#most of the criticism is against Lucille

[shyshitter]

succession is like what arrested development would’ve been if the kids had daddy issues instead of mommy issues

[nesiacha]

Camille Desmoulins and Antoine-François Momoro

Antoine-François Momoro Camille Desmoulins

I couldn't say exactly how, but I have the impression that the printer-bookseller Antoine-François Momoro and the pamphleteer Camille Desmoulins had very opposite paths and were very different despite having similarities, if you know what I mean. Camille Desmoulins was a republican from the start, while Momoro was cautious on the matter and hesitated to publish Desmoulins' pamphlet "La France Libre" in June 1789, only releasing it on July 17, 1789. However, Momoro increasingly engaged in the revolution, eventually becoming one of its key figures and a regular at the Cordeliers Club. He was arrested after the Flight to Varennes, having signed the Champ de Mars petition. Desmoulins, on the other hand, had to go into exile. In this regard, they shared the common ground of being among the harshest critics of the monarchy, although Desmoulins had been vocal much earlier, opposing the property-based suffrage in 1789 and circulating 3,000 copies of his journal "Les Révolutions de France et de Brabant." During the Varennes episode, Momoro ensured that many issues of the Cordeliers Club Journal, which became virulent towards the king due to his escape, were distributed.

Both Camille Desmoulins and Momoro participated in the events of August 10, 1792. While Desmoulins left his mark as a key figure of July 14, 1789, Momoro, alongside Mayor Pache, inscribed the words "Liberty, Equality, Fraternity" on public buildings in the summer of 1793. Both played roles in the expulsion of the Girondins. Desmoulins was elected to the Convention, whereas Momoro, though not elected, played a significant role in the Paris Commune, overseeing supplies and soldier morale, among other tasks. He recruited volunteers from various departments and regions and was sent to Vendée alongside Charles Philippe Ronsin. Both men remained actively involved in what was considered a faction until the end, in contrast to their leaders Danton and Hébert, who were less ardent or coherent (although there were no real leaders, if you understand my point).

Their wives played more significant political roles alongside their companions than often portrayed in films. Lucile Desmoulins' journal shows her as a fervent critic of the monarchy, writing dark texts about Marie-Antoinette, approving the King's execution, and defending Camille when the future Marshal Brune asked him to temper his critiques in "Le Vieux Cordelier." Sophie Fournier, Momoro's wife, played a crucial role in her husband's dechristianization campaign, representing the Goddess of Reason armed with a pike at each ceremony (when you consider the struggle of the women of the Revolution to bear arms, in my opinion, it only demonstrates her great determination ). Both Momoro and Desmoulins had only one son from their marriages, and their wives were subject to sexist attacks, similar to Manon Roland, Louise Gély, Marie Françoise Goupil, and even Marie-Antoinette.

However, their paths diverged significantly. Initially cautious, Momoro became increasingly revolutionary, ultimately considered an ultra-revolutionary, while Desmoulins became more moderate. Momoro began to advocate for property rights redistribution, a stance not shared by Desmoulins or many Montagnards, who were moderate on this issue. Momoro supported de-Christianization, while Desmoulins opposed it. Momoro called for harsher measures against counter-revolutionary suspects, whereas Desmoulins, in "Le Vieux Cordelier," called for leniency (except for approve the mock trial of the Hébertists) and advocated for the mass release of counter-revolutionary suspects, many of whom were innocent. During the harsh winter of 1793-1794, Momoro prioritized the suffering of the Parisian masses, a concern Desmoulins did not share.

Despite this, Momoro and many considered Hébertists were sent to the guillotine. It is said that Momoro died bravely, like most of his colleagues except Hébert (his bravery was remarkable given that his wife Sophie was arrested ten days after him, and he knew she could die, yet he refused to show fear in public). Desmoulins, calm when preparing for death, panicked when Lucile was arrested (as unjustly as the arrests of the Hébert and Momoro wives) and expressed his despair all the way to the scaffold. The most horrifying part is that Desmoulins and Momoro learned of their wives' arrests the day before their execution.

My personal reflections: Honestly, I believe there is a golden legend about Camille Desmoulins, which he does not deserve, and a black legend about Momoro's faction, which is also undeserved . As I mentioned in this post https://www.tumblr.com/nesiacha/744960791081631744/the-difference-in-treatment-between-the-indulgents?source=share, in my eyes, Camille Desmoulins is highly overrated. While I do not deny his talents, I do not think he was fit for great responsibilities, unlike men he mocked, like Ronsin, Saint-Just, or Momoro, who worked tirelessly during the revolution's most challenging period. I must say in my eyes that once Desmoulins became a Convention deputy, he seemed to rest more than other revolutionaries. Consider Sonthonax, labeled a Girondin, who accepted a mission to Saint Domingue to better fight against colonizers who denied equal rights between people of color and whites, or Condorcet, who worked with Carnot on women's education with Pastoret and Guilloud, or Charles Philippe Ronsin. Many members of the Committee of Public Safety had grueling schedules in addition to their missions. Other Convention deputies, unlike Desmoulins, were sent on missions, such as Charles Gilbert Romme (and many others). While Desmoulins advocated leniency in "Le Vieux Cordelier," he approves the mock trial that led to the Hébertists' guillotining and said nothing about their wives' arrests (perhaps he planned to call for their release to be fair, but I don't know). Besides being partly responsible for the fall of the Brissotins, he remained silent on the illegal harassment Jacques Roux faced, leading to his suicide, and once said he understood the need to curb liberty for the people's salvation. Nonetheless, Camille Desmoulins should never have been arrested, let alone executed, as he only wrote articles.

In comparison, Momoro, a victim of a black legend, was clearly more honest about following a consistent line. Initially more cautious than Desmoulins in 1789, he ultimately advocated for more social rights. Despite not being elected to the Convention, he played a significant role in the Paris Commune, carrying out various missions during the revolution's most challenging period, from late 1792 to early 1794. During the Convention's invasions, he was among those who demanded vital laws for the revolution, such as the maximum or the revolutionary army's levy. His attempted insurrection was mainly due to the severe suffering of the Parisian masses in the winter of 1793-1794 and the frequent attacks on the Hébertists by the Convention (the arrests of Ronsin and Vincent in 1793), while dubious characters like Danton were free. Momoro was never rehabilitated, unlike Desmoulins, who was falsely accused of sabotaging supplies and destroying his reputation by accumulating 190,000 livres in cash, although he always refused to elevate himself, leaving behind only 26 livres and 400 livres in assignats. As Mathiez Albert, a historian harsh on Robespierre's opponents, said, "One of the main leaders of this Hébertist party, who first tried to translate and represent the popular aspirations against the wealthy bourgeois of the Convention [...] He died poor, as he had lived."

However, Momoro also had his faults, and Desmoulins was right on some points. Nothing is entirely black or white, especially among revolutionaries. The dechristianization campaigns often caused problems for the French Revolution. I understand the anger of incorruptible revolutionaries like Momoro, given the religious intolerance of that time, but intolerance cannot be fought with more intolerance. These campaigns also alienated many French people.

Moreover, if Desmoulins had dubious political allies in Danton, Momoro could be worst. He counted as an ally the horrible Nantes drowner, Carrier (Momoro didn't drown people by the way, but still a bad point for him...). Many French Revolution characters made alliances with dubious figures (like Robespierre, who knew the criticisms against Danton were well-founded but largely allied with him until a certain point), but it's still a big no for me for the alliance with Carrier. Not with one of the most hateful characters of the French Revolution. His last insurrection attempt, which led to his guillotining, was understandable, but the Convention was at a critical point and could not afford a new insurrection. Unlike Hanriot and Chaumette, he was not lucid enough on this point. He should have been more lenient with the suspect laws. Plus let's not forget that the faction call hebertist who after denunce the faction call enragés took them petition.

Even if I am harsh on Camille Desmoulins, I must acknowledge his great courage and contributions to the French Revolution, and like Momoro, he never betrayed his principles. Moreover, I fully agree with him on press freedom and often highlight his reasoning on freedom of expression. It's worth noting that Camille Desmoulins' father died shortly after his son's execution, heartbroken by his loss, just as Momoro's mother, a servant in Besançon, died a week or two after her son's death. Regardless of what one might say, both revolutionaries earned the right to be considered important figures in the 1789-1794 period.

I would like to end with two phrases these two revolutionaries reportedly said shortly before their deaths:

Momoro, during his condemnation: "I am accused, I who gave everything for the Revolution!"

Camille Desmoulins in jail : "I had dreamed of a republic that everyone would have adored."

P.S.: I have searched everywhere for a biography of Sophie Fournier, Momoro's wife. I found it in PDF and French, but I don't know its value.

Here is the link : https://www.sh6e.com/images/publications/Lettre_d_information/2023_05_Lettre_info_Sh6.pdf

[vital-information]

It’s past time for Uptown Girls, almost universally panned when it first hit theaters 20 years ago, to be widely reconsidered and celebrated as a Y2K New York City fairy tale. Sure, the plot is far-fetched, and the ending in particular is wrapped up in a nice, convenient little bow, but Uptown Girls is a unique story about what young women can learn from each other.

Uptown Girls goes to darker emotional places than most other light hearted “chick flicks” of the early 2000s, and features career-best performances from Brittany Murphy and Dakota Fanning, as well as cameos from aughts superstars Mark McGrath and Nas. Uptown Girls was shot by legendary New York City cinematographer Michael Ballhaus, who has also photographed the city for heavyweights like Martin Scorsese and Mike Nichols. In his 3-star 2003 review, Roger Ebert defended the film against its haters, dismissing “all cavils about the movie’s logic and plausibility as beside the point,” asserting that “this is not a movie about plot but about personalities.” Ebert was able to see and hear Molly and Ray as vastly different, but equally emotionally complex characters, in a way that his peers were blind to at the time.

…

Molly’s unflagging brightness and Ray’s grim cynicism are both completely earnest reactions to having been pushed into a position where they must parent themselves throughout childhood, and into young adulthood, in Molly’s case. Molly has chosen to never grow up, postponing adulthood for as long as possible, whereas Ray grew up too fast. What makes Uptown Girls so compelling is watching Molly parent her own inner child through parenting Ray, which comes to a head in the infamous Coney Island spinning teacups scene.

…

While not the only contemporary critic to be positive on the film, Ebert was able to see beyond the glitzy surface, bravely standing apart in his refusal to rely on gender bias to express disapproval of a film. Maybe the most significant thing Ebert praised about Uptown Girls was its performances; specifically, he compared Murphy’s comedic talents to those of Lucille Ball. “Molly Gunn is a comic original, vulnerable and helpless, well-meaning and inept, innocent and guileless…Murphy’s performance has a kind of ineffable mischievous innocence about it.”

Indeed, one could imagine a scene in I Love Lucy where Lucy attempts to get a job at a luxury bedding store, and consequently falls asleep on one of the beds, as Molly does in Uptown Girls. Murphy’s face is pure Ball as she realizes (too late) that she’s about to get smacked in the face with a swinging door, in a moment where she needed to look particularly dignified. Thankfully, Ebert was able to recognize that an actress’ performance should not be judged solely on “likability,” but on its more palpable merits, such as comedic timing and vulnerability. Ebert was also more favorable than most critics toward Fanning’s performance. He wrote that “Ray does seem prematurely old…in the case of Dakota Fanning, I think we are looking at good acting.”

...

Uptown Girls might still not be taken seriously today by the larger community of serious film critics and historians, but the film has found its audience of lonely young women trying to find their place in the world. If you search “Uptown Girls” on social media, you’ll find a sea of girls posting about their emotional connection to the film, and of course, their love of Murphy’s performance. Some of this could very well be written off as 2000s nostalgia, but a lot of love for Uptown Girls comes from a place of deep sadness, both for the girls that we once were and the girls we could have been.

— Katarina Docalovich, “Uptown Girls Reminds Us to Connect with Our Inner Child, 20 Years”

[frostcorpsclub]

Template: https://www.deviantart.com/pingguolover/art/Character-Inspiration-Meme-962807148

White Diamond

“White is described as being difficult and has a temper that can take a while to cool down: She appeared both calm and understanding during her first meeting with Steven, greeting him (as Pink Diamond) warmly despite his appearance bearing no resemblance to how Pink Diamond actually looked. However, White is curt and dismissive, interrupting Steven whenever he tries to speak to her, and then immediately sends him away to another room without warning as soon as she is done. She treats the entire affair with the Earth, the Rebellion, Pink's faked shattering and absence for the last 6,000 years with a mixture of patronization and nonchalance, remarking it all being simply one of "Pink's games" and asks Steven (as Pink) if he "had fun" and "got it out of [his] system."

Lucille Bluth

“Lucille is extremely critical and manipulative of those around her and usually acts in a completely self-serving way. Years of living a life of luxury have brought out her harsh elitism, perhaps best shown by how poorly she treats her housekeeper. Even those of her social status are not immune, such as her "best friend" who is constantly plotted against by Lucille Bluth. Even while raising the kids, Lucille never put anyone else before her. She's very comfortable letting her children know what disappointments they are.”

Mary Poppins

“She is extraordinary and strange, neat and tidy, delightfully vain yet particular, and sometimes a little frightening but always exciting. She is practically perfect in every way and always means what she says. Mary Poppins is sweet and nurturing, but she is no pushover. She guides Jane and Michael in the right directions with a gentle, but firm hand.”

Patrick Bateman

This one is a little more complicated, Patricks function in the novel is not to have a personality. 

