#it got me through 2012 like nobody's business

[dredshirtroberts]

FAVORITE MOVIE IS ACCESSIBLE AGAIN GOING TO BE INCREDIBLY UNWELL ABOUT A FILM FROM 1997 FOR A WHILE PROBABLY

[f1bordeaux]

Landslide | cs55

"Even children get older, And I'm getting older too" Life moves on, pretty quickly at that. Your last night with Carlos is one that you'll both remember forever. Even years later when he fulfills his biggest wishes. Warnings: Suggestive content, heated make out sesh lol, sadness, happy/unhappy ending? Mostly unhappy Pairings: Carlos Sainz x Reader(y/n) Word Count: 4.2k Poetry style | Story style A/n: I LOVEEEEEE Landslide by fleetwood mac and the way this song hits you when you're about to move out-UGGHHHHHH I wrote the first half of this then went out, got drunk as fuck, woke up and wrote the rest of it with a hangover, so forgive me if there are any errors. Anyways, enjoy this internal dread i'm feeling turned into a FanFic. Growing up is so weird, isn't it?

I took my love, I took it down I climbed a mountain and I turned around And I saw my reflection in the snow-covered hills 'Til the landslide brought me down

2012.

“¡Sainz joder!” He turned around to look, a smile splitting his lips. Antonio had a frying pan in his hand as the two of you ran through his kitchen. Carlos’ hand squeezed yours with so much force that you wondered if it would bruise. It didn’t hurt, though. In that moment, nothing mattered but that damn smile that Carlos carried. “¡Anda, anda!”

Finally, you reached the back door of the kitchen. Carlos used his whole body to push it open, hoping that nobody would be on the other side. Luckily, the alleyway was empty, save for an employee sitting on a bucket smoking a cigarette. Carlos kept running and you had no choice but to keep up-your hands were still intertwined after all.

Antonio ran out the door, stopping as he watched you two make your grand get away. “Bastard! I ought to tell your father! And your father too, young lady!”

It was the same threat he used every time you and Carlos cut through his kitchen. I’m going to tell your fathers that you two are devious children! He’d say. He never did, though. Antonio was a friend to both yours and Carlos’ parents. He could if he wanted to, but he didn’t. For over ten years, you and Carlos would walk into his restaurant-situated on a busy Madrid street-and slowly sneak your way into the kitchen. Sometimes, when he wasn’t there, the waiters and cooks would just let you freely pass. But, more often than not, he was there and it suddenly became an obstacle course of running past cooks, dodging frying pans and slipping between shelves. It was worth it, however. A small, secret alleyway that was blocked off by a fence from the main road laid on the other side of the restaurant.

On the left-the building that Antonio’s restaurant was in-was a fire escape. It spanned up ten stories to an abandoned rooftop bar. Over the years, Carlos would bring small objects up there. Pillows, blankets, a small folding table, a few boxes to keep the stuff safe. He had the place designed to his liking-like it was his house or something. He’d put string lights up there too, giving the space a dreamy, photogenic atmosphere. So many nights were spent underneath the abandoned bar. You’d slept there a handful of times. You’d gotten drunk for the first time there, too. That space was yours and his. It was Carlos and y/n’s spot; everyone knew it.

So, as you and Carlos climbed the fire escape, it was hard to believe this was the last time the two of you would be spending the night up there together. It made you nauseous to think about.

“Try not to look so down.” Carlos chuckled as the two of you kept climbing the stairs. He could read you like a book, obviously he saw how upset you were. “Let's enjoy tonight.”

“Easier said than done, Carlos.” He stopped suddenly, your chest running into his backpack. His hands grabbed your shoulders and he-shook you? “Carlos stop it!”

“Sorry I was just trying to get the idea that I’m leaving you out of your brain.” He said, dropping his hands.

“But you are.” You said, evoking a sigh from him. Before he could apologize-which you knew he was about to do-you shook your head. “Listen, I’m so excited for you, Carlos, but-I don’t know. Life is going to be so different without you in it.”

“I’ll still be in it, mi novia. It’s not like I’m dying.”

“But Carlos, you’d always come home to Madrid after a race. You’d always be back to see me. We would work on school work together. I’d come to your races sometimes.” You sighed, looking at the metal ground beneath you. “But I’ll be in college and you’ll be in the British Formula 3 now. That's a massive step up. And when you do come back to Madrid, I won't be here.”

He didn’t speak, not for a while. The two of you just stood there, in the Spanish heat, looking at the ground. Life would never be the same. He couldn’t say anything to deny that. Tomorrow night, he would be catching a flight to London, and at the same time, you would be catching a flight to the United States. You’d both leave behind Madrid and only ever return as guests to your hometown. Maybe your rooftop hideaway would go untouched. Maybe some new children would find it and claim it as their own. They’d find the boxes that said, Carlito&Muneca, in sharpie and wonder what those names meant. Maybe they’d sort through your things, maybe they’d turn on the string lights and gasp at how beautiful the place looked.

Being eighteen was weird. You didn’t like it too much.

“Let's go, y/n.” Carlos grabbed your hand once again, pulling you up the fire escape. Three more flights awaited you. The sunset had just begun, but the primary color in the sky was still blue. You could still hear car horns from nearby streets. The air was still warm. The two of you were still young. At least for tonight you were.

Once you reached the top Carlos stepped aside, allowing you to take in the scene.

Oh, mirror in the sky What is love?

The spot on the stage where Carlos and you normally sang and danced to his iPod Nano was now completely redecorated. There was a plush blanket, pillows, a pizza box, and those damn string lights you loved were hanging from the roof. A small card was on one of the pillows. It was, of course, addressed to you in Carlos’ fanciest writing.

Anyone would think that this was a romantic gesture. But you two were best friends. Since birth, really. Not a day went by without conversation between the two of you. Carlos was your soulmate. Of course you had crushes on him here and there-he was hot, funny, caring, charming; you could go on and on. But you never acted on it. Keeping him around was better than losing him.

“Carlos,” You cupped your mouth with your hands. It was beautiful. “When did you-Is that pizza from Antonio’s?”

Carlos laughed, amused that the first thing you pointed out was the food. “Yeah,” He said. “He’s pretty sad that he won't see us around town anymore, either.”

Your heart sank. Right. That's why this was all set up-as a final goodbye. In the few moments of excitement and shock that filled your body upon seeing all this, you had forgotten that tonight was it. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Vamos, let's eat.”

That you did. Carlos and you sat at the bar and ate, watching as the sun sank lower and lower over the city skyline. Somewhere along the way, he pulled some liquor out of his backpack. You two drank and talked, reminiscing over everything the last eighteen years had brought. That one time you spent the night at his house and started a small fire in the kitchen-from then on sleepovers were at your house. That one time you two took a day trip to the beach and Carlos’ foot brushed a stingray's back. That one time you were at one of his races and a driver started hitting on you, so Carlos punched him in the jaw and got suspended for three races. That one time a wild hare was in your guest bathroom and your parents weren’t home so you called him over to help and you trapped it in your mother’s favorite cooking pot. That one time he lost a bet and went streaking through his neighborhood in the middle of winter.

The two of you were hunched over in laughter, your abdomens cramping from how hard you were laughing. Carlos wiped a tear away from his eye. “And remember Mrs. Nunez? She saw me that night and sprayed me with her garden hose!”

You sniffled. “Like why was she awake at five am? And why was she gardening?”

“Literally! I was fucking freezing. The scream that came from my mouth after that-”

You both mocked his scream at the same time, laughing even harder as you remembered the old lady’s shocked face from that night. Slowly, you both started calming down, giggling as you remembered the streaking ordeal. Carlos took a sip from his beer. You drank from your rum and Coke. It was darker now, still not pitch black, but darker. You looked up into the sky, watching as clouds rolled by.

“What am I going to do without you?” Carlos asked. You looked back down. He was staring right at you, bringing the beer bottle back up to his plush lips. “Can’t you just quit college and travel with me?”

You scoffed. “And be what? Your trophy bestfriend?”

“Trophy wife?”

You swore that your heart stopped beating. Wife? As in marriage? Obviously he wasn’t being serious, right? Carlos was a playboy. He’d had plenty of girlfriends in his lifetime. From your past observations, you weren’t his type at all. He preferred dolled up girls, ones with fake blonde hair and exquisite makeup. He preferred high heels and short, skin tight dresses. He preferred long nails and longer lashes. Synthetic beauty. You were far from that. When you put on makeup, it was simple. You dolled yourself up, yes, but everything about you was natural. From your hair color to your nail length. You were a natural beauty-something Carlos had never indulged in.

“Very funny,” You smiled as you took another drink.

“What?”

You blinked very slowly at him. “Us getting married? Sure.”

He shrugged. “Why not? You don’t love me?”

“Of course I love you, Carlito.” You tried using his nickname to deescalate the situation. “But you would never marry me.”

“Bold assumption.”

Was he drunk? Or, was he shooting his shot because tonight was it? This was quite possibly his last chance, was he taking it? Was he working you up so you’d miss him more? God, this was confusing. “Carlos-”

Before you could even say another word, he was leaning forward to kiss you. His lips were warm on yours, a side effect of the alcohol you were sure. His lips were so soft, so large, so perfect. They pulled yours in with such ease, such delicacy-almost like you were fine China. His free hand came to your jaw, thumb resting on your cheek.

He pulled away first, much to your surprise. There was about half a beer left in his bottle. He downed it before speaking again. “I’m sorry, y/n. I don’t know why I thought that was ok.”

Your teeth pulled your bottom lip in. You’d just kissed Carlos, something you only ever dreamed about.

Can the child within my heart rise above? Can I sail through the changin' ocean tides?

You reached out, both palms resting on his cheeks this time, pulling him in for another kiss. Fuck it, you thought. This was a new dynamic between the two of you, but it was one that younger you would be ecstatic about.

This time, there was more hunger behind the kiss. Carlos understood this was something you wanted, and you now understood this was something he wanted. His tongue slipped between your lips, finding a home in your mouth. His hands wrapped around your neck, not applying any pressure, just applying warmth. You felt so warm, so satisfied. This was finally happening. Why couldn’t it have happened two years ago?

Carlos pulled away again, gasping for air while resting his forehead on yours. “Come here, hermosa.”

You got off your barstool and sat on his lap, your chest flush to his. The two of you resumed your makeout session, his hands roaming your back, your hands draped around his neck. You moaned into the kiss once his large fingers snuck beneath the fabric of your shirt and touched your hot skin. It was electrifying, it was new, it was so good.

You could feel the bulge in his lap pressed against your thigh. His kisses turned sloppy, his hands moved quicker, his breath grew shorter. It was obvious he was growing impatient with you sitting right there. He was hungry for you. He only wanted you.

His lips attacked your collarbone, leaving little bitemarks and wet spots across your skin. You ran your hands across his broad shoulders, leaning your head back as he created a constellation across your chest. The night air was cold, the sky was now completely dark. The string lights were off, but the glow from the city provided enough light for you to see Carlos at work. He looked so good, so handsome, so perfect.

He chuckled into your skin, the vibrations causing you to shiver. He involuntarily thrusted his hips up, grunting as he did so. You hung your head on his shoulder as he composed himself. “Wrap your legs around me when I stand up, ok?”

You could only nod, feeling gravity shift as he rose to his feet. You did as you were instructed, his arm coming to your lower back for support. Your chest was pressed so deep into his that you wondered if two humans could possibly get closer than this. You really wished your shirts were off so you could feel his skin on yours.

Softly, Carlos laid you down on the makeshift bed. It was more comfortable than you imagined it would be, but maybe your mind was too clouded with lust to be rational. You were focused on Carlos and only Carlos.

A gasp pushed past your lips, not because of anything Carlos did, but because of a loud and sudden explosion. The sky lights up in colors of reds and yellows, blues and purples, greens and oranges. Sparks quite literally fly as fireworks rip through the once still air. Carlos is beside you now, watching the sky with such intensity you wonder if he has ever seen a firework before.

“It’s Saint James Day.” He says to himself.

You’re pulling the covers up to your chest as you catch the small, toothy smile that he holds. He pulls his knees up and rests his elbows on them. You’re amazed at how quickly his attention changed from you to the fireworks.

“You had no idea?” You ask. “I knew there would be fireworks but I didn’t know they’d be close enough for us to see.”

Carlos shook his head. “I didn’t know, no.” He looked back over to you, that smile still on his lips. “What a way to spend our last night in Spain.”

Your heart stops beating. It’s like he was hellbent on reminding you that this was it.

Slowly, he reached for your jaw once again, bringing you in for a kiss. It was soft, it was gentle. It was reminiscent of the first kiss the two of you shared only a few minutes ago. Never, you thought, do I want this to end. It did, however. Everything has a beginning and an end. The circle begins when you place your pen on the page and it stops when you’ve finished drawing it. The story begins at birth and appears like it ends on a rooftop in Madrid-semi naked with fireworks in the background.

The fireworks carry on for a few more minutes. They seem to illustrate photos in the sky. Carlos sees it, too. He pulls out his phone to snap a quick photo before turning it to you. This goes unnoticed, you’re too preoccupied in watching the show before you. He snaps a candid photo of your side profile. It was one he would cherish for the rest of his life, even if it was low quality and dark.

When the sky falls dark once more, the sound of cars below once again filling your ears, Carlos turns his whole body to you. “I love you, y/n.”

Can I handle the seasons of my life? Well, I've been afraid of changin' 'Cause I've built my life around you But time makes you bolder Even children get older

And this time, it feels different. It feels like there is a non-platonic meaning to the sentence he says everyday. Carlos has been telling you he loved you since the two of you could speak. Everytime you two say goodbye his last words are, “I love you.” Every time he’s overjoyed with you he says, “I love you.” Every gift you’ve ever given him has been opened as he says, “I love you.” Every time you run into his garage after a good or bad race he greets you with, “I love you.” You begin to wonder if you’ve missed some signs along the way-if you were too immersed in the thought that, he would never date you, to realize he’s been fighting for you all along.

He answers your question when he speaks again. “All I've ever wanted in life was you. I knew that at the end of the day, I’d be alright as long as you were there, y/n. After a bad race, you were standing there waiting for me and I realized that it isn’t the end of the world. After a bad breakup, you were there to tell me that I’m not a douchebag and I’m actually a good person. After people told me I could never make it big in racing, you stood proud as my number one fan and forced me to carry on with my head held high.”

Your throat begins to burn. This was goodbye. This was Carlos’ confession.

“I have loved you for such a long time, y/n. It’s always been you. I have always wanted you.” No. “I have never clicked so well with someone. I have never thought someone was so beautiful as you. You don’t even have to try, either! You’re just so,”

He trails off, looking straight ahead at the city. His eyes glisten. You wonder if he’s about to cry. You know you’re one more word away from crying.

“I don’t know how I'm supposed to be ok after a bad day without you there to hold me.”

That does it. You hold a hand over your mouth as tears pour down your cheeks. They’re hot, but they aren't the same warmth that Carlos radiates. They’re painfully hot, his touch was pleasantly hot. You’ll have to learn to live with one and not the other, however.

“Carlos,” You choke out. He doesn’t turn to look at you, just staring straight ahead as tears of his own trickle down his cheeks. “Oh, Carlos.”

“This sucks.” He says.

“This sucks.” You repeat.

It sucks. Saying goodbye sucks. Leaving your hometown that you love so dearly sucks. Leaving your best friend sucks. What will become of the two of you? Will Carlos still love you? Will he return to Madrid and visit with your parents? Will he be saddened to see your empty room? Will he turn to look at every girl who resembles you and hope that somehow, someway, you found him? Will you do that to every man who looks like Carlos?

He leans back, laying flat on the bed. You rest your head on his chest, his fingers coming to play with your hair. “I believe with every bone in my body that you will do amazing things, Carlos. You’ll be a world champion one day. And guess what? You’re going to do it because you are strong. It’s not going to be because I’m holding your hand, it’s going to be because of your dedication, your talent, your strength, your skill. You’ve worked for this, Carlos. And you are going to do it.”

He sniffles, placing a kiss to the top of your head. “I love you, Carlos.” You say. And maybe things will be ok, maybe they won't. But you know that Carlos will go on to do great things. You know that he's the type of boy-no-he's the type of man to accomplish whatever he puts his mind to. He’ll fight for his life in that damn race car and then step out of it and make the whole room laugh and smile. He’ll make amazing friends, ones that will occupy the space you have always resided in. He’ll be happy and feel whole. He’ll think of you from time to time. Maybe you’ll visit one another when you both are in Madrid at the same time.

