trust company - so she wasn’t exactly middle class, but her wealth was significantly less than the wealth of the Harkness family.

The wedding was charming, if a little gauche There's only so far new money goes They picked out a home and called it "Holiday House"

Holiday House was built on Watch Hill in Rhode Island by Mrs. George Grant Snowden who, contrary to the song, named it Holiday House. Seems like this house has been having raucous 4th of July parties for a long time - at least according to this NYTimes article from July 6, 1941:

Their parties were tasteful, if a little loud

The language here mirrors that of the first verse - “the wedding was charming, if a little gauche”.

The doctor had told him to settle down

Bill died in August (interesting!!!!) 1954 of a heart attack - he had also had a heart attack the year prior, but that one was obviously not fatal. He and Rebekah had one child together named Edith who eventually committed suicide at the age of 34.

It must have been her fault his heart gave out

This line calls attention to how women are frequently blamed for, well, everything. Something that is explored more in mad woman.

And they said "There goes the last great American dynasty" Who knows, if she never showed up what could've been There goes the maddest woman this town has ever seen She had a marvelous time ruining everything

The chorus and the title of this song seems to come from the title of a book about Rebekah called “Blue Blood: How Rebekah Harkness, One of the Richest Women in the World, Destroyed a Great American Family” written by Craig Unger. The from cover of the book reads “The story of Rebekah Harkness and how one of the richest families in the world descended into drugs, madness, suicide, and violence”. [Also, interesting that the background of the cover I found looks a lot like the blue/pink in the Lover cover!]

The chorus also references “mad woman”, another track on folklore. This song subverts the idea of a mad woman. The title and subtitle of Blue Blood use Rebekah as a scapegoat for everything that went wrong, blaming her solely for violence, drugs, mental illness, and loss. It uses several classic, sexist tropes of a gold-digger, a “crazy” woman, and the whore. However, in this song Rebekah is not taking the blame or feeling guilt about what is happening - she is having a marvelous time.

Another interesting thing is changing “great American family” - family is defined as “a group consisting of parents and children living together in a household” - to the word “great American dynasty” - dynasty is defined as “a line of hereditary rulers of a country.” I find this specifically interesting because dynasty, unlike family, acknowledges a long lineage of people and decisions that lead to this outcome, as opposed to placing all the responsibility and blame on Rebekah, who only entered the picture at the tail end of this story. The title of Blue Blood has no accountability for the people who were involved with the dynasty before - framing it as if David Harkness didn’t choose to leave his wealth to his lineage, as if Bill Harkness did not choose to marry Rebekah, and as if the wealth Bill inherited wasn’t already diminished by 81.5% from what the family’s original wealth was (as passed down from David Harkness to Bill’s father).

However, Taylor is changing the narrative here to give Rebekah a more joyful way to be remembered.

Rebekah gave up on the Rhode Island set forever Flew in all the Bitch Pack friends from the city

Rebekah and her fellow debutantes formed a group called the Bitch Pack and were known for causing a scene at parties, doing strip teases on the tables or putting mineral oil in the punch, which acts as a laxative.

Taylor is drawing a parallel here to her famous squad days, when her and her group of girl friends were constantly under fire from the internet/press.

Filled the pool with champagne and swam with the big names

Rumor has it that Rebekah cleaned her pool with Dom Perignon. Being a socialite and one of the richest women in America, she frequently kept high profile/famous/successful company - hence the “big names”. Stories of her involve J.D. Salinger, Alvin Ailey, and Andy Warhol, to name a few. However, swimming in champaign is also a metaphor or the carefree life of the rich and famous - something that she used in This Is Why We Can’t Have Nice Things, from Reputation, where Taylor describes a similar scene:

It was so nice throwing big parties

Jumping to the pool from the balcony

Everyone swimming in a champagne sea

And there are no rules when you show up here

Bass beat rattling the chandelier

Feeling so Gatsby for that whole year

Another interesting tidbit is that the house where The Great Gatsby (1974) was filmed is the Rosecliff Mansion in Rhode Island, about 1 hour away from Holiday House.

And blew through the money on the boys and the ballet

Rebekah married twice more after Bill’s death, once in 1961 and once in 1974. As a life long dancer, she spent the majority of her time and energy founding (in 1964) and developing The Harkness Ballet Foundation, which still exists today as The Harkness Foundation for Dance. As part of this endeavor she also established a ballet training school and the Harkness Theater. She paid for everything for the company, from teachers to housing to plastic surgery. The company went on tour and performed at the White House, although it had a generally negative critical reception. At the peak of the company’s success Rebekah abandoned the project and started a different company

And losing on card game bets with Dalí

Although I couldn’t find anything specifically referencing a card game, Rebekah was good friends with Salvadore Dali. Here they are pictured holding a press conference together.