To quote a user, “To assign Patrick Bateman a personality is to miss the point of the character’s role and function in the novel. Asking for a description of Bateman’s personality is similar to asking for a description of the personality of a well-dressed mannequin in a high-end men’s fashion store. What you see is what you get or, in the context of the novel, what you read is what you see.” 

However, the best example for the inspiration I took from him is this portion from his monologue in the beginning of the film:

“There is an idea of a Patrick Bateman. Some kind of abstraction. But there is no real me. Only an entity. Something illusory. And though I can hide my cold gaze, and you can shake my hand and feel flesh gripping yours, and maybe you can even sense our lifestyles are probably comparable, I simply am not there.”

Pristine Klimer

“She is rich, beautiful, and resourceful, yet arrogant. Like other Hill parents, she has little concern for her children. She looks down on the Valley people for their deformities and being lower-class like other Hill residents do. Pristine can be a bit over-dramatic, but is shown to have a forgiving side. She's constantly seen smiling, but at times her grinning comes off as forced.”

Francine Smith

“Francine is a stereotypical trophy housewife who generally seems to enjoy her position in life. She has previously criticized Stan for locking her up without any shirts to fold, as she "hates down time." A devoted housewife and unconditionally loving mother who tries to have her family bond with one another. Francine also had a tendency to be extremely obsessive sometimes to the point of threatening loved ones or even mutilating herself to reach her goals. When she was desperate to have another baby, she actually aimed a gun at her own husband though she deliberately missed when she fired it. Francine's brain has been repeatedly damaged or tampered with by her husband in acts of foolishness.”

Karen Smith 

“Dim-witted, easy-going, and flirty. Karen might not be the “most smartest,” but she could be psychic. (She even thinks she can predict the weather with her breasts.) Although she’s easily influenced by her friends, she still loves hanging out with them and doing fun things. With her enthusiastic approach to life, Karen has a magnetic presence and people enjoy being in her company.”

[bardicbeetle]

so many i want to know all of these i will limit it to 4 though

(bonus round since you mentioned a tarot deck, who/what are the major arcana here)

The Lovers The Star Judgement Knight of Pentacles

@flyingbananasaur

alllllllllright my friend, strap in, get a warm drink and a snack. this is gonna be a doozy.

06. THE LOVERS: RELATIONSHIPS (What are your favorite relationships to write about, whether romantic, familial, or platonic?) 

I could cop out and say all of them. Probably familial though, I am a massive slut for found family, it’s my comfort trope, it’s the place I go back to when I’m struggling. The whole Vamp!House’s bond is like this. The human trio is like this. It’s the primary driving force behind Safe, every time, every iteration, it’s family, it’s being understood and known and seen.

Beyond the “found” prefix:

Jesse and Sarah’s relationship as siblings is one that I adore. The way they both experience being the Older Protective sibling, despite the fact that Jesse is technically still the older brother, Sarah’s unending love for him and the barrier she gives him against their parents, the way Jesse is willing to put himself back in the worst places and worst parts of his life just for Sarah. The way Sarah will fight tooth and nail to make sure Jesse is happy and getting everything he wants, because sometimes he doesn’t fight hard enough for it himself.

Daniel and his sister Lucille is another big one. Luci is the first one he comes back to after becoming a vampire—admittedly 12 years later, but still. She’s his big sister, she’s the one he followed around like a lost duckling when they were kids. He shows up at her door after being “dead” for over a decade and she curses him out before dragging him inside and demanding he tell their younger sister he’s alive. She trusts him enough not to call bullshit when he tells her he did die. Daniel leaves Jesse alone in a motel room in Colorado without saying goodbye because he gets the call from Ellie just saying “Luci is dying, come home.”

Anyways.

Yeah.

Sibling relationships my beloved, can you tell my closest family tie is to my little brother? probably.

17. THE STAR: HOPE (What keeps you writing/querying/editing when things seem darkest?) 

This may or may not make sense but, the writing itself. The way I have wrapped myself up in these stories. I need to write them, I need them out of just my head. I owe them that much.

Not only that but it always helps my mental state to explore whatever is currently making me feel hopeless through another character. When I was at the worst point with my parents is when I got through most of Jesse’s backstory for a reason.

20. JUDGMENT: CRITICISM (Are you afraid of how others will perceive your writing?)

No.

I used to be afraid of how specific people would (my the Boy, my mother, etc) just because I have trouble letting people close to me read my work. Because it is baring so much of myself.

But no, I’m not afraid of how people will perceive it. I know what I create, and I’m proud of it, always. Regardless of what happens when others consume it, I made it for myself, for the characters who drove it.

61. KNIGHT OF PENTACLES: ROUTINE (What is your writing routine?) 

Oh to have a writing routine…

The closest thing I have to one currently is the hour I spend reading before work in the mornings, and the roughly 3-4 hours I spend writing at work when it’s slow and I have nothing to do.

Beyond that I have very little routine.

Bonus round, undercut for the sake of everyone’s dashboard.

The Fool

Alex alone with the bottle, sitting in the grass outside the house, the decision unmade but only moments away.

The Magician

The Author. Smiling slightly, knowingly, holding a pen and a worn out yellow report book. Despite the smile, they appear to be crying.

The High Priestess

Alex again, vampire mode this time. Eyes a vibrant glowing red, smiling but it’s a little too wide. Their hands are outstretched, a human heart in each one, the bodies of their parents on the ground behind them.

The Empress

Moira and Sarah the first time Sarah visits with her kids.

The Emperor

Split card, Alex and Daniel, standing together, each with one hand on the stake poised over Daniel’s heart. On the other side, Daniel holding back Jack as Alex asks for him to die.

The Hierophant

Isaac in a church pew, unsure what the right decision is, thermos in hand, stained glass depicting his father’s death.

The Lovers

Jesse the night Daniel tells him he doesn’t have to die, the potential future laid out before him, smile speaking laughter, hands laced with Daniel’s.

The Chariot

Daniel and Madeleine, working to keep Amalthea’s army fed and controlled, Daniel’s hair is going white in places, there is blood running down his arms.

Strength

Jesse, bright smile on his face, a glow seems to protect him from the outside world. He’s surrounded by his sister and nieces.

The Hermit

Daniel, after leaving Amalthea. Isolated and alone, waiting out time. Skin faded out, eyes bright red and unblinking.

Wheel of Fortune

Amalthea, arms raised at her sides, smile too wide to be endearing, teeth too sharp. Blood falls from her wrists into the mouths of seeming corpses.

Justice

Moira, split card, standing over the body of the man who caused her so much trouble, and the other carefree and open in the night air.

The Hanged Man

Isaac, blood pouring from his throat, the image of the girl in his grandmother’s basement, the thermoses scattered at the base, some open and leaking, the vision of Alex being the last thing he might see.

Death

Daniel, hand crossed over his chest, one holds the bottle, the other out in offering. A new beginning, a new life. There’s something like a smile on his face, but it’s hard to tell if it’s amused or challenging.

Temperance

Madeleine, sword in hand, Eden and Gus behind her. Prepared to fight for her own freedom and that of the people she cares about.

The Devil

Eric, bloodstained, grinning, hand outstretched as he throws the last living girl from him. Eyes crimson and wild, Alex can be seen in the corner, surrounded by bodies, head in their hands.

The Tower

The door to Alex’s childhood home, dead streetlamp outside, the paint is chipped from where the door needed to be kicked gently open in the summer heat. A light is on in the livingroom.

The Star

Moira, perched on the kitchen counter just out of range of midday sun, painting, surrounded by other artwork both finished and not.

The Moon

Alex in the confessional, their life pouring from them, hazy and surrounding as they let it go.

The Sun

Carrie and Tom, Tom gripping a stake, Carrie holding her transfusion needles and tubing.

Judgment

Eddie, wielding a crossbow, the shadowy memory of his brother’s death looming in the background.

The World

A pile of people crowded onto/around a couch, Alex, Isaac, Jesse, Daniel (Maddie and Eden behind) Gus on one arm, Tom on the opposite, Carrie on Alex’s other side, Sarah behind the couch/Jesse, Louise and Jamie on the floor in Moira’s lap.

[hotpotrandomfics]

PJO Fic: Ciel Capture the Flag

Disclaimer: Hello, everyone! This is my attempt at writing fan fics again, over the past year I had quite a lot of stuff going on and it has had an effect on my writing. That said I will take any constructive criticism and feedback to improve and get to a more confident space to post more frequently. Additionally, the following characters are property of @mastrmiscellaneous: Justin Colby Peters, Lucille Peters, and Clara Osta.

Summary: Ciel and his friends are attempting to devise a strategy to beat the reigning capture the flag MVPs: Percy and Annabeth. What will it take to surprise and trick the Camp’s veterans?

Word Count: 1,856

The night began like any other night at the end of the week at Camp Half Blood, a nice dinner with cabin mates, toast to the gods, and the occasional Ares or Hermes kid throwing a random chicken leg. Ciel was discussing the plans for capturing the flag after dinner was finished. He along with the members of Hephaestus, Apollo, Hades, Nemesis, Dioynasis, Hebe, Hecate, and Hestia cabin had made an allegiance in the hopes of beating the camp's strongest fighters. Granted, numbers were not on their side wouldn't give them any advantage but rather relying on their expertise and the power within their parent's domains was their ace. Ciel in the past two summers has become the head of the Hecate cabin but was still not used to his leadership role nor believe he was capable of the position. Though his siblings and cabin mates would argue otherwise, to them, their brother was a superior sorcerer and a capable fighter but it was his compassion that shattered the stigma of the children of Hecate. They couldn't do many of the things he could do but they never stop striving to be better, to them he was their paragon of what a hero could be. Now if they could win capture the flag then they'd get bragging rites for the next week and wouldn't have to clean stables. "So," Ciel began, "we know many of the big hitters are for this battle. Jackson, Chase, McClain, Stoles, and La Rue. Any suggestions?" Ciel glanced at the heads of his alliance. "We could distract Annabeth with a spider." Leo Valdez piped up with a smirk, pulling from his famous toolbelt an automaton of a spider. "I got enough for at least a dozen of Athena cabin. "That's lame," Lucille Peters chimed. "You didn't make them into grenades?" "Chiron checked me since last time my design burnt at least three campers from Aphrodite cabin eyebrows off!" Leo wasn't big on his younger half-sister giving him grief about his work. "Lucy, did you make them into grenades?" Ciel questioned as Lucille gave a cheeky grin. "Who the hell do you think I am?" "Language." Justin Peters, son of Apollo and older brother to Lucille reprimanded his sister but received an unkind gesture of her middle finger. "I'm telling Mom." "Can you focus? Grenades are fine but we have a big thing to worry about. Percy and Annabeth on the same team?" Clara Osta, daughter of Hades and member of the Guardians mentioned drawing everyone's focus back to the planning. "We hold them off or we overpower them." "Clara, you're more strategic than most of us. I'd defer to you on what the plan would be," Ciel spoke. He always felt that if he didn't have an answer he could rely on his friend's judgment and capacity to plan at the moment. "I'm the only one among us with superior enough skills to fight at least one of them." Clara began unveiling her plan for the plan of attack against the coalition that was shouting in the distance. The horn that Chiron held had yet to be blown so they had enough time to at least get into position. The war cry of campers began echoing through the forest as many campers charged from their starting locations on the battlefield that many of them have fought dozens upon dozens of times. Lucille and Leo took the southeast location of the creek between the mainline of the battlefield, both holding war hammers of varied sizes as they took on the first wave of cabin 6 campers. They along with their members of cabin 9 and assistance from cabin 7 pushed them into a tight fatal funnel with arrows and stink bombs. Those who were able to get through their funnel however were met with surprise attacks by cabin 20, stalling the vanguard from breaking through further into their territory by magical nets with a mix of cabin 12 using plants to grab members of cabins 4, 5, 10, 11, 14, 17, 19. With this advantage for the moment, the combined forces of members of Hephaestus, Apollo, Hades, Nemesis, Dioynasis, Hebe, Hecate, and Hestia were able to disarm and knock out a number of their opponents. With a mixed collection of cries from a number of these campers of surprise and frustration escaped some of these campers. Many even shouted in curses like Clarisse La Rue, daughter of Ares, who was able to escape her binds and began cutting the vines and nets of her comrades. "Oh, you think this is cute?!" Clarisse called out into the forest. "You think a cowardly trick like this will keep us from victory?!" "Well, yeah." Justin from the top of a tree about a few yards away said as he knocked an arrow toward the feared daughter of Ares. "Your group isn't all that smart if you're leading the charge, La Rue." The blond boy grinned as he kept shooting several arrows at many of his adversaries. "Plus, you got something behind you!" "What?!" Clarisse turned around expecting to be attacked from behind her but was shocked no one was there and the fact that all the nets and binds holding her comrades, and seemed to disappear except for a few. "How- fucking cabin 20!" Cabin 20 as a collective had set a large illusion up to a certain point past their defensive position so that the majority of their forces could protect their flag. All the opponents that their enemies believed they fought were each other while twisted, was a valuable trick for a one-time use. As Clarisse rallied her companions, a separate party of campers made to sneak past the enemy's line to meet against two of the Seven. Percy and Annabeth were mere feet away from crossing their coalition territory into the opposing campers' territory but were blocked off by two campers. Ciel and Clara both with their weapons drawn and ready to engage the legendary Percy Jackson and Annabeth Chase. "Just you two?" Percy questioned in a curious tone. "Yep, just us," Ciel said as he spun his butterfly swords. "Granted, this was really the only thing I could think of." "You two are pretty cocky if you think you can handle us. Brave, but cocky," Annabeth said as she readied her fighting stance. "Óla eínai díkaia ston érota kai ston pólemo," Clara exclaimed before rushing in towards Percy while Ciel covered her flank by running towards Annabeth. The battle began and the cries of their mettle and blades rang along the creek shore. Ciel made to get in close with his butterfly swords by sliding and parrying Annabeth's counter-assault. The pair block each other strikes in a dance of close quarters that seemed to be its own tornado that no one foolish enough would jump into the current fray. Ciel reversed his grip on his butterfly swords in a reverse grip, crossing his arms in a parallel manner after briefly disengaging Annabeth. "You've gotten good," Annabeth commented, "though I think you're weaker than me." "Maybe, though I know my strengths and know not to bark, unlike a certain Daughter of Athena." Ciel remembered his brief with his fellow team captains on how to use the know failures of his betters like Annabeth. Ciel returned to his melee while goading Annabeth on how her skill wasn't all that. Her skills with a dagger and her bone sword were not as great as she believed. While he wasn't good at this, Ciel needed to cause Annabeth to lose focus enough for the next part of his battle plan. Annabeth kept pushing on Ciel, despite their height difference the young child of Hecate was superior and his movements were not weighed by his mass but he was swift. Annabeth notices his footwork and means of countering her, all close and considerate of his vital points, never overreaching but keeping his timing mixed enough to not seem impractical. She had to admit he had grown from the shy boy who joined them at the worse point in the history of the camp. "You've gotten better," Annabeth commented as slipped under Ciel's guard swinging in an uppercut motion to his helmet and the tip of her knife missing his left eye. "You aren't quick like me, Silverstein." "You talk too much," Ciel said as he dropped into a leg sweep before causing the Daughter of Aphrodite to fall on her back. "Here's a gift." Ciel snapped his finger as a large tarantula landed on top of Annabeth's breastplate causing the girl to wail louder than any monster in the nearest hundred miles around the camp. Annabeth began to swipe at the furry eight-legged devil that her siblings have been infamous for having a large disdain. Though the eight-legged demon just kept climbing around her and hissing a storm to her greater surprise and fear a second tarantula appeared by her feet circling her. As cruel as it seemed, overstimulating a demigod and applying their innate fears from their godly parents was a means to dominate the battlefield because; if one of your greatest leaders is indisposed then you can keep pulling the threads of their plans and destroy their seams. Though the chaos, Ciel created was about to be thwarted by the Hero of Olympus: Percy Jackson. "Dude, not cool!" Percy shouted as he pushed past Clara feinting hitting her with his sword in order to charge at Ciel like a minotaur fresh out of Tartarus. "That was dirty!" Shouting, Percy came within Ciel's guard, too close for Percy to properly use Riptide but enough room for Ciel who wasn't just some magician because of his mother's blood but skilled at close-quarters, especially with his Baat Jaam Do (butterfly swords) called Proángelos (or Harbinger). Ciel used the quillon, his sword guard hook in order to trap Percy's sword hand before twisting the son of Poseidon's wrist in an unorthodox manner in order to cause discomfort. The brief pain was an opening one couldn't get so easily on the Hero of Olympus, not unless you were willing to play dirty. "Ow ow ow, OW! Fuck!" Percy barked out before slamming his head into Ciel's own causing him to lessen the pressure on his wrist. "Dude, what gives?! First, spiders on Annabeth, and now you try to break my wrist?" "I plan on winning this time, HA!" Ciel reversed the grips of Harbinger so their knuckle-bow covered the son of Hecate's hand like a set of knuckledusters before bellowing a mighty as he threw a fist at Percy who attempted to dodge only to be surprised by the brief indigo holographic of a giant hand with a set of similar knuckledusters coating the hand as well slamming into Percy at a high velocity that sent him tumbling into the river. "Y-you clever, little, son of a...." before Jackson could think of finishing that sentence the sound of Chiron's conch shell blew signaling the end of the game of capture the flag. In the far distance, Chiron had announced that Ciel's team had just one-up them and won. "Bitch."