“I love you, y/n.”

And I'm getting older too

2026

You haven't run this fast since high school. Somewhere in the crowd, you’ve lost your husband, but you don't care. You have a mission to accomplish, a friend to see.

“Carlos!” You shout, waving your hands like a maniac. “¡Mi hijo! Carlos!”

A hand grabs you by the bicep. “You can’t be in here!” The strange man shouts. Did you run past some barriers? Yes. Did you push some young fans? Yes. Is security worried about your intentions? Yes. But there, only a few feet away, if the new World Champion.

“Let me go! I know Carlos!” You fight the man causing another to join in on the situation. Both of your arms are restrained and they’re practically carrying you out.

“Everyone says that.” One of them says.

“Please!” You beg. It’s been over three years since Carlos and you have seen each other in person. Life dragged you two apart. You thrived in college, becoming the girl that everyone loved. You made friends quickly and made memories even quicker. Carlos thrived in racing, too. He moved his way up pretty quickly, his Formula One debut coming just three years after he left. You’d seen the Youtube videos of him and his friends, you’d heard the inside jokes, read about Carlando-you knew he was happy. But, you two weren’t as close anymore. You’d text frequently, reaching out before a big race or after a difficult one. You’d facetime, too. You both had one another on social media, and sometimes he would comment on your post or respond to a story you had up. Life was different now, however. You and him were married. He couldn’t come to your wedding, it fell on a race weekend. You couldn’t go to his. You said you had work but watching him marry another girl would stir up some pain, even if you were in a happy relationship. You didn’t frequent Madrid all too much, choosing to vacation elsewhere when the time arises. But, vacations were rare now that you were a mother. This was the first time you’d been out of town since giving birth three years ago. It was worth it.

“Carlos!” You cried out once more. He knew you were at the race-he was the one that bought you the tickets-but you wanted to see him now, not later.

The commotion caught his attention. He stared for a second, trying to understand why two men were carrying out a girl, but then he saw who it was. “Y/n!”

He dropped the conversation he was having to run over to you. The hands of strange men were replaced by those of a familiar friend. You felt warm again. You felt whole.

He swept you up in a hug, spinning you around as you squealed. “You did it! You fucking did it Carlos!”

“I know! You were right muñeca! You were right!” The nickname alone was enough to make you cry. You hadn’t been called that in years. Since the two of you were in your teens.

He dropped you, hands sliding onto your cheeks. For a brief moment, you thought he would try to kiss you. He didn’t. But your mind wandered.

“I’m so happy you’re here.” He smiled softly. “None of this would have happened without you.”

“Me?”

Carlos nodded. “I carried your words with me every day. Nobody has ever believed in me as much as you have.”

“Carlos-”

“I love you, y/n.”

The tears were back, and they fell hard. “I love you, Carlos.”

He was pulled away to go do his podium celebration. The Championship had come down to the last race of the season. Carlos beat out his competitors, however, winning not only the race, but the World Championship. And as he stood on that podium, champagne spraying through the air, fireworks began to pop in the sky. It lights up in colors of reds and yellows, blues and purples, greens and oranges.

He looks down at you, a smile splitting his lips.

It seems like the highest award to achieve, but he hopes that in another life, one hopefully close by, that he can get the one thing he desires most.

You.

Maybe in another life, you followed him. Maybe in another life you two got married. Maybe in another life you reached out more. But in this life, Carlos is a World Champion. You wouldn’t trade his excitement, his pride and his joy for anything.

[alltheselights]

Hi Emma! I really value your opinion, and I was just wondering about your thoughts on everything? I.E. the fandom, Louis… You always seem so levelheaded compared to others so I wanted to ask. Have a good night!

My only real thoughts about it are that it's really tiring to be in this fandom and see what's happening with Louis. On principle, I'm probably an exception to a lot of Larries in that I don't really care if he wants to dunk on Larries, though he chose a really stupid way to do it. A large group of these fans try to make everything he does about Harry and disrespect him regularly. For me, that's not the part that really bothers me.....it's everything that comes along with it.

I wish I understood the contradictory choices that Louis makes regularly but I just don't. He wants success and enjoys success, but he continues to surround himself with incompetent team members who don't promote him properly. He wants a broader audience to enjoy his music, but nobody outside of his existing fanbase ever hears about his music unless it's from fans' efforts. He wants people to take him seriously as a musician and is annoyed by Larries, yet he pushes other aspects of his personal life to the forefront of his public image through interviews, his documentary, and tweets. He's proud of his most recent album and feels that it represents him as an artist, yet he cuts those songs from his setlist on tour and performs covers instead. He cares more about touring than anything, but he frequently skips songs from his setlist, doesn't put effort into his stage outfits (or even hair sometimes now), and has said several times that he's hungover and not feeling his best during his shows. He adores his fans and treats them incredibly well most of the time, but the fan interactions that frequently get traction with a broader audience are things like yesterday's rude tweets or him aggressively flipping off fans who tried to rip his clothes at the barricade (as deserved as that may be, it's not really a good look).

It's just.....so incoherent? Like I truly don't understand why he and the people around him make the choices that they do based on what he himself says he wants and cares about.

He's playing some massive venues on his Latin American tour, which was just announced, and yesterday was the perfect opportunity to talk about that and push how excited he is about it during his Twitter reply spree. Instead, even 24 hours later, all people are talking about is his reply to that Larrie when he could have just fucking ignored that stupid ass tweet. A bunch of things related to that tweet were trending on Twitter - along with "Freddie" because of his two tweets about his supposed child - and now there are articles about another Larry denial. Is Louis on tour? Has he put out any albums? Is he still a musician at all? Nobody in the general public has any idea, but at least they know that he denies Larry on a near yearly basis and that he has a kid that is apparently his twin. Congrats!

And it's annoying because solo Louies are so busy enjoying that a Larrie got publicly dunked on that they can't even see that this kind of shit actually doesn't help Louis at all. Oh, sure, it's driving away fans! And I know that a lot of solo Louies think Louis would be better off without Larries (and trust me, I feel that about some Larries too when they're making everything about a relationship instead of his career) but the reality is that Louis shouldn't drive away fans. There are ways to deal with annoying fans that don't include publicly degrading them and making MORE fucking headlines about rumors that you supposedly want to die out. If he was actually trying to expand his fanbase and then tried to get rid of fans that aren't here to appreciate him as an individual or his solo career, I could respect that.....but that's not what's happening. Instead, he drives away existing fans and does nothing to add new ones.

As someone who has loved him since 2012 and wants nothing more than his success, watching his lost potential over the course of so many years has been one of the worst things ever. I see things like what happened yesterday and see the reactions to it (both people getting angry and leaving AND people rejoicing because they're too short-sighted to realize that this doesn't solve problems and only hurts Louis in the long-run) and I just roll my eyes. I'm not upset, I'm not angry, I'm just tired. It's hard to keep saying that you want better for someone who doesn't seem to want better for themselves.

[dxsturbia]

All y’all do is write songs about earth and you know what it’s fine until you go here motherfucker I am the one buying these records and you may not like it and you may not want it but once it stops honey you don’t have a lot of people that actually like you your personality is disgusting and the fact that you’ve got other people doing this biting the hand that feeds them that provide them with their livelihood after they get cut off the way they did who in the hell did you think you were to take a post between me And the one mutual follower I actually spoke to and tell me that I don’t have access to your shows bitch I don’t care I do care but I don’t

What do you mean Joanna where were they on the streaming platforms why didn’t that record move how come your clover imprdidn’t work out why did you immediately leave Atlantic is it may be because me Tre and our friends are the only ones that buy your records

You fucking spoiled little talent doesn’t make you entitled to shit you had a record deal that’s why you were entitled your record deal fell the fuck through you didn’t even have a distribution by 2012

Because you were never supposed to make it past child stardom

that wasn’t a record label it was a family business you will not get prioritized shut the fuck up talking to me

nobody said that shit

[christinebloodwrittings]

Little Drawbacks (Part one)

Pairing: Loki x Fem!Reader

Summary: An armed plot calls the avengers together again, this time with the ineffective help of the god of mischief. Given the complexity of the case, SHIELD was forced to call a retired agent back to the field.

Warnings for this chapter: Curses, mentions of blood and guns.

Loki Taglist: @lokisprettygirl22 @lucky-foxface @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore @high-functioning-lokipath @thereadinggeek @el-zef

*Ok so before everything, yes, all the avengers are alive, let's just pretend that, ok? and yes it will be 2021 after Thanos and all that mess, enjoy (And yes, I am aware that those are not the cannon dates, but let's go this way k? Trust me)*

Next Chapter ___ Masterlist

Someone, anyone who heard it, would say "I'm sorry" or "My condolences", that day nobody said shit, they just watched the crate of a boy of no less than thirteen years old go down into the dark hole to be covered by dirt.

No one cried for him, they couldn't, my father didn't like senseless emotions like pity or anger, that's why he kept making me and my sister happy, "Happy as a clam" he used to say, all the fucking time. In the long run, it gets boring, emotions are something natural, something strictly linked to our most primitive instincts, the moment I opened my mouth to say something about it, it all started.

2012.

It was so weird.

That morning at 6:30, I stretched out and got out of bed to start the day, took a shower, chose a more or less simple outfit, ate an absolutely unhealthy breakfast, because I had leftover donuts from last night, and headed out.

My job was pretty simple, get behind the moldy desk, pretend to organize some documents and complete mission reports while I kept people away from hacking the system, along with three other agents. All tasks that required a steady hand to write, as Maria Hill called it the day I started to work.

Not that I didn't enjoyed it, because I did, but my set of skills were enough to be a field agent, not some sort of paper-tidying doll with a cold, lifeless gaze, as most of the people who worked in the office had.

But that wasn't the weird thing about that day.

To sum it up, Maria came to my desk and asked me to follow her to the roof, she looked very hurt and the smell of blood and sweat would attract attention, so I thought it would be better not to question her and follow her to the helicopter that was flying, more like hovering, over the roof.

"Get inside!" She screamed over the noise of the engines, I ran taking care of my head from the propellers and jumped into a seat, quickly fastening all possible seatbelts.

“What the hell is going on!” I caught her attention with the confused stare I shot at her.

“I’ll explain when we get there!” heard her through the headphones a man gave me and nodded in response. The city looked so pretty from up high, but you really didn’t had time to appreciate it, “Pretty weird seeing you without being glued to Fury’s leg, is he dead or something?” you yelled, earning a disapproval look from her and a soft giggle from the man next to you.

“He’s busy gathering the Avengers, we have a situation and I require stealth” Obviously I wasn’t going to fall for her lies, with a single arch of an eyebrow I made her spill the beans, "Barton was kidnapped" she confessed, "So replacement, I don’t feel at all offended" she sighed and handed you a classic yellow folder with the name ‘Loki’ written on it.

“Loki? Like the Norse god? Terrorists are so creative these days” settling the files on my lap I stared at the weapon, a scepter with a shiny rock, “No, he’s the actual god, a lunatic from outer space…literally” I gave her a confused look as I went through the little info they had about him, plus a few pictures.

“We’re holding him in a cell, but I have a hunch” she explained, “Too easy” she nodded and I knew, something was definitely up.

“This is everything on him so far, right?” I asked, there were a few side notes provided by his brother Thor, but weren’t really useful to loosen up the knot in my stomach.

‘Trickster god, now that’s reassuring. He looks like a well grown man, but if the reasons for this show are what appears here then there’re dealing with a brat that requires a good old fashioned beating’ I thought passing two fingers over my lips in a thoughtful way.

“What did you need me for again?” I questioned while handing her back the folder.

“I--” She was cut off by an explosion sound, it was deafening but thanks to the headphones it stopped midway. Part of the helicopter door to my left was destroyed and wide open.

In the sky, I saw SHIELD's Helicarrier, along with several planes firing at the engines. Nothing came out of my mouth more than a gasp. "Y/N!" barely heard Maria scream my name. And then I saw the reason, part of my seat almost hung from the screws that held it to the helicopter, but I did not care that I was in danger of death, something in the distance caught my attention.

I was watching the man in the photos jump towards a transporter, his clothes appeared to be green adorned with gold. And he looked buff and tall. That much I could appreciate due to the distance. I noticed him how he stopped midway, a red dot appearing on his forehead.

"Motherfucker!" exclaimed a soldier next to me, aiming his gun at Loki, no second thoughts, I just unfastened my seatbelt and jumped on him, the shot bounced off the metal until it was lost in the air. When my eyes went back to the helicopter, the transporter’s gate was closed and it was taking off. My mouth fell agape.

What the fuck did I do?

"What were you thinking?! Agent Harper had Loki in his shooting range, and if not for your impertinence and insubordination he would not have escaped!" Fury yelled as he paced in his command center.

"There was something off with him, besides how dare you suppose that simple bullets would kill a god? you have to think about this more calmly" he turned around and scoffed, "We don't have time to think about it, Loki has an army coming" images about a device started showing on the screens.

“Sir I—” he cut me off, “Y/n, for years you’ve been a remarkable agent, a loyal soldier, a good friend” he put his hand on my shoulder as he softened his tone in the end, “But you let yourself be pushed around by your own impulses, and that’s something I cannot have in war” I know exactly where he was going, “Were gonna have to let-“ before he could finish that sentence I shot him something that at least would put some extra money in my pocket, “I quit, and I demand due to years of service my right to retirement”.

The check-in agents took my chip away and handed me a box with some books and the cushion I had on my chair. It was a shitty situation, but this kind of incident had already happened in the past, despite my good performance, I did let myself go.

The idiot I had let go caused a literal war in the district I lived in, when I got to my apartment, the building was destroyed by a huge monster that crushed the roof and literally everything in front of me right after I opened the door.

But at that time? I didn't give a fuck about it. I just turned around and let the actual agents deal with it.

BUT! Before I even realized it, it was April 2021, I was about to turn twenty-five years old in just ten days. “Agent Y/N Ora Rivers” but that motherfucker in the blue starred suit had to appear at my door, “No” I closed the door in the face of Captain America, because fuck it! “Miss Y/N, I really need to” his voice was like honey, but there was no way in hell I would go back, “NO! IT’S BEEN NINE FUCKING YEARS!!” I yelled against the door, “Miss Y/N! You’re needed back in SHIELD, there’s been a situation” I heard him try to sound convincing, “It’s about some issue with mutants, Fury told me you would know more about it”.

In that moment, that spark I had nine years ago, the adrenaline, the rage…It all came back.

“Move stipes, and radio everyone and tell them I’m in no mood for any bullshit” he tilted his cap out of curtsey and lead me to the jet just casually parked in the middle of my field, “Fucking great” I said getting in and taking one of the seats, one without a window.

“No window view?” he asked while sitting in front of me, my lack of response made him clear his throat and start with another option. “Steve Rogers, pleasure to meet you” I shook his hand, sadly I couldn’t be nicer to him, that couple of sentences regarding Fury and the whole thing happening, got me pretty on edge.

Cap never said a word after that, I think he thought I'd have to calm down before meeting with the team, I appreciated the gesture, but it wasn't like he was very talkative per se, even after the plane dropped us off at the airport. He didn't say much, other than 'this way' when he was about to make a wrong turn on the way out of the gate.

I felt very nervous about everything that was happening, on the one hand I was going to go back to work, but on the other hand, maybe my suspicions about who was causing an Avengers level threat could be right, that scared me.

Perhaps he noticed, because from one second to the next, the captain's hand moved to my shoulder, his thumb lightly stroking the material of my shirt.

I smiled at him; he wasn't going to get more than that.

"I have to fix a couple of things on the second floor, go straight to the last one, I'll catch up with you in a bit" she pressed the button that said 'penthouse' and got off at the second floor, just like he said.

I went up without any problem, I even thought that I had a decent meeting with my new companions and that stupid Fury, until the damn elevator door opened.

"You"

[nothoughtsonlynat]

Human (Natasha Romanoff)

Human: Chapter 1

A/N: Troyes, France is 6 hours ahead of NYC so 7pm there is 1pm in NYC. For the sake of this fic we’re going to pretend that the Battle of New York lasted quite a few hours.