A portion of Rebekah’s ashes are in a $250,000 urn created by Dali called “The Chalice of Life”. The urn was designed to spin, so that Rebekah could always be dancing.

And they said "There goes the last great American dynasty" Who knows, if she never showed up, what could've been There goes the most shameless woman this town has ever seen She had a marvelous time ruining everything They say she was seen on occasion Pacing the rocks staring out at the midnight sea And in a feud with her neighbor She stole his dog and dyed it key lime green

According to the NYTimes, Rebekah dyed her neighbors cat green

Fifty years is a long time Holiday House sat quietly on that beach Free of women with madness Their men and bad habits, and then it was bought by me

Weeee the classic Taylor Swift storytelling twist! This is a great flex by Taylor to just casually drop in a reminder that she is a rich woman who has made her own money and can buy whatever she wants. The phrasing of this also let’s us know that the house is no longer free of women (plural, more than one woman) with madness (we’ll hear more about being a mad woman later in the album), their (possessive, something owned or bought) men, and their bad habits (bearding?). Taylor is admitting to having all of these things. Who knows, if I never showed up what could've been There goes the loudest woman this town has ever seen I had a marvelous time ruining everything I had a marvelous time Ruining everything A marvelous time Ruining everything A marvelous time I had a marvelous time

This makes me think of the line at the end of Miss Americana - “Sorry I was loud in my house. That I bought. With the songs that I wrote about my life.”

Taylor, like Rebekah, is used to being blamed for everything and causing a scene. Even her purchase of Holiday House caused considerable backlash and commotion - with the governor creating a tax in 2015 (two years after Taylor purchased the house) called the “Taylor Swift tax” on homes worth over $1M dollars - something that affected many people in Rhode Island, especially those with large houses and vacation homes. All Taylor did was buy a house to live in (with her money, that she got from writing songs about her life), and she was immediately brought under fire.

However, like she did with Rebekah’s story, Taylor is flipping that narrative and focusing on how much fun she is having instead.

#last great american dynasty #the last great american dynasty #folklore #taylor swift #rebekah harkness

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ucflibrary · 4 years ago

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Women’s History Month began as a week-long celebration in Sonoma, California in 1978 which was centered around International Women’s Day on March 8. A year later during a women’s history conference at Sarah Lawrence College, participants learned how successful the week was and decided to initiate similar in their own areas. President Carter issued the first proclamation for a national Women’s History Week in 1980. In 1987, Congress (after being petitioned by the National Women’s History Project) passed Pub. L. 100-9 designating March as Women’s History Month. U.S. Presidents have issued proclamations on Women’s History Month since 1988.

The Libraries will be hosting two virtual events to celebrate Women’s History Month for 2021. The first is a talk by Nicholson School of Communication faculty member, Dr. Kimberly Voss, called “Make No Mistake, Florida is Crucial”: Sen. Lori Wilson and the Equal Rights Amendment, which discusses efforts to ratify the ERA in Florida. The second is a panel discussion called Women & Academia in the Time of COVID where five UCF faculty and administrators will discuss the impact of the COVID pandemic and remote learning on their teaching, scholarship, service loads and personal lives. Both events are free and open to the public. Click on the links to register to attend.

We have created a list of books about women, both history and fiction, suggested by staff. Please click on the read more link below to see the full book list with descriptions and catalog links. And don’t forget to stop by the John C. Hitt Library to browse the featured bookshelf on the main floor near the Research & Information Desk for additional Women’s History Month books.

A Girl of the Limberlost by Gene Stratton Porter Elnora Comstock grows up on the banks of Limberlost Swamp in Indiana with her bitter mother, Katharine. Unable to afford an education, Elnora develops a plan to sell artifacts and moths from the swamp. Suggested by Pat Tiberii, Interlibrary Loan and Document Delivery Services

A Woman of No Importance: the untold story of the American spy who helped win World War II by Sonia Purnell Based on new and extensive research, Sonia Purnell has for the first time uncovered the full secret life of Virginia Hall--an astounding and inspiring story of heroism, spycraft, resistance, and personal triumph over shocking adversity. It is the breathtaking story of how one woman's fierce persistence helped win the war. Suggested by Dawn Tripp, Research & Information Services

All the Horrors of War: a Jewish girl, a British doctor, and the liberation of Bergen-Belsen by Bernice Lerner Drawing on a wealth of sources, including Hughes's papers, war diaries, oral histories, and interviews, this gripping volume combines scholarly research with narrative storytelling in describing the suffering of Nazi victims, the overwhelming presence of death at Bergen-Belsen, and characters who exemplify the human capacity for fortitude. Lerner, Rachel's daughter, has special insight into the torment her mother suffered. The first book to pair the story of a Holocaust victim with that of a liberator, it compels readers to consider the full, complex humanity of both. Suggested by Katie Kirwan, Acquisitions & Collections

