#lillian rich

[gatutor]

Lillian Rich-Warner Baxter "The golden bed" 1925, de Cecil B. DeMille.

[silentdivasblog]

Lillian Rich ❤️

[markodragic]

actually speaking of molly being cut from the gilded cage mission, I also think that would've been a perfect opportunity for a little side conflict with her and dutch as a potentially missable event that happens at the party. like maybe she's glad to finally be included in something and she's determined to make good on the opportunity by trying hard to dig for info, but dutch acts wholly unimpressed by her efforts and they argue, then for the rest of the night she just drinks and sulks. could've been another small indicator of how badly their relationship is going at that point. OR she tries to dig for info by flirting with a partygoer and dutch gets mad about it and she argues that he has some nerve to scold her for doing that when he barely behaves like a partner to her, then she storms away and ends up begrudgingly sitting beside lillian powell and getting drunk with her. idk, I just think it could've been a bit better/more interesting than just bill stumbling over high society conversation

[obliviouskara]

bratty lena will always be my favorite version of lena

[maudeboggins]

such a lovely fan letter to photoplay, 1927

[nillial]

me n the roomie were contemplating what would happen if our dnd characters knew each other in high school and the conclusion we came to is that a) her character is really torn up about her middle school girlfriend and cannot get over her b) her character would be SUCCHHHH a hater to scrunglys boyfriend she would HATE HIM and when they inevitably get married after graduation she looks like shes trying not to run over him with her car in every single wedding picture. and c) when scrungly and his man get divorced exactly one year later they work at the gas station together which of course means they get high 2gether at the night shift . unfortunately scrungly gets scared when he smokes weed . he doesnt understand that it is the weed that does this . he just thinks that the gas station is just scary

[omgthatdress]

The Importance of Studying Queerness in Context.

When studying queer history, one always has to keep in mind two seemingly contradictory things: firstly, that queerness and queer people have always existed, but at the same time, that queerness and queer identities have not always existed the way they exist today.

Modern queer terms and identities did not exist to queer people in the past. They would not have thought of themselves as "gay" or "trans" or even "queer." While these modern terms may seem to fit certain historic individuals, these individuals would not have thought of themselves as such, and it would not be a part of their lived experience. To apply the modern identities of queerness to history is to erase the lives and experiences of queer people in history, and care must always be taken to understand queer history within the context of its time.

When looking at queer history online, there is a *lot* of misinformation and misidentification out there simply because people are eager to apply modern queerness to history, often in places where it doesn't belong.

A lot of old photos get misidentified as gay because they show two people of the same sex showing some level of physical affection towards each other. Okay, I'll admit that the open-mouth kissing photobooth pictures are probably actually gay, but an old picture of two men or two women holding hands or with their arms around each other, or even kissing on the cheek, were common shows of platonic affection.

I hate to break everyone's gay little hearts, but without explicit documentation saying so, assuming that these couples are all gay is putting modern queer identity in places where it simply didn't exist. The women in the final picture are sisters. The "not married" boys are bachelors interested in marrying women.

In the silent film Wings, the emotional climax of the film comes in the form of a kiss exchanged between the characters played by Jack Powell and David Armstrong. It often gets attributed as the first gay kiss in cinema history, even on the fucking YouTube clip I found:

Except it isn't gay. The two men spend the whole film fighting over who gets to be Clara Bow's boyfriend. When Richard Arlen's character is fatally wounded, his dear friend rushes to his side and kisses him goodbye, because in the 1920s, that was considered the ultimate show of friendship. The movie ends with Jack Powell falling in love with Clara Bow.

Similarly, a kiss shared between Lillian and Dorothy Gish in the 1921 movie Orphans of the Storm often gets attributed as being queer, but it wasn't.

They were sisters playing sisters. None of this was considered unusual.

Pooh-poohing on all of these images that so many people on the internet breathlessly and joyously laud as proud gay history isn't fun. It makes me feel like I'm fucking Ben Shapiro. But if misinformation is allowed to flourish, it allows people like Ben Shapiro to come in and make the argument that queerness is a modern invention and queer people didn't exist in the past.

Everyone loves to see queerness represented in history, but the fact is that none of the stuff in this post would have been seen as explicitly gay and thus shouldn't be called gay today. If we are to understand queer history in its fullness and richness, it is absolutely crucial that we get it right. We owe it to our queer ancestors to recognize, honor, and not embellish the actual lives they lived.

[pwrn51]

"Rags to Riches: How Beauty Icons Made it Big."

  On today’s show, Cool Your Heels, Host Lillian Cauldwell interviewed Karen Putetti about her book, “Rags to Riches: How Beauty Icons Made it Big.” Karen discussed her book as a comprehensive guidebook that takes readers on a journey through the fascinating world of the beauty industry. With firsthand accounts from some of the most successful and influential beauty icons in the industry, this…

[natalievoncatte]

Lena tipped back the last of her scotch and savored it, letting the smooth, piquant insistence of it roll across her tongue and sting between her teeth. She’d poured herself three fingers of a thirty year old single malt from the Macallan and had tasted it every drop, letting it stay a while. Indeed she’d indulged so slowly that she was barely buzzed.

A distant memory struck her. The sting of heavy smoke in her mouth, acrid and unpleasant but as rich and complex in flavor as her single malts. The effect was ruined by her idiotic decision to breath it in rather than allow a brief visitation in her mouth before being set free into the night air. She had been thirteen and Lex had given her a puff on a cigar he’d stolen from their father’s humidor while he and Lillian were away.

“This is a Dominican,” he’d told her. “I’ll give you a Cuban when you have enough experience to appreciate it.”

She turned the glass in her hand before setting it in the sink. She thought of Lex almost every day- not the raving, incoherent loon who’d tied her to the chair or the bitter shell of a man he was when she fired five bullets into his chest, but the boy he was, about to go off to college, full of adolescent bravado that matched his genius. She thought of the man he might have been if he hadn’t let his base jealousy consume him, if he’d had enough empathy to follow a better path. Her path.

It was a hard one to walk, but-

There was a tap at her balcony door and she nearly jumped out of her skin, wheeling.

It was Kara.