*This is my first ever fic and I wrote it at 3am so bear with me

WARNINGS: swearing; mentions of weapons; violence; panic attack; anxiety; my crappy writing; and I think that’s it (lmk if there’s anything I should add)

Barcelona, Spain; January, 2012:

The repetitive ticking of the clock registered in my brain before my eyes even opened. I didn’t need that clock to know what time it was, of course. It was 4:30 am— the same time I've woken up everyday for the past twenty-five years of my life. I no longer need to wake up this early, yet it’s a habit so deeply engrained in my framework that it’s seemingly unbreakable. I roll out of bed and make my way into the dingy kitchen with light footsteps. With some quick math I figured that I got barely two hours of sleep last night, but that’s more than usual. I started the coffee machine and asked with a sigh, “Would you like some coffee or are you just going to lurk in the corner?”

The leather-clad stranger with an eyepatch stepped up to the kitchen island opposite of me and responded, “I wouldn’t mind a cup. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that you knew I was here.”

“Well, you know what they say about old habits. You got a name?”

“You can call me Fury. We have a lot to talk about, Eight.” I slid him a mug of cheap coffee and gestured for him to take a seat. 

“Then we’d better get started so you can get the hell out of my apartment.” He simply chuckled in response and I could already feel my patience wavering.

Two Hours Later:

“Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division? Really, dude?”

“Yeah, it’s a mouthful. Trust me I know.”

“I’m sorry that you came all this way for nothing, Fury, but there’s no way in hell I'm working for some government spy circus.”

“It’s technically an extra-governmental spy agency-“

“Doesn’t matter. I’m not joining,” I said, cutting him off.

“So, you’re just gonna hop from one shitty apartment to the next until you die? That doesn’t seem like a great life.”

“Better than the one I lived before.”

“You aren’t the person to live in hiding. You’re the person who thrives in the action and lives to kick ass, and we both know it.” When I didn’t respond he continued, “I’ll leave you my card. When you change your mind, which you will, you’ll know where to find me. You don’t have to be the bad guy anymore, Eight.” With that he slid off the stool and left my apartment, leaving me with nothing but my rapidly spiraling thoughts and a black business card.

Troyes, France; May, 2012:

It had been four months since Director Fury came to my apartment in Barcelona. We’d kept in contact and he hasn’t given up on me joining S.H.I.E.L.D.. I'm living in my third apartment since then. Wow…those landlords must really hate me. I was watching the seven o’clock news when I saw something that made me choke on my Cheerios. “An alien invasion?! What the fu-” My Cheerio-muffled exclamation was interrupted by the ring of my burner phone. “Hello?”

“Eight, you watched the news recently?”

“Uh yeah, I'm watching it now. You fighting aliens now, Nicky?”

“Okay first of all, I told you to stop calling me that. Second, yes… aliens. I’m forming a team of…extraordinary people to help protect against these threats and they could really use a hand to finish off this fight.”

“I may be weird as hell but I ain't ‘extraordinary’, Fury. I don’t wanna join your band of misfits.”

“Alright, how about a compromise? You fly your fancy jet here right now and help them out and if you still don’t wanna join once the battle is over, you can go right back to France and I’ll stop bothering you about joining.” After a few seconds of silence I agreed. 

“Fine, but I’m not gonna change my mind. Wait, how do you know about my jet?”

He gave a hearty laugh and said “I know everything, Eight. You should know that by now.”

New York, New York; 96 Minutes Later: 

I flew my jet into the city, making sure to take out a few flying Chitauri in the process. We don’t need to talk about how I got my hands on a German jet that can fly 2100mph. I saw a few interesting characters standing in a circle fighting off an endless sea of aliens. I maneuvered the jet and— wait…is that guy wearing blue tights? Is this what Fury meant by extraordinary? Whatever. I landed in the street about 20 yards away and killed the engines. I hopped out and started jogging towards the group. A couple of them turned around, probably wondering who the hell the chick in the black uniform is and— whoa that’s a beautiful woman. After realizing my steps had literally faltered in a mini gay panic, I slowed to a walk and said “Y’all need a hand?”

“Depends on whose hand it is,” replied the redheaded source of my panic.

“I’m a friend of Fury’s. He practically begged me to come save your asses.”

“Fury doesn’t beg,” she said in a doubtful tone.

“Not typically, but I'm just that awesome. If you don’t believe me then call him up but I’m gonna go kill some aliens.” With that I took off down another street where there was a group of the repulsive bastards. After unloading all of my magazines into Chitauri bodies, I switched to my swords and daggers. After another hour or so of fighting, there were no more aliens in sight. I started jogging toward the rich dude’s tower when I saw said rich dude falling through the rapidly-closing portal. I stopped next to Mr. Blue Tights and the buff blonde guy with the hammer when the big green dude grabbed Mr. Rich Dude from the sky and landed next to us. The green guy yelled, waking Mr. Rich Dude up with a start. “What the hell? What happened? Please tell me nobody kissed me. Except for her, she’s pretty hot,” he said nodding toward me. Just then the redhead jogged over to us and eyed my blood-soaked form from head to toe. 

“See something you like, Red?”

“No. I’m pretty sure I'd be classified as a sadist if I liked the sight of that much blood,” she said with a raise of her eyebrow.

“Yeah that’s fair.” She shook her head at me with a small smirk. There was barely a second of silence when Mr. Rich Dude spoke up. 

“Anybody want shawarma?”

Three Hours Later:

I had gone to the Triskelion after the band of misfits apprehended Loki. Agent Hill showed me where to park my jet and directed me to a room so I could shower and stay the night if I wanted to. I had put on black jeans, a white tee, and a black jean jacket, all of which had been in a to-go bag in my jet. I was toweling off my hair when someone knocked on the door. I opened the door to see none other than the one-eyed-wonder standing there. “What can I do for you, Nicky?”

“The Avengers are being debriefed in Conference Room 6B in ten minutes. You should come.”

“The Avengers? Is that what you’re calling them? That’s cute. But I'm not an Avenger and I don’t want to be an Avenger, so no thanks.”

“You should come anyway.”

“I don’t actually have a choice, do I?”

“You know me so well, Eight,” he said with an amused grin.

I walked into the conference room and the Avengers were already there. Steve Rogers, Clint Barton, Tony Stark, Bruce Banner, Thor, and Natasha Romanoff—whose names I learned from Hill— were scattered around a large table, along with Fury. Romanoff eyed me from where she was standing and arched a perfectly sculpted eyebrow at me. I squinted my eyes and wiggled my eyebrows in response, and I could see her stifle a laugh. “What’s your name?” She accompanied the question with a blank expression, which made me feel oh-so-special. 

“That’s a very personal question, Miss Romanoff. Let’s slow the pace, please.”

“You know my name but I can’t know yours? That doesn’t seem fair.”

“The world isn’t fair, Miss Romanoff, and I love a good mystery.”

“If you two are done flirting, we have business to attend to,” interjected Fury.

“Right, my apologies, Nicky.”

“Don’t call me that, Eight.”

After an excruciating 43 minutes and 27 seconds, Fury finally let us leave. I was so close to freedom when that unbelievably sexy voice called to me. “Eight!” Romanoff hastily walked towards me in an effort to catch up.

“Yeah?”

“Is your name actually Eight?”

“If you want it to be.”

“Why are you so damn stubborn?”

“It amuses me, Red.” There was a brief silence during which both of us were trying to figure out if the conversation was over. 

I was about to leave when she continued, “So that’s it? You’re just gonna leave?”

“Well, no. I’m going to stay the night, steal some really expensive jet fuel, and then leave in the morning before Fury can get up my ass about joining his little team.”

She rolled her eyes and responded, “Why won’t you join the Avengers? And why won’t you tell me your real name?”

“It’s just not my style. I’d rather fly solo.”

“You ignored my second question.”

“Then maybe you should take the hint and stop asking.” With that I turned around and started walking away, but a hand on my arm stopped me dead in my tracks. Alarms started going off in my head, and I'm pretty sure Romanoff was saying something to me but I was too caught up in the memories of beatings, punishments, and psychological conditioning to register it. After a few of the longest seconds of my life, the white of my vision cleared up and the voice telling me ‘physical contact is strictly forbidden’ faded into the background. My heart was still hammering in my chest and I was trying to keep my breathing steady despite the inevitable panic attack trying to drag me under, I regained my neutral expression and said. “Sorry, did you say something?”

“Are you okay?” She had a concerned expression and if I wasn’t so blinded with anxiety, I would’ve appreciated how cute the furrow of her eyebrows was.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m just gonna turn in. It’s been a long day.” I turned around and walked back to my temporary room at a brutal pace. As soon as the door closed behind me, hot tears raced down my cheeks and I lost the ability to breathe. It was gonna be a long night.

3:21 am:

I finally managed to calm myself down and stop the panic attack after almost four hours. Well, I passed out because I couldn’t breathe but it did calm me down. Trying to sleep would be pointless, so I decided to leave before anyone woke up. I didn’t really have much to pack so I grabbed my duffel bag and left the room. I made it to the corridor attached to the landing pads and ran into the one person I really didn’t want to see. “What are you doing out and about, Red?”

“I’ve got places to be and things to do. Were you just going to sneak out in the middle of the night like a teenager with a rebellious streak?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m doing, actually. Do you need a ride? Where are you going?”

“Madrid. Fury said I could hitch a ride on another plane that’s headed for Germany.”

“Well I’m going to France if you wanna ride with me. My jet will get you there a lot faster.” She studied me for what felt like way too long, probably debating if I would try to kill her or not. You know how spies are with their trust issues.

“What the hell, why not?”

And that is how I ended up in a jet with “Candy Shop” playing over the speakers and Natasha Romanoff in the copilot seat yelling at me to, and I quote, ‘slow the fuck down.’ “Why would I slow down, you psycho?! That’s the whole damn point of this thing!”

“Where did you even get a German jet this fast?”

“Germany.”

“No shit Sherlock. How did you get it?”

“I went to Germany, stopped in at the local speedy-jet dealership, and walked out with this beauty.”

“Sarcasm is a defense mechanism, you know? You’re only being like this to keep me from seeing the real you. You built walls. You want everyone to think you’re fine when in reality, you’re falling apart.”

“Okay…um…there was no need for that, Dr. Romanoff. I can find my own therapist, thank you very much. And don’t go pretending you’re all healthy in the head, Miss Assassin.” It was quiet for all of five seconds before we both burst into laughter.

Madrid, Spain:

I landed the jet at the local S.H.I.E.L.D. base and killed the engines. Romanoff and I removed our headsets and I stood to help her get her bags. “Welp, I’ll see you around I guess.” I really wasn’t good at this type of thing. Or any social interactions, really. Twenty-four years in a cell will do that to you.

“Will I? See you around, I mean?”

“Um, I don’t really know, honestly. I’m not part of S.H.I.E.L.D. so we won’t just run into each other or anything but…”

“Why won’t you join S.H.I.E.L.D.? I mean what else are you doing?”

“Ohhh, I see. You just love me so much that you don’t want me to leave. You’re gonna miss me so much-” I was cut off when she threw her backpack at my head. “Hey! You’re lucky I caught that! Freaking crazy woman.”

When our laughter died down she said, “Well I should probably go. Thank you for the ride.”

“Of course. Hitchhikers are always welcome aboard my beloved jet.” A small smile appeared on her face and she stepped forward to give me a hug but she must’ve seen my body go rigid because she stepped back. She might’ve said something but the voice in my head was too loud for me to understand her. I don’t know how long it was before I unfroze but when I did, she was gone. I walked to the front of the jet and started the journey to France.

[athenawasamerf]

Feminism in Egypt, Part 2

FGM

FGM has a long, bloody history with African and Arab women. Some people say it originated in Ancient Egypt; others lean more towards it being a Bedouin Arab tradition. I’m not here to discuss the origin story of one of the most horrific human rights infarctions on earth. I’m here to talk about the current feminist struggle against it.

FGM was outlawed in Egypt in June of 2008, and a 2014 survey showed that a whopping 92% of married women and girls between 15 and 49 years old have been subjected to FGM (I will talk more about the inclusion of 15 year olds in official surveys of married women in a post about child brides), and that 72% of these crimes were carried out by doctors. In 2008, a DHS survey of women and girls in the same age range showed that 63% of them were in support of FGM as a practice. Of those 63%, 60% cited husband preference for ‘cleaned’ girls, and 39% cited religious reasons. All of these are easily googleable facts, but these things always sound so clinical when they’re presented like this. Cold, sterile, detached. So, let’s get a little deeper into it, shall we?

Girls in Egypt are mutilated anywhere between birth and marriage, but mostly before the age of 15. These are children. Every single year, we have cases of babies, toddlers, children, young women dying from botched mutilations and infections, especially after the 2016 criminalisation of FGM practitioners. Parents will take their daughters to backwater clinics, or have ‘doula’s who have no medical experience of any kind visit them at home, and cut into the flesh of their young daughters with non-sterile equipment, often without anaesthesia.

I’ve heard and read first-hand accounts of girls who got topical anaesthesia that wore out halfway through. I’ve heard and read first-hand accounts of girls who were dragged, kicking and screaming, and held down by family and neighbours forcefully as their bodies were torn into. Of girls who bled for days, of girls who had to have their legs bound to each other for weeks, of girls who couldn’t stop screaming in pain every time they went to the bathroom, to complete apathy and even disgust and anger from their families, of girls who were snarled at for making noise while their bodies were being torn away on their own beds, of girls who still have constant pain over a decade later, of girls who hate themselves and hate their vulvas, and hate their lives. Of girls who are suicidal, of girls who are terrified of marriage, who have trust issues, who can’t handle the thought of anyone touching them there again, after the first time being so traumatic and painful and horrifying. All of this is done while the family, and even friends and neighbours, celebrate in joy. It’s even tradition in some rural areas to take all the female children of the family to get ‘fixed’ together, dressed in pretty dresses and fancy shoes.

I’ve also heard of women who are asexual due to trauma, whose husbands rape them continuously, who are abused for refusing sex, whose families disown them for being such a disgrace, whose husbands divorce them and leave them for dead, whose husbands marry multiple women besides them, and they are left to fend for themselves, unable to get a divorce and move on, and completely abandoned by the people they trusted the most. They’re told the angels will curse them all night for refusing sex, but what about their trauma? What about their feelings? What about them, as people? Nobody cares.

So, how did we get here? There are 3 main reasons.

The ’’religious’’ folk will cite a (weak) hadith as their proof that FGM is a good, healthy practice. It goes that the prophet saw a woman going to get her daughter cut, and he told her to ‘not cut severely, as that is better for the woman and more preferable to the husband’. Apart from any implications of misogyny in this hadith, it has been disputed multiple times, along with a couple others in support of FGM. You can read more about that here.

Regardless of the truth of FGM having Islamic support, the reality of the matter is that a huge amount of actual, real life Muslim people cite these hadiths as their reasoning to mutilate their daughters, and everyone sees that as completely justified. The truth of the matter is this: Someone put these hadiths into the public conscience knowing full well they will be used to abuse, maim, hurt, kill women for centuries. Whether that someone was prophet Muhammed himself or later scholars, no one can actually ever know.

The second, more indirectly religious and directly misogynistic reason, is to ensure ‘purity’. You see, as I’ve talked about before and as many of you already know, women in Islam and in MENA in general are seen and treated as property. The family’s honour lies between a woman’s thighs. A young girl who speaks to boys her age in the most innocent context possible can be subjected to house arrest, beatings, forced stopping of her education, even death, for daring to put the family’s honour in jeopardy. A girl who has a boyfriend, well...

In a society that places so much value not only on women’s virginity, but also on their complete removal and separation from the male sex at any cost, it’s not very surprising that tips and tricks like using FGM to ‘cull a woman’s sexual desire’ spread like wildfire. Girls are mutilated to make sure they don’t become wh**es. This is said frankly, openly, it’s common knowledge. If you refuse to hurt your child in this way, you will be met with disdain and disgust, and even wails of despair, with shock, with animosity. “Do you want her to become like a prostitute and ruin your family name? Do you want her to walk around uncontrolled? Don’t you know what shame she will bring on you?” These statements are directed at girls as young as... in the womb, if you show your dissent early enough.