Data Feminism by Catherine D'Ignazio and Lauren F. Klein This book offers strategies for data scientists seeking to learn how feminism can help them work toward justice, and for feminists who want to focus their efforts on the growing field of data science. But it is about much more than gender. It is about power, about who has it and who doesn't, and about how those differentials of power can be challenged and changed. Suggested by Sandy Avila, Research & Information Services

Field o' My Dreams: the poetry of Gene Stratton-Porter compiled and edited by Mary DeJong Obuchowski In her introduction to Porter’s work, Obuchowski argues that the natural and spiritual themes of Porter’s poetry mirror the self-same concerns regarding nature and social issues found in her fiction and nonfiction. Reflecting and in some cases reacting against, current social attitudes at a time of political and demographic change, she was in demand as a columnist for popular magazines and a widely read fiction writer. Porter wielded considerable influence over her reading public, and in that role she acted as a reformer, particularly regarding the environment but also on behalf of women, children, and education. Suggested by Pat Tiberii, Interlibrary Loan and Document Delivery Services

Finish the Fight!: the brave and revolutionary women who fought for the right to vote written by the Staff of The New York Times Who was at the forefront of women's right to vote? We know a few famous names, like Susan B. Anthony and Elizabeth Cady Stanton, but what about so many others from diverse backgrounds—black, Asian, Latinx, Native American, and more—who helped lead the fight for suffrage? On the hundredth anniversary of the historic win for women's rights, it's time to celebrate the names and stories of the women whose stories have yet to be told. Suggested by Sandy Avila, Research & Information Services

Founding Sisters and the Nineteenth Amendment by Eleanor Clift In this riveting account, political analyst Eleanor Clift chronicles the many thrilling twists and turns of the suffrage struggle and shows how the issues and arguments that surrounded the movement still reverberate today. Beginning with the Seneca Falls Woman’s Rights Convention of 1848, Clift introduces the movement’s leaders, recounts the marches and demonstrations, and profiles the opposition–antisuffragists, both men and women, who would do anything to stop women from getting the vote. Suggested by Richard Harrison, Research & Information Services

Free Food for Millionaires by Min Jin Lee Casey Han's four years at Princeton gave her many things, "But no job and a number of bad habits." Casey's parents, who live in Queens, are Korean immigrants working in a dry cleaner, desperately trying to hold on to their culture and their identity. Their daughter, on the other hand, has entered into rarified American society via scholarships. But after graduation, Casey sees the reality of having expensive habits without the means to sustain them. As she navigates Manhattan, we see her life and the lives around her, culminating in a portrait of New York City and its world of haves and have-nots. This fresh exploration of the complex layers we inhabit both in society and within ourselves. Suggested by Sara Duff, Acquisitions & Collections

From Equal Suffrage to Equal Rights: Alice Paul and the National Woman's Party, 1910-1928 by Christine A. Lunardini The woman's movements and work in American history during the second two decades, was dramatic. It dealt with the past, with pageants and politics; with different organizations and with conflict from within. It took on the Democrats, founded a National Woman's Party; it waged a home front war. It dealt with prison, and resolution. It went from equal suffrage to equal rights. Suggested by Richard Harrison, Research & Information Services

Indelicacy by Amina Cain A cleaning woman at a museum of art nurtures aspirations to do more than simply dust the paintings around her. She dreams of having the liberty to explore them in writing, and so must find a way to win herself the time and security to use her mind. She escapes her lot by marrying a rich man, but having gained a husband, a house, high society, and a maid, she finds that her new life of privilege is no less constrained. Not only has she taken up different forms of time-consuming labor - social and erotic - but she is now, however passively, forcing other women to clean up after her. Perhaps another and more drastic solution is necessary? Suggested by Sara Duff, Acquisitions & Collections

See Jane Win: the inspiring story of the women changing American politics by Caitlin Moscatello After November 8, 2016, first came the sadness; then came the rage, the activism, and the protests; and, finally, for thousands of women, the next step was to run for office—many of them for the first time. More women campaigned for local or national office in the 2018 election cycle than at any other time in US history, challenging accepted notions about who seeks power and who gets it. Journalist Caitlin Moscatello reported on this wave of female candidates for New York magazine's The Cut, Glamour, and Elle. In this book, she further documents this pivotal time in women's history. Closely following four candidates throughout the entire process, from the decision to run through Election Day, readers are taken inside their exciting, winning campaigns and the sometimes thrilling, sometimes brutal realities of running for office while female. Suggested by Megan Haught, Student Learning & Engagement/Research & Information Services