Lena motioned for her to open the door and she did, stepping inside.

“Can you ever use the inside door like a normal person?”

Kara shrugged. “I went for a fly to clear my head and I ended up here.”

Lena sighed. “I was just heading to bed, darling. It’s late. Too late to watch cartoons on my couch.”

“Will you fly with me?”

Lena quirked a brow. “You know it’s not any fun for me. I really do hate flying.”

“I know but, I was just… would you?”

Lena looked at her. Kara looked back, her eyes soft, expression hopeful and fearful, inviting. It made Lena fight the urges that dogged her. She felt a need to stride across the distance between them and tuck away a few wind-tossed locks of Kara’s hair, cup a warm hand to her cool cheek, soothe the pain that always seemed to hide in her eyes, like the reflection of something dark in the gloss of a family photo.

“Okay.”

She got her jacket first to protect herself against the night chill, then wondered how to do this. She was used to Kara flying her, but it was usually after being caught from a fall or scooped from danger and whisked to safety. Casually flying hadn’t really been their thing.

She settled on looping her arms about Kara’s neck.

She hesitated. “Lena, are you sure? Your heart is beating pretty fast.”

“You won’t drop me?”

“Never.”

Lena nodded and Kara swept her arms under Lena, one arm under her knees, the other curled around her waist. Of course it was effortless- for Kara, raising a cement mixer over her head was effortless. She stepped up to the railing of the balcony and paused when Lena tensed.

Lena closed her eyes as Kara stepped into empty air. She realized that she didn’t know how Kryptonians fly; she suspected Kara didn’t know either. It just happened.

Lena kept her eyes shut. Kara flew, holding her gently but firmly. If not for the wind buffeting her, Lena wouldn’t have known she was hundreds of feet in the air.

Finally she felt the soft impact of Kara’s boots on the ground and opened her eyes as Kara lowered her to her feet.

“Where are we?”

Lena looked around. They were in a baseball diamond, probably for little league games, in a small park.

“The suburbs. No one bothers me at night if I stop here. It’s a good place to think.”

Kara walked over to the bleachers and sat down. She looked so forlorn, so terribly sad, and Lena quickly sat beside her.

Kara didn’t speak. She saw the slight tremor of Lena’s restrained shiver, and without a word unclasped her cape and swept it around Lena.

“Thanks,” said Lena. “This makes a good blanket.”

Kara smiled. “That is a blanket. Kal… Clark’s birth parents, my aunt and uncle, sent it with him to Earth. Martha made it part of his first suit. The one she made.”

Lena stared at her for a moment. She rarely spoke of her cousin, and when she did, it had an odd, detached tone to it. A kind of resentment. She sounded fond now, and familiar. Lena knew who he was, of course; once she knew who Kara was, deducing who her cousin was turned out to be a simple thing. Yet Kara had never dropped his name so casually in conversation. It was intimate. Familiar.

“Speaking of Clark,” said Kara. “He sent me a message today. He’s staying on Argo with Lois and their child. He’s not coming home.”

Kara caught herself, eyes wide. Lena waited, holding a tense breath.

“Kara, what is it?”

“I can’t remember when I started thinking of Earth as home,” said Kara. “Just like I can’t remember when I started thinking in English instead of translating my thoughts.”

Lena poked an arm out of the cape to rest a hand on Kara’s shoulder.

“You’re thinking about joining them.”

Kara looked down. “I almost did before, but I was needed here. I don’t feel needed so much anymore. There’s so many more heroes now- Bruce has a whole team he’s built, and there’s Diana now and of course Barry and Oliver and… they can handle a lot of it. I don’t even put the suit on every day anymore.”

Lena felt a terrible, frigid chill. Colder than the night, colder than death. She looked at Kara, really looked at her, lit by lamplight, a golden beauty in the dark. She was so hauntingly, achingly beautiful. Lena could still remember the feeling when she saw Kara for the first time in her office, how her face must have betrayed her. My God, who is this?

“Are you thinking about going?”

“Maybe. I’m not sure. I don’t know what to do. My people need every Kryptonian to come home and rebuild our culture and way of life. I have a sacred duty.”

Lena met her gaze levelly, feeling undone by it. Kara’s eyes were soft, full of an aching, unasked question.

“You keep talking about being needed, about duty,” Lena said. “The whole time I’ve known you it’s been about oaths and obligations and responsibilities. What do you want, Kara? What is your heart’s desire? Whatever it is, if you ask me, you deserve it. Whatever debt you think you owe the universe, you’ve paid it back in full with interest and gratuities.”

Kara looked away. “I know what I want, but I’m scared to ask for it.”

“I’ve never known you to be scared of anything.”

“I’m scared of being hurt. I’m scared of hurting someone else. What if I’m wrong? I’ve always been wrong about this one thing. I don’t want to lose you by asking the wrong question.”

Me? Lena thought. Why would…

Lena’s heart raced anew. The shock felt like she’d spilled cold water from her heart, racing down her limbs. She felt as heavy as stone and as light as a feather, and the flutter in her belly made her regret the scotch.

“I don’t want to go,” Kara sighed. “This is my home now. Krypton… Krypton is gone and it probably should be. I hope Clark can show the survivors a better way. There were a lot of things my people did wrong.”

“Kara, you can’t go. Okay? You can’t. You are needed here. I need you.”

Kara turned abruptly, eyes wide.

“Why did you wait so long?” Lena whispered.

“After everything I did, I… I was as afraid. I hurt you so much, caused you so much pain. Why would you…”

“Because you get so excited when you land on Park Place,” said Lena. “Because you sing to yourself when no one is looking. Because you’re bored to tears watching documentaries with me but you do it anyway. Because you always flex your muscles when you pop a cork from a bottle. Because you save me and cherish me and treat me like a queen, and you always have. Yes, Kara, you hurt me, but no one is perfect. I’m just as guilty.”

“What do you want, Lena? What’s your hearts desire?”

“I think you already know that and you’re just too scared to admit it.”

Kara swallowed, hard.

“Stay with me. Choose me,” said Lena.

“Can I kiss you?”

“I seriously thought you’d never ask,” said Lena.

