#i wonder if people do that with my state (insert [REDACTED] state)

[uncanny-tranny]

Trans dude whose favourite NFL team are the Packers

#trans #transgender #lgbt #lgbtq #ftm #nonbinary #trans meme #do NOT talk NFL with me though because i don't care for american football #i know how the game generally goes but i was a band kid #my friend was an angel for reminding me about this #im now a Packers fan just because of how meta this is holy shit #ngl though wisconsin does not feel like a real state and i always forget it exists #actually anything too north or deep in the midwest just doesn't seem real to me #actually this is goving me an existential crisis because what do you MEAN these states are actually real #(yes i know these states are real and i have always known they exist. i just never hear shit from them so i always forgor they exist) #i wonder if people do that with my state (insert [REDACTED] state)

[spatort]

I’m at my parents’ house and I have too much time on my hands apparently, so it’s time for a trip down memory lane! More specifically, a trip into the weird world of 1990s for-profit teen idol RPF, such as this beauty:

No, I did not find this at my parents’ house, I bought it second-hand specifically in order to make this post because I’m a person who enjoys studying fan culture in her free time. So, if you’re wondering what the hell the monstrosity pictured above is, and why it exists, don’t worry, I’m about to answer that question extensively.

LONG (AND HOPEFULLY FUN & INTERESTING) POST UNDER THE CUT

Let’s start with a bit of history: In the pre-internet era, fan culture differed from today in a few key regards. Although fanfiction existed, without the internet it was much harder for fans to share their stories with each other. Large fandoms such as Star Trek did have fanzines where fanfic could be printed, but all in all it was a much more niche thing than it is today with millions of fics accessible on AO3.

Fan culture in general, however, was a big thing in the 90s – particularly when it came to pop acts that appealed to teen (and tween) audiences, such as the Backstreet Boys, the Spice Girls, or (mostly in Europe) the Kelly Family. When I was in elementary school, you basically had to pick whether you were a BSB or an NSYNC fan – and god forbid you were a Kelly fan like me, then you were the lowest rung on the social ladder and the target of relentless mockery. Like many German kids in the 90s, me and my sister would religiously read teen magazine BRAVO, cut out every single bit of material about our faves and collect them in folders and self-made fanzines. We created fan art and fanfiction without having words for these things. Without the internet and social media, fans did not have a constant stream of content about their idols, and were left with no other choice but to cling to every bit of information they could find in magazines, on TV shows, or on the radio.

Enter a savvy businessperson who comes up with the perfect merchandise product to sell to these popstar-obsessed teens: fan novels! These books, featuring taglines such as ‘The novel for all Backstreet Boys fans’, typically revolved around a relatable female teenage protagonist who is a fan of the celebrity or music group in question, and usually ends up meeting their idol or, gasp, even becoming romantically involved with them. As far as themes go, they look pretty much exactly like your classic self-insert RPF. Except there is a big difference setting these books apart from ‘actual’ fanfiction: Rather than being written by real fans to express their ‘fannish’ feelings about the subject, fan novels were most likely commissioned works created by professional romance authors purely to profit off of actual fans. There is very little background information available about this ‘genre’, but I did stumble across an academic work on Google Books which featured a passage about these fan novels (translated into English by me):

There are several commissioned works by professional authors, which could be mistaken for fanfiction. Especially in the 1990s, when lots of boy bands were on the market, many books of this kind were published. […] These are fictional stories for fans [redacted].

Jennie Hermann: Backstreet Girl. Projektionsfläche Popstar - Wenn der Fan zum Schriftsteller wird (2009) [Popstar as Projection Surface – When fans become writers]

One of the things I find most intriguing about this type of commercially published fanfiction is the question of personal rights. Obviously, the celebs in question or their management must have consented to using their names in the story, their pictures on the cover and so on – because a profit could be made with this. Especially with the fan debate around RPF allegely being unethical, I wonder if the celebrities themselves were aware someone was writing these stories about them, putting words in their mouth, and if they had any clue what exactly happened in these novels. Now, I’ve read a couple of them in my own youth. Some of them deal mostly with the state of being a fan, e.g. I recall a novel about a girl who is so obsessed with Leonardo Di Caprio that she doesn’t pay attention to real life guys at all, only to learn that her actual dream boy has been in her life all along! This story did not feature Di Caprio himself as a character, it was more about the protagonist’s arc of realizing your idols are not all that matters in life. Others do describe fan encounters with teen idols, and some even feature (hints at) romance with a celebrity. When I decided to purchase a vintage copy of one of these books, I opted for one of the latter category, precisely because of the popular argument that writing romance stories featuring real people is somehow ‘wrong’. For only a couple of euros, I was able to get my hands on a weird and wonderful relic of fan culture: Mein Frühling mit Nick (My spring with Nick) by the likely pseudonymous Maxi Keller, heralded on the book cover as ‘the novel for all fans of the Backstreet Boys’.

The story revolves around 16-year-old musical prodigy and designated wallflower Katharina, who lives in a German small town and cares about nothing else than playing the organ – certainly not about boys, let alone ones that are super-famous American pop stars. This means she is not initially a fan of the Backstreet Boys, which I guess is something of a trope itself – the protagonist meeting a celebrity by chance without knowing who they are and the celeb being thrilled that someone doesn’t just like them for their fame. Anyway, the boys visit Katharina’s hometown while on tour in Germany because band member AJ is doing some research on his German ancestors who happened to live in this very town. Katharina runs into them, she and Nick (who was only 17 himself when this was published in 1997, so it’s legal) fall in love at first sight, she helps them dig up information on AJ’s ancestors and finds out the two of them are related, the boys invite Katharina and her friend Saskia backstage after their show and … nothing happens. The book is 200 pages long and Katharina doesn’t even get one kiss with her boy band sweetheart, even though they mutually crush on each other right away. Perhaps that’s as far as the band or their management agreed for the novel to go – a hint at romance, but no trace of any on-page action, no matter how innocent.

That said, the book is so hilariously poorly written that it was still very entertaining to read. Although I could not find out anything about the author Maxi Keller, and therefore assume this might be a pseudonym, their writing style very much suggests that their are a professional romance author who usually writes for an older audience (plus, the book was published by Bastei Lübbe, who also publish a range of cheap romance novels known as ‘Romanhefte’). The language is extremely flowery at times, and even teenage characters speak with an eloquence that is hardly age-appropriate, with some 90s teen slang peppered in at unfitting times (such as the overuse of the English word ‘girl’). Often the novel loses itself in pointless detail that does nothing to move the plot forward (such as an extensive description of a house party hosted by Saskia’s rich parents, with minute details of their luxurious lifestyle and assets, even though Saskia is only a supporting character in the overall plot). It appears as if the author is desperately trying to fill the pages with meaningless drivel so they don’t need to write too many scenes featuring the presumed main attraction, the boys themselves.

If Keller was indeed merely hired to write this, and is not a fan themselves, one must still admit that the author did their research when it comes to the band. Whereas fanfiction typically assumes that the audience is already familiar with the characters and often skips any introductory descriptions of their appearance or personality, Keller makes sure that even a reader who is completely unfamiliar with the Backstreet Boys can keep up. The author delivers extensive descriptions of the boys’ appearance and demeanor, even spelling out their full names repeatedly, and frequently peppers in ‘fun facts’ such as ‘Kevin was raised on a farm in Kentucky’. While an actual fan might do so to prove how knowledgeable they are, and earning their status as a ‘true fan’, in this case it only seems like Keller really wants to show off how much research they did – as if not a single piece of information they took in must go to waste by not being used in the novel.