[lucille-the-fox]

B O P for the Alphabet Ask Meme!

b = best friend (what would they be like as a best friend? how would the friendship start?)

Answered previously!

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

While she does get along with people rather easily, she is pretty secretive about personal details. Most of her background is obscured in different stories, and rumor that she likes to spread. This keeps her image as just a fairly kind hearted, enigmatic performer. The real truth, however, is a lot harder to get out of her. Slowly around the winding tales of contradicting stories and hyperbole one will find the truth.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

Maybe not to many people's surprise, Lucille doesn't anger too easily. She has a weird appearance and personality. So insults on such matters she's not very self-conscious about. Criticism of her performances are likely easily brushed off by her if they're not constructive.

Still there are SOME things that get her fairly angry, even if she may not outwardly show it. Those namely being things involving children for one. Intentionally harming children, forcing them to runaway, and other such things she has low tolerance for. She also feels strongly for other women put into inescapable situations.

And the abuse of the rich. Which is mostly related to the previously mentioned cases, but seeing people with affluence abuse those under them personally goes against her morals. And such are targets for her "wealth redistribution" practices.

[wyrmfedgrave]

Pics:

1. Fred J. Jackson was an American author, playwright, screenwriter, novelist, director & producer for the pulps & stage & screen.

2 thru 6. Fred was a highly prolific author of short stories, serialized novels & movie scripts.

He used the great pen name of Victor Thorne.

Though he usually wrote for the pulp mags, many of his tales were adapted into film - but, by others...

Among his works are:

A. The musical "La La Lucille."

B. The novels "Hidden Princess" & "Anne Against the World."

C. The plays "Iron Woman", "Naughty Wife", "Stop Flirting" & "The Bishop Misbehaves!"

D. The screenplays "Man Hunt", "Wells Fargo", "Miracle on Main Street", "Dark Swan", "Stormy Weather" & "The Fatal Ring."

E. The short stories "High Speed", "Jack of Diamonds" & "The Morocco Box."

7 & 8. "La La Lucille" was one of Fred's best works. Here we have 1 page of the piano score for it & a look at it's stage production as well.

1913: Missives of War!

Bio - This year started out like the last few. With Lovecraft sleeping the days away. Waiting for night's release.

But, his life was about to change...

As a devoted reader, Howard had strong opinions about what he liked. And he wasn't shy about sharing his thoughts.

HPL was a regular commentator, of the early pulps, for 2 years now.

He probably didn't know that his most recent, long & venomous missive was about to stir up a letter 'war.'

One whose 'battles' would last for almost a year!

Lovecraft had become incensed of the amount of space that Argosy¹ had given over to Fred Jackson's "trivial, effeminate &... coarse" romances.

Howard followed this up with his criticism that Fred's characters had the "delicate passions & emotions proper (only) to negroes & anthropoid apes²!"

This led to, as (the writer) "Arthur³" best describes as, "a snail mail flame war" between 'allies' of both men!

For HPL, this meant an attack on himself - as the "Poet of Providence" & the old style language that he used.

Focusing on how Howard must be "in love with his dictionary!!"

Lovecraft responded by complaining about Fred's "erotic fiction⁴" (innocent by today's standards)!

And, how Howard preferred tales "where acts of valor are more dwelled upon, than (the) affairs of Venus⁵."

Numerous of Fred's defenders kept the venom flowing. One going so far as to threaten "to loosen up my .44-6 on that man Lovecraft!!"

HPL then escalated the 'fight', venting his contempt - in verse⁶!

One John Russell became Howard's personal 'enemy' - by responding in kind!!

The whole thing was a sort of an early "rap battle" with "wicked burns" being spit out by both sides!

In the end, both men came to regard each other as intellectual equals, veterans of a rarified battleground...

This poetic "smackdown" would see both men suddenly become 'noticed.'

Notes:

1. Argosy was the 1st American pulp fiction magazine. It specialized in short story, male oriented tales.

2. As usual, HPL likes to use race & bad pseudo-science to empower the impact of his curses.

3. I don't know who writes under this name, so don't ask. She/He/It does have some great turns of phrase.

4. A common trope of this 'romance' material is rape 'enjoyable' enough for the 'heroine' to fall in 'love' with the 'hero' - without her ever consenting to have 'sex'!!!

This is something that still crops up in rape fantasies, porn movies, etc...

5. Venus was the Roman Goddess of Love & Sexual Passion. She's the Latin version of the earlier Greek Aphrodite.

6. Mostly heroic couplets in the style of Pope & Dryden.

Lovecraft's poetic missives include the "Ad Criticos" cycle & " The End of the Jackson War."

Quotes:

1. In 1913 (during the 'war'), Howard stated - in some surprise, "(My little letter) created an immense sensation (of hatred) among... Argosy's readers."

2. In 1916, HPL crowed that, "The editor... had anti-Lovecraft letters - on the following month!"

"Then, I (wrote) another satire, flaying my tormentors in stinging iambic pentameter⁷."

"This too was printed - til the storm of fury waxed high."

(The dispute was, for the most part, quite good natured.)

Note:

7. Iambic pentameter describes a poetic satire written in 10 syllable sentences & composed of 5 parts.

[semper-legens]

73. Pet, by Akwaeke Emezi

Owned: No, library Page count: 203 My summary: There are no more monsters in Lucille. The angels got rid of them, long long ago. Before Jam was born. But when Jam accidentally summons a creature named Pet from a painting, it tells her there’s another monster. One that’s lurking in her best friend Redemption’s home. But that can’t be right...can it? My rating: 4/5 My commentary:

I'd heard a fair amount about this book before I read it, so I was cautiously optimistic about it going in. It had come up in lists of LGBT+ YA fiction, so of course I was interested in it. Akwaeke Emezi seems like a pretty cool author as well, and I love to read books about LGBT+ folks written by LGBT+ folks. And overall, I really liked it!

The setting of this story is a town called Lucille, where there once were monsters, but the angels drove them away. It's made pretty clear that both monsters and angels are, in fact, humans - monsters are people who did horrible things, angels are those who fought against them. It's alluded to that the angels haven't necessarily done good things in their past, but those days are behind them. Except there's a monster at Jam's friend's house, and a creature has come through a painting to hunt that monster. The setting was an interesting blend of magical realism, with the nature of angels, monsters, and creatures like Pet all meshing together to make a vaguely fantastical world that still has a grounding in reality. One thing I really liked is how this book used language. It's implied that most if not all inhabitants of Lucille are black, and they use different forms of language in their speech. Some use Standard English, some (like Jam's parents) use AAVE, Jam herself switches between spoken dialogue and signing, and Pet talks to Jam telepathically as well as out loud in a strange, circuitous dialect. It's really fun to read, and tells you a lot about their characters.

Jam herself is a very charming and engaging protagonist. She's a selectively mute, implicitly autistic trans girl with a strong sense of both loyalty and morality. She's slow to accept Pet as something that can help her, but her relationship with the creature progresses to true friendship. She struggles a lot with doing what's right, but her protective instincts over her friends and family are very sweet, especially when she is determined to help them no matter what. There's a coming-of-age element here too - Jam is learning to be independent of her parents, to make her own decisions about what's right and what she should do, and speaking truth to power.

My only real criticism of this book was how short it was! I wanted to play in this world a while longer, because it genuinely fascinated me. I want to know its history, its quirks, what the town is like to live in, that sort of thing. I appreciate, however, that less is probably more in the case of this actual narrative. The overall message of the book is about how 'monsters' can be lurking anywhere, and that no community is inherently safe from people doing bad things, but also to stand up against those people in a fair way. Pet wants to kill the monster, but Jam says no. Instead, she makes people aware of who he was and what he did, and so the community can put measures in place to stop what happened from happening again. It's a mature way of looking at the situation, and definitely suited to its YA audience. This book was great, and I'd highly recommend it!

Next up, a fable of a train, and its most precious cargo.

[bonsaiiiiiii-fics]

FabFiveFeb 2021 - Virgil week (3)

prompts: a question, “I don’t understand”

Part 1 | Part 2

oooooookokokokokkkkk i know a looot of time had passed and probably everyone forgot about this, but with the hiatus and co i couldn’t post earlier, soooo, yeah, there you go. i highly recommend you reread part 1 and 2 again so you get the idea of what i wrote here. that said, enjoy this finale!

tagging: the host of the amazing challenge, @gumnut-logic (high-key sorry i’m so late hope you don’t squish me too much), and whoever showed interest in the last 2 parts, such as @nourelle-tracy @louthestarspeaker @weirdburketeer @janetm74 @lenna-z @cg29 @psychoticalienjackie @godsliltippy @melmac78 @plushiecuddler @dragonoffantasyandreality @brinalm @vegetacide @katblu42 @rachfielden-xo (yes i’m tagging everyone who liked the precedent parts what about it, fighT ME)

Scott sat for the umpteenth time in the umpteenth hospital chair, heartbroken. His mind was full of thoughts and if he even thought he had to express them out loud he would almost certainly scream.

Virgil was just standing there, sleeping like nothing happened, except for his bandaged right shoulder and some superficial bruising from the climb, which he shouldn’t have done, by the way.

His father was very angry with Virgil, but he had hidden it behind a quite thick veil of concern, which hit him too when the surgeon who removed the bullet embedded in his shoulder announced that the patient had also entered into fibrillation. Also, as if getting shot wasn’t enough. Now he was in a forced coma, to allow his body to heal without complications; he did not risk his life, however, so even if life support was taken away there was no high risk.

Jeff had gone down to the cafeteria to get some coffee, Alan along with him, probably to binge eat as usual; Scott had never understood why Alan could eat so much in situations like these, as if his stomach didn’t care that his older brother was in the hospital.