Kara tilted in close. Sitting on the old faded wood of the bleachers with a blanket around her, she felt so young. She hadn’t been this giddy about a kiss since middle school. No; she���s never been this giddy ever, not a day in her life. Kara’s lips touched hers and despite the chasteness of it, she let out a soft moan.

Kara took it as an invitation and the kiss deepened, and she slipped under the blanket so they were both wrapped in it and her arms found Lena’s waist. When she tucked her head under Kara’s chin and pressed into her arms, she felt so safe, so sheltered. It was perfect, like finally finding home, and they were still there when the sun found them and Kara carried her into the morning sky.

[wifeofnatasharomanoff]

You Can Be The Boss

Warnings: Smut, g!p Nat, light angst?, pregnancy

Words: 2,782

Summary: You slept with your boss, what happens now?

A/N: who doesn't want CEO Nat yk? Remember to drink water and eat everyone, ily all <3

You were the assistant to one of the most powerful, and rich CEO in all of New York. Natasha Romanoff.. she was a strict, straightforward type of boss, frankly you didn't quite adore her, you were more scared of her, and you would gladly accept a job offer from anyone else. But you never got any, and this was probably the most paying job you could ever work at.

You step into the elevator, making your way to the top floor to hand Miss Romanoff her daily caffeine. A ding noise follows as you reach to the top floor. Sighing, you knock on her office door. “Come in.” you open the door, avoiding eye contact. “Ah, Miss Y/l/n. What brings you to my office?” you hold up the cup of coffee, placing it on her desk. “Y/n. I have a request– more like an order, really.”

You nod, waiting for her to finish speaking. “I need my assistant, you. For the work event this Friday, clear your schedule, or plans if you had any.” you did, in fact have plans. “I'm so sorry Miss Romanoff but, my friend's out for work on Friday and she asked me to watch her son.” she raised a brow, looking over at you from her desk.

“So? It was an order Miss Y/l/n, I expect you to follow it.” you dryly swallow, “Y-yes I'm sorry it won't happen again.” she watches you for a few more seconds, “Now get out, you have paperwork to do no?” you nod nervously, walking over to the door. “Bye!”

You exit her office, going back down to your floor.

“God I wish she was less m–” the elevator door opens, it's her sister who was pretty much your work best friend. “Yelena!” “Hey sestra, Natasha's still picking on you?” you let out a nervous laugh, “Uh.. no! No– she's fine.” she gives you an assuring smile, “If you need to be saved from her, I'm one call away.” she enters the elevator, as you step out of it. “Bye 'Lena!” she waves goodbye before the elevator doors close.

You take your phone out, calling your friend. “Hey! I'm sorry, but um.. something came up, and I can't watch your son today. I can pay for a sitter if you want?” "No! No, that's okay Y/n.." you hear loud noises from the background, "Put that down! .. I'm so sorry, he's being annoying all day, I have to go, so.. bye—" you turn off your phone, walking into your office.

You sigh, sitting down onto your office chair. The keys on your keyboard clacking, you type, responding to emails. A knock on your door, “Yeah?” the red-head walks through, “Miss y/l/n, I don't care if you have anything against it. I ordered you a dress for Friday..” she trails off, looking down at you.

You clear your throat, “Uh.. Miss Romanoff?” her gaze flickers back to your face, “That's– that's all, I'll be going now.” you nod, “Bye!” she gets up and goes to the door, “Bye.”

You hear the door close shut, you furrow your brows in confusion. “What was she looking at?” you mutter to yourself. You face the desk mirror, gasping quietly. “Ohh– oh.” you bring your hands up to your blouse, buttoning the top button.

You look back at the computer, seeing you received an email. "I'll be picking you up at 7 pm on Friday night. Don't be late." You find yourself smiling at her email.

The week flies by pretty quickly, Tuesday going to Friday. Your apartment bell rings, you go to open it, just to see a box with the words, "Y/n /Y/l/n, from: Natasha Romanoff." You assume it's the dress she was talking about the other day. You pick up the box, closing your door.

You open the box, emitting a gasp. It was beautiful, a gorgeous deep emerald. You pull out the dress from the box, lifting it up to see it in full view. It was modest but with an off shoulder cut. "Did you like the dress?" You look over at your phone, seeing her text pop-up.

"Yes, thank you! I'm so sorry if it was over-priced." She hearts your message, "No worries, I have the money for it. Think of it as a gift Y/n." You smile at her message, not knowing what to respond with, all you do it just heart her message and turn off your phone.

You check the time, "5:24 pm" “Shit. I'm gonna be late.” you get up, grabbing the dress and running off into your room to go get ready.

An hour and a half later, your doorbell rings. You scramble out of your room, struggling to put on a heel. You open the door, “Miss Romanoff! Hi– I'm..” you slip on your heel, grabbing your purse. “I'm– ready, shall we go?” she nods. You step out of your apartment, locking the door and walk down to the parking lot.

She drives off, leaving your apartment complex. “I'm sorry that you have to drive me.” she glances at you, “Don't be sorry, I offered.” you hum in response, looking out the window. “How long till we get there?” she pulls up to a parking space, “We're here already.” you respond with an, "oh."

She gets out of the car, you get out as well.

You two step into the building, you gasp in awe looking around the place, you feel a nudge on your shoulder. “I'm gonna go talk to some other guests, don't do anything you aren't supposed to.” you nod, watching her leave.

You walk over to the bar, picking up a glass of champagne. “I haven't seen a beauty like you here before.” you look up to see a blonde woman, “My name's Carol Danvers, you can call me Carol sweetheart.” you blush, “Hi– uh.. I'm Miss Romanoff's assistant.”

She smirks, handing you a drink. You accept it, “Romanoffs assistant huh?” you nod, “If she's too tough on you, feel free to come by at my office.” you laugh slightly, “Thanks for the offer.” she brings her hand up to your face, tucking in a stray hair strand behind your ear.

“I believe she likes it here, isn't that right Y/n?” Natasha walks up behind you, holding a glass of wine. You freeze, looking up at Carol. “Um.. yeah–” you hand Carol the drink back, “Don't be so harsh on her,” her gaze lingers on you, “She's my assistant if she didn't like how I treat her she would've quit by now.”