And the final reason is the least of them to hide under religious pretences, and the most misogynistic: Because this is how men prefer their wives to be.

You might think when I say preference here, I mean it in the way I mean, “Oh, I personally prefer brunette hair,” but you would be sorely mistaken. By prefer here, I mean demand. I mean a man could force his grown wife, through physical force or through abuse, to mutilate her body for his satisfaction. I mean that men will sneer at un-mutilated women. I mean that men will beat their wives on their wedding night to within an inch of her life for ‘cheating’ them if the wives are not mutilated. I mean men will suspect their wives of adultery and murder them, which carries a reduced sentence of ‘time served during investigation’, just for the simple act of having intact genitals. I mean men will divorce their wives on their wedding night for being unharmed, for being whole. I mean men will act so entitled to women’s bodies that they will always have the assumption that the ‘product’ they are ‘buying’ is cut to taste, and they will become violent and aggressive and murderous if they find out this is not the case.

I personally don’t know whether or not I’ve been mutilated. With such high numbers in Egypt, the likely answer is yes, but I genuinely have no clue. I am not allowed to ask about these things, or I’ll be seen as a loose wh**re. My parents would beat me up and they still wouldn’t allow me the dignity of knowing whether my own body has been altered against my will. I don’t know if I’ll ever find out.

The feminists fighting constantly for tighter regulations, for harsher punishments, for longer sentences; these women are seen as the spawn of the devil. Accusations of loose morals are thrown their way day in and day out. Death threats and rape threats (’that’s what you want anyway isn’t it?’) are hurled at them from every direction. They are silenced. They are ridiculed. But they are prevailing. This year, the Egyptian president has decided to alter the FGM laws to cover loopholes, and possibly to increase enforcement. He has also altered the charge set to doctors who perform FGM which results in death from manslaughter to first or second degree murder.

The problem, however, remains in lack of reporting. Ever since the criminalisation of performing FGM in 2008, and the setting of punishments in 2016 as a minimum of three months’ jail time, to a maximum of 2 years, or a minimum of 1000EGP to a maximum of 5000EGP fines (63.71 to 318.53 USD), and until 2018, and possibly until today, not a single mutilator had been convicted.

Imagine being fined as little as 60 dollars for the permanent mutilation of a little girl’s body. And even that is not happening.

People refuse to report the monsters who do perform this, despite a 2012 gynaecology convention condemning the practice, and calling it an inhumane act, and stating quite forcefully that it is not a medical procedure, and that it is an infringement on the human rights of women and girls, which medicine and medical ethics do not condone. And yet, the public opinion remains the same: this is their business, it is not our place to intervene. It is not our place to get this fine young man thrown in jail, or fined, for performing a ‘cleaning’ procedure, and besides, wouldn’t you rather they had a medical professional perform it, rather than an uneducated woman, or a barber, or a butcher? It is not our place to report this family and tear them apart -  what did they ever do to us that we may hurt them like this?

No one ever asks what little girls have ever done for us to fail them like this.

[bondsmagii]

same person who asked about spelunking (sorry i binge your blog every now and then and keep finding things i wanna hear about this time!) But you mentioned one of your most terrifying experiences involved dolls, I'd love to hear about it if youre comfortable :>?

oh it's fine, don't worry! I can always appreciate a good old fashioned bit of curiosity. I suppose it's only fair that with all the creepy experiences I take from other people, I finally give a statement of my own. buckle up, though, because this one is a long one.

So, this all happened in 2011-2012, and it began in Belfast, Ireland. A friend of mine, Caoimhe, had started studying at Queen’s University, and she had moved in to student accommodation in the student district nearby. I was studying in Scotland at the time, but thankfully the summer and winter holidays provided me with three months off each, so I would frequently return back to Ireland and catch up with the people who’d stayed there. Caoimhe’s place, being situated in the city and in a university district, was obviously the place to hang out and party, but before I even arrived Caoimhe warned me that the place was… odd. Now, as anyone who’s ever met me knows, I absolutely love creepy stuff and I have a tendency to bring it out in places and in people; naturally I asked for details, but Caoimhe said she wanted to see what I thought when I got there. Considering I was going to be there that evening, I was able to have a modicum of patience.

I get there in the late afternoon. It’s summer and everything is still bright and lively, and the street looks normal. Parking is only on one side of the street; on the other side is a row of buildings, three floors high. Most of them are split into houses, but there are a few businesses there, too – a nursery school, a hairdresser’s, that kind of thing. I get out of the car and go and knock on Caoimhe’s door, which is between two businesses. She opens the door, and immediately tells me she cannot wait to hear what I think of the place. I have no idea what to expect, because Caoimhe was always the sceptical one and it takes a lot to get her even remotely excited about anything spooky, but I realised what she meant within about five minutes of being in the house.

It was the weirdest layout of any house I have ever seen.

Upon entering, I was in a small porch area. Going through the interior door brought me to the bottom of a set of stairs; to the right was a short hallway, containing a bedroom and, at the end of it, a spacious kitchen. Going up the stairs, I came to a small bathroom on the half-landing; turning and ascending the second flight brought me to a small landing area and, directly opposite, a colossal living room. Turning up yet another flight of stairs and there was a larger bathroom on the half-landing, practically industrial – like a large school changing room. There were about eight showers all lined up in cubicles, toilets lined up in other cubicles, and a row of old, almost Victorian-looking sinks. There was no door to the bathroom, either. Just an open archway leading to tiles that looked as though they should be on a factory floor in the early twentieth century. After this, there was another flight of stairs and then a small landing, this time with nothing ahead of it but, to my left, a long hallway. I mean, a long hallway. The longest hallway I’ve ever seen in any residential building, ever, in my life. It went on, and on, and on. From beginning to end, at a normal walking pace, it took about two minutes to walk. There were other doors, but they were few and far between. Only three people lived on that floor, and the hallway just stretched endlessly on. Caoimhe, of course, lived in the absolute furthest room from the stairs. We walked, passing the occasional door, under dim, flickering lightbulbs high up in the ceiling. We had long since walked past the original house we had entered. We were probably almost entirely down the street by this point. There were no windows at all.

Finally, we get to Caoimhe’s room. It’s practically at the end of the hall; in front of us is a dead end, and a fire escape that cannot exist. All of the buildings on this street are terraced, which means that joining on to this wall should be the next building. There were no alleyways separating any of the buildings at street level – they were all side by side, sharing a wall. I asked Caoimhe about it and she just shrugged, and then pointed to the wall opposite her door. There was another door there, cheaply made, not a fire door like the doors to the bedrooms. It also didn’t fit properly, leaving a small gap and a cool breeze drifting out from between the wood and the frame. I, of course, stuck my eye to the gap and peered in. I could make out nothing aside from swirling dust and the faint outline of the first few steps of another set of stairs. Upon my asking, Caoimhe told me she didn’t know where it went to, and that she and some of the others had tried to prise the door open but given up when it wouldn’t budge. They had even asked the university’s residential services about it, but were told that it didn’t belong to them as tenants and it was best to leave it alone.

As I mentioned before – Caoimhe is not really interested in messing around with this kind of stuff. Practically minded, she spent her time dealing in the tangible, and as a nursing student she had precious little free time. What free time she did have she enjoyed spending drinking, and annoying me by doing lines of cocaine off my books. I love her dearly, but you have to understand that mysteries like this do not interest her at all, but they drive me mad. From the moment I saw that door, I suppose my fate was sealed. In the old refrain of many sorry souls before me, I had to know.

The first few nights I was there was admittedly spent partying and catching up, and nothing out of the ordinary happened. I split my time between staying with Caoimhe and staying with an ex-boyfriend of mine, Brian, who lived about half a mile away in another part of the university district. I was at his place when I got a call from Caoimhe at about two in the morning, telling me that some weird shit was going down and I had to come see. I, of course, ran over there as quickly as possible, to find the house in uproar. Aside from one girl on the ground floor, everyone else lived in the Endless Hallway – all three of them – and they were all out of their rooms and standing in a strange section of the hall about two thirds up. Here, two rooms were located, the doors to which were set back in a little alcove. Opposite this alcove was another fire door that had to lead to nowhere, that I admittedly had not noticed before. I stared at it, confused, and then I was temporarily comforted when Gemma, once of Caoimhe’s housemates, asked me if I hadn’t noticed it before, either. I absolutely had not, and the general consensus was that nobody had noticed this fire escape. It was very difficult to miss, too – it was silver, with the green sign for a fire escape on it, but strangely there was no way to open it from this side. It was just a smooth door – no handle, no push bar, nothing. Being a fire escape door, it should have had a push bar and swung open into the stairwell or hallway beyond, to prevent it from being blocked from opening by a crowd of people trying to escape, but there was nothing. It was like looking at a fire escape door from the outside. Everyone agreed that it could not have been there before; Gemma and Ashley, the girl in the room next to her, were absolutely adamant they would have noticed it, considering it was right opposite their doors; Caoimhe admitted that she probably wouldn’t have noticed it because she wasn’t in the habit of noticing every door she walked by, but she did admit that the colour would have made it hard to miss. I, of course, amin the habit of looking out for such details, precisely for reasons like this, so I had definitely not noticed the door before.

I asked how they had noticed, and Gemma said that she had heard running footsteps in the hallway going back and forth for some time, and as she’d been trying to sleep she had opened her door to tell whoever it was to knock it off. She had found the hallway dark, and the door opposite hers. She had understandably been freaked out by this and banged on Ashley’s door, and the commotion had drawn Caoimhe into the mix whereupon she had said she knew a guy who absolutely had to see this shit and called me. She was correct, and I duly stayed the rest of the night to see if anything else happened. Nothing did, and aside from the extra door that had materialised in the hallway, things were calm for another week.

When it all kicked off again, I was staying over after another heavy night partying. Caoimhe and I were passed out in her room when we were both woken up by an incredibly loud crash. Before we could work out what had happened, lights went on in the hallway outside and we heard Gemma start screaming, and I mean reallyscreaming. Caoimhe and I jumped up and ran out into the hall, sprinting the distance between Caoimhe’s door and the alcove, and there we found Gemma hiding behind her own door and the fire door opposite wide open. It had been flung open so wide that it had crashed against and dented the wall it was on. Ashley was looking at it, dumfounded; Gemma could barely watch. Caoimhe was also not being much help, so – bound by insatiable curiosity and an extreme lack of self-preservation that for me is so often co-morbid with said curiosity – I went forward to investigate. I noticed that the door seemed old, like it had perhaps been rusted in place; beyond it there was nothing but darkness, and cold air moved out of the passage with enough speed that I felt a strong breeze. I had my phone, so I turned it on to use it as a light, seeing that beyond the door was a short landing and then a set of stairs. I went to the wooden railing at the top and shone the phone down, seeing that the stairs appeared to keep going in a half-flight, small landing, half-flight pattern. The stairs were all wooden, and in bad condition. With the girls still nervously watching, I descended the first flight and then turned to look at the next one. It smelled stale now, and slightly damp; I put the brightness of my screen up and saw, arranged neatly at the end of each step, there was an item of children’s belongings – a toy, or a teddy bear. They were all arranged very precisely, one on each stair, all the way down as far as I could see. Where the light gave out, the darkness was so black it seemed to have a solid weight. I decided I was not going down there without a proper light, and as I didn’t yet have one, I retreated back up the stairs. We closed the door over, but it would no longer fit in its frame; a chair was dutifully carried all the way up from the distant kitchen and put in front of it.

I quickly discovered something even odder about that staircase. Probably to the surprise of nobody, it shouldn’t exist. The floors directly below us should have been a hairdresser’s; there was no space for a stairwell and no way to exit on the ground floor. I went outside and checked both the front and the back of the building, and no doors opened anywhere near where the stairs should have come out. There was just no possible way for it to fit, and no point to it being there. It was a dead end in dead space.

Now we get to the truly terrifying part. For several weeks the place seemed to be fine, just the kind of regular haunting I was used to but that the others understandably found concerning. Cold spots, weird noises, strange atmospheres, feelings of being watched… that kind of thing. It made me increasingly uneasy in one particular spot of the house, though. There was one other mystery door that led to a mystery staircase, and that was the strange, out-of-place door opposite Caoimhe’s room. I figured that there was a chance that that door shouldn’t be there, either – like the fire escape, it was a different kind of door to the others, and also like the fire escape, it didn’t quite fit into its frame. I tried multiple times to get in to the staircase beyond, but the door would absolutely not shift and every time I tried, I would soon have to retreat because of an overwhelming sense of sadness and dread. I’ve always been highly sensitive to the paranormal, and anyone who has spent any amount of time with me has seen some inexplicable stuff go down; something I’m known for is knowing things I shouldn’t be able to know. I either just know them – they just arrive in my head full-formed and I know that it’s the truth – or they come to me in dreams. These dreams stand out from the other dreams because they’re incredibly realistic, and even in the dream I know that they’re something else entirely. I’m either myself in the dream, moving around and discovering things on my own, or I’m watching as somebody else does it, silently observing and, unusually for my dreams, with no amount of lucidity at all. I suppose, with all my banging around trying to get up those stairs, I must have finally tapped in to whatever it was that would allow me to know what was beyond it, because shortly afterwards I experienced the worst instance of this of my life.

By this point, I was back at university. I hadn’t thought too much about it all in any detail because classes had started again and I was still exhausted from driving all my stuff back over, getting the ferry, unpacking… moving every three months was a bit of a drag. Despite this, when the dream started, I immediately knew where I was. The building felt different, and all the lights were dimmed to the point they were barely worth being on, but I knew I was back in Caoimhe’s flat and I also knew that it was years before anybody moved in. I stood there and watched as a woman walked towards me down the long, endless hallway. She was young, probably in her mid-twenties, and her hair was a mess. Her face was blotchy and her eyes red; she was still crying as she walked past me. I knew that she was moving out, that this was the final walk-through; suddenly I was the person who was moving in, and I was being handed the keys, and the estate agent was saying that the place was mine and that the agreement still stood: I was allowed to do anything with the place and the price would stay low, so long as I obeyed the wishes of the previous owners and kept the top floor as it was and in good order. I agreed and then I was alone in the hallway.

I immediately walked to the end of the hallway, past the room that was Caoimhe’s when I had known the place, and to the door opposite. The wood looked newer now, and when I pushed it, it swung open noiselessly and without resistance. I walked up a neat set of wooden stairs and the light was warm, sunset-orange. I emerged from the staircase and found myself in a lovely attic room, the sun setting through a large dormer window opposite. The room was a beautifully decorated nursery, with a small bed under the window and a dresser, a toy box, a rug on the ground littered with toys. I looked around, touching the small hairbrush on the dresser, seeing the little blonde hairs entwined in it; on the nightstand next to the bed was a picture of the crying woman I had seen earlier, happy now, holding a smiling little girl of about two or three months in her arms. I stared at this picture for a long time, feeling a growing sense of sadness that deepened into dread. I felt paralysed, unable to turn and leave even as the dread grew and I wanted to more than anything; instead of running, a sudden urge to sleep came over me. I staggered to the small bed, curled up to fit, and immediately passed out.

When I woke, I was on my back and the room was dark. There was enough moonlight that I could see the glint of the picture frame beside me. Immediately I was gripped by terror – I was aware, even then, that I do not sleep in my dreams. I can do a lot of things that most people can’t – I die in my dreams, I read and write in my dreams, I see my reflection in mirrors in my dreams – but I do not sleep. I decided to sit up and see if any of my usual tricks for waking myself would work, but before I could move I felt something shifting in the bed beside me. It was solid and firm and cold; it pressed itself against me with plastic smoothness and then shifted, part of it bending. Out of the corner of my eye I saw something sitting up in the bed beside me. I told myself not to look at it, but of course I did. Sitting next to me in bed was a baby, but at the same time it was a doll. It had the plastic look to it, the strange texture of the hair, the glassy eyes – but at the same time its face moved, its limbs moved, and around the eyes and mouth there was a slight discrepancy, like the whole thing was a plastic mask forced into the flesh of the face. I stared at it, mute, too stunned to do anything, and then the baby doll opened its mouth, revealing sharp, pin-like teeth, far too many of them – and it began to cry.