Taking on the Trust: the epic battle of Ida Tarbell and John D. Rockefeller by Steve Weinberg Long before the rise of mega-corporations like Wal-Mart and Microsoft, Standard Oil controlled the oil industry with a monopolistic force unprecedented in American business history. Undaunted by the ruthless power of its owner, John D. Rockefeller, a fearless and ambitious reporter named Ida Minerva Tarbell confronted the company known simply as “The Trust.” Through her peerless fact gathering and devastating prose, Tarbell, a muckraking reporter at McClure’s magazine, pioneered the new practice of investigative journalism. Her shocking discoveries about Standard Oil and Rockefeller led, inexorably, to a dramatic confrontation during the opening decade of the twentieth century that culminated in the landmark 1911 Supreme Court antitrust decision breaking up the monopolies and forever altering the landscape of modern American industry. Suggested by Dawn Tripp, Research & Information Services

The Book of Gutsy Women: favorite stories of courage and resilience by Hillary Rodham Clinton and Chelsea Clinton Hillary Rodham Clinton and her daughter, Chelsea, share the stories of the gutsy women who have inspired them—women with the courage to stand up to the status quo, ask hard questions, and get the job done. Ensuring the rights and opportunities of women and girls remains a big piece of the unfinished business of the twenty-first century. While there's a lot of work to do, we know that throughout history and around the globe women have overcome the toughest resistance imaginable to win victories that have made progress possible for all of us. That is the achievement of each of the women in this book. To us, they are all gutsy women -- leaders with the courage to stand up to the status quo, ask hard questions, and get the job done. So in the moments when the long haul seems awfully long, we hope you will draw strength from these stories. Because if history shows one thing, it's that the world needs gutsy women. Suggested by Richard Harrison, Research & Information Services

The Good Fight by Shirley Chisholm Chisholm describes being the first woman, and first black woman, to run for President, and how politicians operate. She writes about her relationships with black political leaders Walter Fauntroy, Louis Stokes, Ron Dellums, and Julian Bond. She gives her views on what direction black politics should take in the years to come. Suggested by Megan Haught, Student Learning & Engagement/Research & Information Services

Unapologetic: a Black, queer, and feminist mandate for radical movements by Charlene A. Carruthers Drawing on Black intellectual and grassroots organizing traditions, including the Haitian Revolution, the US civil rights movement, and LGBTQ rights and feminist movements, Carruthers challenges all of us engaged in the social justice struggle to make the movement for Black liberation more radical, more queer, and more feminist. She offers a flexible model of what deeply effective organizing can be, anchored in the Chicago model of activism, which features long-term commitment, cultural sensitivity, creative strategizing, and multiple cross-group alliances. Suggested by Megan Haught, Student Learning & Engagement/Research & Information Services

Unmarriageable by Soniah Kamal In this retelling of Pride and Prejudice set in modern-day Pakistan, Alys Binat has sworn never to marry--until an encounter with one Mr. Darsee at a wedding makes her reconsider. A scandal and vicious rumor in the Binat family have destroyed their fortune and prospects for desirable marriages, but Alys, the second and most practical of the five Binat daughters, has found happiness teaching English literature to schoolgirls. Knowing that many of her students won't make it to graduation before dropping out to marry and start having children, Alys teaches them about Jane Austen and her other literary heroes and hopes to inspire them to dream of more. Suggested by Sara Duff, Acquisitions & Collections

#ucflibrary #featured bookshelf #women's history month #booklr #reading list #tumblarians

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oneweekoneband · 4 years ago

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charming, if a little gauche: the taylor swift story

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“the last great american dynasty” is a song that no other pop star could make or, more to the point, would want to make, and as the third track on folklore it marked the spot in my very first listen—sweaty and embarrassingly strung out sitting in the cab of a pickup at the third place where we’d tried to find wifi—at which I let myself vault over the ledge, out of my cautious remove, and into real excitement for what this album might hold.

This is a song that Taylor Swift wrote about Rebekah Harkness, the ballet-obsessed socialite who married into the Standard Oil family (”the wedding was charming, if a little gauche” Taylor sings, and I scream.) then lived, fifty years ago, in the Rhode Island beach house Swift now owns. It is—and on this matter there can be no argument—the horniest song on the album. Taylor is absolutely jazzed out of her WASPy little gourd over this woman, this house, this grand, cyclical American story she imagines herself as part of. Does Taylor actually want to fuck her house and/or the ghost of the woman who once owned it? Well, that’s not for me to say. But the idea of them very evidently gets her going, and her zeal is infectious. She’s so clearly been bursting to indulge this passion, to memorialize this house, and I’m grateful that fate or timing made it so that she didn’t do it until now, until Aaron Dessner provided her with these specific instrumentals, because the combination is divine.

Taylor Swift in the Disney+ documentary Folklore: The Long Pond Sessions confirming that her psychosexual obsession with Holiday House is longstanding.