You feel as if you've gone invisible, watching the two women bicker. A few time passes by, Carol leaves the bar, you and Natasha just stand there. “Come on Y/n let's take you home.” you hazily look up at her, nodding slowly.

She takes you back to the car, driving off. “Mmh.. Natasha–” she glances at you, “You're drunk Y/n.” you smile at her words, poking her cheek. “No you're drunk!” she rolls her eyes, eventually making it to your apartment building.

“We're here, wake up.” you flutter your eyes open, looking up at her. “Walk me up?” she looks back at you, sighing. “Okay fine.” she helps you out of the car, and you two get into the elevator to your floor.

You unlock your apartment door, “Miss Romanoff are you mad at me?” she looks at you, “Why would I be?” you shrug, walking inside your home. “You can come in if you want.” she hesitates for a moment, but steps inside anyways.

“Do you.. want me to make food?” you offer, “Or—” you get cut off with a pair of lips crashing against yours, you moan into the kiss. Her hands roam around your body, finding the zipper on your dress and unzipping it.

She backs you up into your bedroom, shoving you onto your bed. You let out a gasp, “Yeah, I guess I was mad at you.” she hoists your legs over her shoulders, you watch her slip off her pants. She makes eye contact with you, you nod giving her consent.

You feel her hardened cock on your clothed clit, letting out a small whimper. “Let's get that off of you, hm detka?” you nod vigorously, bringing your hands down to your panties and taking it off. She gropes your waist, lining her tip to your entrance.

She pushes a few inches inside your throbbing core, making you emit a loud, breathy moan. “Fuck.. you're so tight. Taking me all in, just like that— good girl.” her words make you roll your eyes to the back of your head.

“Miss Romanoff I'm gonna—” she feels you tense up, “Do it baby, cum all over my cock.” your walls clench around her length, a wave of pleasurement crashes down on you, you scream out her name over and over again.

She thrusts in deeper into you, smirking down at you. “Mmh.. kotenok, gonna fill you up huh?” you mumble something out, getting cut off with a loud moan.

She comes inside of you, collapsing on top of your chest, panting heavily. “Y/n? You okay?” you hum as a response, nodding as you catch your breath as well.

“Uh.. I'll be going now– see you on Monday.” she slowly pulls out of you, putting her clothes back on. “Yeah! Yeah– see you on Monday too.” she smiles at you before leaving you alone in your bedroom.

The weekend passed, and you find yourself getting on the elevator to Natasha's office holding her coffee as usual. You sigh and knock on her door, “Come in.” you open the door, she freezes, and looks over at you. “Y/n.” you put the cup on her desk, “Yeah?”

She pauses, “Listen about Friday night..” you look up at her, listening intently. “It was wrong, we were both drunk and– I'm your boss, you're my assistant. If anyone found out it would be bad. So I'm trying to tell you to forget about it.”

You nod, exhaling shakily. “I understand, don't worry.” she smiles at you, “Thank you, you're free to leave now.” you walk to the door, waving goodbye.

You go back to your office, signing papers. You hear a knock on your door, followed by a, “It's me!” you smile, “The doors open 'Lena.” the blonde opens the door, flashing a big smile at you. “How did the party on Friday go?” you groan, “God, don't remind me.” she furrows her brows in confusion, sitting down on a chair.

“What happened sestra?” you chew on the inside of your cheek, looking at her. “You really wanna know?” “Yes? If somethings bothering my work sister of course I want to know.” you sigh, “Don't tell anyone.” she takes a deep breath, “Oh so it's that bad.” you nod meekly.

“Isleptwithyoursister.” “Slow down, what?” you look down at your hands. “I.. slept with my boss– who happens to be your sister.” she widens her eyes, processing what she has just been told. “Oh. Natasha!? Seriously Y/n?” you nod. She burst out laughing, “I thought you had good taste.” you frown, “So.. you're not mad?” she shakes her head, “Why would I be?”

“What did she tell you?” you look at her, confusion displayed on your face. “After—” “Ohh.” you grab a pen from your desk, fidgeting it. “Um.. she said that it was a mistake and– to forget about it.” she looks back at you, “She what?” you nod.

She gets up from the chair, “Well, I'm gonna go. I'll see you later sestra.” you smile, waving her bye. “Bye Yelena!” she mouths bye, opening the door and leaving.

She goes up to Natasha's office, opening the door, too bothered to knock. “Hey 'Lena.” she walks up to her desk. “It was a mistake?” Natasha looks at her with a confused look. “Y/n.” “Who told you tha– oh.”

“Why would you say that to her? Natasha.” she sighs, dropping her attention from the computer to Yelena. “Because I'm scared.” she looks up at her sister. “For?” “She, I love her. I do, really. But–” Natasha pauses, looking at Yelena. “But the media wouldn't approve.. So? Natasha it's your life.”

“You have until next week to tell her how you feel.” Natasha widens her eyes, opening her mouth to argue. “Because I know she feels the same way.” “She does?” Yelena nods. “Next week Natasha.” she trails off, walking out of her office.

Natasha sighs, running her fingers through her red hair. How do I tell her?

The next few days have been bad, you couldn't figure out why, you've been having the worst headaches lately. But you still went to work, obviously.

You were at your desk when Yelena came in your office, “Hey sestra what's up?” you look up at her, “Hey 'Lena, nothing much. You?” you croak out, your throat scratchy. “You okay Y/n?” you nod, weakly smiling at her.

“Well.. anything happening at work lately?” you huff, dropping your pen on the desk. “Other than Natasha bugging me.. I mean– she tells me it was a mistake but doesn't stop bothering me.” Yelena looks at you, “Do you think it was a mistake?” you hesitate, “No, but I'm respecting her opinion.”

“What if she changed her opinio—” Natasha walks in the room, Yelena stops. “Was I interrupting?” you shake your head, “No it's fine.” she looks at you the same way Yelena did, “Are you okay?” you lock eyes with her for a split second, “Yeah! Yeah.. I'm fine.”

She sighs, “You can take off for the day.” you look up at her, “Really?” “Yeah.” you thank her, picking up your paperwork. “Leave that, I'll tell someone else to do it.” you blink, “Thank you! Bye, I'll see you tomorrow Miss Romanoff, bye 'Lena!” you wave goodbye, leaving your office.