When it comes to the question how realistically the non-fannish author replicates the way the boys act and speak, there are two barriers to delivering a well-founded answer: Firstly, I was personally very young when BSB were popular and I really don’t remember too well what each member was like. Secondly, the elephant in the room: the language barrier. All of the aforementioned fan novels were written in German, and the problems posed by writing about an English-speaking band interacting with German OCs (and teenage ones at that) are addressed poorly, if at all. Pretty much all dialogue is written in German, and the audience is left to assume that everyone is actually speaking English whenever the boys are involved – except the novel does nothing to explain why two 16-year-old German girls would be able to express themselves so effortlessly in a foreign language. (Remember, the internet was not a thing, so German kids were not exposed to the same amount of English in everyday life as they are these days.) It would have been easy to make one of them a language nerd who gets straight A’s in English class, and give the other a British parent and make them bilingual. Instead, Katharina initially even worries about the prospect of having to talk to boys at all, and in English on top of that! But when she actually does, the language barrier never comes up again. The suspension of disbelief expected from the reader is therefore immense. The language barrier also gives the author an easy way out when it comes to imitating the way the boys speak in real life – there is no need to take into account idiolects or regional differences (such as ‘you guys’ vs. ‘y’all’) if the boys’ speech is essentially translated into a foreign language. However, I wanted to give you guys (or y’all, if you will) a taste of how Keller attempts to write a scene where AJ and Nick discuss the latter’s crush on Katharina:

I would argue that this sounds realistic enough for what it’s worth, if a little cheesy, which is excusable in this genre. Perhaps a true 90s BSB fan would beg to differ, so if you happen to be one, feel free to drop me a message. But in my semi-professional opinion, this most likely holds up for readers.

So, to answer the initial question that drove me to purchase this book: Do fan novels like Mein Frühling mit Nick count as fanfiction?

If we assume that something is only a fanfic if the author themselves is a fan of the subject matter, then I would argue no, Maxi Keller is probably not a fan themselves and therefore this work of for-profit real-person fiction does not qualify as fanfic. However, fan novels definitely have a (however small) place in the history of fan culture and fan-adjacent works, and I personally found reading this relic both entertaining and insightful!

#fanfiction #fanfic #backstreet boys #nick carter #german stuff

[notquitecanon]

Billionaires, Archers, and Spies, OH MY!  Marvel Criminal Minds crossover pt. 2 (reader insert) ___

Part one! 

Sorry for the horrendous title. Not much about the BAU in this one, but we’re getting there

______

When Coulson said ASAP, he meant ASAP. No sooner than you had been settled into a provided apartment, you were escorted to the Airport to fly to an aircraft carrier. There, Coulson introduced you to Maria Hill who gave you access to an office. There you were given file-upon-file about one, Clint Barton.

You built a solid profile based on the files, and then when you felt you had a good basis- you boxed up the files, shut your notebooks, and (as you had been told) pressed a button. Two minutes later, a man in a SHIELD issue suit walked in.

You immediately recognized him as Clint Barton, and smiled at him, “Hello, Agent Barton, my name is (Y/N) (Y/L/N). I’m going to ask you some questions, please answer honestly- there aren’t right or wrong answers.”

“Aren’t there always?” Clint grinned, slouching into the seat across from your makeshift desk. You just quirked an eyebrow as you sat down.

“So let’s start at the beginning. What was your childhood like?” You asked, watching everything from his breathing to how he drummed his fingers on his knees. Hyper Vigilant, channels into constant movement.

He gave a brief overview of his childhood, his parents Edith and Harold, growing up in small-town Iowa, graduating high school, but focusing on his marksmanship afterward.  “If you’re wondering if something traumatic happened, it didn’t.”

“I never assumed, but thank you for the clarification.” You nodded, noticing his aversion to your questioning-hiding something.

“Ok, well, according to your file, Nick Fury hand-picked you for your skills. Marksmanship, archery if I remember correctly? That must have been quite an honor.” You remarked, eyes carefully watching his facial expressions: a huffed (sarcastic) chuckle, a slight smirk, and his eyes flitted out the window looking up- checking for snipers.

“An honor, I guess you could call it that.” He nodded, meeting your eyes again.

“So what would you call your relationship with Director Fury?” You asked.

“Professional, he’s my superior. We’re friendly, he trusts me to get the job done.” He answered, to get the job done. Is he implying that Fury doesn’t completely trust him- or maybe that he doesn’t completely trust Fury?  “He did me a favor, so I trust him as much as he trusts me.”

Interesting wording again, but when he said “favor” his left thumb rubbed his ring finger. His file said unmarried...

“Alright, any girlfriends? longterm partners? Children?” You asked, trying to prove your point. Clint visibly tensed, eyes immediately narrowing in on you.

“No, no, I’m a player through and through. Hook-ups only.” He easily splurged, lying through his teeth. Definitely has a girlfriend- possibly a wife? Obviously doesn’t want it in his file.

To try to relax the clearly agitated agent you simply nodded, “Well, Agent Barton, I’m sure you know how babies are made. Hookups...”

Clint simply shook his head, “No, No, children.”

“Alright, now let’s talk about professionally, you have a nearly perfect success rate. I understand you recently survived an assassination attempt?”

____

Clint Barton: Loyal to SHIELD, Pride in his work, but not in killing, close emotional ties with Natasha Romanoff, and unnamed girlfriend/wife (not in Files), will follow orders unless he finds a better solution, can work with others, prefers not to. Long-distance specialty- aversion to close up/ slow deaths. Secretive, low to none security risk

Good for the Avengers Initiative.  

____________

As soon as you presented your findings to Director Fury, he had more files sent to you. These files were all labeled [classified] and many of them were mostly redacted.

“Unredacted versions will be available in your office only. I’m eagerly awaiting your next report.” As ever, a man a few words, Nick Fury sent you on your way. This time, you had a couple of weeks to read up on your next interview as she was on a mission.

Natasha Romanoff, Natalia Romanova, Natalie Rushman, Black Widow, your eyes skimmed down the page-long list of aliases. That’s a profile all it of itself, You thought. Next, you read over her accomplishments, both as a Russian spy and as a SHIELD agent. They were extensive. She was a member of the KGB when she was a Soviet (with an unspecified body count). Then, she was brought into SHIELD, where she worked as a normal combat agent before being promoted to strike team delta- then her accomplishments allowed her to keep climbing rank. Skills include excellent marksmanship, more black belts then you cared to count, espionage, seduction, sabotage, hacking, interrogation, and deception. You noted to yourself, a spy of this caliber definitely has training in hiding behavioral traits and tics- might even be able to fake other tics to skew the profile.

A month and a week after interviewing Clint, you opened the door to a stunningly beautiful woman. She was tall- long legs, pale skin, green eyes, body toned from years of training yet still looking like the picture of feminity, blood-red curls that fell almost to her waist. You observed everything, even down to how she was standing, Her stance is meant to come off as unassuming, but actually, she’s already poised to strike if she has to.

“Hello! I’m (Y/N) (Y/L/N), I’m here to ask you a few questions to build a psychological / behavioral profile. Can we get started?” You asked, gesturing to the chair in front of your desk. She nodded, sitting down. Once again, her posture was faux-relaxed- leaned back, legs crossed, arms delicately laid on the armrests, but ready to fight in a split second.

Her emerald eyes watched you as carefully as you watched her, not quite threatening but almost challenging, subtle hostility towards authority? no, maybe other women.

“Well, I have a three-mile-long list of alias, but it doesn’t tell me what you preferred to be called. What can I call you?” You asked, carefully watching her. You registered the nanosecond of confusion before she smoothed the expression, Not used to having a choice.