Scott, on the other hand, remained there, by his side, brooding as usual, starving as usual, worrying as usual.

Although their father had finally returned and immediately took over the reins of the International Rescue, it was still difficult for Scott to let himself go altogether, and return to the role of operator within IR. He often thought about it, how could he abandon a role he had become accustomed to and had made his own for 8 years? The commanding role, which had fallen on his head the day after his father disappeared, along with the various responsibilities that followed.

He thought about it, yeah, and he kept thinking about it, and there was always an answer in his mind, even if it wasn’t the right one. I can’t. His brain always told him that, like a mantra. You can’t.

Jeff somehow understood that, from the day he was rescued, the moment Scott girded his hips with his arm to get him back on the road home. Scott also noticed it, because every time Jeff spoke to him, he looked at him. He looked at him with a gentle, but also a bit authoritarian look. Don’t worry anymore, my son, you don’t need to take on responsibilities that aren’t yours anymore. And he told him without the need to open his mouth, so powerful was a look.

Scott at that moment opened his eyes, and in front of him was Virgil, who was asleep. He was asleep, but it was wrong. He couldn’t sleep now.

"Hey Virg." He tried whispering, like it was a crime to talk to a coma patient out loud. He didn’t get an answer.

"You know? I understand why you disobeyed orders. I don’t think it’s my own reason; it’s just that you care about everyone, unconditionally. You’ve always been the most empathetic of us, like...." he took a little breath. "... mom."

A slight sigh. Jeff would be back any minute. "Who knows how Mom is, eh, Virg? I don’t even want to think that you might be with her right now, because if you are, it means that everything is not good for you. And I...I need you. You must have noticed this, as empathetic as you are." He smiled involuntarily.

He heard a faint noise of footsteps coming from the hallway. "Now I must leave you, Virg. If I don’t get a coffee, I might pass out for a few weeks." He hated leaving his brother alone, but he really needed coffee or a good night’s sleep. The couple of times he left his younger brother alone was to go to a short shower. Of course, International Rescue was off-duty, and it would stay like that until Thunderbird 2 was back on line. None of the brothers worked well when one of them wasn’t there. And Jeff understood that. He understood them.

Scott slowly rose from the uncomfortable chair on which he had also spent many nights, putting a hand on his forehead in the process. He took one last look at Virgil, then left the room, John taking over.

The redhead put his left hand on his brother's shoulder, the other arm leaning against the wall, not yet fully accustomed to Earth’s gravity, and Scott smiled feebly back, then went to the cafeteria. Now it was John’s turn to observe his brother.

~

Virgil glanced at the snow, occasionally touching it with a finger or moving it with the tip of his shoe. They were both back out, and the air, although it was cold from the snow, did not seem to freeze him at all. "Mom...I have a feeling there’s something I desperately need to know."

Lucille looked at him, smiling. Her skin was very white, like snow. "How is that saying? If you don’t remember it, it means it wasn’t important."

"It is! It’s a person..." Virgil placed his hand on his forehead, closing his eyes and trying to remember.

She looked at him, her hands clenched on her chin and her elbows on her thighs. She had always liked to watch her son think. He had this habit of ruffling his eyebrows and bending a corner of his mouth down as he thought. All of them were different when they were thinking. Scott narrowed his eyes and pulled out his deadly dimples, unwittingly bending an angle of the mouth upwards, John always kept a neutral face, while Gordon had the habit of covering his mouth with the fist of his hand. And Alan...she never had time to find it out.

Usually Lucille could not possibly interfere with the natural course of things, but now it was essential for Virgil to return to his family. Get back to life. This would have been just...a shortcut to get to the final path. A path to which Virgil would have to come on his own, and fight for himself.

"Do you miss your father?" By now she had thrown the stone. Now it was up to Virgil to take it, retrieve the last piece of the puzzle to make it complete, and to ensure himself a way out. And of life.

"Yes..." Virgil replied, with a sad but strong voice. "Sometimes I feel like he’s back...I feel like I hear him..." The piece was slowly getting stuck. "I feel..." The last memory fell on him, like an avalanche. An avalanche that he could feel.

Lucille smiled at him, aware of what his son was about to reveal to her.

"He’s alive! He’s back..." Virgil began to stutter, the memory of his father, sitting at his desk, with gray hair and wrinkles marked by the age, but he did not remember the emotion felt in taking him back, in bringing him home from space.

His heart started beating too fast. So fast that even the Virgil who fought on the hospital bed had the heart that galloped too hard for the tastes of the multiparametric monitor, which began to beep hastily, alarming his doctors, who entered the room en masse.

Virgil took a few short breaths, calming down, but this was not enough because, as he had heard, he was in 'critical conditions’ caused by a 'seizure'. Or at least that’s what he heard.

"Virgil," his mother’s voice took him away from his thoughts, a voice as sweet as the face looking at him.

"I have to go back, Mom." He was quick to answer.

She nodded and smiled. "Don’t you want to be here with me anymore?"

He smiled too. "Now not anymore, I understood what I wanted and I solved what I had to solve." He took a short breath, while she nodded. "Thank you, Mom, for taking care of me one last time..." He was ready to say goodbye.

Almost as if she had intercepted his thoughts, she was immediately ready to answer. "Always remember...that I will never leave, child. I will always be here when you want to talk to me." She put her hand on his chest, right where his heart was beating. "I will always listen to you, even if I cannot answer you."

His big hand covered her hand, holding it tightly. "Thank you." He looked at her. "How do I get back?"

Her face immediately became serious, and her hand moved away from her heart. "You must fight...your fear."

"What...?" That’s when he realized he could feel something. Almost afraid, he turned slowly towards the avalanche behind him...that moved quickly towards his direction.

He suddenly felt nauseous, and he quickly turned to his mother, expecting a smiling face and maybe hearing her say that all this was a joke, because she had the habit of always joking, the same habit that Gordon too had. At that moment, however, he did not know what was scarier, whether the avalanche that threatened to overwhelm him at any moment or his mother’s frightened face.

"There is no other way...?" His voice was very weak.

"No, I’m sorry...and you don’t have much time left..."

"So you expect me to run into an avalanche?"

"I expect you to overcome your fear, to save yourself."

Words so simple, but at the same time incredibly powerful, that they had the effect of a slap in the face. He had tried to save his mother, but all this time he had been under the avalanche. Overwhelmed by fear.

He looked seriously at his mother, who understood, kissing him quickly on the cheek, then he got up and took a running start, charging it with all the fear that, he was certain, will never go away completely. Then he ran, ran to fight his monster, screaming with all his voice in his body, his battle cry.

He entered the avalanche.

Then...

All white.

~

“Thank you, I was really hungry.” Virgil replied, looking happily at the pizza that Gordon had smuggled to him.

“Heh, don’t get caught.” His copilot winked back at him.

“By the doctors?”

“That too, but by Scott! God know we’ll both get a good piece of talk if he finds out!”

“His favorite man needs carbohydrates.”

“‘His favorite man’ my ass!” Scott entered the room, showing his killer dimples and his pearly white smile. “Did you think you’d eat pizza without me?” The eldest took a slice of pizza, handed it to Virgil, then took another one for himself.

“That was the intent.” Gordon replied, earning a smack in the back of his neck from Scott.

“Have a nice meal too, guys.” Virgil responded with a laugh.

He was about to bite into his beloved pizza, when a black and white butterfly came in through the open window, resting on Virgil’s fingers.

Mom…

-END-

[ayellowcurtain]

The what if Eliott was at that first party fic

-

Eliott doesn't really know anyone at this party. It was really courageous of him to show up at a party he wasn't even invited to. But the blonde and excited girl was talking to most people on the schoolyard about it, so desperate to get everyone involved that he thought she wouldn't mind if the only guy she didn't risk talking to came to the party too.

If he's not being too critical of himself, he thought that her sudden change of direction when their eyes met that morning was basically because she was too shy to go talk to a stranger, the new guy that changed school at the very last minute. It really didn't feel like she didn't want him to come.

Anything is better than staying at home, watching a movie he hates just to not start another fight with Lucille or his parents for being so rude that his girlfriend needed to make a scene while leaving their place one more time.

He texts her that he's feeling a little down and puts his phone on airplane mode so she won't play the annoying doctor. Eliott can't remember the last time he actually drank and he wants to do it without worrying for one single night. Thinking back, he quickly remembers when was the last time. He lifts his eyebrows and his beer when he finds a pair of eyes he knows very well. She won't tell anyone that she saw him here and he doesn't have who to tell he saw her either.

Eliott drinks half of his beer to that, not finding it as refreshing as he used to when he drank almost every weekend, from Friday night to Saturday afternoon. Idriss was fun. Sofiane was a perfect match to Imane's worrying eyes, still watching him, always having his back.

The house is too small for the amount of people inside and Eliott feels a little anxious, searching and finding a corner where he can relax for a little bit, enjoying the fact that he's a stranger, which makes him almost invisible to everyone. Not a single person wants to start conversation with a complete stranger and Eliott is so thankful for that. He wanted a night out of the house, with loud music but alone.

From where he’s standing he can see most of the guests dancing and having fun but he can also hear one loud and clear conversation. He looks carefully over his shoulder to find a small group of boys inside the kitchen, acting like they're being such rebels by smoking weed, looking at everyone else with superior eyes.

Eliott looks forward, trying to find the blonde girl the boys are talking about. While moving his head from the boys back to the dance floor, he sees a blue shadow going the opposite direction.

“What did I miss?” He hears the new voice but doesn't look back right away to not be noticed.

“Arthur is not feeling like sharing who's his pick is and Baz thinks he can get the blonde, tiny girl dancing there…”

Eliott bends his head back like he needs to tilt it that way to drink the rest of his beer sitting at the bottom of his bottle. He drinks nothing for the most part but he can't stop staring.

The new boy is perfect.

Eliott can't even find the right words to describe him even to his own consciousness. He's beautiful, wearing clothes that fit him, thick eyebrows that match his soft, dark brown hair perfectly kept back like even gravity doesn't feel like touching him to not ruin how he looks good so effortlessly.

Eliott has this thing where he needs to touch what amazes him and he wants to touch this boy so bad. To feel if his skin is soft or there's some hint of a beard that Eliott can't see from here. He needs to feel if his hair is as soft as it looks, if there some product making it a little less interesting, changing the texture. He wants to touch is eyebrows with his thumb, to see which color his eyes are.

All the boys look forward and from this new angle Eliott can almost see his eyes properly but the party lights keep changing and it's still not clear enough. The boy smiles sadly and Eliott doesn't understand how his friends don't see it, laughing at whatever joke the boy told them.

“Fine, I’ll take it.”

He's brought back from his sturpor when someone bumps into him, rushing to the kitchen, breaking the boys’ circle in their desperate search for the sink.

The blonde girl from the dance floor bends over and pukes nonstop. Her friend with the dark hair whines and her voice is so high it annoys Eliott even from a distance. But she looks nice with that cliche look you can find in any actress from the sixties. Even her dress is a little vintage: like a black tube with a white and rounded collar and the hair in a high ponytail.

There's a step between where he is and the kitchen, making it the perfect height for him to notice the slap the boy in the blue receives from his friend, standing almost over his boy to not stand in the way of the girls, still very much dominating the sink.

Eliott tries to pay attention to the conversation but his brain can't seem to let go of the music completely. So it's like trying to watch a scene with no sound.

But it's clear that they're interested in the girls. The other two boys are a little further to give their friends and the girls some room.

“Chloé.” He hears the boy in blue say the girl’s name, shaking her hand while also using it as an excuse to pull her a little closer, standing right in front of him.

Eliott looks away when he sees the boys moving, wanting to give their friend and the girl some privacy. Eliott wishes they would have stayed because he can’t just go up there and interrupt their flirting game because he’s so desperately interested in that boy.

He can’t hear anymore because they’re whispering to each other, about to kiss. It feels painful to watch so Eliott tries to focus on what’s in front of him, the bodies dancing close to each other to fit as many people as possible. From the corner of his eyes he can’t help but see them still standing close and he walks away after hearing the name he wanted to know.

Lucas.

Everywhere he looks, it feels like he’s in a party full of acquaintances this time. He finds two of Lucas’ friends standing close to where the drinks are, keeping a distance but clearly watching everything to make fun of their friend later. He runs into the other one weirdly dancing with the blonde girl, she seems to be doing a lot better now.

The excited girl from the schoolyard is walking around like a lost puppy, clearly trying to make everyone have as much fun as possible so they can all tell the whole school on Monday.

“Long time no see.” Eliott turns around quickly to find Imane behind him, smiling but not really happy to see him there, drinking, hiding from everyone he knows.

“Hi, Imane!”

She doesn’t fall for his overly excited voice, a little too loud to make it extra. But she does laugh after a second of silent scolding.

“Hi, Eliott…”

“She doesn’t have to know every step I take.” He responds to her thoughts:

Does Lucille, your annoying girlfriend that I dislike, know that you are here without her?

Imane nods her head, not believing a single word he says but always taking his side, no matter against who.

He doesn’t ask about Idriss for once. It feels like someone came, held every distorted memory he had of them and turned them into meaningless dust. Eliott is sure he knows the name of who did that to his past feelings.

Eliott looks around to see if he can find him, and like his eyes are already trained to find the boy, he finds Lucas across the room, against a wall.

They act like they’re somewhere private but anyone that looks can see his unbuttoned shirt, her eager lips moving too fast down his neck, too fast to make it enjoyable.