“the last great american dynasty” relates in colorful detail the life of Mrs. Harkness, who became a widow at just thirty-nine ("the doctor had told him to settle down / it must have been her fault his heart gave out") then used the remaining years to spend her late husband’s fortune in the most lavish ways possible. Rebekah, Taylor tells us, "Filled the pool with champagne / And swam with the big names / Blew through the money on the boys and the ballet” and, again, her total, perfect thrill with this story, with the fact of living in the house this woman once misbehaved in so egregiously as to be an affront to all her stuffy Rhode Island neighbors, is evident throughout. The song is wonderful, good fun, sounds great, feels insane, and then at the quintessentially excellent bridge Taylor pulls a pivot that should be completely noxious, but is, in practice, anything but. Wryly, she inserts herself into the song at the final stretch. “Fifty years is a long time / Holiday House sat quietly on that beach / Free of women with madness / Their men and bad habits / And then it was bought by me”. When, “She had a marvelous time ruining everything”, transforms into, “I had a marvelous time ruining everything” I almost clap. I have clapped. It’s all unbearably cute, and in every word there is sonic evidence of Taylor’s pleasure at her own cleverness, but unfortunately it’s so good that there isn’t even really any room left on the private beaches of one’s heart cavity wherein to be annoyed at having been got by a Taylor Swift bridge once again.

Honestly............Taylor is like two decades max from this.

Though Swift was born in Pennsylvania and came of age in Tennessee, the idea that she’d take instinctively to the blue blood fantasy of wealthy New England is no surprise. It’s unclear whether there’s ever been another person alive who radiates such Big Connecticut Energy while, in fact, not being from Connecticut at all. Watch Hill, Rhode Island made perfect sense to me, in fact, for Taylor, because it not only, at $17 mil cash, made her the owner of the most expensive private home in the entire (extremely small) state, but brings with the choice a kind of self-satisfied dignity. Not being one of the more popular East Coast seaside destinations for the rich and famous, like Martha’s Vineyard or Nantucket, or even The Hamptons, stylishly insists that you must really be trying to get away. The house is classically lovely and has a big yard with a pool and flag pole that extends high into the blue to look down over the plebeians in the sand.

Being myself a natural born daughter of the New England states, albeit of a considerably less pristine stripe than the denizens of Watch Hill, I have spent countless day trips and weekends at the Misquamicut State Beach just a few miles down the coast in Westerly, the town that Taylor’s village (”village” ...Rich people are so weird) is a part of. Not long after Taylor moved in, I was there at the beach with my mother, and my sister, and my mother’s sisters, and whatever other beer-filled bodies might have been around, a whole hoard, and we were lounging on fanned out bed sheets in front of a restaurant called Paddy’s where you can get a blue rum-based cocktail in a plastic fish bowl. I was nursing a sprained ankle that summer, and still a week or two from being fully well, but I wanted to see Taylor’s house up close, so we walked along the water’s edge until we got close enough to snap a photo for posterity, and to see that Taylor was using around the property custom no trespassing signs which read, “I Knew You Were Trouble When You Walked In”. When someone who is very rich, popular, talented, basically has everything going for them, could buy and sell you and everyone you’ve ever known, etc., makes a stupendously bad joke it is a moral imperative that you tell as many people about that as possible, and so with love in my heart, even, I share this fact now. People had their towels right up against the edge of her sea wall, like a geographic version of the nervous game, but almost as soon I arrived, it was time to limp back to the land of the mortals.

Your hero in 2014 standing in front of the saltbox house on the coast that took Rebekah Harkness’ mind off St. Louis

The pleasures on offer in “the last great american dynasty” are almost too many to name, and all of them so specifically, distinctly, freakishly, bona fide Grade A Taylor Swift, wonderful and grating not separately, one then the other, but both the whole time, and all at once. Taylor saying “gauche”; Taylor telling a story about this dead woman she has a gigantic crush on once dyeing a neighbor’s dog green; Taylor invoking the phrase “middle class divorcee”; Taylor using the word “bitch” affectionately. Even Taylor’s actual vocals, which have been, at times, the notable weak spot in her rigorously streamlined overall package, sound really, genuinely lovely here, and as spirited as ever. The song is laden with Taylor’s remarkable self-righteous belief that by purchasing a multi million dollar home in tony Watch Hill she was somehow “ruining everything”, when she was born and bred for enclaves like that long before she had any number one hits, and actually the only major problem was people thought it was poor form for her to rebuild the huge seawall around the property, even though it was her right, and she was able to do it without issue. To know that Taylor, raised wealthy, imagines herself somehow persecuted as insufficiently chic in Watch Hill for having, by way of immense pop superstardom, multiplied many times over the riches to which she was born, brings me a great and uncomplicated joy. It is a train of thought so wholly unrelatable as to seem plucked wholesale from a work of magical realism, and that happens to be exactly the feeling I want most from a Taylor Swift song. My one and only criticism of “the last great american dynasty” is that, if you’re not right on top of the skip button, it bleeds directly into the Bon Iver duet “exile”, which does kill the vibe, but, well, nobody’s perfect.