“I prefer Natasha, thank you.” She nodded to you, and you smiled back.

“Before we get started, I’d like to clarify there are no right or wrong answers, just honest ones, please.” You clarified, noticing how her eyes narrowed, nostrils slightly flared, but no comment as she nodded.

“Alright, let’s start with your life in Russia.” You motioned to her, waiting for her to begin, but she just cocked her head.

“What do you want to know?” The hostility was well masked, but you still caught it. You didn’t comment on it, only thought for a moment how to spark the conversation.

“Just walk me through growing up in Russia, starting as early as you can remember.”  You prompted, watching her try to hide a frustrated sigh.

“My earliest memories are of the red room. That should be in my file.” She brushed off, voice even, not too fast or slow- carefully hiding any defensive tone.

“I know, I was given the files. I’m former FBI and haven’t been here long enough to ask questions. You’ll have to explain it to me.” You apologized. For a long pause, she didn’t say anything, “If you don’t want to talk to me, we can-”

She interrupted, “Ballet lessons, that’s how it started. Then, ballet became a polisher, kept us strong, but lithe. Feminine, but deadly. Then they taught us everything we’d ever need in the field. From flirting to torture.” She divulged, the information was still vague but gave you enough information to prod the conversation.

“So there were other girls with you as well?” You asked, she nodded. Intense competitive conditions among young girls, explains her challenging attitude towards me. “And they taught you...”

“Espionage, seduction, combat, marksmanship, how to blend in and stand out at the same time, deception...” She listed, trailing off. You hid a smirk, not condescendingly, as a joke crossed your mind.

“How to lie.” You remarked, “You could have been a politician.”

She laughed quietly, a laugh which you couldn’t decide if it was fake or she actually thought it was funny, “You think I’m a liar?”

You smiled softly, noting how she was trying to intimidate you, but didn’t comment, “I think you could lie through your teeth and 99% of people in the room would believe you. It’s an impressive talent.”

She smirked, cocking her head slightly, “Would you believe me?”

You shrugged, knowing she was luring you into a trap with either answer, “Are you going to lie to me, Natasha?”

She smiled, showing off perfect rows of pearly white teeth, “Agent (Y/L/N), there’s just some things I can’t tell you.”

You nodded, using the natural pause before moving on, “Let’s move on then, can you tell me about Budapest?”

Her smile faded, “When I worked for the KGB, I had a very specific skill set, and I didn’t care who I used it for. I got on SHIELD’s radar, in a very bad way. I’m sure I was probably on FBI lists and you just didn't know it was me. Well, Director Fury put Clint on my case, to, well, I’m sure you can guess. But He made a different call, and once I defected from the KGB and renounced Russia, he gave me a second chance. I felt like I owed it to him to try to fix what I had done- at least my targets now are bad people.”

“So- for lack of better word- Redemption influenced you to work in SHIELD?” You asked, watching her carefully. She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

“I’m not naive enough to look for redemption.” She stated, before eyeing you up and down, “What are you really doing here?”

It was your turn to be smug, smirking as you started, “Agent Romanoff, there’s just some things that I can’t tell you.”

She chuckled, glancing down at her hands. You cleared your throat, “Just one more question, were you aware of Clint Barton’s wife?”

Her shock actually registered, telling you that your suspicions were correct, and also that she probably knew her personally, “He told you about them?”

Them, not her, which means more than one: children. You smiled, proud of your deductions, but shook your head no, that he didn’t tell you.

“Oh, you’re good.”

_________

Natasha Romanoff: Spy/Seductress personality traits, Only appears to completely trust Clint Barton, but Nick Fury seems to be a close second. Alpha female- flirty (manipulative) towards men, abrasive around other women until they prove themselves / or aren’t a threat to her position. Prefers close quarters combat- uncharacteristic of female assassins but registers high levels of confidence, control, and discipline. Eager for redemption/ paying her debts- seems to want to do good. This paired with her high levels of training can make for a ruthless weapon in the right hands (even if it’s her own). Not necessarily a team player, but knows how to manipulate people around her to further her mission.

As for the Avengers Initiative, as long as Agent Barton is present (to have at least one person she trusts), if given separate orders could potentially point other team members in the most effective direction.

Approved at Director's discretion.

__________

The next time you saw Natasha, it was two months later and you were asking about Tony Stark. You already watched all relevant interviews, spoken to both Phil and Nick, and read all the files available to you. Natasha was undercover in Stark Industries (at the moment) and had dealt with Stark one-on-one. The spy seemed more relaxed around you, even pausing the conversation to open a bit.

“I noticed you didn’t put ‘wife and kids’ into Clint’s file.” She started, to which you nodded, “I really appreciate it, His family means everything to him, and he pisses off some powerful people- it’s best no one knows.”

“I know. His family was the only thing he lied about, and Director Fury didn’t admit it, but definitely already knew. Which means the only reason to put it in there would be spite, and Clint seems like a good guy- like a asshole, but a good guy." You explained.

Natasha snorted a laugh, “Yeah that’s Clint.”

“Speaking of Assholes, Tony Stark. What can you tell me about him?”

“Deep down, deep, deep, down- he wants to be a good guy.” She nodded thoughtfully. The wording caught your attention.

“Wants to be?” You quirked an eyebrow. She sent you a tight-lipped smirk.

“He hit’s some roadblock- every time.” She nodded, to which you nodded.

“Keep me updated?” You asked, tapping your pen against a grainy shot of an iron man suit flying through white clouds.

“If it goes according to plan, I’ll get you an undercover interview.” She smiled, flipping perfect curls over her shoulder. She kind of felt like a super intimidating version of Prentiss.

“Thanks, Nat, you’re the best.” You flinched at your own words, noticing her tense and then relax.

“That’s what they keep telling me,” She smiled, and your tension fell away too. “See you around.”

________

“Hello, Mr. Stark, my name is (Y/N) (Y/L/N), I’m a writer for a psychological magazine. I’m working on an article about the psychology of billionaire superheroes-” You started, but the cocky billionaire interrupted you. It was now September, and you had been waiting for the interview since July. 

“There’s more than one? I should start a book club.” He chuckled, swirling a whiskey drink in one hand It’s ten AM, alcoholic tendencies as Nat reported. It was probably best he didn’t know you worked for SHIELD, as he was more relaxed around you now.  You faked a laugh, blushing as if you were flustered.

“You’re right, few and far between. But, uh, superheroes are a hot topic right now, billionaire superheroes, the public is interested. And also, as you’ve said in interviews, you don’t trust the military to have your tech- so the public wants to know if your...”

“Stable?”

You nodded, finally, he motioned for you to sit across from him, which you did quickly, “So let’s begin, we’re going to build a psychological profile based off of behavioral analysis.”

“I’ve read about that science, in fact, I’ve been following the Behavioral Analysis Unit from the FBI- David Rossi’s books are fascinating. Don’t you think?” The question caught you off guard, bringing back intrusive thoughts of your team- all the phone calls you were told to ignore, the purposely left signs that Penelope tried to hack your computer, Reid still emailed you a weekly reading list.

You snapped back to reality, lying easily, “Yes, I’ve actually learned some of my techniques from BAU lectures. David Rossi and Dr. Spencer Reid, Agent Aaron Hotchner would occasionally guest lectures.”

“Well, sweetheart, show me what you learned.” He told you, spreading his arms as if to say ‘hit-me-with-you-best-shot’ meanwhile, you inwardly cringed at ‘sweetheart’.

“Alright then, let’s start with early life and childhood.” You prompted, pretending to take notes as he began recounting his life story. You didn’t pay much attention to his words, so much as his actions, which made it easier to tell when he was lying, exaggerating, or under-exaggerating.