I have never heard a sound like it and I never wish to again. It was a cry so piercing it was painful; it was a sound meant to terrify. It rose the same dread in me as I imagine people felt when they woke to hear air raid sirens in the dead of night; the distant thud of falling bombs. It was all I could hear and it was all I became. It inspired a blind terror in me that I have rarely known; I wasn’t human as I launched myself from that bed. I was a prey animal in flight, I was running for my life. I jumped from the bed and before I could hit the ground I awoke, miles away, in my dorm room in Scotland – but something was on the bed beside me. I sat up, turned, and the doll was there. It looked at me, grinned, and opened its mouth. Then it started screaming again.

I want to say that’s the moment I woke up for real, but I was awake. That thing was beside me in bed, still screaming, and I was awake enough to panic, to roll out of bed, to stand up, to stare in frozen horror for several seconds, and then to reach out blindly until I managed to turn the lamp on. The room filled with light and still the doll remained, for three or four seconds, still crying that horrible sound, and then it faded. The sound faded with it, gradually, until I could only see an outline on the air, and then it was gone. I did not sleep for the rest of that night. For the rest of the semester, I only slept in the daylight.

I never returned to Caoimhe’s house. I have my answers, which is something, but I do not exaggerate when I say that the cost was far more than I anticipated I would have to pay, and that something of that experience has forever stuck with me. Even now, a decade later, I go to bed every night with the fear that I might wake up in that hallway again, the door at the end of it – and the knowledge that I will go to it, step into the sunset-orange of the space beyond, and go back up those stairs.

[according-to-the-laura]

StackedNatural Day 181: 7x23, 11x22, 12x22, 12x23

StackedNatural Masterpost: [x]

May 18, 2022

7x23: Survival of the Fittest

Written by: Sera Gamble

Directed by: Robert Singer

Original air date: May 18, 2012

Plot Synopsis:

Sam and Dean make a plan to storm Dick's company building and kill him once and for all, with help from Castiel and Meg. Providing Bobby doesn't get to Dick first.

Features:

Homoerotic business negotiations, Castiel naked and covered in bees, righteous bones, Cas’ honey and farm-to-table sandwiches, copies of Dick, releasing Bobby’s spirit, the Impala’s big entrance, arrival in Purgatory, Sam left alone. 

My Thoughts:

This is a fun finale. It’s great to see “original Cas” breaking through the veneer of traumatized Cas now and then, not to mention how many classic Destiel frames and lines are packed into this episode. The scene where they make up when they go to pick up the Impala is so sweet and soft, it really sets up early season 8 well. Not to mention, “I’ll go with you” is Supernatural’s code for “I love you”. 

Bobby’s goodbye scene is great, proof that they do know how to write out a fan-favourite character well. I love not actually getting to see him vanish, just watching the effect that it has on Sam and Dean. 

Crowley playing both sides is great - he keeps being a really interesting enemy/ally for a while yet, and it’s fun to watch the balancing act. 

Notable Lines:

“Go ask him, he was your boyfriend first.”

“Nobody cares that you're broken, Cas. Clean up your mess!”

“Sorry, but I’d rather have you. Cursed or not.”

“I’ll go with you.”

Laura’s (completely subjective) Episode Rating: 9.0

IMdB Rating: 8.8

11x22: We Happy Few

Written by: Robert Berens

Directed by: John Badham

Original air date: May 18, 2016

Plot Synopsis:

Sam and Dean face their biggest challenge yet. Rowena makes her move.

Features:

The devil throwing a temper tantrum in Sam’s room, Our Heavenly Father making pancakes for breakfast, God’s apology to Lucifer, getting the team together, Sam almost accepting the Mark, Lucifer being banished from Cas, the beginning of the end.

My Thoughts:

Watching everyone getting the chance to confront God absolutely kicks ass. I truly love digging into the mundane in the divine and exploring not just the power of higher beings but the emotion and damage and trauma that they’ve all experienced. Absolutely wild to have the Winchesters, who have never had a healthy interaction in their life, mediate the two oldest grievances in existence, but it sure does make for good television. 

I have to say I don’t remember them ever establishing that Lucifer was the first to have the Mark of Cain so that was quite a surprise. I kept expecting the brothers to react to that revelation and they never did, so I guess we already knew at some point. 

Chuck’s eventual apology to Lucifer is, as @meg3point0 said while we were watching, the one that Sam and Dean deserved from John and never got (fuck Lebanon). 

Gathering the team is fun in a heist-movie sort of way; I kind of wish that more time had been devoted to that part and that the plan had been a bit more complicated just for the fun of it, but they needed the run time for the emotional confrontations with dad so that’s understandable. It also gave me big DTA vibes - you have to fight at the end of the world.

One of my notes just says, “Get absolutely feral, Amara. Go girl.”

Notable Lines:

“You have any idea what it’s like to argue with your father when your father is God? Everything is a tautology with you. Everything is, ‘Because I told you so.’ Everything’s, ‘It had to be done.’” “Pretty sure that’s all fathers.”

“Do you think we see any daylight between you and the Adversary?”

“You can't make an effective soldier by force. They have to choose this fight.”

“We weren't great or powerful because we stood only in relation to each other. You think you made the archangels to bring light? No. You made them to create lesser beings, to make you large. To make you Lord. It was ego! You wanted to be big!”

“Welcome to the end.”

Laura’s (completely subjective) Episode Rating: 9.2

IMdB Rating: 8.8

12x22: Who We Are

Written by: Robert Berens

Directed by: John F. Showalter

Original air date: May 18, 2017

Plot Synopsis:

Sam and Dean only have each other to rely on when they're caught in a dangerous situation; the fight between the American hunters and the British hunters comes to a head.

Features:

Mary hunting the hunters, Dean finally getting a chance to use his grenade launcher, the strength of Mary’s programming, Sam as a leader, parental relationship dynamics, saying all the things you ever dreamed of saying to someone that hurt you, the end of the British Men of Letters in America, family group hugs.

My Thoughts:

Robert Berens, you have my sword.

There’s really nothing about this episode that I don’t love. Starting out with a mini-bottle episode to give the brothers time to talk about their feelings before the finale starts. Dean getting to use his grenade launcher. The dudes from Dark Side of the Moon coming back (Berens does the reading!). Sam getting to have meaningful plot points instead of being sidelined by Dean’s experience.  

I LOVE that Jody and Alex are competent enough to have already taken Mary down without the brothers swooping in to rescue them. I love that she checks in on Dean because she can’t turn her mother instinct off, and Dean can’t hide how much he needs it. I love that she ssys goodbye to Alex, her daughter figure, as Dean says goodbye to Sam, his son figure. Also, she’s a great shot and ice-cold under pressure. 

The Mary-Dean dream sequence… what is there to say other than that it’s perfect? Both of their fantasies about themselves and about each other come crashing down at the same time. She can’t ever be the perfect pie-making sundress-wearing mother he remembers from when he was four, and he can’t ever return to the innocent, untraumatized child that she left behind. They have to choose to love each other for who they are, not who they imagine each other to be. 

This episode rounds out Mary’s season 12 arc in such a beautiful way, pulling it all together into truly one of the more cohesive character progressions of the series. 

Plus, killing Ketch is one of my favourite things they’ve ever done. Good riddance. 

Notable Lines:

“You know, it wasn't long ago, I thought we had it made. We saved the world. We got Cas back. We had Mom back. I mean, it wasn't perfect, but still, we had 'em.”

“You left us. Alone. 'Cause Dad was just a shell. His perfect wife? Gone. Our perfect Mom, the perfect family... was gone. And I... I had to be... more than just a brother. I had to be a father and I had to be a mother, to keep him safe. And that wasn't fair.”

“I hate you. And I love you. 'Cause I can't – I can't help it. You're my Mom. And I understand...'cause I have made deals to save the ones I love more than once. I forgive you.”

“I knew you were a killer. You both are.” “You’re right.” [GUNSHOT]

Laura’s (completely subjective) Episode Rating: 10

IMdB Rating: 9.0

12x23: All Along the Watchtower

Written by: Andrew Dabb

Directed by: Robert Singer

Original air date: May 18, 2017

Plot Synopsis:

Lucifer battles Sam, Dean and Castiel for control of his unborn son.

Features:

The lakehouse, Crowley crawling from his grave, Rowena’s second death, Cas’ 74 books on parenting and 1 online doula class, the first inter-dimensional rift, Kelly’s labour, Apocalypse World, Crowley’s sacrifice, Cas’ death, Jack’s birthday.

My Thoughts:

I haven’t re-watched this episode since the first time I saw it probably about a year ago now, and the thing that surprises me the most about it is that what we learn about Apocalypse World is cooler than what they eventually settle on. An eternal war between angels and demons is more active than angels having already won - it also makes the absolute devastation of it make more sense, since it’s not the angelic aesthtic at all for it to be a plain dusty wasteland. Azazel is still alive in this world, especially without the Winchesters to kill him! We could have gone back to the initial trauma of their lives again, matching it with the Mary arc of season 12. Fuck, Mary could have killed Azazel. How’s that for full circle? 

Last episode Dean told Sam that they had it made when they had both Mary and Cas, and in this episode they lose them both. That hits hard. Sam dragging Dean back from trying to chase after Cas in the same way Dean pulled Sam from the fire that killed Jess hits even harder. 

Notable Lines:

“I will do everything. I will give my life for your son. And I will raise him. And I will make him someone you will be proud of.”

“I kind of always wanted to punch the devil in the face.”

“Hi, Jack. It's, uh... I'm your mom. I know you're gonna be okay. You are gonna be... amazing. You have an angel watching over you. God, I love you, Jack. I love you so much. Sorry. I love you.”

“I saw the future. I saw a world without pain or hunger or want. I saw the world that this child... that your child...will create.”

Laura’s (completely subjective) Episode Rating: 8.9

IMdB Rating: 8.9

In Conclusion: 11x22 and 12x22 are about confronting the parent that abandoned you.

<< Previous Day  |  Next Day >>

[hayleygray08]

You are my home.

Introduction: this is my first writing on here. Bare with me.

Summary: you are a new member of the team after tony finds you in a hydra raid. You are shy, reserved, and not very talkative at first until you realize the team is not going to hurt you. Once comfortable you show them your powers and fall for a certain super soldier, again.

I used google translate for words in Russian, so if the words are wrong. I apologize.

In my writing, no one is dead.

Pairing: bucky x reader, everyone else is platonic.

Genre: fluff, anguish, mentions of torture, blood.

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

I am crouched in the conner,on the floor of my cell waiting for the guards to come get me. My daily training. More like torture.

They make me train as hard as I can and if they think I am slaking, I get a few thousand jolts of electricity shot through my body. Or even a few punches.

Yesterday was one of the worst days so far, that I can remember. I was getting random images flash inside my head, almost from a past life from what I saw, which made me loose focus quite a bit. In return the men who watch me train were heavy with the electricity jolts and even harder punches, anywhere they could land on my body. So, I was not looking forward to today's training.

I don't have a clock or windows in my cell but I knew every time they would come to get me. Like my body knew the exact moment every day. So when that time came and I was still in my cell I was growing a little worry. They are never late, sometimes early, but never late. Just then a siren rang out and the lights dimmed then went red. Was that the alarm for an intruder? How is that possible?

As a million thoughts ran through my head at what could possibly cause the alarm to go off. A very vivid picture or memory came to me and played on repeat. It looked to be the 40's, on a dock or a pier, I was laughing and looking out at the water. There were two guys with me. One was small, blonde hair, blue eyes, and had a small smile on his face. The second was bigger then the first, had brown hair, bright blue eyes, and laughing with me. Why do they look familiar? Why do I have two names on the tip of my tongue? Who are they? Just as I was about to say those names my cell door was blown off and there was a cloud of dust.

As the dust settles and I can properly see, there is a man in a red and gold suit of metal. He walks towards me as he says "Cap we got someone here. She looks no older then 24, covered in bruises, and looks terrified.""Yes, I'll make sure to get her out.""No, I can't tell if she is dangerous." He sighs and crouches down so he can look me in the eyes.

"Hi, I am Tony Stark, and I am going to take you away from here." Tony says and offers me a hand. I take it cautiously and follow him out the door and eventually outside.

Once we made it outside I take a deep breath. It felt so good to get clean air. I don't even remember the last time I was outside. Must have been years. I had to shield my eyes, it was so bright out. I didnt notice more people joining us. I was to busy looking at my hands and arms. Was I always this pale? I look up at the guy who took me away, Tony, and then darkness.

Tony catches me before I could hit the floor and runs into the jet. He lays be on a table and Bruce starts an examination. Nobody dared bother him. Nat hands Tony a flash drive and sits back down with the others.

While I was unconscious and now in the medbay at the compound, I was getting more images. Some are to fast to register what it was and some stayed a good while showing me a life I do not remember, but wish I did. Also things I did, hurting people, a chair, and training. It was all to much. To much pain, suffering, lose. I could feel myself have a panic attack. Which alerted everyone.

I jolted up into a sitting position clenching my chest and taking big gasps of air. My heart monitor going off like crazy. I looked around frantically, not recognizing where I was. I tried to rip out the Iv's but a pinching sensation in my shoulder makes me stop. I look up and see a women, before I am unconscious again.

Meanwhile in the common area Tony, Steve, Natasha, Wanda, Sam, Clint, Vision, Bucky, Bruce, Thor, Loki, Scott, and Peter all sat around looking at my file.

"Her name is y/n, y/ln. She was born in 1918, lived in Brooklyn, New York. Was taken by Hydra in 1946 while she was working on a S.H.I.E.L.D mission. Hasn't been seen since. Until about 2001 when she was spotted riding a motorcycle from a crime scene. Looked to be an assassination. Then again in 2003, 2005, 2007, 2012 and the last time in 2014. So the last time was 7 years ago. It shows she was trained like the winter soldier, but never met one another. But her powers got out of control and they have been training her to keep them in control since 2014. She has assassinated 6 men, 4 women, 2 children, and 1 hydra agent in a training gone wrong on that one." Tony reads outloud to everyone.

Steve and Bucky look at each other with a look in their eyes, as if they can't believe it. Then Tony brings up a picture of me for the group to see. Everyone gasps as a few photos show up. One is me, Steve, and Bucky at Coney Island. Then one of me and Bucky smiling at each other. Then there is one of me and Peggy Carter. Once all pictures are shown, all eyes are on Steve and Bucky.

"You know her?" Asked Natasha. Everyone silently asking the same thing.

"Yes, we know her. She was our friend. She grew up with us. She was our best friend. And a little more to Bucky." Steve answers quietly, looking at Bucky. It has been 78 years since he has seen her.

As they tell the others about me and what they remember, I am waking up again at the medbay. This time more calm. The nurses and doctors where asking me questions but I wouldn't answer them. They could tell they were not going to get anywhere with me, they called Tony and Bruce. I still would not talk to them.

How could I trust them? I don't even know them. For all I know they could be Hydra as well. With all these images popping up I don't even know what to believe anymore. Both men were throwing question after question at me. I didnt know how to answer. Or if I even should. Once they realized they were not going to get anywhere they left.

By the time I got the okay from the doctors, I was put inside a cell. Something I am all to familiar with. But this one was clean, had a comfortable bed, running water, and was warm. All the walls were glass and I could see people standing around watching me. Two I kinda recognized due to the images that I get. Each one would ask a question, each time I just stared ahead.

"We want to help you." A women with red and blonde hair spoke up after a few minutes of silence. I laughed.

"You want to help me? You don't even know me. How can you help me?" I responded quietly.

"Wanda has some powers and is able to look inside your head. Put the pieces together for you. Help you remember." The same women responded looking at another women with red hhai. I am guessing is Wanda.

"We read your file, y/n, let us help you remember the things they have taken from you." Tony says as he walks around. I don't respond, just look at everyone.

They gave up after 3 hours of silence from me and them asking questions. They leave me alone until a few days later. For those days they would bring me food, check to see if I am okay, then leave. It was Wanda, Tony, Bruce, and Steve that came a few days later. I watch them as they open the door to my cell and take a seat on a bench.

"If you are okay with this, we would like to try something. It does involve bringing back everything Hydra took from you. It might be painfull. But we think you should have the choice in remembering your life."Tony speaks up after a few minutes of silence.

Do I trust these people to try and help me? Do I even want the help? To remember all the pain I have caused and I life I will never get back.