The defense rests.

#taylor swift #folklore

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wordsiwishispoke · 3 years ago

Text

it’s a long story

i don’t expect anyone to read this but i have some things i need to say. i’m not posting this for sympathy i just need to tell my story even if no one is here to listen.

tw // rape, drugs, alcohol, depression, eating disorders, self harm

i have grown up quite a bit since i made this account, i am no longer the 13 year old girl who thought life couldn’t get worse, i am almost 21 and i know now that it can always get worse and hopefully one day it will get better but today is not that day.

i grew up privileged i won’t deny that, i always had a roof over my head, food on the table, and money for new clothes and whatever else i wanted but life has still not been kind and i’m sure many people can relate.

i am scarred and bruised.

i was young when i learned life was a disappointing mess, my mom decided i was fat in 2nd grade and put me on my first diet, in fourth grade she took me to every nutritionist she could find and forced me to start a food journal. she jumped me from one diet to another, from gluten free to keto to only drinking protein shakes for weeks on end to weight watchers meals. she compared me to all my friends, clothing was always “unflattering” to my figure or didn’t help me look “slim” i was never the skinny friend, i was never the pretty girl.

i remember the first trip to the nutritionist when she had me get on the scale, i was terrified of the number. i was only 10 and i made every excuse for the number, my hair was wet, my clothes were heavy, my bracelet was heavier than it looked, whatever else i could say to explain why the number was what it was. i wasn’t even fat just terrified everyone would think i was. not only was the doctor staring at me, i felt surrounded, my mom was there, my dad was there, the nurse was there too and i just remember the feeling of the number defining me.

my dad got a job in another city and life was never the same and neither was our relationship, he missed me growing up, he wasn’t there for me. i felt so alone.

in middle school i started pulling out my eyelashes and instead of caring about me she shamed me and told everyone. there. was a point when she bought me mascara to remind me of how pretty i could be with eyelashes. she would yell at me saying it was embarrassing for her, i don’t remember exactly when i stopped but she hasn’t mentioned it since.

i turned to the internet for any acceptance i could get, sending old men pictures of me before i was even a teenager, “dating” anyone online who even give me the time of day. i turned to fandom culture and was groomed by countless 18+ fans who i’d have to talk out of suicide every other night feeling like their lives were something i was responsible for. i thought this is what adults do but i was just a compliant victim letting these adults use me as their therapist and sexting them before i’d even had my first kiss.

all through high school i starved myself and stayed up till 2am doing any Pinterest workout i could find trying to reach a bullshit standard i had for myself only to gain more weight and feel even worse about my body, every day i still battle with food.

i carved into my skin with anything sharp i could find just to feel something even if it was pain but nothing helped.

i used to pray that i would get kidnapped just so someone would starve me till i was nothing more than skin and bones. i would hope for any illness that would take the fat off my body.

in college i was raped, i was drugged, i was betrayed by my closest friends, i was taken for granted by someone who i thought was my best friend, i was bullied for my body, and i struggle with my sexuality. i was told by police that i couldn’t possibly be drugged and i sat there unable to move as they tried to handcuff me for underage drinking luckily my dorm RA stepped in and they gave me a warning but it wasn’t before the police could call my mother and tell her that her 17 year old daughter was drunk. she told all her friends and family.

and i haven’t even fucking graduated yet

i thought no one would ever notice me enough to want to have sex with me so i put myself in these situations like i was begging for someone to hurt me, and someone listened, he stole my innocence and he left me bleeding and alone. he watched me cry as he yelled at me to finish him. i mean what is a 17 year old girl to do when she thinks she’s getting what she deserves. i did it to myself really, i decided that life wasn’t worth anything unless a man deemed me worthy of sex. even when i begged him to stop and pleaded for him to listen and he didn’t, i knew i deserved it.

i had been craving someone to want me and he did.

i was so glad that i wasn’t a “virgin” anymore that i ignored the complete disgust i felt, i ignored what he did to me, what he took from me. i explained it away and never told a soul.

things have only gotten worse with my father, he’s never said he’s proud of me, he calls me stupid and refuses to listen to a word i say. i hope one day i am more than the little girl he left to alone 5 days out of the week because work was just more important. i hope he feels bad for missing my sports games and parent teacher nights. “but i’m always there for the important things” but there were more important things than just graduation and weekends. i had choir showcases, theater performances, dance competitions, nationals, science fairs, spelling bees, and so much more that he never showed up to.

for better or worse my mother was always there, every scrape, every tear (even the ones she caused), every performance, and parent teacher night.