Lucas is not paying much attention though. And that rings every alarm inside Eliott`s brain, forgetting about his conversation with Imane. The boy seems to be trying to make his brain work in a way to make her nervous lips stop kissing his neck without telling her it’s not you, it’s me. It would cause too much confusion and the girl would gossip about it to her friends, to the whole school probably. And Lucas can’t have a girl saying to everyone he didn’t feel like making out with her.

Eliott sees the excited girl from this morning run back from to the kitchen to the front door, followed by a dark hair girl, hiding behind her while she opens the door to the police.

He can’t hear what they’re saying but from his past experiences, it’s obvious that the party is over. Eliott looks at Lucas, unable to talk to him like he thought about but he carefully puts the girl away from him and starts waking fast to Eliott’s direction without seeing him.

Just with the desperation in Lucas’ eyes that Eliott remembers about the conversation he overheard before. Lucas has a bag of weed in his pocket. And by the way he’s trying to find a escape route, he doesn’t trust himself to lie to the police coming inside now, happy to see all these underage and drinking teenagers.

Eliott steps aside and makes Lucas crash into him.

“Give me the weed.”

Lucas looks at him, blinking a few times, constantly searching if the police are getting closer, “What?!”

“Give it to me and I’ll give it back on Monday, at school.”

They’re running out of time, the music stops suddenly and you can only hear whispers, so many different conversations going on that it still feels too loud.

“Lucas…” Eliott looks over Lucas, nobody that matters is looking at them so he offers his open hand. Lucas is looking at him like he’s from another planet and any other day, Eliott would use this energy to start a normal conversation, to introduce himself and explain how he knows the boy’s name.

He finally feels a hand slapping against his, a small plastic bag in between them. He quickly closes his hand and puts the package inside his pants and Lucas turns back around by his side, a second later the policeman comes to get their informations. Eliott talks for both of them, as confident as he can so the police won’t ask Lucas directly.

[papermoonloveslucy]

REMINISCING

August 14, 1977

By Frank Swertlow, Chicago Daily News 

BEVERLY HILLS - During the first years of television, Ed Wynn, the radio and stage comic, was trying to break into television with a half-hour comedy on CBS. (1)

One night, he invited a couple of second echelon performers to make an appearance: a comedienne, known as "Technicolor Tessie" for her blazing red hair, and a song-and-dance man, best remembered for hollering "babalu."

Lucille Ball and Desi Arnaz were the couple, and they, like Wynn, were sampling the waters of the new medium. CBS had asked Miss Ball and her conga-drum pounding husband to develop a comedy show for television. Later, after months of thought and testing their ideas on the vaudeville circuit, the couple came up with "I Love Lucy," the misadventures of Lucy and Ricky Riccardo. (2)

It made its debut on CBS in October 1951. More than a quarter of a century afterwards, "I Love Lucy" easily can vie for the honor of television's most successful show. It was the archtype [sp] domestic comedy, the bumbling husband and his daffy wife. It gave birth to two other Lucy shows, a host of specials and a giant production company, Desilu. 

"We spent months thinking about what we should do," Miss Ball recalled. "We didn't want to be the average Hollywood couple. Nobody would think you had any problems if you had a car and swimming pool and a nice house. 

"Ultimately, we wanted a show in which people could identify with us. Everybody could understand what it was like to struggle for a buck. I was an ordinary, everyday, middle class housewife. I wore the same dress often. My husband worked and tolerated my mistakes. It was something that everyone could identify with." 

With the debut of the TV series, Lucille Ball, the former Goldwyn girl who started her film career in the 1930s, had a new career. 

"I never expected the show to go more than a year," said Miss Ball. "I wanted to do the show on film so I could use them as home movies. Who knew about television then? It was a no-no to do TV work. The movie studios were against it." 

To Miss Ball, who was not a new face to the public, the impact of her show was incredible. "We went to New York on a trip once and we were unprepared for what happened. People rushed up and wanted to touch you. They knew you, and called you by your first name. I had been in pictures for years, and most of the time I was never identified." 

If the movers and shakers of the film industry who gave Miss Ball her start during the 1930s were alive, they would have been shocked. To them, simply and kindly, Lucille Ball was a B-movie queen, one of the many second-line actresses who never attained star billing, but who was an important ingredient to the motion picture industry. 

Unlike many performers who labored under the cruel studio system, Miss Ball fondly remembered her early years in Hollywood. "It was nice to be under the umbrella of a studio. You always had a poppa. I loved it. I loved being part of the business. I would have swept floors just to be in it." 

Miss Ball, however, did not forget the tactics of the brutal and disgusting lords of movieland. Harry "King" Cohn, the ruler of Columbia Pictures, stood out. "He made the biggest dent in everybody. He was ruthless. He always had to take a devious route." (3)

Miss Ball, who is not exactly a pushover, laughingly recalled the time she outwitted the sly Cohn. 

Miss Ball had received an offer to work in a Cecil B. DeMille film, but Cohn refused to loan her to the producer. He was being mean. Then, Cohn decided to drop her contract. To do it, he sent the actress a horrible script something that the trade called a lease breaker. "Oh, everybody was dying to play opposite John Agar and Raymond Burr," she recalled jokingly. "I was going to be a harum [sp] girl." Naturally, Cohn expected her to refuse and it would be the end of her contract. (4)

The savvy Miss Ball decided to do the film and collect her check. When she made this announcement there was an uproar. She coyly told her bosses: "Oh, I want to do the film. It's a wonderful film." 

Meanwhile, Miss Ball, who had been trying to get pregnant for years, found out she was going to have a baby. Now, she was in trouble. If Cohn found out, he would break her contract. "I only told my mother and my husband I was pregnant." 

Keeping her lips sealed, she went ahead with Cohn's film. "The wardrobe girl kept looking at me in my harum [sp] girl costume and saying, 'What's wrong with you, you are getting so big.' "So, I told her, 'Don't worry, I ate a big meal last night. Just put a little more taffeta on my dress.' Well, I finished the film and I collected my $85,000." 

"Then I had to go to Mr. DeMille and tell him I couldn't do his film. I was pregnant. 'What,' he said. And I replied. 'I'm going to have a baby. 'Get rid of it,' he said. And he was serious.' She declined. (5)

While Miss Ball's career as a TV star is secure (she still has a contract with CBS) (6) she is not so certain about the state of the industry. Today, unlike when she started on the air, shows are yanked off the screen within a couple of weeks. This, she said, destroys performers. 

"If a show is canceled, the actor takes the blame. He or she suffers for it. They suffer inside. The rejection - they failed. (7)

"I would fail. You can't protect yourself. It's out of your hands. It's always Lucy failed or Rhoda failed or Farrah Sauset Fawcett Sauset, whatever her name is, failed. It's rough." (8)

Even so, Lucille Ball, the red-haired girl from Jamestown, N.Y., would still be on top.

#   #   #

FOOTNOTES FROM THE FUTURE

(1) Ed Wynn (1886-1966) was a vaudevillian who hosted “The Ed Wynn Show” on television from 1949 to 1950.  Lucy and Desi guest-starred on the show.  

(2) ‘Riccardo’ is probably a misspelling of ‘Ricardo’, but it was also the way their surname was spelled on “I Love Lucy” in early episodes!  

(3) Harry Cohn (1891-1958) was a much-despised executive at Columbia Studios.  Lucille Ball once facetiously told Louella Parsons that she liked Harry Cohn too much to ever sign a contract with him. What Lucille meant is that  Cohn had a reputation for being difficult.  Despite that fact, a casting draught forced her to sign with Columbia in 1949. 

(4) Lucille Ball had often complained to Cohn about the quality of the pictures she had been doing at Columbia. At the time The Magic Carpet was made, Ball was only obligated to Columbia for one more film, and Cohn had producer Sam Katzman, who turned out most of Columbia's low-budget "B" pictures, concoct a cheap Arabian Nights fantasy as a punishment to Ball for her constantly challenging him. More salacious writers insist that Cohn’s frustration with Ball was due to the fact that she would not submit to him sexually. 

(5) The DeMille film in question was The Greatest Show on Earth, a movie set at the Ringling Brothers Barnum and Bailey circus. Lucille was set to play the elephant trainer, a role that went to Gloria Graham. It was a film Lucille really wanted to do - but she wanted a baby more.  Later in life, Desilu created a TV version of the film.  Lucille also guest-starred as the ringmaster on “Circus of the Stars II” in which Lucie Arnaz was featured as.... the elephant trainer!  

(6) Lucille Ball had started working at CBS on radio and was considered their premiere star. In 1980, after her television shows had ended, she signed with NBC, a partnership that yielded very little except that Ball was obliged to appear on Bob Hope’s many specials, something she frequently did anyway.  Both CBS and NBC declined her final series “Life With Lucy” which producer Aaron Spelling finally convinced ABC to air. 

(7) Although this article was written ten years before “Life With Lucy”, Lucille could very well be describing her own devastation when the series was cancelled even before all the initial episodes aired. She was widely criticized and the series often turned up on “worst show” lists.  

(8) Rhoda refers to a character on “The Mary Tyler Moore Show” that was played by Valerie Harper, a performer that appeared on Broadway with Lucille. In 1974, the character was spun off into its own eponymous sitcom which aired for four seasons. 

Farrah Fawcett-Majors was a beautiful blonde actress and poster girl that burst onto the TV scene in the mid-1970s. A year after this interview, she was in the hit series “Charlie’s Angels” entering American iconography for her feathered hair and curvaceous figure the same way Betty Grable had in the 1940s.  

[nesiacha]

Hi! ~ Since you are the only person, that I know of, who has read biographies about Billaud, would you explain me what happened with him to make he own slaves? Most importantly, did he really actually own some or was the whole thing misinterpreted? Because I personally find it hard to believe someone would forsake his ideals to that point, but who knows what passes through people's mind... He wouldn't be the only one to betray the core values of the revolution; still, it's not something I would have expected from someone like him.

Hello to you too!

Unfortunately, my response might not fully satisfy you, or only partially. As I mentioned in my post, I am waiting until I can acquire Arthur Conte's book Billaud Varennes to better prepare his defense, which I will publish at that time. I hope you understand why my response will be brief. It is easy to defend Billaud Varennes' career, and one can even defend his actions on the 9th of Thermidor. What is difficult is his owning slaves.

Billaud Varennes and Collot d'Herbois were condemned to "la guillotine séche," which means deportation (ironically, Barère managed to escape—what a surprise, I say sarcastically). However, according to reports, neither man opposed this, showing their courage and adherence to the law despite all the criticisms leveled against them (I’ve revealed part of my defense for Collot; and I can’t believe I’m giving a compliment to Collot, it’s horrible).

Initially, the beginning was very difficult, as one might expect (Billaud almost died of illness, Collot did die from it). Subsequently, the conditions of their detention were eased (in fact, the relaxation occurred during Collot's lifetime with Jeannet-Oudin, a cousin of Danton, according to Billaud Varennes' memoirs).

Later, due to this relaxation, he settled as a farmer, and he, who had been for the abolition of slavery, reversed his stance and bought slaves and sold them. It seems he got along poorly with his slaves except for Virginie ( alias Brigitte who will follow him everywhere) . Yes unforgivable betrayal, disapointment, I won’t defend on this, and I am agree with all users in Tumblr who mentionned it, he got even friend slavers ... Here is how he presented her to his father in a letter: "I must tell you that I have had, with me, for eight years, a housekeeper to whom I owe the prolongation of my sad existence, through the incredible care she has taken of me during the frequent and acute illnesses I have experienced here when I was in absolute abandonment and destitution. So, as soon as the return of slavery occurred, I bought her, paid in cash, and immediately gave her freedom. Therefore, I do not presume that my family will find it wrong, after the precious services this girl has rendered me and continues to render daily, through the order and economy she maintains in my house and the supervision and good conduct she ensures among my negroes, that I try to save her from misery, in case she should lose me, by guaranteeing her the enjoyment of the property here that I can dispose of, and which rightly belongs to her, having at least as much contributed as I did, through her work, to earning it..." Furthermore, Billaud Varennes bequeathed everything to her. However, I read somewhere that he bought her when she was a child, and other Tumblr users have mentioned this too. Apparently, she lived until 1874, which supports this thesis. I hope he didn’t force her like Napoleon did with Marie Walewska... I am waiting to get the book Billaud Varennes by Arthur Conte because I think I will have more details on Brigitte (I know it’s another era, but I found it weird that Danton married Louise Gely given her young age, and weird too in some ways, the relationship between Camille and Lucile Desmoulins, especially considering that Camille had a platonic love for Annette Duplessis).

Nevertheless, it is important to highlight that Billaud Varennes refused Napoleon's pardon. Yes, it may seem insignificant to some, but for me, it means a lot. It took courage and conviction, especially since correspondence between his family and him was difficult due to the distance. I want to highlight a letter from Nicolas Billaud in 1800: "My only wish before dying is to be able to embrace him once more and to see you all reunited. God willing, before that time, I will have that satisfaction. I am sure that, in this circumstance, you will make all necessary steps to make this happen." and from Henriette-Suzanne Billaud: "I desire, like your father, to embrace you before dying." How many of us would set aside our convictions and accept the pardon of a military dictator just to see our parents one last time? Or simply to see the homeland where we grew up? Not many, and I don’t blame them (after all, Félix Le Peletier, a revolutionary I admire, accepted Napoleon’s pardon after being deported by him, and we can hardly blame him). Then he settled in Haiti and even became an advisor to Alexandre Pétion. Haiti, this land where slaves fought to be free (even though Pétion is very controversial, first allying with the French, then only after Toussaint’s deportation, joining nationalist forces; there are still controversies about him, so I will refrain from arguing about a character I don’t know well). His accommodation was apparently a two-room hut; this shows he was still rightly considered competent and that he lived his last years with disinterest. In fact, he decided to die at his laundress's house, accompanied by Brigitte in a poor cabin, and died peacefully. I like to think that in some way, after renouncing his ideals on slavery, he somehow reconciled with them at the end.