I look at the four people in front of me and when I looked at the blonde man named Steve a memory came to me. It was just us two in a tent that looked to be on a base of some sort. He was the way he is now bigger then the other one I have seen. As if he grew or got on steroids. He was telling me about someone but it was fuzzy but I had this feeling of sadness.

I take a big breath in and look at them. "What do I have to lose? Not like I am going anywhere anytime soon." I tell them as I look at my hands.

I didnt see Tony nod at the door but did hear it open. I look up to see a young girl, with a different wardrobe then the others. She smiles kindly at me as she sits next to Wanda.

"Hi, my name is Shuri. I am from Wakanda and I can help you remember." I just stare at her.

"How long will this take?" I ask quietly.

"Depends on the damage they have caused for you to forget everything. Could be a few days, weeks, months. If you have trigger words. We will make.."

"Trigger words? What does that mean?" I interrupt her.

"Words that change you into a different person. Like they did witht he winter soldier. When we got the files from the base you were held in, shows you do have some." Tony says to me.

"Oh, so then I guess we should start this thing." I tell them. They did not expect me to say that.

They step out of my cell and start to say 6 words in Russian.

"девять- nine"

"машина-car"

"цветок-flower"

At this word I started to feel a crawling sensation run across my skin. I started to blink rapidly, my vision was getting foggy.

"слива-plum"

"банан-banana"

Now I'm rolling my shoulders, flexing my hands, shaking my head. That crawling sensation is getting thicker, heavier.

"рок-rock"

Once that last word was said I stand up, look at them with a blank expression, and cock my head to the side a little. "готов подчиниться- ready to comply."

They ready the words and I am me again. Well the shell of me that I know. I sit on the bed and take deep breaths. I did not like the feeling of having no control.

They watch me before they leave me alone for a little bit. I don't remember those words but it felt like my body did and it hurt badly.

As i sit and then pace and sit again for I don't know how long, everyone else is in the common area trying to figure out what to do next.

"Her words are different from Bucky's, why?" Same asks as they watch me in my cell.

"They made the words unique for that person. Hers are more girly because she is a girl and what she likes. They make it so only one person gets triggered and not all at once." Bucky says with a frown.

As they continue to talk and see the next step. I am going a little crazy in my cell. I started to throw everything that I could, I tried breaking the walls, the floor. I was screaming, crying, and bleeding. No one knew of my powers because it was not put in any files. So when I fall to my knees and scream everything shuts down and I pass out.

Once the lights were out, they were up and running to my cell. As people in the building were trying to get the power back on.

When they get to me I was laying on the floor and covered in some weird goo. That started right as I hit the floor. Bruce went to check if I was okay and when he tried to check my pulse he got shocked. He steps away and goes to the others.

"This is not in her file, didnt show if she had powers or not. Why would they do that?" Natasha says as the nurses come in hazmat suits.

"Because she is more dangerous then we thought." Steve says sadly.

*********

That is part 1. Possibly a part two.

[josiebelladonna]

okay, i’ll bite. who’s gipsygeek (what a name, especially if you know anything about the story behind the word “gipsy”, like oh my god).

*edit: just as a disclaimer, this is only like the third time i’ve seen her name on alex’s profile since i started following him in late 2020.

apparently she was like boss lady (i think?) when planetary coalition was being crafted. looking at her resume… wow, i thought my grandpa was nuts. and i guess—i guess anyway—she and alex were actually a thing at one point? i remember watching an interview with him last summer and the guy asked him about his life and alex actually straight up said he was in love with her. now, understand, that interview was from 2012 and i don’t have the link to it so you have to take my word for it. i will not speculate how he feels privately because quite frankly, it’s nobody’s business and it was also 10 years ago. as far as i know, they split. as far as i know anyway: he’s never said anything about it and like i said, i respect his privacy and his feelings, and come to think of it, it actually would explain a lot, too—people who warm up to my art tend to have some sort of baggage or darkness surrounding them (the prime example being chris). this whole time i’ve just been like god, why is he so soft over me? (🤭😅) because chris, i completely understood especially after he passed—same can be said for joey, too, given what he’s been through—but alex was out of left field, though. it would explain why he was starting to get heavy in 2015 (men who undergo breakups tend to gain some weight—happened my dad after he and my mom split). this would also explain why it’s only been the third time i’ve heard about her in the almost two years i’ve been following him: the previous two times, he gave her an acknowledgment on one of his livestreams last summer, it was just quick hi, though, it was like a polite thing; the second time, she was that woman on the street in the florida man video, but again, it was like really brief—those kids with the chalk got a longer cameo than she did.

they could be doing the whole jerry seinfeld/elaine benes thing: went out for a while but stayed friendly with each other because who needs grudges, amirite. but… you understand why i’m tripping balls on this, right? this is only the third time i’ve heard about her and it was in passing, like alex never elaborated who she is (and he usually does elaborate on other people, too). i had to look her up, is anyone outside of the trio going to know who she is?

it’s just jarring is all. alex is often solo, and he makes it pretty obvious, too (no guy in a relationship has an apartment that messy, trust me. hell, no girl in a relationship has an apartment that messy—i say this because i’m that girl. i’m single and my room is absolutely cluttered). guys who are in love are going to talk about you. and if the way he communicates with me on live—he also very quietly likes my comments, especially when they’re kind of naughty—is anything to go by it’s that something happened between them—and to be honest, i’m a little afraid to find out. when you look at her instagram, she… doesn’t seem like the kind of person i would have a cup of coffee with (like krista seems like someone i would have coffee with. same with tiffany billy). listen, you can have the most impressive resume in the world and give someone like brian may a run for his money, but if you’re giving me bad vibes, you’re making me squirm and kind of uncomfortable (and not in a “i’m a dumb idiot and i hate myself” kind of way)… no. i’m running the other way. i was a woman in stem for years, and i’ve met a couple of women like her along the way: you either become one of the boys—and that’s not a good thing, trust me, the biggest tomboy i know—or you get the hell out. i got the hell out of there even though i still very much geek out on it. the ones who become one of the boys—and i really hate to say this, too, like i genuinely feel bad saying this—become absolutely insufferable.

i want to like her like what happened with jessica miller (mrs lars ulrich). i couldn’t stand her at first and then i started reading about her and i very quickly changed my opinion. but… man, i don’t even know what to do with this broad. something about her is just… really off-putting, especially when i think about how sweet and earthy and upfront alex is. my whole thing with ben ended in boredom and tears all because communicating with me was just too much to ask for his sorry ass, but i just think about the time i reached out to him and asked him if everything was okay on his end and he got back to me in an afternoon.

very jarring to think about.

but you guys do realize i’m going to relish in the whole “bad girl” thing, right? if nothing else, i got myself into this: i’m gonna lay in it.

[crowdvscritic]

round up // SEPTEMBER + OCTOBER + NOVEMBER 21

Sad Girl Autumn? Try Busy Girl Autumn! Social activities have returned with a vengeance this Fall (brunch! weddings! concerts!), and with an unusually high workload at my 9 to 5, these monthly Round Ups have been kept like a secret, not like an oath.

But if you’re the mood to be all up in your feelings, there are a number of Sad Girl Autumn recommendations in here that will help you get out a good cry and make you want to bundle up in a chunky sweater. Plus, Saturday Night Live is back, and so is Awards Season (already), so there’s plenty to make you laugh and to give you a big wow. If you want more real-time recs through Awards Season and the holiday season, you can see what I’m watching on Letterboxd and putting on my Must-Watch Holiday Films list. 

September Crowd-Pleasers

1. Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings (2021)

Sure, it succumbs to Marvel’s weakness for big CGI battles in the end, but most of this adventure is cool kung fu with Simu Liu and hijinks with Awkwafina. Crowd: 9/10 // Critic: 7/10

2. Dead and Company on Tour

I had my first Grateful Dead concert experience, and not only was the music great, it was a prime venue for people-watching. While I’m not brave enough (or willing to pay) to join the devotees who fill the front rows, even lawn seats were worth it for the chill vibes and the musical legends on stage.

3. Twilight soundtracks

Hours of listening for Sad Girl Autumn! In August, I marathoned my way through the Twilight movies; in September, I marathon-ed all of the soundtracks. How movies as dumb as these got some of the coolest and most hipster bands of the ‘00s and early ‘10s to dominate their five soundtracks is beyond me. But somehow you can enjoy Angus & Julia Stone, Beck, The Black Keys, Bon Iver, Death Cab for Cutie, Feist, Florence + the Machine, Iron & Wine, Muse, OK Go, Paramore, Passion Pit, St. Vincent, Vampire Weekend, and more recording their way through a teenage romance of vampires, werewolves, and emo kids. 

4. Nobody (2021)

An action romp starring an unassuming Bob Odenkirk, cool cars, a retro soundtrack, and a still kicking’ Christopher Lloyd. Crowd: 8.5/10 // Critic: 6.5/10

5. Stuck in Love. (2012)

Is this my Dumb Rom Com I Nevertheless Enjoyed this month? Though less dumb than my usual pick, Stuck in Love. does earn a special commendation for its dumb title which neither summarizes its story well nor catches a potential viewer’s interest. Greg Kinnear, Jennifer Connelly, Nat Wolff, and Lily Collins are a broken family dealing with the ins and outs of love (at times with Logan Lerman and Kristen Bell) and with the challenges of writing careers. If you like stories about mopey authors working through their feelings in verse, this will hit you in a sweet spot. And with two Thanksgiving scenes, you know it’s Sad Girl Autumn-worthy. Crowd: 8/10 // Critic: 7/10

6. Saturday Night Live Season 47

As I always say this time of year: My friends are back! I’m grateful for a gang that consistently makes me laugh, and these have been some of my favorite moments so far: 

“Cars 4” (4701 with Owen Wilson)

“Celeb School Game Show” (4703 with Rami Malek) - I love an excuse for a parade of celeb impressions, and I love that Kenan has become the the go-to cast member to play a game show host

“Prince Auditions” (4703) - The skit I’ve shared most all Fall

“What Up With That” (4704 with Jason Sudeikis) - The reboot I wanted and needed

“Cancelling Cable” (4705 with Kieran Culkin)

“Republican or Not” (4707 with Sims Liu) - Sharp observation comedy at its best

September Critic Picks

1. Rebecca (1940)

The Best Picture Project returns! After kicking off the 1940s with a look at the Academy’s involvement in World War II, I took a look at the decade’s first big winner, Rebecca. Alfred Hitchcock’s lone Best Picture winner still kills 80 years later if for no other reason than Joan Fontaine is having a major Sad Girl Autumn mood.

Crowd review: 9/10

Critic review: 10/10

2. The History of the Sitcom (2021)

One of my favorite things about podcasting about Gilmore Girls pop culture references with my pal Kyla Carneiro is that every episode is about putting something we’re not familiar with in its historical context. CNN’s The History of the Sitcom (which aired this Summer and I caught up with this Fall) uses each episode to put beloved (and a few forgotten) sitcoms in the context of American families, friendships, workplaces, and cultural changes. Extra fun: The talking heads feature someone from almost every show you can think of, including interviews with Jason Alexander, Kelsey Grammer, Norman Lear, Jaleel White, and Henry Winkler, and even people we’ve lost just recently like Ed Asner and Gavin MacLeod.

3. Traffic (2000)

Don Cheadle, Erika Christensen, Benicio Del Toro, Michael Douglas, Albert Finney, Topher Grace, Catherine Zeta-Jones and more take on the drug trade in the film that earned Steven Soderbergh his Oscar for directing. It’s complicated and heartbreaking with no easy answers, befitting the subject matter. (Keep reading for another Soderbergh/Cheadle/Del Toro collab that’s less heavy and more thrilling.) Crowd: 8/10 // Critic: 9/10

4. Raise the Red Lantern (1991)

When a man has four wives, you know there will be drama. This Chinese-language drama is an exploration of social politics so high-stakes this moves at he pace of a thriller instead of a romance. Crowd: 8.5/10 // Critic: 10/10

October Crowd-Pleasers

1. That Thing You Do! (1996)

Tom Hanks directs a cast of young ringers (including Charlize Theron, Liv Tyler, and Steve Zahn) in the the story of a fictional one-hit-wonder group. Come for the band’s catchy single “That Thing You Do!,” and stay for the ‘60s nostalgia, the romance, and the jokes about showbiz and growing up. Crowd: 9/10 // Critic: 8/10

2. No Time to Die (2021)

I’ve always been more of a Mission: Impossible gal than a Bond Girl, but No Time to Die surprised me with its its refreshing sentimentality for a franchise so insistent on cool detachment. It had the big stunts, nifty gadgets, and sleek finish you expect, but it also had a heart and some of the most beautiful cinematography I’ve seen from 007 yet. Kyla and I also checked out 1973’s Live and Let Die in ep. 110 of SO IT’S A SHOW?, which was flawed fun. Crowd: 9/10 // Critic: 8/10

3. 21 Jump Street (2012)

Give me more buddy cop movies with the BFF chemistry of Channing Tatum and Jonah Hill, and give me more comedies with this many jokes. Crowd: 9/10 // Critic: 7/10

4. Only Murders in the Building (2021-)

A contender for the Girl with the Saddest Autumn: Selena Gomez in a murder mystery comedy co-starring Steve Martin and Martin Short. When a neighbor in their swanky New York apartment building dies, it behooves them to investigate in podcast form. Full of laughs, plot twists, and great Autumn coats, it’s been a minute since a show has made me so impatient for the next episode.

5. Dune (2021)

Let’s switch it up and call this Sad Boy Summer. Timothée Chalamet leads an A-list group (Javier Bardem, Dave Bautista, Josh Brolin, Rebecca Ferguson, Oscar Isaac, Jason Momoa, Zendaya, and more) on a beautiful and moody trip through the desert in this sci-fi epic. Depending on your mood, it could be your favorite Crowd-pleaser or your top Critic pick of the year. Crowd: 8.5/10 // Critic: 8.5/10 

6. What We Do in the Shadows (2014)

This mockumentary about modern vampires starring and co-directed by Jermaine Clement and Taika Waititi never exhausts its premise or runs out of jokes, which is probably why there’s a spinoff series heading into season four. Yes, there’s blood sucking, but there are also social politics, roommate squabbles, and old people learning 21st century tech, which are all scenarios Twilight could have benefitted from. Crowd: 9/10 // Critic: 8/10

7. Road House (1989)

Patrick Swayze is a bouncer taking on a bully zillionaire with a mean roundhouse kick. I mean, doesn’t that sell itself? Crowd: 8.5/10 // Critic: 6/10

8. Music of the Spheres by Coldplay (2021)

While I’ve never stopped loving Coldplay, A Head Full of Dreams and Everyday Life ranked seventh and eighth of their eight studio albums for me. Music of the Spheres feels like the band is beginning to boomerang back to what I love most, like the epic anthems of Viva La Vida and the quiet mourning of Ghost Stories. 

October Critic Picks

1. What’s So Bad About Feeling Good? (1968)

In 1968, Mary Tyler Moore and George Peppard made an airborne virus into a fantasy comedy, and somehow it will put you in a good mood even in 2021. Read my full review at ZekeFilm. Crowd: 8/10 // Critic: 8/10

2. Paths of Glory (1957)

This moral fable about doing the right thing is anything but morally simplistic, and George Macready’s general is a most hatable villain. Crowd: 7.5/10 // Critic: 10/10

3. Love for Sale by Tony Bennett and Lady Gaga (2021)

Bring back big band swing! I didn’t expect six Grammy noms for a throwback album like this, but I love that something so relisten-able and feel-good is being celebrated.

4. Do the Right Thing (1989)

You won’t know how current this story of racial divide aggravated by a hot summer’s day feels 30 years later until you watch it. Spike Lee knows how to jump from tension to comedy and back like nobody else. Crowd: 8.5/10 // Critic: 10/10

5. The Last Duel (2021)

I may never want to live in the world of the Middle Ages, but I am glad to live in a world where a major studio, some of the greatest movie stars, and a top-tier director want to make a movie as rich and complex and thorny as this one. Read my full review at ZekeFilm. Crowd: 8/10 // Critic: 9/10

6. House of Flying Daggers (2004)

In ep. 111 of SO IT’S A SHOW?, Kyla and I covered our first non-English language pop culture ref, and we’re all about this Chinese martial arts movie with serious autumnal vibes that inspired Shang-Chi. Crowd: 8.5/10 // Critic: 9/10

7. Double Feature - French Comedies: Amélie (2001) + The Dinner Game (1998)

Amélie (Crowd: 9/10 // Critic: 9/10) is quirky and romantic, The Dinner Game (Crowd: 10/10 // Critic: 8.5/10) is slapstick and socially conscious. Both are hilarious, and both are also very French.