You feel the need to throw up as soon as you get home, you rush into your bathroom, and vomit. You get out, and drink water, throat still scratchy. What the fuck? ...

Days go by, you keep calling out sick. Natasha starts to worry, debating whether or not she should check up on you.

Eventually, she drives to your apartment. Knocking on your door. You open it, widening your eyes when you see her in front of your door. “Miss Romanoff!” you open the door further, signaling her to come in.

“What– what are you doing here?” you ask, closing your door. “You haven't gone to work in 8 days, I'm worried Y/n.” you sit down across from her. “What's wrong? Is it me?” you stop her, “No! I mean‐ it is you but it isn't you.” she furrows her brows in confusion.

“Miss Romanoff I—” she cuts you off, “I'm in love with you.” you widen your eyes in shock, “Well that makes this 10 times easier.” you laugh nervously, “Makes what easier?” you fiddle with your fingers, looking down at your lap. “Natasha I'm.. pregnant.”

She looks over at you, “You– it's mine?” you nod your head. She moves closer to you, grasping your hand. “Are you keeping them?” you nod, “Yeah.” she brings a hand up to your cheek, “Can I—” you slam your lips with hers, kissing her deeply.

You break the kiss, gasping for air. “Natasha what would everyone think?” she squeezes your hand, “Don't worry detka, I have it under control.” you smile at her, “Okay..” you two sit in silence before you speak up, “Are you staying?” “If you want.” you kiss her cheek, “Of course I want you to stay.”

She smiles at you, “Then I'm staying.”

The next week you back to work, when you enter your work building, you hear series of, “Congratulations Mrs. Romanoff.” not knowing what they meant by that, you go to Natasha's office.

“Y/n,” you set her cup of coffee on her desk. “What do they mean, "Mrs. Romanoff"?” she sighs, passing you a magazine. “Read it.” you grab it from her, reading it.

'Natasha Romanoff and wife expecting a baby' you put it back on her desk, “So.. I'm Mrs. Romanoff?” she nods, looking at you. You smile, taking a seat on her lap. “Baby I'm working..” you kiss her softly, “I could get used to 'Mrs. Romanoff'.”

She smiles, kissing you back. You hear a knock on the door, Natasha groans. “Come in.” Yelena barges into her office, “So my sister and bestfriend are having a baby and just happen to not tell me?”

Yelena looks at the both of your positions, widening her eyes. “Pretend I never came in here. Congratulations by the way sestra. I'm gonna go.” She runs out of Natasha's office, closing the door shut.

[mrkanman]

christ literally every character in disco elysium has a rich inner life and their own story. acele the silver bird. soona and the two mm hole. the fisherwoman lillian and her three children. gaston, rené, and jeanne-marie.

as harry, we only get the smallest snippets of these people, and theyre still so full and rich with history. revachol is a bloated corpse but its people adorn it like stars.

[gatutor]

Lillian Rich (Herne Hill, London, England, 1/01/1900-Woodland Hills, Los Angeles, California, 5/01/1954).

[missluthorwillseeyounow]

Ooh I'd love to hear 27 for Lena 😂

27. What’s the worst gift they ever received? How did they respond?

For Lena, the worst gift was no gift at all.

Her first birthday at the Luthors, and the little girl woke up with the first tiny bit of hope and happiness in her little heart.

Her birthdays, as far as she could remember in her young life, were always happy days. Not grand, in any sense. But the tiny cottage by the cliffs would be filled with a warm, rich scent of the sponge cake baking in the oven, and her mother would always let her sneak a small piece before the cake was even decorated. The sponge would be buttery and soft in Lena’s mouth, and when she exclaimed at the taste, her mother would get a soft look in her eyes and cup her cheek gently, wiping crumbs from her mouth.

No matter how lean the year had been, there would always be a present waiting for Lena at the table, lovingly wrapped by her mother's hand in shiny paper. Most times it would be a cheap pair of shoes or a plastic toy or an old book from a thrift shop - all her mother could afford - but Lena would treasure each as if it were gold.

But where were they now? Discarded by the Luthors as cheap trinkets the minute she moved into their household.

But today, she has a little bit of hope. After all, her mother always showed her that birthdays are special days.

Lena waits at the breakfast table. Lex is at boarding school, she misses him dearly. Lionel is already at LuthorCorp. Lillian has spared a rare moment to sip her morning coffee before heading out the door, and Lena's spirits lift in anticipation.

But nothing comes. No acknowledgment as the maid approaches with her lunch box and book bag. It's not even Lillian who bids her farewell, but rather the housekeeper who tells her to hurry along or she'll be late for school.

Breakfast comes and goes, and Lena is ushered into the family limo without acknowledgment.

She keeps her expectations low throughout the school day, but a little part of her looks up each time the door opens. She knows better than to expect any of the Luthors to come in with cupcakes and balloons or anything like that. But a small message, any sort of acknowledgment would be welcome.

Nothing comes.

School is dismissed and Lena is too. She is sent to her room to do her homework and brush up on her reading. Her Latin teacher comes and goes. Her organic chemistry tutor stays for an hour and talks about chirality and stereoisomers, but mentions nothing about birthdays.

Her last hope clings to life at dinner.

She's too scared to bring it up to Lionel. The man who had picked her up and flown her to the States is more interested in the portfolio he's reviewing at the table. Lillian is similarly distracted by some documents at her side. The entire dinner is silent and distracted, work taken to the table just to avoid talking to the people they share a house with. It certainly can't be called a family.

Lionel retires early and the only two people left are Lillian and Lena. The little girl waits as the maid clears the plates and disappears around the corner.

She summons her courage and musters a small smile for her new mother, who doesn't even look up to see it. "It's my birthday today."

Lillian’s annoyed gaze flicks up at her, her grey eyes almost bored. "Is it? And did you expect some sort of congratulations for that?"

Lena's mouth snaps shut, and her eyes lower to her lap.