Control issues, perhaps to deal with feelings of helplessness- even though he’s a super genius, God Reid never shut up about it. Narcissistic tendencies, which normally doesn’t pair with a savior complex. Alcoholic tendencies, possibly remnants of a bad relationship with his father. Flinches when he moves in certain ways, either still hurting or phantom pains from his time held hostage. Early stages of PTSD?  

Finally, he closed his epic tale as he got up and made another drink, “And here we are together now. Isn’t life funny like that?”

“It’s strange, I’ll give you that. And how’s your current life?” You asked, he offered a cocky grin, running his hand through his disheveled hair and downing his drink. The cocky attitude didn’t reach his eyes, you noted that.

“Me? I’m living the life. Now, let me answer your real question. Why I won’t let my tech go to the government- and why I’m qualified to keep it?”

“That’s a jump. But if you’d like to tell me....” Something you want to get off your chest, Stark?

“When I was held hostage over there, it was because my tech got into the wrong hands. Then I got back and became acutely aware of how many people had been injured because of my negligence. Then I thought to myself, I can hand over some weapons solely to the military, that’ll fix the problem, right? wrong. The military is controlled by politicians, politicians who have agendas. Me? I have no agenda. With tech in my hands, I can go fix problems myself- no bureaucracy.”

Survivor’s guilt. Dangerously independent which feeds into his savior complex. He will not play well with others. Definite signs of depressive self-loathing and self-placed blame.

“Wants to be a good person, but hit’s a roadblock every time.”

“Thank you, Mr. Stark. I have everything I need. Thank you for your honesty.”

____________

Tony Stark: Classic narcissist, paired with a savior complex (likely caused by survivors' guilt, heightened feeling of responsibility, and guilt from his weapons being sold on the black market). Control issues. Will not follow orders, always thinks he knows a better way. Substance abuse issues are likely, alcoholic tendencies are confirmed. Sex addiction is highly likely. These are escapist tendencies. Early signs of PTSD, depression, and anxiety. Issues from childhood include a bad relationship with his father (never felt true validation from an unavailable father figure, mother never stepped in). Butler, Jarvis (not to be confused with his AI) seemed to be the primary influence in his upbringing. (Mentioned Steve Rogers and Peggy Carter more than once, bitter with Steve and fond with Peggy)

Avengers initiative: He’s self-obsessed, volatile, will not work well with others. But no matter if he’s part of the team or not, it is almost certain that he will inject himself into any global/ SHIELD conflict.

Rejected, even though he will involve himself regardless of SHIELD decision.

_______________

In November of 2010, you were called into a meeting with Fury, 

“This is good work, agent.” Director Fury nodded as you thumbed through the file on Tony Stark. He read over the profile, but didn’t show any emotion.

“Thank you, sir, but I have a feeling that I didn’t tell you anything you didn’t already know.” You replied, watching his eye as he switched to the file on Natasha. 

“You confirmed some suspicions. This will help me convince my higher-ups.” He affirmed, dropping the file on his desk with a quiet thump. You quirked an eyebrow, a small smirk on your lips. 

“You have higher-ups?” You asked, wondering who on Earth was brave enough to give Nick Fury orders. He was like the dark, scary version of Hotch. 

“We all have superiors, agent.” He replied lowly, his eyebrow raising in a way that told you he wasn’t angry but not to press the matter. “You know these were the easy ones, right?” 

“I wouldn’t say that Tony Stark was easy to deal with.” You muttered as he slid another file across. The cover read ‘Dr. Bruce Banner / The Hulk’. 

“I want a profile of Bruce Banner, and a separate one on the Hulk.” He stated, and your eyes flicked to him. You remembered watching the news at the BAU, as the Hulk tore through Harlem. Spencer went on and on about Dr. Banner’s theories in astrophysics, and then the theories that surrounded Dr. Banner’s.... condition.  

“Didn’t Bruce Banner fall off the face of the earth after the Harlem incident?” You asked, ignoring the task of profiling the Hulk. He nodded, turning his computer monitor around. It had several red dots throughout the middle east and down into India. 

“We’ve been following his whereabouts. You will not be conducting an interview, but just build me a profile based off these files, we’ll be bringing in a few other people who had contact with both Banner and the Hulk, and you can interview them.” He explained, leaving very little room for argument. 

“Yes, sir. But, I just need to make sure you understand that these are all secondhand sources, so the profile won’t be near as accurate. And, I’m afraid there won’t be much on the Hulk to profile.” You admitted, collecting the files as you got up. 

“I’m sure you’ll come up with something, Agent.” He called as you left, for the first time feeling uneasy about your position in SHIELD.

__________

Two months. Two months to build a preliminary profile on your Jekyll/Hyde situation. Two months of reading files, trying to understand his old scientific journals, talking to other scientists who worked with him, and reviewing his childhood through the documents SHIELD could get his hands on. 

You looked over your glass board (making you nostalgic for all the cases you has laid out on boards like this, only now you were working alone), printed out photos (mostly of Bruce, but also of Betty and Thaddeus Ross, a few of project Rebirth, and a lot of the Hulk), dry-erase marker notes, a tentative timeline of his life, and red string connecting relevant ideas. 

Real name Robert Bruce Banner (10/18/1969),  M.D., 7 Ph. D.s, expertise in biochemistry, thermonuclear physics, and specifically in GAMMA radiation. (which was used in the creation of the original supersoldier, Captain Steve Rogers WW2)  

Reid would be jealous, he’s only got 4. 

Strained relationship with father- from feelings of incompetence/invalidation- possibly what pushed him to constantly overachieve. Went to Harvard, was apart of hallucinogen research trials. 

Then a red string connected that thought to one, Betty Ross. 

Know a romantic relationship with Betty Ross, after graduation moved with her to Virginia together and were instructors at Culver University. Went on tenure in late 90s, met Erik Selvig- another astrophysicist, and worked on Electron collisions with gamma radiation. 

Is this a constant overachiever or just someone who knew his potential? 

Up until 9/11 he led a relatively normal life (for a super genius)

Project Rebirth was where it got fishy. Thaddeus Ross (presently General Ross, I had the pleasure of dealing with him with the BAU in the anthrax scare of 2009)  father of Betty Ross (Bruce Banner’s then-girlfriend). Tasked with recreating the original super-soldier serum. Knowing of his daughter’s boyfriend’s talents (and of his own ability to possibly manipulate Banner) he recruited Dr. Banner without telling him the truth of what he was working on- that’s why Banner chose Gamma radiation, thinking he was combating radiation poisoning. 

ingrained mistrust of authority/father figures, but not likely to act on it. Will keep striving to impress/ complete work. probably why he prefers solace. 

Thinking his work was combatting radiation poisoning, and completely on the right track, he tested it on himself- hoping to impress both Ross’s. Of course, since this was now weaponized gamma radiation, it went terribly wrong. Prompting his first transformation into the Hulk. During which, two doctors and a soldier were killed, and Ross’s were among the injured. Overwhelmed with guilt, he escaped to Canada- evading multiple capture attempts. Attempted suicide by gunshot on top of a mountain in Alaska (2006) 

eager to impress father figures until another one betrays him, driven by severe guilt, depressive tendencies, unsuccessful suicide attempt. 

Escaped to South America and lived in hiding for 2 years until his location was discovered. He transformed into Hulk before returning to America. Stayed hidden for a couple days before the ‘battle at Culver university’ marking the first public appearance of the Hulk. Upon provocation, Hulk took Dr. Ross with him. 