There is a repellent effect of his exile compared to Napoleon’s. The beginning was very violent and harsh for Billaud, who accepted it as a legalist, did not escape even though it was tough, and his exile is seen as a bit more unjust, especially since they wanted to make him a scapegoat like Tinville, Robespierre, Saint-Just by the worst opportunists such as Fouché, Barras, Tallien... Apart from slavery (and maybe for serving Pétion, who apparently suspended the Constitution), he remained true to his convictions and finally died in poverty but very surrounded, free in the company of people he appreciated. He resumed politics as a counselor at the end in his life.

Napoleon’s initial exile was very easy; just look at Elba. Then, since he was not a legalist (euphemism), he returned for the Hundred Days, which would be more catastrophic in the long run for France (for once, I agreed with Germaine de Staël). Then he was deported to Saint Helena, with much less freedom (logically, conditions are always toughened for someone who has escaped, but I say he benefited from a clemency he did not grant to his opponents, the slaves who were atrociously killed, the deportations,etc, so ultimately he is very lucky in my eyes), and he no longer had a political voice. In fact, there were only a few loyalists left; he died much less surrounded (and I don’t blame Marie Louise for moving on with her life and refusing to join him). He, who had a taste for luxury, must have felt the difference, even if it was preferable to that of a peasant. No need to decipher the moral of this story if there is one.

Moreover, between a Billaud Varennes even at his worst regarding slavery (or Danton or even Collot) and Napoleon, it is clear that I would not choose Napoleon. Napoleon unlike the propaganda said is a man with bloody methods (just looking at Jaffa,Haiti, Guadeloupe,etc) just like the worst revolutionnary like Fouché in 17993-1794, and he is a dictator.

Sorry for the long paragraph; I cannot say everything about Billaud Varennes since I have used up much of my defense that I am building for him, but I hope this will suffice (at least I haven't exhausted his defense before deportation and even some points about Collot). I hope you will all forgive me! But maybe it will change when I will finally the book write by Arthur Conte.

P.S : I translate the letter in english but we all know that it is in French.

Sources :

www.amis-robespierre.org

Collot d’Herbois légendes noires et révolution- Michel Biard

Mémoires inédits et correspondance accompagnés de notices biographiques sur Billaud-Varenne et Collot -d’Herbois par Alfred Bégis ( à prendre avec modération)

Jacques Guilaine Billaud Varennes

For the affirmation that Camille Desmoulins love in a platonic way Annette Duplessis, see Hervé Leuwers Camille Desmoulins or in one of his videos on Camille and Lucile Desmoulins in Youtube.

At least it is a better exercise for prepare the difficult defense of someone like Billaud Varennes after his deportation :) with these everyone could correct me if I said a wrong thing before the final defense :)

[twentiethcenturymoviesandtv]

Star Trek: Facets of Filmmaking

As it turns out, before Star Trek was fully realized in the form we know today, the show was originally not going to be about Kirk and the Enterprise at all.  In fact, it was going to be about a ship called the S.S. Yorktown, captained by a man named Robert April, on a mission to explore the Milky Way galaxy.  The original concept, still named Star Trek and set in the 23rd century, was loosely based on the Horatio Hornblower novels, and took inspiration from The Voyage of the Space Beagle, the Marathon series and the 1956 film Forbidden Planet.

By the year 1964, when this idea began to take shape, Gene Roddenberry, creator of Star Trek was an experienced writer for western television shows, and was well accustomed to (at the time) television’s favorite and most popular genre.  By 1964, however, Roddenberry was tired of the shootouts, and wanted to do something different, something with a little more depth to it.

Still, Roddenberry knew what the executives, and the public, was used to.  As a result, the first draft of this new Star Trek idea was generalized as a sort of ‘Wagon Train to the Stars’, a formulaic type of show where every episode was a standalone adventure in the continuous exploration of the final frontier: space.

As Roddenberry wrote the draft, a few things changed.  Gone was Robert April, replaced by Captain Christopher Pike, who would be portrayed by Jefferey Hunter, and the rest of the crew.  The name of the ship changed too, to the more familiar Enterprise.  As these changes came about, so too did the true nature of Roddenberry’s dream show: both an adventure story, and a thought-provoking morality tale.

Armed with his script, Roddenberry brought Star Trek to Desilu Productions, (a rather large television production company headed and half-formed by Lucille Ball herself) and met with director of production Herbert F. Solow.  Solow saw promise in the concept, and signed a three-year development contract with Roddenberry.

Star Trek moved into the next stage of development.  Further drafts were drawn up and the idea that would later become the episode The Cage was revised, until it was shown to CBS as part of the ‘First Look’ deal with Desilu productions.  CBS wasn’t impressed with the show, declining to purchase it.  They had another ‘space show’ in development that seemed too similar, a show that would become Lost in Space.

However, another company became interested: NBC.  In May of 1964, Grant Tinker, the head of the West Coast programming department, commissioned the pilot that would become The Cage (which would later be reworked into the episode The Menagerie).  After it was completed, NBC turned it down, claiming that it was ‘too cerebral’, but although this was a mild defeat, Star Trek wasn’t beaten.  NBC still showed interest in the concept, and made the highly unusual decision to commission a second pilot: the episode that would become Where No Man Has Gone Before.

With this came quite a few changes.

Christopher Pike was scrapped as a character, as was the vast majority of other cast members.  Only the character of Spock, as portrayed by Leonard Nimoy, was kept, and of the other cast members, only Majel Barrett stayed, demoted from playing the second-in-command (scrapped due to the unthinkable notion of a woman Commander) to the ship’s nurse, Christine Chapel.  With this new pilot came an onslaught of new, more familiar names and faces: William Shatner as Captain Kirk, Chief Engineer Lieutenant Commander Scott played by James Doohan, and Lieutenant Sulu, (originally a physicist in the first episode, but a helmsman afterwards) played by George Takei.

This pilot passed with flying colors, and with that, NBC added Star Trek to their fall lineup for 1966.

Still, there were changes to be made.  In this first pilot, the ship’s doctor was Mark Piper, played by Paul Fix.  Dr. Leonard McCoy, played by DeForest Kelley, would join the cast when principal filming for the first season began.  Also joining the cast was Nichelle Nichols, playing Lieutenant Uhura, and Grace Lee Whitney as Yeoman Rand.  (Whitney would depart halfway through the first season, after being on the receiving end of sexual assault from one of the executives of the show, but would later appear in the film series beginning in the 1970s.)

Besides Where No Man Has Gone Before, NBC ordered 15 episodes to start off the show.  The first episode of Star Trek, The Man Trap, aired at 8:30 PM on Thursday, September 8th of 1966 as part of NBC’s ‘sneak preview’ time slot, received with mixed feelings.  While some papers and reviewers genuinely liked the new show, (such as The Philadelphia Inquirer and the San Francisco Chronicle) others, such as The Boston Globe and The New York Times didn’t.  Variety described the show as ‘an incredible and dreary mess of confusion and complexities’, and predicted that it would fail.

Fighting for position against reruns of previous shows, despite the critics’ warnings, Star Trek won a time slot, and began with decent ratings.  However, it didn’t last long.  By the end of the first season, Star Trek was sitting at 52nd out of 94 programs.

Star Trek was sinking, fast.

But even then, it wasn’t without its supporters.

The editor of Galaxy Science Fiction, Frederik Pohl, offered up his amazement that Star Trek’s consistency remained good, with no drop in quality after its Tricon winning early episodes.  He expressed his fear that the show would be cancelled due to its low ratings, and pleaded with audiences to help save Star Trek, writing letters to prevent its cancellation.

At this time, the only thing that was keeping the show on the air in the first place was the demographics it was reaching.  NBC had become interested in the demographics of the shows it was producing in the early 1960s, and by 1967, was using that as part of the decision making as to which shows got dropped.  

And something about Star Trek’s demographics interested NBC very much: it had managed to attract ‘quality’ audiences: high income, high educated people (primarily males).

As a result, NBC ordered ten more episodes for the first season, and ordered a second in March of 1967.  The network then changed Star Trek’s timeslot, moving it to 8:30 on Friday nights, a timeslot that seemed doomed for failure among the audience that Star Trek had gathered.

The next season, things didn’t seem to be getting any better.  It was at this point that the show added on Walter Koenig as Ensign Chekov (as George Takei was working on The Green Berets and was not as available for shooting), although some might have wondered why they would have bothered.  The show’s ratings were still dropping.  William Shatner, expecting the show to be cancelled, began to prepare for other projects.  

Again, the demographics saved the day.

Roddenberry’s initial concept of adventure alongside morality tales intrigued the audiences Star Trek had attracted.  The show had values, values that had to be applied to every situation.  The show was sincere, and serious in its exploration of issues like racism, war and peace, human rights, technology, class warfare, and imperialism, far different in tone and content than the other chief sci-fi show at the time: Lost in Space.  As a result, the show generated a more interested fanbase, perhaps the first true ‘fanbase’ of any franchise in history.  In the end, it was they who saved Star Trek.

By the end of the first season, NBC had received well over 29,000 fan letters.  During the second season, Roddenberry began a campaign to persuade fans to write in to NBC, to support the show and save the program.  Between December of 1967 and March of 1968, NCB had received nearly 116,000 letters from people who did not want to see Star Trek cancelled.  Science fiction conventions, magazines, and newspaper columnists encouraged readers to save what was called ‘the best science-fiction show on the air’.

The fans didn’t stop with letters.  Over 200 students of the California Institute of Technology marched to NBC’s studio in Burbank to protest the cancellation of Star Trek in January of 1968, carrying signs that said things like ‘Vulcan Power’.  They weren’t alone; other groups of students of MIT and Berkeley did the same thing in New York City and San Francisco.

Interestingly, the letters that NBC received were not of the typical ‘fan mail’ quality.

“Much of the mail came from doctors, scientists, teachers, and other professional people, and was for the most part literate–and written on good stationery. And if there is anything a network wants almost as much as a high Nielsen ratings, it is the prestige of a show that appeals to the upper middle class and high-brow audiences.” (Lowry, Cynthia (January 17, 1968). “One Network Goes ‘Unconventional’”. Nashua Telegraph. Associated Press. p. 13)

“The show, according to the 6,000 letters it draws a week (more than any other in television), is watched by scientists, museum curators, psychiatrists, doctors, university professors, and other highbrows. The Smithsonian Institution asked for a print of the show for its archives, the only show so honored.” (Scott, Vernon (February 7, 1968). “Letters Can Save 'Star Trek’”. The Press-Courier. Oxnard, California. United Press International. p. 17.)

After the episode The Omega Glory, on March 1st, 1968, the announcement came:

“And now an announcement of interest to all viewers of Star Trek. We are pleased to tell you that Star Trek will continue to be seen on NBC Television. We know you will be looking forward to seeing the weekly adventure in space on Star Trek.” (“Letters For 'Star Trek’ Hit 114,667”. The Modesto Bee. April 14, 1968. p. 26.)

If this was intended to stop the letter writing campaign, it was a dismal failure.  A comparable number of letters came in to NBC following this announcement, full of thanks for renewing the show for the third season.

In March of 1968, NBC moved Star Trek to another time slot: 10:00 PM on Fridays, an even worse shot than before.  To make matters worse, it was only being seen by 181 out of 210 of NBC’s affiliates.  Roddenberry fought the network to move it to a better time, but he was denied.  Exhausted, Roddenberry quit working on production of Star Trek, remaining executive producer in name only.  The running of the show went to Fred Freiberger, who was with the show as it stood on its last, shaky, legs.

And it was on its last legs.

Star Trek season three was a dying breath, the death-rattle of a show that was being intentionally destroyed by its own network.

To quote Nichelle Nichols:

“While NBC paid lip service to expanding Star Trek’s audience, it [now] slashed our production budget until it was actually 10% lower than it had been in our first season … This is why in the third season you saw fewer outdoor location shots, for example. Top writers, top guest stars, top anything you needed was harder to come by. Thus, Star Trek’s demise became a self-fulfilling prophecy. And I can assure you, that is exactly as it was meant to be.”

It showed.

While I hesitate to call season three of Star Trek a mess, it is difficult to deny that the show was definitely struggling.  Episodes dropped in quality, characters became more exaggerated and less ‘true’. Star Trek stopped filming in January of 1969, and after a total run of 79 episodes, the show  was cancelled.

As a newspaper columnist advised:

“You Star Trek fans have fought the “good fight,” but the show has been cancelled and there’s nothing to be done now.”

Rather incongruous with the image of the pop-culture giant we know it as today, wouldn’t you think?

So what happened?

As it turns out, Star Trek had enough episodes (thanks to the third season) to enter syndication.  Desilu Productions, which at that point had become Paramount, licensed the syndication rights in order to turn a profit, and reruns of Star Trek began airing in late 1969.

In syndication, Star Trek became a cult classic, finding a larger audience on reruns than it had during its original run.  The show, which was airing in the afternoons and early evenings, was attracting a young demographic, and, ironically, Star Trek became known as ‘the show that wouldn’t die’.  By 1970, Star Trek was boosting Paramount’s ratings, and becoming extremely popular.  In January of 1972, over 3,000 fans attended the first Star Trek convention in New York City, kicking off a previously unheard-of trend of organized fan gatherings where they could buy merchandise, meet cast and crew, and screen episodes of the show.  These people, coming to be known as ‘trekkies’, took pride in their knowledge and extreme love for this series, which was becoming renowned for being a smart, heartfelt science fiction show that had been cancelled too early.