November Crowd-Pleasers

1. The Addams Family Values (1993)

Do we talk enough about how great Joan Cusack is? I say no. I also caught her as the villain in It’s a Very Merry Muppet Christmas Movie this month, but the Addams let her turn it up to 11, and wow, what a treat to watch her ham it up. Crowd: 9/10 // Critic: 7.5/10

2. Bleachers on Tour

Whenever you’re ready to head back to live shows, make it one starring people with as much energy as Jack Antonoff with dueling saxophones.

3. Mystic Pizza (1988)

A rom-com as cozy as the sweaters Annabeth Gish, Julia Roberts, and Lili Taylor wear for their coming-of-age Sad Girl Autumn. Crowd: 8.5/10 // Critic: 7/10

4. Red Notice (2021)

Ryan Reynolds meets Thomas Crown meets Gal Gadot meets James Bond meets Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson meets Indiana Jones. Sue me—I like all those people, so I really don’t care that this movie “should” have been better. Crowd: 9/10 // Critic: 6.5/10

5. Because He’s Jeff Goldblum by Travis M. Andrews

Full of hilarious footnotes and nice guy anecdotes, this book is exactly what it sounds like: an ode, sometimes in haiku form, to the human meme Jeff Goldblum. If you want a celeb biography in which you learn nothing scandalous and that makes you laugh a lot, this one is ready and waiting for you.

November Critic Picks

1. The French Dispatch (2021)

Wes Anderson’s latest is a movie that made me buy fresh bread and drink coffee at 10 p.m., and honestly I am not sure there is higher praise than that. Read my full review at ZekeFilm.  Crowd: 8.5/10 // Critic: 10/10

2. Red (Taylor’s Version) by Taylor Swift (2021)

If Joan Fontaine or Selena Gomez didn’t win Sad Girl Autumn, then we’ll give that award to the “Sad Beautiful Tragic” Taylor Swift for her re-release of Red. Oh, and for the “I Bet You Think About Me” Music video she made with Blake Lively and Miles Teller; the short film she directed for her song “All Too Well” starring Dylan O’Brien and Sadie Sink; and her 10-minute performance on Saturday Night Live. Sounds like somebody else had a Busy Girl Autumn, too, huh?

3. Paper Moon (1973)

In ep. 112 of SO IT’S A SHOW?, Kyla and I con you into listening to the story of and behind Paper Moon, the dramedy starring Ryan and Tatum O'Neal. What Oscar record does this movie still hold? What sad behind-the-scenes stories change how we saw it? And what the heck does it have to do with Lorelai and Rory’s shopping habits? Plus, with a quick look at the history of con people in real life and the movies, you too can learn how to pull fast ones on other people! Crowd: 8.5/10 // Critic: 10/10

4. King Richard (2021)

A feel-good sports movie, an authentic family movie, a killer and unexpected Will Smith performance. Crowd: 9/10 // Critic: 9/10

5. No Sudden Move (2021)

A Steven Soderbergh heist film with an all-star cast (including one actor who just keeps doing the surprise appearance thing that I love) and a plot so complicated I definitely needed to Google it afterward? You can give me these for all time forever. Also, I’ve accidentally attended a mini Benicio del Toro film fest this fall (Traffic, The French Dispatch, and—not on this list—Snatch), and why did I wait so long to do this? Crowd: 8.5/10 // Critic: 9/10

6. The Harder They Fall (2021)

One of the greatest strengths of this film is it knows how cool it looks when a gang of outlaws ride into town on horseback. Its other great strength? Oh, a little cast including Zazie Beetz, Idris Elba, Regina King, Delroy Lindo, Jonathan Majors, LaKeith Stanfield, and lots of “that guys” you’re always happy to see. With slick editing, a percussive soundtrack, and splashy sets, this isn’t a Netflix movie—it’s on a movie on Netflix resuscitating the Western genre. Crowd: 8.5/10 // Critic: 8.5/10

Also this Busy Girl Autumn…

I checked out The Bride of Frankenstein for a Zeke Film Admission about classic movie monsters we’ve never met. Who knew she was in only five minutes of her own movie?

Kyla and I got to know Groucho, Chico, Harpo, and Zeppo on SO IT’S A SHOW? ep. 108, and now we know how all about the puns, the gags, and the jokes, tie in with Gilmore Girls. We investigate where their nicknames came from, how their comedy style is similar to Amy Sherman-Palladino’s, and whether Marty was right about Lucille Ball.

Kyla and I watched every version of A Star Is Born for ep. 109, which are some of my all-time fave films, so I was more than happy to revisit them. 

I reviewed Eternals for ZekeFilm, which…I didn’t hate? But the more I thought about it after the fact, the more it didn’t work for me. Find it and Shang-Chi on my updated MCU rankings on Letterboxd.

Photo credits: IMDb.com.

[bitletsanddrabbles]

Customer Service Solidarity: Why I Don’t Complain About Julian Fellowes

This post is happening because it's 9 pm on what is effectively my Tuesday. That means I've had two days of packing groceries for people and three days left. The good news is that it's been a good week as far as serving entitled brats who are old enough to be my parents. But our store is super busy, with generally 400 to 1000 people walking through the door per hour, having a 1% annoying customers rate is ............ still a lot of people.

Not as much as 1% of roughly 1 million customers, though, which is what Julian Fellowes has to put up with. Which leads to days that go like this -

- Work -

Me: *finishes packing groceries the way 90% of customers like it packed* There you go! Have a nice day!

Customer: *hasn't said boo to me the whole transaction. Now pushes their cart just far enough out of the way for me to hear when they say - in a slightly raised voice* Well, I guess I'm just going to have to repack everything myself because she doesn't know how to pack groceries!

Me: *bites my tongue hard enough to pierce it to keep from turning around and saying that at least I know how to ask for things I want, be it 'please pack this way' or even 'please let me pack my own groceries' rather than being an entitled, microagressive asshat*

- Home -

Me: FOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! Time to relax! I could sure go in for some fluff. What ya' got for me, Ao3?

Fanfic Writer: Okay, so, here's my story which is what really should have happened in the show that I had to write myself because Julian Fellowes doesn't know how to write a story!

Me: .............or maybe I'll do something fun, like going to clean the toilet.

I don't complain about Julian Fellowes.

I don't complain about what he did or did not do with the show.

I could. There are certainly bits that make me go 'meh' or 'wtf happened there?'

I just don't.

This has lead to, among other things, one time being accused of being 'besties' wtih JF or even being JF in disguise....because script writers have nothing to do but comment on other people's fanfiction. This was no one I talk to on tumblr, but still. It happened.

And why did it happen? Why do I so steadfastly refuse to complain about the upper class, cys, heterosexual white guy who made so many mistakes and poor decision when writing the show I love? The guy who so many people assure me is a homophobic hater of the working class? The guy who ruthlessly robbed my favorite character of the development/relationship/witty dialogue/etc. he deserved?

Because after a day of dealing with shitty, entitled customers, the last thing I want to do is be someone else's shitty, entitled customer!

And no, I don't care that Julian Fellowes lives in England and isn't there to hear me whisper to the person shopping with me "Do you see that? She put the frozen broccoli on top of the ground beef! What is she thinking?"

He will never know if I slap in some two second, no brain cell answer like "She must have never packed groceries a day in her life!" that lets me feel superior rather than applying logic and coming to the conclusion of "Actually, she's worked here long enough to know that most people like their cold stuff packed together and would rather than the frozen broccoli (packaged in two individual bags inside another bag) on top of the ground beef (wrapped in plastic wrap and then placed in a plastic bag) than risk having e coli burgers for dinner!"

I do not care that he won't know I'm defending him because ultimately, it's not even about him. It's about me and the kind of person I want to be, and

I.

Do.

Not.

Want.

To.

Be.

That.

Customer.

So yeah, I look at my "Um, that made no sense?" moments and think of all the practical, non-judgy reasons it might have happened, ranging from 'well, it made sense at first, but the editors cut it' to 'he was on a deadline, fighting writer's block, and then WOOPS! He had bronchitis and couldn't make it pretty by time to film" rather than assigning him motives like "He was trying to make this character look incompetent because he doesn't love them."

If Rob decides he doesn't want to do any more Downton again ever and please kill off Thomas to make sure of it, I will not spend *calculates* Let's see...2012/2013 to 2020...say seven years looking at Lord Fellowes and screaming "HOW COULD YOU STOP CARRYING MY FAVORITE PRODUCT? Don't you know how wonderful it was? Everyone I know agrees hat it was the best thing ever! Everyone! You're losing a lot of money, not carrying it anymore! I should go shop somewhere else in protest!"

I won't, because every job I've ever had is customer service, every job I ever will have is customer service, because every job out there is customer service of some sort of another, and I respect my fellow customer service people, be they nobodies flipping burgers in McDonald’s, or big names writing stories to make my life a little more bearable.

I want to be the person who looks at the imperfections and still feels it more important to say “Thank you for continuing to work during this pandemic” or “Wow, that’s a nice packing job!” and then pushes the cart five feet before moving the eggs to where I like them because HEY! I didn’t say where I liked my eggs!

And maybe I’m over identifying with the man. Maybe the fact that this fandom has really driven home the fact that my former dream job of being a professional writer is just another form of retail is making me more tolerant than I should be. I don’t care, because at least I’m at least trying to think of someone else rather than insisting the world revolves around me and my needs.

So thank you, Julian Fellowes, for getting to the point where either the hamburger buns have to go on top of the eggs or the eggs have to go on top of the hamburger buns and figuring out that the eggs weigh more. I appreciate it, even if the bananas are probably a bit bruised because you almost dropped them.

[mercuryonparklane]

Since Taylor released “You All Over Me” last night and also posted the “Love Story” remix lyric video that includes a group picture with Emily in it, I am reposting this from my other blog (because at the time I posted it my other blog was too new to show up in the tags). I’m not necessarily saying that YAOM is about Emily...

Anyway, here is a post about “Breathe” and how it is the only Grammy nominated song of Taylor’s that she has performed just once:

Prior to Lover Taylor had 9 Grammy nominated songs (that appeared on her own records): “You Belong With Me”. “White Horse”, “Breathe”, “Mean”, “We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together”, “Begin Again”, “Shake It Off”, “Blank Space”, and “Bad Blood”.

According to Taylor herself, despite multiple requests from fans over the years, she has only sung “Breathe” live one time. She performed it for the first and, so far, only time on August 18, 2018 during her reputation Stadium Tour show in Miami.

I decided to compare this to how many times she has sung her other Grammy nominated songs (I chose not to include anything from Lover or folklore because she obviously hasn’t had the opportunity to perform those songs as she normally would):

(Disclaimer: the data related to the number of times Taylor has played each song comes from setlist.fm, so it may not be 100% accurate, but it is close enough to demonstrate the purpose of this post)

“Breathe”

Date of release (as a single): October 23, 2008

# of times Taylor has performed this song live in total: 1

“White Horse”:

Date of release (as a single): December 9, 2008

# of times Taylor has performed this song live in total: 137

“You Belong With Me”

Date of release (as a single): April 26, 2009

# of times Taylor has performed this song live in total: 381

“Mean”

Date of release (as a single): March 13, 2011

# of times Taylor has performed this song live in total: 196

“We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together”

Date of release (as a single): August 13, 2012

# of times Taylor has performed this song live in total: 272 (that # includes 1 time she performed the song as a mashup with “Bad Blood” and 53 times as a mashup with “This Is Why We Can’t Have Nice Things”)

“Begin Again”

Date of release (as a single): October 1, 2012

# of times Taylor has performed this song live in total: 75

“Shake It Off”

Date of release (as a single): August 18, 2014

# of times Taylor has performed this song live in total: 189

“Blank Space”

Date of release (as a single): November 10, 2014

# of times Taylor has performed this song live in total: 166

“Bad Blood”

Date of release (as a single): May 17, 2015

# of times Taylor has performed this song live in total: 141 (that # includes the 53 times she performed the song as a mashup with “Should’ve Said No”)

As you can see, there is a pretty glaring disparity between the number of times she performed the other 8 songs live compared to the 1 time she performed “Breathe” live.

The song was released as a promotional single in the lead up to the release of Fearless, but wasn’t really a main single. It never had a music video, which means that it was probably never meant to be pushed for the charts. Although, it did spend one week on the Billboard Hot 100 chart, peaking at #87 on the week ending November 29, 2008, following the release of Fearless.

The song was co-written with Colbie Caillat, who also features on the track. Colbie was fairly popular at the time, in particular her debut single “Bubbly” had been very successful the previous year. So, you might think Taylor’s team/label would have wanted to push this song a bit more, but for some reason they didn’t.

The song seemed to be received well by critics too. There were obviously plenty of people who thought the song was good enough to earn a Grammy nomination. Although, it did end up losing to Colbie’s other, more commercially successful collaboration (“Lucky” with Jason Mraz).

So, it has been established that the song was released as a promotional single, it was nominated for a Grammy, and it was a collaboration with a popular (at the time) artist. These three factors combined might make someone wonder why she didn’t perform this song live until almost 10 years after its release. Just to reiterate, Taylor performed “Begin Again”, the song she performed second least out of this list, 75 times compared to the 1 and only time she performed “Breathe” in 2018.

This brings me back to the point that all of these other songs have a music video and were pushed as singles, whereas “Breathe” was only a promotional single and never had a music video.

Perhaps it would be fairer compare “Breathe” with the other promotional single Taylor released in the lead up to Fearless (I am excluding “Change” because it does have a music video and was used during the 2008 Olympics):

“You’re Not Sorry”

Date of release (as a single): October 28, 2008

# of times Taylor has performed this song live in total: 124

Yes, that’s right. Taylor has performed “You’re Not Sorry”, a song that got about the same amount of promotion as “Breathe”, well over 100 times.

Fearless was Taylor’s sophomore album and it was her first tour as a headliner. She had two albums worth of songs, plus a handful of others, to choose from. “Breathe” did not make the setlist. The only other song from Fearless that was not a part of the main setlist for that tour was “The Best Day”, a song that she performed live 6 times between 2009 and 2018, including twice during the Fearless Tour.

So, “Breathe”, again, was:

co-written by and features an artist who was popular at the time

released as a promotional single

nominated for a Grammy

never performed live before August 18, 2018

Which begs the question, why did she wait so long to perform the song live?

It has pretty much been established that the song is about Taylor’s original fiddle player, Emily. Taylor has never named names on this one, but most Swifties, even non-Gaylors, think the song is about her. Colbie Caillat basically confirmed this longtime fan theory in an April 2020 interview, where she says that Taylor “was writing about something she was going through with a band member at the time, and she was pouring her heart out about it”.

Taylor did say in the “making of” video for “Breathe” that the song is about a friend:

“It was total therapy because I came in and I was like, ‘Look, you know, one of my best friends, you know, I’m gonna have to not see anymore and is not gonna be part of what I do and it’s, like, the hardest thing to go through.’ It’s, like, crazy listening to the song cause you’d think it would be about a relationship, but it’s really about, like, losing a friend and, like, having a fallout and just the loss…”

She also adds:

“It’s never specific as to why. That’s my favorite thing about it. It doesn’t talk about why or whose fault it was cause sometimes the hardest time and way to say goodbye is when it’s nobody’s fault. It just has to stop.”

But, again, I’m pretty sure that Taylor herself has never said that it was about Emily. The official story is that Emily left the band to attend law school, but there is a rumor that she was actually fired. More specifically, the rumor is that she was fired when the true nature of their relationship was discovered.

This is all old news to Gaylors, of course. I said in my first post for this blog that I would not go too far into this theory due to the fact that Emily was 21 when she was hired and Taylor was only 16 at that time. I do think it is possible that Taylor had strong feelings towards Emily and maybe those feelings were unrequited or maybe they were reciprocated. Either way, perhaps someone found out somehow and the fallout was Emily getting fired.

It is also not improbable that Emily decided that she didn’t really like being on the road or the business side of being a professional musician and wanted to pursue a different career. If that was the case, then I do wonder why Taylor felt the need to repeatedly sing “I’m sorry” at the end of “Breathe”.