Two years without an incident. Bruce Banner has to have a good handle on that anger. Which makes him still extremely organized despite it all.

A few days later, Banner was found in custody and taken in by an Emil Blonsky (special forces) his file was extremely redacted. so that’s all I know on him. After being taken into custody, a second ‘Hulk’ appeared in Harlem. A bitter fight pursued, and with its conclusion, Bruce Banner was in the wind again and still is. Rumors include the middle east, rumors of a Hulk spotting at a destroyed terrorist base.  

~~~

With the Hulk, you had less to work with, mostly grainy photos and videos. You had biased first-hand accounts from General Ross, Doctor Ross, Samuel Stern, and a handful of soldiers. The least biased was Betty’s interview but she was very much so still in love with him, so the cognitive interview wasn’t much help. The biggest help you had was the videos of the Hulk in actions of which there weren’t many.  Even though they were helpful to the profile, it was like watching videos unsubs would send in- unsettling, scary, and sad. 

Preliminary ONLY- this is a tentative profile, it could be largely inaccurate without further information. 

Bruce Banner: Reclusive loner type. Can and will survive on his own. Beyond Genius level IQ. High distrust for the government. Goes without saying, but anger issues. Extremely organized. The limited current information makes it hard to complete the profile, but the medical work

Avengers initiative: With his high distrust of the government, it’s more than likely he’ll just be a security risk. And despite his level of control, it will also make him a safety risk to those around him. Unless you require someone with a knowledge of gamma radiation, you’re better off with another astrophysicist. 

The Hulk: Despite the low level of control that Dr. Ross reported after the incident, it is clear that no one can control the Hulk. He can be pointed in a direction, but that level of rage is indicative of the lowest form of control and in most cases intelligence. The Hulk will not take orders. This is a stone best left unturned. 

_______________

 “Director Fury will be pleased with your progress. I think you’ve earned some time off, take a week and when you get back we’ll have more work for you.” Coulson told you in early February as you handed over all your research. You quirked an eyebrow.

“Now that you’ve run out of things for me to do? Am I allowed to visit my old team?” You asked, as he began to leave.  Phil turned back to you, with a smile that almost reminded you of a younger version of Rossi. 

“As long as you don’t compromise SHIELD intelligence, I don’t care what you do.” He assured, closing the door on his way out. You breathed a laugh, pulling your old go-bag out from under your desk- old habits die hard. 

____

more BAU interaction in the next part I promise!! 

#marvel x criminal minds #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #captain america x reader

[mulderspice]

have you ever watched an episode of the Emmy award winning sci-fi drama, The X Files?  Maybe you’ve read my original post and yet you’re still wondering where the hell Fox Mulder got all those strands of hair on his jumbo gigantic head.  I am back and here to help you find the answers to some of your burning questions; as we celebrate the hard work and triumphs of the hair and makeup department on the Fox Lot and team up with my big huge brain and my New York State Cosmetology license to give the people what they want once again: another top ten guide to Mulder’s fucking hair..

upon making this post a second time (rip 😔), I realized that just about every episode (yes, every. single. one. even the ones without Mulder and the latest season where he has to share headspace with [redacted]) has its own important and iconic hair looks... You may recognize that some of these are slightly repeated from the last post but that’s ok! What I'm here to do is enforce! So lets get started..

#10 s6:e21 Field Trip: Here again we begin our journey into cosmetic superstardom with a personal favorite of mine.  Mulder rolling with the times by getting a haircut fresh off the FTF wave left our nation in fucking shambles. Can’t imagine going to see a major motion picture in theatres jam packed with Mulder’s most supreme hair looks only to come back to my tv screen to see it all gone away.  For students reading this post for educational purposes, this caused a worldwide walkout on popular salon franchise Supercuts in the year 1998.  However, a haircut didn’t necessarily mean Mulder forgot how to take care of his hair.  The precision and placement as each strand of hair perfectly outlines his jumbo head is revolutionary and inspiring.  Mushroom induced drug high? K. Lemme still grab my teasing comb and my hairspray and make sure I look presentable for when my partner walks into my apartment screaming abt “where's Mulder” and wanting “answers”.  The answer is this: this look is about giving people like myself with big heads rights and looking fuckable while doing so. 10/10 for inspiring hope.

#9 s1:e9 Space: Imagine you’re a few episodes into a show, the core plot is developing right before your eyes and you’re beginning to get to know The X Files three main characters; Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, and Mulder Hair Strands #1-3.  All is well except, you still have no clue how crucial, and critical Mulder Hair Strands 1-3 will become to the show and to your life and I am here to tell you that you are in for a very rude and bold awakening.  This message goes out to all the haters and all the people who didn’t believe Mulder’s hair was valid prior to season 4. He is here to tell you he DID know how to use dry shampoo and even the occasional blow dry oil and you can suck a dick abt it. Bold of you to assume he wouldn’t pull the round brush and the biosilk out the drawer to impress a visit to fucking NASA. 10/10 for involving science.

#8 s4:e6 Sanguinarium: I sit here writing to you today as the song ‘Handmade Heaven’ comes on shuffle; strikingly fitting for this raw and ethereal image of straight up beauty and wonder and magic and heaven in hair. This special, freshly washed and air dried smells like strawberries and sandalwood and fuckability. The look reaches through your TV and wraps its hands around your neck and sucks the life right out of you.  Are you gonna let it happen? You sure are.  Lucky for you, I just so happened to be there when the angels hand sewed each strand of hair onto his head and here’s what they had to say about it:  this is everything and more and the way Mulder has just washed his hair with fresh mountain water droplets hand collected like nothing else mattered. Put his clothes back on and went on his merry way. Can’t imagine being in Scully’s shoes ready to walk on in her partners room unannounced to go over serious case related matters and theories.  Woulda went bonkers. This truly is a handmade heaven.  Hand crafted by Mulder for Scully and for the good viewers of the globe. 10/10 for embracing me in its arms.

#7 s4:e3 Home: A look from one of primetime TV’s most notorious banned episodes.  Viewer discretion IS advised not only for the horrifying and cringeworthy content displayed in this episode, but for also making it painfully blunt to the viewer that Mulder’s hair follicles are happier and healthier than anybody else's will ever be in their lifetime.  In fact, I can feel my own hair falling out and being respawned onto HIS head as I type this and I’m sure you can too. The way the sun glistens off his golden brown strands makes me want to walk into oncoming traffic.  You might also notice how effortless this look was, as it probably only took a quick run thru with his fingers, and Mulder’s passion and need to look sexy at any time of the day at all times. It’s obvious that this kind of thing comes naturally to him, which just comes off as insulting to men everywhere. 11/10 for striking fear into men’s hearts.

#6 s4:e20 Small Potatoes: Genuinely took every bone and nerve ending in my body to not put this look in the top 5 even though it so clearly deserves it.  Here at mulderspice we believe in diversity, meaning it wouldn’t be right to make my top five greatest hairstyles ever produced on The X Files just of Mulder’s iconic and revolutionizing middle part (though really who is stopping me..). This screenshot in general has me up in arms at how perfectly the blue background matches his eyes, and how it accentuates his hydrated skin and lips.  But you’re not here for that. It’s the hair particularly that really pulls the shot together, as Mulder took the time that morning to spray it with some tinted dry shampoo that most defiantly and absolutely smells like chocolate.   This look feels like a warm hug on a frigid winter day. I feel EMBRACED and I feel CARED FOR thanks to the wonderful staff and team @ Mulder’s head and hair follicles. What the fuck could be better than this. 16/10 for making me feel some type of way.