"Do you suggest we reward something as trivial as being born? Should you get some award for merely existing?" Lillian arches a fine eyebrow. "Accolades are for achievements, Lena. Birthdays are not achievements, and hardly worth any sort of offering. If you're looking for some sort of distinction or praise for merely existing, you're looking in the wrong place. Let me know when you've achieved something worth commemorating."

But you gave Lex his own lab for his last birthday. Lena bites the thought back, knowing better than to say anything. Instead, she turns back to her plate.

The rest of the meal passes in silence.

[larissaschristies]

Symphonies - Chapter 2

(AO3 Link in Title)

Chapter 1: Tumblr | AO3

Word Count: 2,855

Summary: You and Larissa have a… confusing dinner together.

Notes: Thank you all SO. MUCH. for liking/reblogging my little fic, it means the world to me! And again, thank you to @weemssapphic for being the best beta!!

Tag List: @barbarasstar, @readingtheentrails

—————————————————————————————

You arrived at Koto twenty minutes early, your anxiety about being late and making Larissa wait for you not allowing you to be any later. You waited in your car, mindlessly scrolling on your phone, when out of the corner of your eye you saw a flash of white-blonde hair as Larissa rose from her vehicle. Your breath caught in your throat as you realized her hair was not in its usual pinned up twist, but falling in loose curls over her shoulders. She had swapped that delicious tan dress for an emerald green velvet suit, perfectly tailored to fit her body in all the right places. You looked down at yourself, the cream colored satin top and black pencil leg trousers suddenly feeling entirely inappropriate for this meeting. When you looked back in Larissa’s direction she was gone, and you briefly thought she’d changed her mind about meeting you before you realized she was halfway to the entrance of the restaurant, her mile-long legs making short work of the distance. You quickly removed your keys from the ignition and shoved them into your small purse, followed shortly by a failed attempt at stuffing your phone into the purse as well before you gave up and slipped it into the pocket of your trousers. As you opened the door to step out of your car, you felt the telltale dampness in the air of impending rain and huffed out a sigh; you had left your umbrella hanging on the doorknob of your closet at home.

Great, you thought, can’t wait to get absolutely drenched on the way to my car later.

You raised your left arm, the smart watch on your wrist automatically lighting up to show you the time: 6:52pm. Perfect. You closed the car door and bent down to check your makeup and hair in the side mirror before heading into the restaurant.

The lighting inside Koto was dim, small lights over individual tables provided a warm glow throughout the room. The walls are painted a deep navy blue, tasteful artwork in rich golden frames peppered throughout the perimeter. Your eyes scanned the room for Larissa, and your heart skipped a beat when you located her near the back corner of the dining room. The host walked up then and smiled at you.

“Party of one, ma’am?”

“Actually, I am meeting someone.” You said. “Tall blonde woman in a velvet suit?”

“Ah, yes!” He chuckled and stepped away from the host stand. “Larissa is right this way.” He gestured for you to follow him and weaved his way through the tables to the two person booth Larissa now sat at.

“Miss Weems, your companion for the evening has arrived.” He smiled politely at you both and bowed before he excused himself and walked back toward the front of the restaurant. You nervously tucked your hair behind your ears and waved shyly.

“Hi.” You all but squeaked out. Larissa looked up at you and a grin spread across her face. She held a pale hand out across the table in invitation.

“Please, Lillian, sit.” You did as you were told and tried not to focus on how the image of Larissa looking up at you would likely be imprinted on your brain forever, or how that action made your core throb.

“Good evening, Principal Weems. How did the rest of your afternoon go?” You placed your purse on the seat next to you and reached for the menu despite the fact that you already knew what you’d be ordering.

“Oh please, darling, call me Larissa,” the deep laugh she let out sounded like music to your ears, “I’m not your principal after hours.”

“Larissa.” You said, still a bit nervous despite the smile you forced to your face.

“My afternoon went quite quickly, if I’m being honest. I tend to get rather caught up in my work, and before I know it the sun has disappeared and I haven’t left my desk in hours.” Larissa reached for her glass of red wine and took a small sip.

“Oh my gosh, me too! Well, not at my desk, obviously, but when I’m practicing my cello.” Larissa smiled, her red lips parting slightly, the sight of which spurred you on. “I find it almost meditative, repeating passages until I make fewer and fewer mistakes. I don’t believe it’s possible to ever play a piece perfectly, there are as many interpretations of the ink on the paper as there are people in the world. There’s no way anyone can say that my interpretation or Jacqueline du Pre’s interpretation or even a young student’s interpretation of any given piece is incorrect; they’re just different. Hell, even my interpretation of The Swan by Saint-Saens has evolved from the first time I played it at 14 to what it is now. I’ve changed as a person, I’ve experienced more life, and the way I perform the piece has grown with me.” Somewhere in your monologue, Larissa had set her wine glass down and perched her chin on the palm of her hand, her fingers playing with her dangly earrings. Her eyes never left your face and when she didn’t speak after you were done you grew self conscious and leaned back into the booth.

“Sorry, I… I got carried away and took over the entire conversation.” You tucked an errant piece of hair behind your ear and crossed your arms over your chest.

“No, darling, nonsense.” She reached across the table and gestured for you to give her your hand, which of course you did. She pulled you away from where you’d shrunken back into your seat so that your face was back in the light. “I could listen to you talk about music for hours. The way your face lights up and you come to life is bea—“ She stopped abruptly and her eyes widened a bit as she quickly pulled her hand back to her lap and looked away, her cheeks turning pink. You opened your mouth to say something before getting cut off by the waiter returning to your table.

“Good evening, ladies, what can I get started for you in the kitchen?” He looked to you first, his pen and paper poised ready to write down your order.

“Good evening! I’ll take an order of salmon sashimi and the sirloin steak, medium rare, please. Larissa?” You looked over at the woman and smiled, only to notice she had the menu open and covering her face.

“I’ll just have the house salad with shrimp, and two orders of salmon sushi, please.” She closed the menu and handed it to the waiter and you did the same. Once he finished writing down Larissa’s order, he bowed quickly and left the table. You turned your attention back to Larissa, who had already stood up and placed her napkin on the table.

“Excuse me, I need to use the ladies’ room.” She said shortly and walked away before you could even process what just happened.