for the first time in years i took a blade to my skin tonight and i watched as the blood came through my skin, i just feel like i’m in this endless loop of emptiness and i’m unable to feel anything.

i feel like most of my life has been a cry for help that no one can hear.

i have never known love and sometimes i don’t think i ever will maybe it’s just not in the cards for me. i fear that i don’t know how to love, i think i’ll never find someone who i can feel comfortable with enough to love.

i bury myself in fiction and obsess over fictional characters and famous people. who will never know i exist because there no commitment there, i’ll never actually have intimate moments with them or expect them to care when i need help.

i traded blowing bubbles for smoking cigarettes, i traded lines of chalk on the cement for lines of cocaine, i traded my innocence for something i can never get back.

friday nights turned from dinners with my mom to drowning my problems with alcohol and listening to loud music i couldn’t be bothered to learn the words to.

i used to be so bright and warm but i can feel the light slipping and the cold taking over.

I am filled with these unanswered questions and unsaid thoughts, never did i think i would be here.

i guess my story is no different than thousands of others, i am not special, i am not an exception, but i am me and even when i wish i wasn’t i cannot change my past i can only try to overcome it.

maybe someone reading this can relate and feel just a little less alone or maybe no one will read this but i hope that everyone knows that their story doesn’t define them and i’m tired of letting mine define me.

#short story #me #vent #quotes #love #family #my story #youre doing amazing sweetie #be sad with me #sad #sad stuff #long reads #you're valid #you're not alone

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vitosscaletta · 4 years ago

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personality + relationships for julia & background + relationships for lucia 😌

rips you off and makes banners <3

PERSONALITY

What’s their alignment?

chaotic good/neutral. more neutral/lawful later on

Which one of the 16 Personality Types do they fit into?

Not looking at it in-depth but entj 😳

What are their hobbies and interests? Do they have any particular “favorites” (food, books, and so on)?

Writing obviously... Mostly her little newspaper articles though, she’s not creative enough to write fiction :/ Other than that she likes to read, mostly the standard literature of the time (she’s a big fan of Ernest Hemingway.. 😳) or some of her mom’s old stuff and a few other columnists she looks up to :) Also medical books her dad has in their living room. She reads those too. She also picked up sewing at some point in the late 20′s/early30′s but she’s kinda. whatever about it. Mostly did it when she couldn’t afford new clothes and tried to change the silhouette of her old stuff

What are they bad at?

Driving 😔 she’s not... bad... she’ll just yell at anyone for no reason and break speed limit all the time

Do they have any vices/addictions/mental illnesses?

No lol but she smokes... sometimes 😒

What are their goals and motivations?

God she’s ambitious as hell and it has mostly to do with her job... she wants to be a famous journalist or something but most of all to be taken seriously? Insert that saying about having to work twice as hard as a man to get half as much respect. Besides that, she also believes whatever she puts out into the world could somehow change things for the better :) It’s a little naive so she’d never tell people but.

What are their manners like? Any habits?

Her manners are.. good? But she’s chatty and won’t shut up and says whatever is on her mind so

RELATIONSHIPS

Do they have any friends? Would they consider anyone to be their best friend?

She’s friends with almost everyone at Salieri’s (except Frank ig just because I couldn’t see them interacting much.. and Vinny..) and mostly just hangs out with them, she doesn’t really interact with other people anymore. Friend group that consists almost exclusively of italians <3 Her best friends are Olive and Sarah, maybe also Carlo since he always hangs around the bar too while the others are doing idk mafia things and plays cards with them :/ She’s friends with the other guys too though. Including Ralphie to some degree, she feels sorry that everyone makes fun of him... then laughs at whatever mean shit the others say about him and feels bad about it 😔

What’s their love life like? (See also: ship question meme.) Do they have any kids?

Oh you know 🙄 has a stupid little crush on Sam because she likes evil men i guess... idk what to say because there’s. A lot. They hold hands on her dads couch, get together like a year later because hes a freak etc. You know how it ends in canon but in the sexy superior au they get married in 1939/1940 something but nothing changes bc she was living in his crappy little italy apartment anyway :) also no kids god..

Who do they look up to? Who do they trust?

Hmmm mostly her parents. Yes her dad is a crooked doctor but she wants to be like that too... He ends up in prison in the canon timeline though :c Also her late mother... she was an author (not a well-known one lmao) who died in the late 1910s :/ She trusts uhhh.. her dad and her friends I suppose.. her close friends.

Who do they hate? Do they have any enemies?

She dislikes/hates a lot of random people because she’s petty but has no real enemies? Maybe Morello & his gang but just because everyone else does.. She has the exact same opinion on him as Salieri so whenever he talks shit she’s like “haha YEAH! >:(”... then he goes crazy in the end :/

Do they have any pets?

Yes, a cat :) his name is Louie

Are they good with kids? Animals?