#5 s4:e8 Tunguska: Currently you may not think anything of Krycek to the left of this image though ill have you know he plays an extremely vital part of this look and all the words I’m about to speak to you directly. So listen up: Krycek may have heroically slayed Mulder’s father in cold blooded and justifiable murder, but we thank him for this, as it caused Mulder to lash out in the best way possible: through looks. “Un-shun: Krycek do you think I’m good to bring my Redkin Rewind 6 styling paste with me or will the Russian TSA think of that as contraband? :Re-shun”.  A sweaty, manly and highly illegal treck through a Russian testing facility and a stint in a violent foreign PRISON surely was not going to stop Mulder from keeping his hair properly hydrated, styled and parted. That’ll really ruffle Krycek’s feathers and make him feel sorry for what he did…. The sexiest way to avenge the death of your deadbeat father. 24/10 for you know why.

#4 s1:e6 Shadows: In the year 1993, Mulder steps onto the scene, young, fresh faced, bright eyed and ready to give men around the globe what they (so desperately) needed: the encouragement to care about their hair.  Any backstreet boy you may know have this scene to thank directly, as this is what encouraged them to reproduce Mulder’s hair onto their own heads time and time again.  What I would give to see with my own eyes Mulder length times width times height his head to equal this perfectly proportionate look of volume and sexy. And who can I write a warrant out to for allowing this shot to take place.  Oh to be the various and expensive hair care products in Mulder’s bathroom …… 899/10 for starting a movement (-1 for making us do equations).

#3: s1:e10 Fallen Angel: The biggest regret I’ve ever had in my short little life was not adding this moment to the last post.  And tumblr deleted it in order to give me this opportunity to present this to you today.  By the way, that absolutely is in fact a choir of angels singing as you view this image. Go ahead and try to think of something on this earth that could be better than this tossled bed headed im-stressed-becos-my-partner-of-2-weeks-isn’t-seeing-the-big-picture-about-how-we’re-all-key-pawns-in-an-ongoing-government-conspiracy hairstyle hand crafted by Mulder all while holding his head in his hands hard at work trying to break through to the truth.  Scully [insert photo of Scully with her eyes popping out of her head here] and I both wanna rip our own hair out and throw it in the garbage. 2000/10 for making our hearts ache..

#2: s4:e10 Paper Hearts: Behold- the image I’m slamming down on the desk at full force when I finally get myself a therapist. I need a licensed professional doctor to help me understand the various angles that this purposeful shot affects my life health and well being. In a paranoia induced out of body experience Mulder took his pinky finger and parted his hair down the middle, took a protractor to perfectly round the tendrils falling ever so gracefully on his forehead and ran out of his apartment and through the woods of DC.  Doesn’t matter if he’s crazy? Doesn’t matter if its fuck all 4am? Who knows if the discoveries of this night is finally going to answer the heartbreaking questions regarding Mulder’s baby sister? Fuck it we’re just gonna make sure Scully has something to look forward to after being awoken yet again in the middle of the night and asked to come wrangle and control this stupid idiot.  This just makes me unhinged.  50000/10 for waking up in the middle of the night and doing the most for us all.  

#1 s4:e3 Teliko: This one will remain number one for as long as I shall live.  I’ve dedicated my life to this cause and I’m ready to make you painfully aware of it. Grab a pen and paper and get ready to do some heavy math with me because this look right in front of your eyes is the equation to happiness and sexiness. Can barely find the words to describe to you how this picture makes me feel. Each strand of hair is personally reaching down and wrapping his head in one big giant hug of protection and solitude.  Unbelievable that Scully didn’t head back to her hotel room and scream at the top of her lungs right after this. There’s no way she went about her day as normal without wanting to kick the shit out of him and then put him back together with soft feathery kisses.  What you are witnessing here is the very turning point of the show where Scully looked into into the very center point of that part and said “guess I have no choice but to fall in love with him 🚶🏽‍♂️”. Chris Carter’s idealistic version of Mulder and the one we actually ended ups seeing as viewers were so drastically different that it’s blatantly clear that he had absolutely no idea the cultural implications that were about to rock the world to its core and tip it on its axis when David Duchovny showed up on set looking like this. I could write a thesis about this. I could conduct research and studies about this.  I got kicked out of college because I cared more about this than I did actual schoolwork. I feel like I’m in a very sexy chokehold. Wish I could live forever in one little square pixel of this image.  Nothing means more to me than this.  1000000/10 no further comments.

and the honorable mentions go to....

s8:e16 Three Words: Dead? Did you die? Did you die and miraculously defy god by rising from the dead and coming back to life? Just got home from the morgue? Think nothing is the same? Left guessing if you’re a soon to be 5 minute father? Did you just fucking die? He’s lost his family and his job and the world just went on without him like it was nobody’s business.  Walked out of the morgue right to his apartment and what did he have left? His expensive array of hair styling and finishing products that’s what the fuck he had left.  Being an all around reject from society didn’t at all stop him from taking his fingers and dipping it into that Big Sexy styling pomade and fluffing his head to high heavens. As a personal fuck you to god and to John Doggett too.  He’ll never let you know the emotional hellstorm going on in his life in that moment but he WILL make it known to you that despite being 8 feet under ground for 6 months he’ll never give up on his hair. For the PEOPLE. Try and go through the nightmare of death and then rejected fatherhood and see if you come out of it with any hair at ALL.  An itty bitty glimpse into what would have been Untitled Mulder Abduction Story (2001)....

I Want To Believe (2008): Here you will see the sluttiest moment in major motion picture history.  Shh im not using this opportunity to show you this screenshot for the 800th time I’m trying to keep you educated.  BREAKING NEWS; Man hiding in home office for 6 years fully off the grid has FULL head of hair and is getting regular sex *not clickbait*. So what if Mulder has gone fully unhinged and off the walls bonkers he’s also gone FULL slut and it shows in that sexy thick voluminous head of slut hair.  If you ever for a second thought prior to seeing this movie for the first time that Mulder would show up a full on son-less wreck and a half think the fuck again babes.  He’s managed to hold on to every single little strand ever grown on his head even well into his middle aged madness and its about time we give him the credit he deserves.  (PS. Please know I wrote this entire spiel without even viewing the shot shown here. Its just permanently etched on the inside of my forehead so its there when my eyes roll back into my head.)  For this we say…..; Whore rights.