17 years after Star Trek was cancelled and started reruns, Star Trek became the most popular syndicated show of all time.  By 1987, Paramount was bringing in $1 million per episode, and by 1994, reruns were still airing in over 90% of the United States of America.

The rest is history.

It has been over fifty years since Gene Roddenberry’s vision of a wagon train to the stars first took flight, and it was a hard battle fought to get as far as it did.  Never before had a show garnered the support and devoted love from a fanbase, never had it inspired such huge leaps and bounds in television and fandom alike.  Never had a television show meant so much to so many, and continued to do so well past its end.

For a show that struggled through a third season, it seems incredible that Star Trek still holds the weight that it does today.  The show that wouldn’t die gained new life beyond the grave, still capturing people’s attention decades after it was cancelled, growing to become one of the best known and best loved television shows ever made.

Against all odds, Star Trek lives on, remaining one of the greatest television shows of all time, for very good reason.

Join me for one last article as next time we take one last look at Star Trek in our Final Thoughts.  If you have any thoughts, questions, suggestions, recommendations, or just want to say hi, don’t forget to leave an ask!  Thank you all so much for reading, and I hope to see you in the next article.  

[fanfictionaries]

A Fine Line Between Lust and Hate - jbbuckybarnes Birthday Challenge

Thank you to @jbbuckybarnes for this fun writing challenge! Congratulations on over 900 followers and also happy 21st birthday! It’s a fun age, enjoy it! 

Prompt 1: Bookstore AU

Prompt 2: “Just gimme the book and fuck off!” 

Pairing: AU Bookstore!Bucky Barnes X female reader

Summary:  If there was one person you hated more than anyone else in the world it was James Buchanan “Call Me Bucky” Barnes. Or at least, you thought you did. As Bucky continues to press your patience, it becomes unclear as to whether it’s hate you feel, or lust. 

Words: 3.5k

Warnings: Swearing, smut, doggy style, oral (male receiving), NSFW/18+ only

Author’s Note: Man, I do love a good rousing debate over literature. 

***

You stood in one of the long aisles as you worked on putting the store’s most recent influx of donations on the shelves. The endless rows of historical memories stretched high above your head and all around you. However, the large stack in front of you currently sat untouched, a copy of Ernst Jünger’s Storm of Steel held tightly in your grasp, as you watched the events occurring at the front desk. Your coworker, James, was leant casually against the counter, once again ignoring his work duties as he openly and obnoxiously flirted with the woman in front of him.

God, you hated him. You hated his stupid long hair that he pulled up into a stupid bun. You hated his stupid tight jeans that hugged his thick thighs and his stupid red Henley that accentuated his muscular shoulders and arms. You hated his stupid handsome face that only fueled his overall cocky attitude. God, you absolutely hated James Buchanan ‘Call Me Bucky’ Barnes.

You hadn’t set out to hate him of course. Quite the opposite in fact. When your boss informed you of a new employee who wasn’t a billion-year-old woman, you had been ecstatic. Not to say you didn’t love Lucille, but to finally meet a person close to your age that loved books so much they were willing to work at the musty, expansive bookstore was a dream come true. For years now, you’d found yourself spending more time alone, tucked into the rows of books than you did with anyone your own age. You’d think that the kitschy bookstore would be a draw to the younger individuals in town, with the rise of intellectualism or at least the guise of intellectualism within today’s youth. Not to mention, the fact that it was nestled in between the cutest antique store and 50’s style diner. But, alas, it didn’t seem to be on trend for your town. Instead, you got the odd stragglers of older individuals who still enjoyed reading physical books, and local community college students looking to either sell or buy books for classes. That’s why the idea of coming into work every day to a coworker you could relate to was beyond wonderful. However, it hadn’t taken long for James to get so far under your skin, you practically wore him like a pair of itchy long johns.

It had started with his complete disregard for the books and their safety. As a self-proclaimed bibliophile, you took great pride in the care and safety of the books in the store. They were a mix of new and used, the older ones coming into your protective arms the moment you clocked the torn corners and dog-eared pages. You spent hours restoring them before putting them out to be appreciated by the next reader. That’s why, on his third day there when you’d spotted him using his copy of Catcher in the Rye as a coaster for his iced coffee, you’d nearly had an aneurysm. You wished that the situation was a one-time thing, but every time you turned a corner, he was bending spines, creasing pages, WRITING in the margins. He was a book sadist.

Then of course, there was the lackadaisical way in which he approached his job. Not once, not twice, but ten times in the last three months you had stayed late finishing work that had been assigned to him. Why did you do it, instead of letting him take the fall for shoddy work? Well, because it was always things that needed to be done either before the shop could close or before the shop could open. Closing out the till, turning off all the lights, locking the back door, fixing the displays, picking up the giant stack of books that had fallen near the back, changing a burnt-out light using the very old and very rickety ladder.

And lastly, the one thing you absolutely hated the most about him was just how incredibly flirty he was! From the very beginning, he took every opportunity to hit on you. At first it had been flattering, but incredibly jarring and confusing. What could he possibly want with you? He looked like that and you looked like, well people didn’t really want to date the weird bookstore girl that always smelled faintly of old books. Then, it had all come into focus. James flirted with everyone. Not just you. Everyone. The moment a woman under the age of forty walked through those front doors, James was there with his stupid charming ways; “Can I help you with anything today?” “What’s a beautiful woman like you doing in here today?” “I knew a woman of your caliber would have good taste in books.” All the while, he’d chance little glances your way, smirking at you and raising his eyebrows slightly. It was all a game to him. Prick.

“Now, see, that is a fantastic choice. I knew the moment you walked in you had good taste,” stated James pointing down at the copy of The God of Small Things that was currently clutched to the woman’s chest in her perfectly manicured hands. You rolled your eyes. Ridiculous. You glanced over again to see James smirking in your direction before he walked the woman to the front door and waved her goodbye, shutting and locking the door behind her. Last customer of the day. You sighed, turning back to the stacks in front of you and swiftly putting the books back into place. The quicker you got this done, the quicker you would be out of there and away from James’ mocking face and overall itchy personality. You continued to put the books away, probably harsher than you should have, as you listened to the faint sounds of James closing out the till. Well, at least he was doing that today. I knew the moment you walked in you had good taste, you mocked him in your head, huffing and puffing at just how infuriating he was. You winced at a particularly harsh shove of a book into the shelve. Quickly, you pulled it out and inspect the corners and sides of the hard cover.

“Careful there—” a pair of large hands came into your line of site, snatching the book from your hands “—What did Michael Herr ever do to you?”

“Nothing,” you huffed, turning to grab the book back, but coming up unsuccessful. “Although, I really would prefer it if you didn’t allow customers to stay so late past closing.”

“Why? Got somewhere to be? Hot date?” James asked, circling around you to lean against the bookshelves to your right.

You snorted, “As if that’s any of your business.”

“Come on. Lighten up a little bit (Y/N). She needed help finding a good book for her English class,” said James, pulling the book out of reach as you attempted to grab it back from him once again.

“Okay,” you scoffed, rolling your eyes and reaching back down to the stack of books remaining on the cart to your left.

“What? You got something against Indian authors writing about caste relations and cultural tensions?”

“No, but I think if Roy tried to squeeze one more literary device into the text, the book would literally explode. Nobody genuinely enjoys a work where the author is intentionally trying to be clever. It’s obnoxious,” you said as you continued to put the books into their correct spaces as quickly as possible.

“Oh, so I guess you don’t care for Shakespeare then? What about Vonnegut, Anne Rice, Tolkien? Every author thinks they’re clever (Y/N). If they didn’t, they wouldn’t be writers,” said James, crossing his arms and leaning towards you condescendingly.

“That’s-that’s just ridiculous,” you responded lamely, placing the last book in your pile away.

“Oh really? Then please, oh smart one, name a single author who didn’t take themselves so seriously that it didn’t bleed through their work in some way,” James challenged, once again pulling the book in his hands away from your reaching hands.

You stood there, glowering at the man in front of you as you tried to come up with some king of answer. “C. S. Lewis,” you blurted out, wanting to kick yourself at the obviously stupid answer.

A barking laugh left James, “Oh come on. The man spent most of his career preaching Christian values and what it means to be moral. He even went so far as to write a short story on what the afterlife looks like and how to get into heaven. Or are we just going to pretend like The Great Divorce didn’t happen? Just because he wrote a bunch of entertaining children’s stories bathed in Christian symbolism with little effort does not mean that he didn’t take himself seriously.”

His astute criticism caught you off guard and peaked your anger, mainly because to a certain extent he was right. That didn’t mean you were going to let him know that though, “Excuse you! I’ll have you know he wrote The Great Divorce after the death of his wife. What else was he supposed to write about? You know what James—”

“How many times do I have to tell you to call me Bucky?”

“Just gimme the book and fuck off!”

Your eyes widened at your outburst. You’d never spoken to anyone like that before in your life. Opening your mouth to apologize, you quickly closed it when James sighed heavily and pushed himself off of the bookshelf. He stared at you, his eyes calculating as he closed the space between you, slamming the good on the shelf behind your head. You jumped, turning so that you faced him head on, your back to the endless rows of books. James placed an intimidatingly large arm on either side of you, bracing himself against oak shelves. You swallowed thickly at the sheer size of him. Your pulse quickened. He had never been this close to you.

“You know what (Y/N)? I think you’re just jealous,” James murmured, tilting his head dangerously low to yours.

“Jealous? Of what?” you asked, your voice embarrassingly breathy, as your head began to swim. He was so close. So close you could smell his cologne, a musky warm scent mixed with the fresh scent of soap and…old books? Subtly, you tried to inhale more of the tantalizing smell without James noticing. But one glance up and you could see that familiar smirk and cocky gleam in his eye.

“Me, and every woman that walks in here ready to fuck me in the encyclopedia section.”

You gasped at his words, “That’s ridiculous. Why would I be jealous of that?”

“Because you want to fuck me in the encyclopedia section.”

“I—I do not—I do not want to—I hate you!”

James leaned closer, his nose brushing against yours, “Doesn’t mean you don’t want to fuck me—” His head titled, his lips brushing across your cheek, your jawline, and then to the shell of your ear. “—Just say the word and I’ll take you right there. Right then. Any time. Any day.”

You shivered at the offer. Never had his flirting gone this far. Sure, James had given you a flirtatious smile and charming little comment here and there, but never had he come close to propositioning you. You should say no. You hate him. He’s everything you despise and yet…

“Fuck it.” Rising up on the tips of your toes, you wrap your arms around his neck and press your lips to his in a searing kiss. James’ lips claim yours, never hesitating for a second, as if expecting it. The soft skin of his plush lips a stark contrast to the harsh way in which you both battled for dominance. Every ounce of anger, frustration, and tension that you held towards him fought its way through your body as you nipped, bit, and tugged. James’ hands moved from the bookshelf to your body, gripping your hips and tugging you harshly against him, revealing the same level of pent up aggression. His hands traveled upwards, cupping your breasts through your sweater, roughly massaging them as he slipped his tongue into your mouth. Threading your fingers into his hair, you tugged harshly earning you a growl from James. Breaking away from the kiss just long enough to pull your sweater up and over your head, your bodies reconnected, the feel of your bare torso against him feeling oh so right. You continued to hang onto him for dear life, as his kisses left you breathless and needy. Bringing a leg up around his hip, your pelvis rocked against him, searching for any kind of friction as you climbed him like a tree.

“Eager, aren’t we?” James teased, hands moving down to harshly grasp your ass and lift you up. Wrapping your legs around his hips, you allowed him to carry you the brief distance away from the bookshelves and lower you onto the rough carpet floor. Trailing kisses down your neck and towards your breasts, he roughly yanked the cups of your bra down before taking a nipple between his teeth. You arched into his mouth, loving the sting as he bit down.

“God, I knew you’d be a fucking little minx,” panted James, sitting up on his knees. “Look at you all sexy and needy. Just had to get you to let go.”

Pushing up onto your elbows, you stared up at him, “Shut the fuck up and take your shirt off James.”

Swinging his hand down, he swatted the inside of your thigh, “The name’s Bucky, babe.”

Your head fell backwards at the contact and your pussy clenched as you moaned low. Sitting up, you ripped his shirt from his torso and threw it behind you before pushing him down onto the ground. You made quick work of removing your bra, shoes, and pants before reaching for his belt buckle. This time it was his turn to push up onto his elbows as he watched your near naked form, undo his belt and then his pants. You tugged at his pants and then his boxers in a desperate manner, James kicking off his shoes and socks to held aid in their removal. Finally, when he was naked before you, you took a moment to admire the lean curves of his muscular form and the thick cock that sat just below his belly button, nestled in a patch of short brown curls.

Running your nails lightly up and down his thighs, you smirked as he writhed below you, sucking in a harsh breath through his teeth. Lowering yourself slowly, you positioned yourself between his thick thighs and grasped the base of his cock in your hand, wasting no time in wrapping your lips around the head and swirling your tongue around him. Bucky cursed, low and sexy as you took him in your mouth. You worked him with your lips and tongue as your moved lower and lower. Spit gathered in your mouth as you breathed through your nose, giving your all into pleasuring the man below you. You wanted to once and for all wipe the smirk off of James “Bucky” Barnes’ face. When you made it almost all the way to the base, you hollowed your cheeks, sucking as you massaged the vein on the underside of his cock with your tongue. His hands flew to the back of your head, fingers lacing in your hair and gripping tight. He held onto you for dear life as you attempted to suck the soul out of him through his dick alone.