—

Larissa closed the bathroom door behind and locked it. She took a deep breath and placed her hand on her stomach, right underneath her diaphragm so she could focus on breathing. She had almost called you, her newly hired employee, beautiful, and it was sending her into a panic. Not because she didn’t think it was true, no. The exact opposite, in fact. From the moment she’d stepped into her office and laid eyes on your face as you whirled around to greet her, she’d thought you were the most beautiful woman she’d ever seen. Unfortunately, you were also the best candidate for this job she had ever seen, and she would rather do what’s best for her Nevermore family than take the risk of allowing feelings to develop.

She’d never had much luck with feelings. The first time she’d experienced anything akin to love, her heart was shattered and she was left picking up the pieces as her roommate went on to live a disgustingly blissful life with a dolt of a man. The second time she’d let someone in, they had taken advantage of her, subtly having her shift things about her appearance until Larissa looked in the mirror one day and realized she wasn’t even Larissa anymore. It had taken her two years to get back to herself, and even now when she looked in the mirror she still wasn’t sure what was wrong with her to begin with. The third time… the third time Larissa developed feelings for someone, she was manipulated, assaulted, and damn near killed. So no, Larissa did not have a good track record with feelings. She refused to call it love because she honestly didn’t know what love felt like, what it looked like, what it could be like.

Larissa took another deep breath and shook her head slightly, as if her brain was an etch-a-sketch and a simple jostle could clear away her mistakes. She walked over to the sink and turned the cold tap on, then reached for the paper towel dispenser to pull one out. She held it under the tap briefly to get it wet, then folded it into a small square and squeezed the excess water out. She used it to gently dab at her face, the cool touch of a paper towel helped her ground herself and stop the panic attack. She grabbed another paper towel to dry her face and hands, then threw both of them in the trash. She looked in the mirror and straightened her blazer and shirt collar and turned on her heel to leave the bathroom.

—

“So sorry, darling, there was a line.” Larissa said and you looked up from what you had been reading on your phone. You shoved the phone back into your pocket and smiled up at her.

“No worries!” You replied. Your eyes followed Larissa as she slid into the booth and you licked your lips subconsciously. She reached for her wine glass and used her other hand to toss her hair over her shoulder, then took a sip of her wine. As the glass left her lips, a drop began to slide down the outside edge and her tongue darted out almost instantly to catch it. Your eyes locked in on the way the tip of her tongue flattened against the glass, then the way it curled as she pulled it and the drop of errant wine back into her mouth.

Okay, maybe a few worries, you thought to yourself, suddenly feeling very warm in this booth.

“What do you like to do in your free time, Lillian?” She said as she sat the glass back down on the table, like your brain hadn’t just short-circuited.

“I uh… uhm…” Your mouth opened and closed a few times and you were only too aware that you looked a bit like a fish trying to breathe out of water. You cleared your throat and willed your brain to come up with something, literally anything, so you don't look like a fool in front of Larissa. “I book. Read. I read books.”

‘I book.’ What the fuck was that, idiot??? It took everything in your power not to roll your eyes at yourself, lest Larissa think you’re bored of her.

“Oh? I love reading as well. My personal library is rather extensive, and the Nevermore library is quite large as well. I’m sure you and I will run into each other there on occasion. What kind of books do you read?”

Don’t tell her you read fairy porn, don’t tell her you read fairy porn.

“Fai-“ Shit. “Fantasy mostly, with the occasional romance thrown into the mix. I also enjoy nonfiction every now and then, usually about music or the industry. There’s this great book called Playing for Their Lives that details how El Sistema helps children and young adults in Venezuela escape the gang violence by giving them a place to go and commune with others as part of a youth orchestra. That book is a big part of why I want to devote my life to teaching: I want to give kids a safe place to come to when they don’t know where else to go, and an outlet to express those difficult emotions that even adults struggle with.” You looked up from where you’d been fidgeting with your hands and found Larissa’s eyes wet with tears.

“Oh my god, Larissa I’m so sorry, was it something I said?” You scrambled to unroll your silverware napkin and reached across the table, catching the tears under her eye as they spilled over.

“No, darling, no. It’s just… the way you speak about music and how much you clearly love it is… refreshing.” She grabbed her own napkin from her lap and let out a watery chuckle as she wiped at her eyes. “I don’t think I’ve ever met someone as passionate about their work as I am with mine. People often look at the hours I spend in my office, the time I dedicate to my students as being silly. ‘It’s just a school, Larissa, get a life.’ What they don’t understand is that Nevermore is my life.” She placed her napkin back in her lap and picked at invisible lint on her suit, avoiding your gaze as much as she could.

You reached across the table then, holding your hand out for her to take. She hesitated briefly before placing her hand gingerly on your own. Her hand was warm and soft, the tips of her oxblood painted nails that grazed over your palm sent shivers down your spine. Your eyes were locked onto hers as the restaurant around you seemed to fall away and you leaned forward almost imperceptibly. Before you could do anything stupid, though, the waiter walked up to your table with a tray laden with food balanced on his arm.

“Dinner is served, ladies, enjoy!” He carefully removed each plate from the tray and set them down in front of you and Larissa, then bowed and left your table. The rest of dinner passed without anything too dramatic happening, and soon it was time for you and Larissa to part ways.

“Lillian, I’m so glad you were able to join me this evening. I feel like I’ve really gotten to know who you are as a person in a way that wouldn’t have been possible in a formal interview.” You both stood in the mud room of the restaurant, Larissa poised to race to her car with an umbrella grasped in her hand. You stood there empty-handed, the torrential rain outside filling your bones with dread. “Do you have an umbrella, darling?”

“I uh, I sure don’t.” You laughed awkwardly and gestured to where your car was parked. “It’s not a big deal, though, I can make a run for it. And, as my granny used to always tell me, I’m not made of sugar so I’m not going to melt.” Larissa scoffed out a laugh before she reached over and pulled you into her side.

“Nonsense, dear, my umbrella is big enough for the both of us and I’m happy to escort you to your car.” Your nose filled with the warm vanilla scent of the tall woman next to you and your eyes fluttered closed as you felt the warmth of her body begin to seep into your own. If Larissa noticed this, she had the decency to not bring attention to it and before you knew it she was pulling you out into the rain, her umbrella opening up just in time to keep you from both getting absolutely drenched.