The only thing that would make sense, other than a potential firing that Taylor somehow felt responsible for, is that they had a fight when Emily broke the news to Taylor that she was going to leave the band. Hence, Taylor feeling the need to apologize so profusely.

Even if that is the case (here is where I project a bit/draw from my own experience), it still seems, to me, like Taylor felt a deep connection to Emily that might have blurred the line between platonic and romantic feelings. Maybe Emily is the first woman that she had those feelings for (ignoring “Angelina” and “Me And Britney” for this point) and so when she left it hit her really hard. Thus, she couldn’t bear to sing about it, even by the time the Fearless Tour started almost a year and half later.

That is all speculation, of course. Still, I can’t help but wonder why she would let almost an entire decade go by before she decided to sing a literal Grammy nominated song on stage for the first time. Especially considering the fact that she has performed all of her other Grammy nominated songs well over 100 times, aside from “Begin Again” (which she has still performed 74 times more than “Breathe”).

[imbuckysplum]

Oh wow so I for some reason made the choice to write again. I actually kinda like this story. Its 1.8k words :)

Cookies and Leather Jackets

“Can you pass me the eggs, Steve?” Never in a million years did you think that you would be baking cookies for your little sister’s school bake sale with Steve Rogers. Then again never in a million year did you think your parents would die, leaving a sixteen year old you with a five month old Ellie. That was a while ago though, 2012. That’s how you became an Avenger. You were using your teleportation to get kids out of your school when Tony saw you. Your parents also had powers, but they never told where they came from, only that they were genetic. You wondered a lot what would have happened if your parents didn’t die. So many possibilities.

“I got it Y/N!” Ellie reached over the table and grabbed an egg. She was very excited to be helping. Handing you the egg, she gave you a huge smile. You smiled back. “Y/N, this batch is ready for the oven.” Steve handed you the tray. Your eyes locked, the whole universe seemed to stop. It was no secret that you liked him, a lot. Wanda told you he liked you to, she read his thoughts around you. Neither of you were bold enough to make a move. It drove everyone crazy. You snapped out of your trance when Ellie let out a loud ooooooooo. She wanted you guys to get together so bad. She would ask you constantly about your relationship with him. Steve blushed and ran his hand through his hair. You hated he did that, it always made you blush even harder.

“Ready for school, little monster?” Natasha walked into the kitchen, Ellie’s bag in hand. That was one of the many amazing things about living in the tower, the team was always ready to help you out with Ellie. You grabbed her lunchbox from the fridge. “Remember El, I’ll be there at 3:00 for the bake sale, wait for me by the door.” You handed her the lunchbox and placed a kiss on her cheek. “With Steve?” She looked over at Steve who was putting cookies on the pan. “Honey, you kno-” Steve cut you off. “I’ll be there kiddo.” She giggled, before running over to Natasha. They walked out of the kitchen, Natasha winking at you.

You knew exactly what that wink meant. It was her ‘you’re alone with Steve, make your move for fucks sake’ wink. Taking a deep breath in you started, “Steve you don’t have to come, it’s really fine. You’re already helping me out with all of this, which is way more than you need to. You’re probably very busy, I’ll just tell Ellie you’re sorry you couldn’t come, something came up.” Steve just blinked at you before bursting out laughing. “Y/N I want to come. I love Ellie. Plus you’re gonna need help with all these cookies.” You just smiled, you knew there was no arguing. Just one reason why you loved Steve. He was always ready to help out, even when he didn’t need to.

Then an idea struck you. You took some cookie batter in your hand. “Hey Rogers, you have something right here.” You swiped your hand across his cheek, leaving behind a long stripe of batter. “Y/N, I just showered. Come on really!” At first you really thought that you did something wrong until a huge ball of batter landed on your face. When you managed to wipe your eyes off, Steve was standing there with a goofy smile on his face. “Oh you’re so done.” You smirked at him before taking a handful of dough and shoving on his forehead. You were aiming for his hair, but he was too tall for you to reach.

Before Steve could get you again, you grabbed a bowl and ran ducking behind the counter. “Hey Y/N I think the cookies are burning.” You shot up from your hiding place, only then realizing how dumb that was. Batter slapped you in the arm. “So you wanna play dirty Stevie?” He blushed hard, you smirked.

If Wanda was right your plan would work. The timer went off signaling that the cookies were done. Perfect. Grabbing the oven mitts you walked over purposely swaying your hips with every step. Bending over dramatically you pulled the cookies from the oven. You could feel Steve’s eyes stalking you. “See something interesting Rogers?” You asked with fake curiosity. His face was beet red, the blush extending all the way down his neck. He didn’t answer, so you walked closer.

You don’t really know where this side of you came from, but Natasha would be proud. “Nothing.” He mumbled. Stepping forward again, this time close enough to put your hands on his chest. “What was that, I didn’t hear you.” You looked up at him with a sweet smile. “I said it’s n-” Before he could finish you took the biggest ball of batter you could get and smushed it into his face. Steve was very taken aback by this but only for a second, before he wiped it off and grabbed your waist. You squeaked, unprepared. He pulled you in, your hands on his chest. Now that was a feeling, his muscles flexing as he breathed in and out.

You looked up at Steve, his baby blues staring back. “Screw it.” His mouth crashed into yours. The kiss tasted of cookie batter. You moved your hands from his chest to his neck, pulling him in closer. Your mind finally caught up with your body. You were screaming inside like a teenage girl would scream about One Direction. This just couldn’t be real. Steve picked you up, and placed you on the counter, you wrapped your legs around his muscular waist, confirming that this was in fact not a dream. Steve broke away from your lips, both of you panting. “Y/N I-” “I love you too Steve.”

Going back in for another kiss you stopped. “Fucking finally!” You turned your head to see Natasha. She looked relieved, like someone had taken a fifty pound weight off her back. You let go of Steve, blushing. “I’ll finish the cookies, you two need a shower, together.” She said the last part quietly, so only you could hear. “Nat!” You gave her a look, hopping off the counter. She just gave you a smirk. “Go!” She ushered you two out of the room. “Um, so dinner this Friday?” Steve asked when you guys got into the elevator. “Dinner sounds really nice.” You gave him a light peck before stepping off the elevator onto your floor.

When you got to your room things finally hit you. You just made out with Steve, and you told him you loved him. Now he wants dinner on Friday. Is this what heaven feels like? You wondered in the shower. You laid around in your towel for a while after your shower. Replaying the moments over and over again. It never seemed to feel real.

A knock on the door broke you from your thoughts. “Y/N, you almost ready to go?” It was Steve. You grabbed your phone, it was 2:45. Already?! “Coming.” You called to him, throwing on your clothes. When you opened the door, Steve was standing there with the cookies. “Wow you look amazing. I’m so glad I can finally say that out loud.” You blushed. “Stop.” You hit him playfully. “Honesty is the best policy Y/N.” Steve stated. When you got to the garage, Steve tossed you a helmet. It took you a second to put two and two together, you were taking his motorcycle.

“Oh, you should wear this.” Steve took off his leather jacket and handed it to you. This made you super giddy, you’ve always loved his leather jacket. Once you slipped it on, you felt safe. It smelled like him, it was warm, and big, it was love. You took the cookies from him after you got the helmet on. You put the cookie container in between your legs, holding onto it with your thighs. Your arms wrapped around Steve’s waist. You could feel him stiffen when you made contact with him, before relaxing again. His muscles were just insane. You had a hard time keeping your hands still, they itched to feel his body.

It was a pretty short ride to Ellie’s school. Sometimes you really just wanted to teleport places, but you didn’t want to be lazy. Plus it makes a bit of a scene. Steve parked, and you tried to take your helmet off, but it got stuck. You heard laughing. “Just help me please.” You grumbled. Steve had no issues getting your helmet off. “My hero!” You dramatically fluttered your eyelashes. Steve gave your forehead a kiss, before helping you off the bike. Ellie was waiting by the door, just like you told her to. “Hey El! Go give these to your teacher for me ok.” You bent down and handed her the cookies.

She nodded before running over to a woman. She thanked Ellie and placed them on the table. She ran back over to you. “Ready to go?” You asked, taking her backpack. “Wait a minute.” She said squinting at you. You looked at Steve, he just shrugged. All of the sudden she let out a squeal. “That’s Steve’s jacket! I know because he’s let me wear it! You’re dating Steve! I knew it!” She ran up to Steve and hugged as high up as she could, which was only his legs. “You’re going to be a good husband for Y/N.” Steve was caught way off guard by that. You just laughed a little. “She’s just excited.” You told him.

As you guys walked back to the motorcycle, Ellie asked endless questions. She didn’t even wait for you to finish answering them half the time. Steve gave Ellie his helmet. It was super big for her and wobbled around whenever she moved her head. She liked it, she said she was like a bobble head.

Once you guys got back, you handed Ellie her bag, she ran inside. Bruce always helped her with her homework. You just didn’t have the patience for it. “You know she never took the helmet off.” Steve laughed. “I’ll get it back.” You smiled at him.

The two of you headed inside the compound. Steve stopped you in the living room. “Y/N I love you. You are like nobody I’ve ever met. I promise you I’ll always be there for you and Ellie.” You squeezed his hand. To most people that might just sound sappy, but it really meant a lot. You’ve lost so much, to know that someone is always going to be there is nice, but to have them say it makes it real. “I love you too soldier.”

[dailyrov]

Well, life’s been stressful, et cetera and so on. Welcome to 2021, which will hopefully be better than 2020, but boy-oh-boy is the bar low.

I was minding my own business today when some kind person dropped a comment on one of my ‘fics (If It Takes a Lifetime). I replied to them and then read through my other replies, relived the story a bit...you know, Something Fanfic Authors Do. I was reminded of something I wanted to post here for a while, but struggled to put into concise wording: my relationship to the series.

My first foray into The Rose of Versailles was in 2008, all thanks to a certain @kippielovesyou who baited me into watching the anime because she claimed the main couple had some things in common with a pairing I was super into at the time. I got hooked. I marathoned the anime and went to work after episode 39 without having gotten any sleep at all. Shift start was at 6:30am. The assembly line started moving. One of my coworkers nudged me. “Hey,” they said. “Did something bad happen? You look miserable.”

I wasn’t miserable so much as emotionally drained. “Just tired,” I said, and focused on my work for the next 8.5 hours. I wasn’t about to tell them that my favorite characters in a television show just died. 

I went home and watched the 40th episode. I felt weird afterward. Still drained. Almost...empty.

Not angry. Not betrayed. Just...this really strange sort of blankness that I had rarely felt upon reaching the ending of anything. I recalled a similar feeling at the end of the 1989 film Glory, but no other piece of media could come close to touching it. I would almost call it peace, though the unsettling kind. I’m not supposed to feel peaceful about a tragic ending, right?

But I was hooked. 

I downloaded the entire series on a torrent, something I hadn’t done before OR SINCE. I burned it to discs and mailed them to Wisconsin so that my oldest internet friend (now husband) could watch it. He cried at the end. I forced my sister to sit down with me to watch the whole thing. She cried, too. I wrote fanfiction. I drew fanart (it was bad, don’t @ me). I screamed about it to countless friends on Livejournal. I recommended the series to everyone I knew and a lot of those people joined me in writing fanfiction.

What a time to be in fandom!! We flooded the fandom with regular English fanfic for the first time ever. The fandom was hopping. I met two amazing women (Kasia and Loulou) who spoiled me rotten for fanfiction reviews for the rest of my life. I bought the French manga and read the entire thing. I fell in love with one specific page (you get one guess as to which that is lol). I distinctly remember crying twice while reading the manga in a language I could only stumble through: first when Andre tried to count the stairs in the house, miscounted, and tripped, and secondly when Oscar threw herself onto her mother’s lap crying that she was a human being with feelings.

I still get emotional thinking about these scenes, particularly the latter one. The Rose of Versailles got me through so much. I honestly don’t know where I would be, or who I would be, without it. There is no way Kippie could have known that I would need RoV. For her, it was as simple as, “I enjoyed it, and I think you would, too. Because shipping.” And yeah, I’m a shipper who did enjoy it for that, but it became SO MUCH MORE THAN THAT TO ME.

I don’t want to spit the whole long tale out here, but shortly after I obsessed over RoV, I had my own identity crisis. It was a tough time for me, but it also cemented my future as an essayist who focuses primarily on the literary device known as Identity. When I went to college in 2012 that was my focus in literature, and nearly every essay I wrote I chose to explore it in some fashion. Identity. What makes a character, what shapes them, what changes or moves or motivates them. RoV motivated that love for Identity and my essays motivated the English Department chair to give me a selective scholarship (that they chose, it was never applied for). The reasoning they cited to me was that I had shown a rare passion for literature and the characters within. For the first time in my life I felt validated in my obsession with Identity.

I was in my early 20s when I first saw The Rose of Versailles, and something about the character of Oscar spoke to me, but I couldn’t quite name it. I felt that I understood her, and not just for being a woman working in a man’s field. There was something else. But what? I couldn’t figure it out. 

A few years later I started seeing an uptick in romantic and sexual identities online. Demisexual. Asexual. Aromantic. Greyace. Something clicked—for me, personally, as well as my understanding of the characters. And years later, Tumblr flooded with information about ADHD presenting in women, and autism in ladies. And my brain went, OH!!!! OH!!! OH I SEE!!

I know a lot of people love Oscar for their own reason, and I think that’s probably one of my favorite things about the series: that the main character is almost universally loved by everyone, and that she receives this love no matter how the individual fans choose to view her.

Something specifically that bothered me many years ago was a certain persistent disdain for Oscar not returning André’s feelings earlier. She was blind, she was stupid, she was mean, and the worst of all: she was Bad for these reasons.

My God, when I tell you now that the scene of Oscar falling onto her mother’s lap in tears over being treated like a doll made me cry, I know why. I spent years of my life wondering why I was born the way I was. I agonized over it. I didn’t want to be “normal.” I was happy being me. But nobody else was. My sister once accused me of not having feelings. I think of that moment every time I see Oscar struggling in RoV. She’s a private person who struggles privately, but that doesn’t mean that she doesn’t feel things. And there Oscar was in the manga, having lived her life the best way she knew how, only to have her father pull the rug out from under her without deigning to even explain himself to her. Suddenly, she was not allowed to have an identity of her own. Suddenly, she was not good enough as she was.

Do you know what marriage would do to someone like Oscar, particularly at that point in her life? It would kill her. How terrifying a fate to face, no control over her own life, or feelings, or even her own body.

There’s an important scene in the manga and anime where André considers that Oscar appears “as cold as ice” to others, but personally recognizes the fire of her passionate heart and finds that endearing about her... I always felt that he liked that about her because it was a side of her only he understood, only he recognized for what it was. Like she trusted that part of her in his presence and knowing this helped that love grow. I still think that’s true.

But beyond that, I think André is on the ace spectrum himself, and understands better than anyone how Oscar’s feelings work. (There’s so much more to it than that, but I’ll leave it there for now...)

The part of the fandom that felt Oscar was selfish or uncaring for not loving André back sooner...miss the point, I think, of her character, and of the romance of the series. It’s not that Oscar is unfeeling. It’s not that she can’t love André. It’s not even that she’s choosing not to love him. In my opinion, it’s that she’s ace and the way she shows her love and care is not only different than a person might expect it to be, but also difficult to express—though whether this is due to her upbringing or her romantic identity (or both!) is up to interpretation.

More importantly, she does not owe him herself.

(And, I think beyond all this, usually people who feel this way really adore André, and while that’s great, I think they’re ignoring a key component of his character, which is: he loves Oscar and never even once so much as suggests that she owes him anything.)

Anyway, that was a long post to say: I view Oscar as ace and ADHD and I wish I could go back to 2008 me and tell myself about both of these things, because it would have saved me a lot of worry and heartache all those years ago. But it’s okay, anyway, because I still felt that connection to Oscar, even without the specific words, and I knew André loved Oscar anyway, even though he knew she was different.

If you’re reading this now, in 2021 or later, I hope you’ve been able to find a similar connection to one or several of the RoV characters. It’s not often we get to see slices of ourselves in the media, written in a sympathetic and loving way. Having that made all the difference to me when I needed it the most. ♥ And I hope it’s had a positive impact on your life, too.