With kids... yeah, to some degree? She’s the cool aunt who teaches kids swear words like “oh nuts” and tells them (child-friendly versions of) stories about her mafia friends but she’s not really someone who could take care of a child all day 🙄 Animals... yeah? She’s good with cats but probably nothing else

BACKGROUND

Where were they born? What was their childhood like?

She was born in Parlermo in the 1920s but her family moved to america when she was very young so she has no memory of her old home :/ They weren’t very well off in sicily and that didn’t change when they moved, her parents worked shitty jobs with low pay so they didn’t have much & lived in some ugly little apartment in little italy with their three kids... Lucia had to take care of her brothers most of the time because her parents both worked.. and was usually the one who had to beat the other kids’ asses when they got into trouble with any of them 😒 She spent most of the free time she had studying and doing things for school so she could get a proper job and wouldn’t end up like her parents or whatever

What’s their family like?

Her parents like I said are both from Sicily.. her dad is a mechanic and mostly worked in some little garage. The earning wasn’t that bad for the time but he made a few debts to the bank (and other people trying to pay those off) in the 1930s so you know :/ Her mom worked part-time in some random store lol.. they loved her obviously but they were very strict and had a billion expectations while also not really being around enough. They do support her trying to do well in school, mayyyyybe also going to college and all that but still expect her to get married instead of pursuing a career in the end so she can become a proper housewife 😒 She also has two younger brothers, Antonio and Frank.. they’re closer and like i said... Lucia is the cooler older sister who beats up the other kids who mess with them. They don’t have much lore but.. they exist..

What factions or organizations are they a part of? What ranks and titles do they hold?

None... idk.... empire bay library where she works in the late 40′s/early 50s :) she initially just works there as a librarian but becomes an archivist in 1950 something.

How do they fit into their “story”?

Just like Mia, she’s Vito & Joe’s friend from childhood.. dumb teenage antics that end after high school and they grow apart while Vito is in the army and Joe does... crime things. She’s just doing her own thing until the like 2 months where Vito isnt in prison.. where she has to drive his ass home after he & Joe robbed that one jewelry store :^) also they all meet up again in 1951, life is good for 3 months

Where do they currently live? What’s their place like?

Some crappy little apartment complex in Westside except her apartment looks nice 😌 it’s nothing fancy but it’s cozy and nice, lots of books lying around (there’s a system to it according to her), some old furniture mixed with new mid-century style ones. She has a little sunburst clock hanging there.

How do they eventually die?

Uhhh probably just of old age... in a swamp..

RELATIONSHIPS

Do they have any friends? Would they consider anyone to be their best friend?

Her childhood friend group that I mentioned, consisting of Vito, Joe and Mia :) They all lived in the same crappy neighborhood and went to school together.. Apparently Joe was the neighborhood bully whch is funny as hell to me but also. Lucia got into his “gang” when he picked on her little brother and she threatened to beat his ass.. meanwhile Vito actually had to do that to get into their group lmao. They met Mia like two years later in church and all became friends when Lucia helped her out in school 😳 She’d definitely consider Mia her best friend, they still hung out after their little friend group fell apart :(

She’s also friends with Giuliana and by association Henry (not really she just hears about him from like everyone)

What’s their friend group like? What role do they play in it?

godd obviously she wasn’t the one who started shit but she gladly went along with whatever stupid bullshit the others were doing. She’s supposed to be the responsible smart one or something but she’s not... she’s the one who causes more trouble to help the others somehow 😌 Shoplifting antics

She started being responsible after graduating high school when her parents told her to do something with her life so she’s like... “time to stop hanging out with criminals and focus on college...”. she really misses it though :(

What’s their love life like? (See also: ship question meme.) Do they have any kids?

Ahem.... she and Vito.... Childhood friends to lovers 😌 they were just friends in high school & she thought she’d never see him again after he got arrested but she does in 1945. Then he gets arrested again :)) Uhh she probably briefly dated a few people during that time but nothing ever came out of it. They get together in 1951 though but i cant talk about my mafia ships here or I’ll combust. They also probably have kids idk yet.. they look like kids people

Who do they look up to? Who do they trust?

She trusts..... her friends. and her brothers. Doesn’t really look up to her parents though because that’s exactly what she doesn’t want to be :(

Who do they hate? Do they have any enemies?

She doesn’t have any enemies she just hates some random people by association (the irish gang, some random mafia men she doesnt know)

Do they have any pets?

Two cats. Ocs by me owning cats cinematic universe

Are they good with kids? Animals?

Yes, she’s good with both :)

#THANK YOU 💗💗💗 sorry this took ages.. gets distracted from ask meme you sent by talking to you in dms #the gc too actually #c: julia #c: lucia #mafia 1 brain activated #ok also getting a solid feeling on Lucia now.. :)#jennystahl

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