“Jesus Christ! Fuck! (Y/N),” he yelled, his body shuddering. When you slipped down the last few inches, allowing his cock to slip easily down your throat, he stilled, body rigid before he pulled you off of him with a curse.

You fell backwards onto your hands, spit coating your lips and drool falling down your chin as you breathed in deeply. A low growl escaped James’ throat as he launched himself at you, flipping you onto your stomach, and ripping your panties down your legs. His hands found your center in no time, his fingers delving deep into your core easily, aided by the embarrassing amount of arousal there. James fingered you, curving and finding that special spot inside of you that made your see stars. You yelped, bucking your hips back against him. His teeth sunk into the supple flesh of your ass.

“You’re god damn dripping down my arm (Y/N). Did sucking my cock turn you on that much?”

“Yes!” you admitted, continuing to rock your hips against him. Pulling his fingers from you, you whimpered at the loss of contact. The loss was only temporary though, as soon James was pulling your hips up, placing you back on your knees, face still pressed against the carpet as he lined his cock up with your entrance. There was no slow and delicate start. No, in one swift thrust, he was seated fully inside of you, hands firmly grasping your ass as he began to fuck you at a punishing pace.

“Fucking hell baby. Your pussy is like a vice-grip. I don’t think I’m going to last long,” he admitted, continuing to pound into you, his balls slapping against your clit with every thrust. He reached down, finding your clit and rubbing light, fast circles around it until you began to feel the familiar pressure building in your lower abdomen.

“Yes! Bucky! Fuck. Just like that, don’t stop!” you cried, desperate to reach your climax. The carpet scraped against your skin, sure to leave burns after. But you didn’t care. The only thing you cared about was the delicious stretch of your cunt around Bucky’s cock and your imminent orgasm.

“That’s it, baby. Say my fucking name again. Say my name as you cum all around me.”

You chanted his name over and over again, Bucky, Bucky, Bucky, until finally you were approaching the edge and falling over. Your body shuddered and hips bucked as you came, loving the feeling of every hard ridge of Bucky’s thick cock inside of you. A few seconds late, he was pulling out of you and then you felt the warm streams of cum splashing across your ass. You collapsed fully onto the carpet below you, Bucky falling after you and rolling to lay beside you. You laid there, in post-orgasmic bliss. The feeling of Bucky’s fingertips trailing up and down your spine soothing you down from your high. After a little while, the two of your stood up and began to redress. Bucky, ever the gentleman, told you to wait as he ran to the front counter and came back with some tissues before wiping up the mess he had made on your ass.

Once you were both dressed, you finished closing up the store. Neither of you spoke, instead choosing to spare the other furtive little glances as you turned out the lights and locked the door behind you both.

“Looks like the diner is still open. Can I buy you a cup of coffee?” Bucky asked, looking down at you giving you a small, shy smile that you’d never seen on him before.

His question caught you off guard. He wanted to buy you coffee. “Oh, Bucky. You don’t have to feel obligated to—”

“—I don’t feel obligated. I, um, I want to.” He swallowed thickly, almost as if he was nervous. Was he nervous? “I know we just, well, I know we skipped a few steps, but I actually do want to take you out. I’ve been trying to hint it to you for the past three months.”

“So, all the flirting with the customers…?”

“Was me stupidly trying to make you jealous,” laughed Bucky, stuffing his hands in his coat pockets.  

“Ah,” you said, a smiling spreading across your face, “How about you buy me a coffee and tell me all your thoughts on Brontë.”

“How much time do you have?” asked Bucky with an exaggerated groan.

Holding your hand out to him, you reveled in the feel of his warm palm connecting with yours, “All the time in the world.”

Marvel Taglist:

@caffiend-queen

@hidden-behind-the-fourth-wall

[timeless-hollywood-classics]

Rose Joan Blondell (August 30, 1906 – December 25, 1979) was an American actress who performed in film and television for half a century.

She began her career in vaudeville. After winning a beauty pageant, Blondell embarked upon a film career. She established herself as a Pre-Code staple of Warner Bros. Pictures in wisecracking, sexy roles, and appeared in more than 100 films and television productions. She was most active in film during the 1930s and early 1940s, and during that time she co-starred with Glenda Farrell in nine films, in which the duo portrayed gold diggers. Blondell continued acting on film and television for the rest of her life, often in small, supporting roles. She was nominated for an Academy Award for Best Supporting Actress for her performance in The Blue Veil (1951).

Near the end of her life, Blondell was nominated for a Golden Globe for Best Supporting Actress for her performance in Opening Night (1977). She was featured in two more films, the blockbuster musical Grease (1978) and Franco Zeffirelli's The Champ (1979), which was released shortly before Blondell's death from leukemia.

Rose Joan Blondell was born in New York to a vaudeville family; she gave her birthdate as August 30, 1909. Her father, Levi Bluestein, a vaudeville comedian known as Ed Blondell, was born in Poland to a Jewish family in 1866. He toured for many years starring in Blondell and Fennessy's stage version of The Katzenjammer Kids. Blondell's mother was Catherine (known as "Kathryn" or "Katie") Caine, born in Brooklyn, Kings County, New York (later Brooklyn, New York City) on April 13, 1884, to Irish-American parents. Joan's younger sister, Gloria Blondell, also an actress, was briefly married to film producer Albert R. Broccoli. The Blondell sisters had a brother, Ed Blondell, Jr.

Joan's cradle was a property trunk as her parents moved from place to place. She made her first appearance on stage at the age of four months when she was carried on in a cradle as the daughter of Peggy Astaire in The Greatest Love. Her family comprised a vaudeville troupe, the "Bouncing Blondells".

Joan had spent a year in Honolulu (1914–15) and six years in Australia and had seen much of the world by the time her family, who had been on tour, settled in Dallas, Texas, when she was a teenager. Under the name Rosebud Blondell, she won the 1926 Miss Dallas pageant, was a finalist in an early version of the Miss Universe pageant in May 1926, and placed fourth for Miss America 1926 in Atlantic City, New Jersey, in September of that same year. She attended Santa Monica High School, where she acted in school plays and worked as an editor on the yearbook staff. While there (and after high school), she gave her name as Rosebud Blondell, such as when she attended North Texas State Teacher’s College (1926–1927), now the University of North Texas in Denton, where her mother was a local stage actress.

Around 1927, she returned to New York, worked as a fashion model, a circus hand, a clerk in a store, joined a stock company to become an actress, and performed on Broadway. In 1930, she starred with James Cagney in Penny Arcade on Broadway. Penny Arcade lasted only three weeks, but Al Jolson saw it and bought the rights to the play for $20,000. He then sold the rights to Warner Bros., with the proviso that Blondell and Cagney be cast in the film version, named Sinners' Holiday (1930). Placed under contract by Warner Bros., she moved to Hollywood, where studio boss Jack L. Warner wanted her to change her name to "Inez Holmes", 34 but Blondell refused. She began to appear in short subjects and was named as one of the WAMPAS Baby Stars in 1931.

Blondell was paired several more times with James Cagney in films, including The Public Enemy (1931), and she was one-half of a gold-digging duo with Glenda Farrell in nine films. During the Great Depression, Blondell was one of the highest-paid individuals in the United States. Her stirring rendition of "Remember My Forgotten Man" in the Busby Berkeley production of Gold Diggers of 1933, in which she co-starred with Dick Powell and Ruby Keeler, became an anthem for the frustrations of unemployed people and the government's failed economic policies. In 1937, she starred opposite Errol Flynn in The Perfect Specimen. By the end of the decade, she had made nearly 50 films. She left Warner Bros. in 1939.

In 1943, Blondell returned to Broadway as the star of Mike Todd's short-lived production of The Naked Genius, a comedy written by Gypsy Rose Lee. She was well received in her later films, despite being relegated to character and supporting roles after 1945, when she was billed below the title for the first time in 14 years in Adventure, which starred Clark Gable and Greer Garson. She was also featured prominently in A Tree Grows in Brooklyn (1945) and Nightmare Alley (1947). In 1948, she left the screen for three years and concentrated on theater, performing in summer stock and touring with Cole Porter's musical, Something for the Boys. She later reprised her role of Aunt Sissy in the musical version of A Tree Grows in Brooklyn for the national tour and played the nagging mother, Mae Peterson, in the national tour of Bye Bye Birdie.

Blondell returned to Hollywood in 1950. Her performance in her next film, The Blue Veil (1951), earned her an Academy Award nomination for Best Actress in a Supporting Role. She played supporting roles in The Opposite Sex (1956), Desk Set (1957), and Will Success Spoil Rock Hunter? (1957). She received considerable acclaim for her performance as Lady Fingers in Norman Jewison's The Cincinnati Kid (1965), garnering a Golden Globe nomination and National Board of Review win for Best Supporting Actress. John Cassavetes cast her as a cynical, aging playwright in his film Opening Night (1977). Blondell was widely seen in two films released not long before her death – Grease (1978), and the remake of The Champ (1979) with Jon Voight and Rick Schroder. She also appeared in two films released after her death – The Glove (1979), and The Woman Inside (1981).

Blondell also guest-starred in various television programs, including three 1963 episodes as the character Aunt Win in the CBS sitcom The Real McCoys, starring Walter Brennan and Richard Crenna.

Also in 1963, Blondell was cast as the widowed Lucy Tutaine in the episode, "The Train and Lucy Tutaine", on the syndicated anthology series, Death Valley Days, hosted by Stanley Andrews. In the story line, Lucy sues a railroad company, against great odds, for causing the death of her cow. Noah Beery Jr., was cast as Abel.

In 1964, she appeared in the episode "What's in the Box?" of The Twilight Zone. She guest-starred in the episode "You're All Right, Ivy" on Jack Palance's circus drama, The Greatest Show on Earth, which aired on ABC in the 1963–64 television season. Her co-stars in the segment were Joe E. Brown and Buster Keaton. In 1965, she was in the running to replace Vivian Vance as Lucille Ball's sidekick on the hit CBS television comedy series The Lucy Show. Unfortunately, after filming her second guest appearance as Joan Brenner (Lucy's new friend from California), Blondell walked off the set right after the episode had completed filming when Ball humiliated her by harshly criticizing her performance in front of the studio audience and technicians.

Blondell continued working on television. In 1968, she guest-starred on the CBS sitcom Family Affair, starring Brian Keith. She replaced Bea Benaderet, who was ill, for one episode on the CBS series Petticoat Junction. In that installment, Blondell played FloraBelle Campbell, a lady visitor to Hooterville, who had once dated Uncle Joe (Edgar Buchanan) and Sam Drucker (Frank Cady). That same year, Blondell co-starred in all 52 episodes of the ABC Western series Here Come the Brides, set in the Pacific Northwest of the 19th century. Her co-stars included singer Bobby Sherman and actor-singer David Soul. Blondell received two consecutive Emmy nominations for outstanding continued performance by an actress in a dramatic series for her role as Lottie Hatfield.

In 1971, she followed Sada Thompson in the off-Broadway hit The Effect of Gamma Rays on Man-in-the-Moon Marigolds, with a young Swoosie Kurtz playing one of her daughters.

In 1972, she had an ongoing supporting role in the NBC series Banyon as Peggy Revere, who operated a secretarial school in the same building as Banyon's detective agency. This was a 1930s period action drama starring Robert Forster in the title role. Her students worked in Banyon's office, providing fresh faces for the show weekly. The series was replaced midseason.

Blondell has a motion pictures star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame for her contributions to the film industry. Her star is located at 6311 Hollywood Boulevard. In December 2007, the Museum of Modern Art in New York City mounted a retrospective of Blondell's films in connection with a new biography by film professor Matthew Kennedy, and theatrical revival houses such as Film Forum in Manhattan have also projected many of her films recently.

She wrote a novel titled Center Door Fancy (New York: Delacorte Press, 1972), which was a thinly disguised autobiography with veiled references to June Allyson and Dick Powell.

Blondell was married three times, first to cinematographer George Barnes in a private wedding ceremony on January 4, 1933, at the First Presbyterian Church in Phoenix, Arizona. They had one child, Norman Scott Barnes, who became an accomplished producer, director, and television executive known as Norman Powell. Joan and George divorced in 1936.

On September 19, 1936, she married her second husband Dick Powell, an actor, director, and singer. They had a daughter, Ellen Powell, who became a studio hair stylist, and Powell adopted her son by her previous marriage under the name Norman Scott Powell. Blondell and Powell were divorced on July 14, 1944. Blondell was less than friendly with Powell's next wife, June Allyson, although the two women would later appear together in The Opposite Sex (1956).

On July 5, 1947, Blondell married her third husband, producer Mike Todd, whom she divorced in 1950. Her marriage to Todd was an emotional and financial disaster. She once accused him of holding her outside a hotel window by her ankles. He was also a heavy spender who lost hundreds of thousands of dollars gambling (high-stakes bridge was one of his weaknesses) and went through a controversial bankruptcy during their marriage. An often-repeated myth is that Mike Todd left Blondell for Elizabeth Taylor, when in fact, she had left Todd of her own accord years before he met Taylor.

Blondell died of leukemia in Santa Monica, California, on Christmas Day, 1979, with her children and her sister at her bedside. She was cremated and her ashes interred in a columbarium at the Forest Lawn Memorial Park Cemetery in Glendale, California.