Well, from the rain anyway, you thought as she navigated the two of you through the parking lot to your vehicle. Larissa kept her hand on the small of your back for the entire length of the parking lot, and the second she pulled away it instantly felt too cold. You unlocked the doors of your car and turned around to find Larissa impossibly close to you. Her breath grazed across the top of your face as she leaned in to open the door for you. She held the umbrella over the gap to allow you to sit without getting wet.

“Drive safe, darling. I shall see you at Nevermore on Monday, yes?” She straightened and smoothed over the front of her suit jacket.

“Yes, of course. I wouldn’t miss it.” You smiled up at her and stuck your arm out to grab the handle of the door. As it closed you watched Larissa take a few steps back before she waved and turned to head for her own vehicle. Her hips swayed gently with each step, and as much as you loved to watch her go, your heart longed for her to come back. You put the keys on the ignition and turned the car on. After you turned the windshield wipers on high and adjusted the temperature of the car, you shifted into drive and pulled away from Koto, the events of the evening looping in your mind the whole way home.

[flos-obsessivus]

Hello! Tis I, a wandering poet that have found himself upon your lovely blog. As a gift, I have wrote this poem, of a knight that was picked from his duties and longs for a time that he used to do more for his darling prince, Lillian.

---

In the courtyard, damp stone.

Grey. The rain, light, like whispers.

I lean against the wall — rough.

It scrapes my palm.

My armour sits,

cold, forgotten in the corner.

Lillian. His name hums in my chest,

Soft like the silk of his sleeve

Brushing my skin at dinner.

He laughs — high and clear, like bells,

Bright, like candles in the hall.

I watch his hand lift a fork—

Simple, delicate. Perfect motion.

The silver gleams against the stew.

Thick, earthy, like the castle walls.

His eyes are water, still and deep,

Dark, with a kindness I never earned.

They find me, always,

even in the smallest room, the dimmest hall,

As if I am his sun.

But what am I?

Idle.

The sword I wore — its hilt is dust.

My calloused hands? Useless now.

No more banners, no more drums.

Just quiet, and his hand in mine.

Warm. Smooth. I am no warrior

For a hand so soft.

I fold blankets in the evening—

Rich fabrics, heavy with care.

My hands fumble, my fingers fail,

So clumsy on the silken thread.

I would rather grip a shield,

But this is what I do for him.

This, too, is love.

He smiles when I stumble,

When I trip over words, or stone,

And there, in his voice, the joy—

Sweet and full, like honeyed wine.

It spills over my quiet heart.

I stand tall, not with steel,

But with the lightness in his laughter.

Still, sometimes, I wish—

For something else. To fight for him

In the way I know so well.

But the battlefield is not my home.

Not anymore.

Now, I fight with clumsy fingers,

With tangled linens and dropped spoons.

He holds my hand at night.

I touch his hair — it’s soft,

Like down, against my roughened skin.

It’s enough, I think. I hope.

But the sword still whispers

In the corner. Dust collects,

And the rain continues to fall.

Goodness dear knight, even I swooned in delight. I don't even know what to say, I am just...wow. Everyone needs to see this!!!!!

Thank you dear poet, may you spread your enchanting words to the world.

[adirectorprepares]

okay if no one’s Posting i will have to. the thing that got me the most about polite society is how successfully it gaslit me! i fully believed from 20% in to the midpoint that this was going to be a movie about how ria’s fantasies were hurting her sister, how she had to let lena grow up and move on and stop trying to control her life, how she would be able to revel in her stuntwoman fantasies for fun but would learn that salim wasn’t all that bad and that they could all be friends in the end. it fucking got me!!!

and the reason it fucking got me is because that’s a dominant cultural imaginary - the idea that intense relationships between women (mother and daughter, sisters, “romantic” friendships) are temporary stepping stones on the path to heterosexual stability, a childhood fantasy you move on from. (i disagree with adrienne rich about many things, but she’s right about the inescapability and political significance of this hegemonic idea that female relationships cannot be stable or lifelong, that they evolve into stable heterosexual families. lillian faderman was also right about this.)

and the thing that is driving me towards a category four autism moment is the way that resistance to this idea about female relationships is built into the formal and structural work of polite society. ria criticises lena for acting like she’s in a jane austen novel - because the early novel form as represented by jane austen is deeply intertwined with this hegemonic approach to womanhood! at the start of emma, emma is mourning the loss of her childhood friend miss taylor to heterosexual marriage. she vows herself never to marry, but by the novel’s end she has gained emotional maturity and worked towards her own stable relationship with mr knightley. it’s a bildungsroman-type plot of mature emotional reflection, careful sentimentality, growth and character development. and this intertwining of individualist character development or maturation with the idea of moving from female relationships to stable heterosexuality is precisely what ria must resist to win in the movie. she has to resist the conspiracy theory plot** by resisting the western craft expectations of a specific kind of character growth and sentimentality!! ria cannot have a jane austen response to lena telling her she’s going to marry salim - she cannot reflect inwards and work towards a more ‘mature’ relationship with her sister, one where she is able to ‘let lena go’ and move on. instead, she has to hold onto her ‘childish’ anger, her ‘unrealistic’ stuntwoman mischief, her desire to do brunch brunch brunch dances with lena!!!!

brecht is having a field day about the use of movie fight scenes as gestus to disrupt the illusion that the realist bildungsroman plot is inescapable. elaine scarry is having a field day about all the times ria gets beat up. kyla schuller is having a field day about sentimentality and biopolitics. ALL THIS in a ninety-minute movie that is also the most fun and cathartic and balls-to-the-wall cinematic experience one could ask for. LITERALLY the movie of all time 10/10 no notes.

**which is fascinating and too much for me to coherently analyse at 1.30am, but i’m having an internal meltdown about raheela calling lena’s genes mediocre and framing her clone implantation scheme as a way to have a second chance at a life where she sacrificed herself to motherhood and the connection between nineteenth/twentieth century eugenic feminism and the novel form and artistic experimentation.