s11:e3 Plus One: Incase you were unaware, I have been going through a very slow and painful process of erasing Season 11 from my brain completely.  Its been a long road but its achievable and the end result will save me from a lot of future heartache and trauma.  This however, is a moment I will cherish forever and though you may think its for the hot sex (which is like maybe 30% the case) its actually because it puts together everything I’ve ever loved and believed about the show in only a few thousand pixels. How old is Mulder here? 30? 31? Still has hair and still has an unbelievable amount of love to shower Scully in for as long as they both shall live (which lets face it, she deserves one million times over.)  What this has taught me was to hang up my “Mulder deserved…” hat for good and just be thankful for what I’ve got. I ended up with no son or happy dreamy ending where Mulder gets to die with a family he’s never had in his life, but here we are left with the little things.. Like Mulder and Scully’s unconditional love and most importantly .. The hair on Mulder’s head. Its called growth and acceptance and I am learning it.  Also I just wanted to show you what it would look like if you were like 57 and sexy and still had all ur hair. That’s it :-)

#and this one i SAVED!!!!! enjoy #here at mulderspice

[kaiba-fangirl]

Fill in the questions/statement as if you are being interviewed for an article and you were your muse

Tag 10 people to do this meme, (repost, don’t reblog)

TAGGED BY: not @rogueprinceconsort =P & I know I’m not a RP blog, but I am a fanfic author so I still do the same kind of stuff, just everyone at once with chapters, so I’m sure ya won’t mind... idk itching to write Seto but his mind is all over the place in Ch7 of And You? (AO3/FFN), & I know I’ve missed a bunch of personal tags in the past, so, well, I’m here now. TAGGING: anyone 1. WHAT IS YOUR NAME?

“Seto Kaiba.”  (海馬 瀬人 Kaiba, Seto)

2. WHAT IS YOUR REAL NAME?

He narrows his eyes, already suspicious. “Legally, that IS my real name.”

3. DO YOU KNOW WHY YOU WERE CALLED THAT?

“I was born Seto,” he answers flatly, then smirks. “The Kaiba family name I earned for myself and my little brother at the age of 10, when Gozaburo agreed to adopt us thanks to my, superior negotiating skills.” [Seto after Egyptian Pharaoh Seth. Kaiba for, apparently, hippocampus/seahorse.]

4. ARE YOU SINGLE OR TAKEN? “Taken. Happily married to the number 1 female duelist, Mai Valentine. She’s now heading the new Fashion Tech and Merchandise Department at Kaiba Corp.” [but he’s also still looking >.>]

5. HAVE ANY ABILITIES OR POWERS? “Just bleeding edge technology development and superior dueling skills,” he shrugs smugly. [and hacking.] [You also accidentally activate latent magical powers every so often, dumbass. Sure he’s a genius. A genius that weaves techno-sorcery into everything & commands gods without even knowing it.] “Anything else you may have heard about magic or spirits or real monsters, is all just nonsense hocus pocus. It’s sensationalists trying to make our amazingly life-like holographic projections seem dangerous.”

6. STOP BEING A MARY SUE/GARY STU. “Heh, doesn’t that just mean born talented? You should be so lucky.”

7. WHAT’S YOUR EYE COLOR? “Blue,” he chuckles childishly. “It was probably what first drew me to, you know, Blue-Eyes, when I was young.” [It’s not. The Blue-Eyes White Dragon was his magical monster of light ‘girlfriend’ in Ancient Egypt in a past life of his 3000 years ago.]

8. HOW ABOUT YOUR HAIR COLOR? “Chestnut.”

9. HAVE YOU ANY FAMILY MEMBERS? “Living, my little brother, Mokuba, and now my lovely wife.”

10. OH? WHAT ABOUT PETS? “No pets. I barely have time for having two people in my life now it seems, and that’s even with Mokuba off travelling.” [any pet energy is expended on more Blue-Eyes White Dragon themed everything]

11. THAT’S COOL I GUESS, NOW TELL ME ABOUT SOMETHING YOU DON’T LIKE. “You wanna see a REAL Gary Stu?! As in, there is no reason he should have made it this far?! Joey fuckin Wheeler. This loser stole his way into my tournament, then has the nerve to even challenge me for 3rd place as if that meant anything, and he still ends up 4th even?! How! He operates on pure luck, and leeching off his ‘friends!’ His deck is a mess, I mean have you even seen his lineup?!?!” [Well that would all be redacted. Now, since this is for an interviewer for a published article...] He calmly and thoughtfully looks off at a spot on the far wall behind the interviewer. He purses his lips and furrows his brow, genuinely distraught, drawing from a direct encounter. “I’m actually more concerned than ever about the state of refugees- whether they have that official label or not. Around the world. Especially the children. These children don’t know what’s going on, and people say they care about children, but they really don’t. They’re not thinking of those kids- of refugee kids. Of poor kids. Of orphans or abused kids. And the way these refugees are being treated, those kids are getting hit with all those things at once. Ya know, I- I was fortunate enough to have that opportunity to be adopted, in a strong first-world nation, but I know what it’s like, to know that the grown ups are just using you, not listening to you. You’re nothing to them; maybe pawns. Now, I’m doing all I can, as president of Kaiba Corp, but there is still only so much we can do. We’re not making tanks or any weapons at all anymore-” He chokes at the thought of a tank staring him down specifically, compared to the latest news. He clears his throat to manage. “Not since the day I took over. We may not be contributing to that military industrial complex anymore, but the state of refugees today is still just as bad if not worse. Now they’re using weapons outlawed by the Geneva Conventions, and in countries that pride themselves on freedom and opportunity. Pteh. It’s madness. It’s evil.” [...aaand that just became the cover story] [We’ll be back after after a short break.]

12. DO YOU HAVE ANY HOBBIES/ACTIVITIES YOU LIKE DOING? “Besides dueling, uh, tinkering. Reading. Hacking into random databases I shouldn’t be in.”

13. EVER HURT ANYONE BEFORE? “Next question. Don’t even print that, or you’ll be hearing from my lawyers. And they don’t play so nice.” [By ‘lawyers’ I’m pretty sure he just means goons.]

14. EVER… KILLED ANYONE BEFORE? "No.” [Gozaburo.]

15. WHAT KIND OF ANIMAL ARE YOU? "Dragon.”

16. NAME YOUR WORST HABITS. "Tch, I wouldn’t have gotten to be president of a multi-billion-dollar corporation if I had bad habits.”  [That is literally his worst habit. Also how he got there is because of all his bad habits.] He chuckles at what he’s about to make fun of. “Then again, some people think that working too much is a bad habit.”

17. DO YOU LOOK UP TO ANYONE AT ALL? "How could I when I’m already on top?”

18. GAY, STRAIGHT, OR BISEXUAL? "Irrelevant.” He smiles menacingly. “Card games are more important anyway.” [Bi and trying to figure out how to tell his wife. Then again once he does that, the press will be easy. Possibly also grey ace or demi, since he does enjoy the physical aspects of being married & his crush.]

19. DO YOU GO TO SCHOOL? “Graduated high school early and then went right back to work as CEO, at the time. I don’t have time to waste getting a piece of paper to validate my knowledge that I’m already putting to use at Kaiba Corp everyday. --but I certainly support everyone staying in school as long as they can. Kaiba Corp offers a free college tuition program for any employee, paid ahead of time, and schedules can be worked around class and homework time as needed.”

20. DO YOU EVER WANT TO MARRY AND HAVE KIDS ONE DAY? “I never thought I would want to marry, but I have always assumed I would want to adopt. Now I am married, and we both want to adopt. Someday. It needs to be when I can have time for them...” [and he’s wondering why you are supposed to only marry one person...]

21. DO YOU HAVE ANY FANBOYS/FANGIRLS? “Yeah,” he laughs, genuinely embarrassed at this level of pure idolization, “I find it endearing to see people dress up as Yugi and I at events.”

22. WHAT ARE YOU MOST AFRAID OF? “Losing my little brother.”

23. WHAT DO YOU USUALLY WEAR? “Full-length pants, tight fitting turtlenecks, boots, and a trenchcoat. More leather and straps and buckles, the better.”

24. DO YOU LOVE SOMEONE? “Of course. My little brother and my wife.” [and Joey]

25. WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU WET YOURSELF? [he just makes this face:]

[but possibly the last time he did hard drugs]

26. WHAT CLASS ARE YOU? (HIGH CLASS, MIDDLE CLASS, LOW CLASS) “Highest class.” He winks, for the spotlight.

27. HOW MANY FRIENDS DO YOU HAVE? “I don’t need ‘friends’ outside of my family.”

28. WHAT ARE YOUR THOUGHTS ON PIE? “Finally, an intelligent question!” he laughs rudely. “My thoughts are that we should change the standard approximation for π to something closer to 3.16. That’s what I use in my calculations, and I find things just seem to work out better for me because of it.”

29. FAVORITE DRINK? “I’ve started drinking a lot more water, and I think that’s pretty much all I drink lately.”

30. WHAT’S YOUR FAVOURITE PLACE? “It’s comforting being in my office, knowing where I belong, knowing that with me there, everyone I love is safe, knowing how I got there, and being proud of all I’ve accomplished, but...” [sometimes anxiety about it being Gozaburo’s old office creeps into his mind like an evil spirit or ghost...] “But more than that, I enjoy the wild freedom of just taking my Blue-Eyes jet out with some good music playing.” [oh my various gods he will always be an emo teen at heart <3]

31. ARE YOU INTERESTED IN SOMEONE? He scoffs. “Yes, I am genuinely interested in my wife. Mai is an amazing person. And- Ah, and, um, next question?” [and Joey!]

32. WHAT’S YOUR BRA CUP SIZE AND/OR HOW BIG IS YOUR WILLY? “What kind of magazine is this for, anyway?” he asks as an aside, then thinks up a ridiculous enough response. “Ever hear of Zorc? I’d say that’s roughly one-third the size of mine.” Under his breath, he scoffs in disgust. “Imbeciles.”

33. WOULD YOU RATHER SWIM IN THE LAKE OR THE OCEAN? “Er, a private pool, thanks. Too many paparazzi anyplace else, and I wouldn’t want to close off anything from the public.” [I hear there’s a river in Egypt he lives in though]

34. WHAT’S YOUR TYPE? “Independent. Strong. Great duelist. Someone who knows what it’s like at rock bottom, but still managed to claw their way to the top...” [he spaces out off to the side]

35. ANY FETISHES? *zoom out to room full of Blue-Eyes White Dragon themed EVERYTHING* “Nah.” [*insert Will Smith presenting his AO3 tags]

36. SEME OR UKE? TOP OR BOTTOM? DOMINANT OR SUBMISSIVE?

[Switch! But “And You?” is stuck at a T rating, sooo...]

37. CAMPING OR INDOORS? "The fuck- you’re giving me whiplash with these questions,” he mutters. “Camping sounds nice. Real camping. Mokuba and I used to build forts and play outside a lot. I should ask him if he wants to go on a camping trip when he gets back. I doubt- well, no, I think Mai would like that, too.” [And Joey can cook them “candy bars!”]

38. ARE YOU WANTING THE QUIZ TO END?

#well that was very educational #& rather therapeutic after what happened at dinner #re: kaiba #seto kaiba #writing ettu #re: and you?

[uwcvoices]

shoutsout to emhlabeni, shoutsout to Jstor, shoutsout to the past

There are like these parties I go to now

They are not rad/lit/boh/whateverthekidsaresayingthesedays

They are nothing like these memories of Swaziland parties.

Those parties, they were literally magic. They are that warm feeling when you realize you like someone. these parties, They were like the speaker you paid money to get inspired from. They were like crying. They were like seeing an animal in the wild.

theyve got this like juice or power, or poison, or something which just never runs out and each time i go back to that memory its still got juice or power poison energy something to power this trip of a post i am writing

But my dreams- and this I want some audience engagement…-my dreams are 100% taking place in Swaziland… 2 years later. Does this happen to anyone else? I just want my dreams to happen where I am now. People from the NOW they are in SZ, the people from THEN are also in SZ. They kill each other, make love and do whatever else people do in my dreams. The place I am now, its not in my dreams, because not much is happening now. The world now is just like one zombie train where I am succeeding and failing and living life trying to do what quote quote “living” people do. But it all feels like someone put a sepia filter or something on it and the colors I see they are all quote quote again with the quotes “healthy” and I’m doing “great” and all but like things just dont feel real like they did in Swaziland.

But I get what I wish for.

2 years later, I’m still in Swaziland.

I’m going out here in the United States, you wouldn’t, I wouldn’t believe what I’m doing here. I’m trying to live on the edge, I’m doing everything in my power to live on the fucking edge where I see the deep dark edge of the world and realize the lowest you go on the ol’ totem pole aint so fucking bad and hey why don’t i one day drop out of school and whatnot and go like bottom rung the ole totem pole and just be a fucking spongebobu squarepantsu and be happy making my wage and frying patties and playing in the 21st century with liquid crystal displays, virtual realities, designer narcoexperiences and the freakin internet. Not to mention why don’t I Just Have KIDS. Oddly, that’s the me I’d be proud of, that’s the me, I’d show to friends at UWC reunions. The one thats just like ok, doing all right, the one you can talk to like a fucking human being.

There is this other me, the 21st century me, the INSERT NAME HERE (because I redacted), that is doing just what 2 years ago me hoped I’d be doing. this other me, he’s and now I have a gender in case you hadn’t guessed, he’s doing real well, so I’m scared to like tell my friends what I’m up to well, so when I go visit them I just say I’m struggling in college and its hard, though all my “vital signs” if you could do a real investigative bullshit checker show I’m A game, peaking, doing “allright+” that Im doing what we all dreamed we could do in IB.

Those dreams, the dreams we for some reason all decided should be like a communal dream, the ‘team 40, research position, ladeedadeeda, stable, square, moneyinthebank’ maybe we should have had different dreams. Because I’m visiting you and well, I talk and I ask you are things real?

And right now, you say, post IB, IB3,IB4IB5 now maybe? things are getting more real than ever, and I wonder… I just wonder.

Kanye West - Hell of A Life

I could start/end there

I just wish I was living one hell of a life, just once more

just once more, give me

a single room

a hallway of just seven owes (dudes for those not of the 2 readers from SZ who read this blog)

crappy food. Give me give me give me and everyone I know chicken and rice again, just for a while

give me no internet, i love the internet- too much and it feels wrong, i cant even fucking explain what 'not internet’ is like without sounding like one of those cliched 'fuck the grid’ people. you can’t try it, and i cant tell you to try it, you can just know i miss it, i miss it like i’d die young just for a couple more years of real rarity of information

give me real fucking vulnerability where I talk to people because I don’t know what to do

give me real uncertainty, where everything is possible and we can still be UWC mission statement-ers’ and like become famous Time(TM, the magazine)-influential-people for accomplishing UN-millenial-development-goals or whatever the hell it was we wanted to gain by accomplishing the mission statement. But we could also, as we’d seen so many just spin out, let the nerves, the life, the excitement, of it all distract us from what we were “there for” to get an “IB” and go to uni or whatever.

give me a real knock on the door moment,an oh hello moment,a can I just sit here in this tiny room so theres only the bed to sit on so I guess i’ll just sit on your bed and when I do the air pushed out from our cheap UWC™ mattresses creates a smell that is new, new, finding out about dinosaurs for the first time magic, and for some reason its a different smell from my UWC™ bed moment, give me a im just sitting here in this silence watching you work finishing whatever it was you were working on moment, give me a oh sorry about that, just had to finish up some CHEM how’s it going? moment, an im just like shit dude what even is life moment, a lets laugh quietly and you go back to CHEM moment, an I’m relaxed to the interbuddhadimensional realm just by that moment, a you have no idea why i dropped by your room or why im lost in my memories about some drama with someone that’s not you moment

give me hitchiking, with like a smirk on my face knowing my mom would die if she knew what the hell i was doing

give me friends who use me, because im not bitter like I am now or because I haven’t exhausted the ole generosity energies for the rest of my entire fucking life (when will i do community service again?)

give me a sneaking alcohol into hazi moment and drinking it straight sitting on the floor moment, a lets sing to afrohouse remixes of Bruno mars moment,

give me a im so glad im trapped in this place with you moment,

give me a Im going to make a pilgrimage to the one holy shower blessed with hot water moment

give me a seeing people lock their own doors because they just want to study so damn hard moment

give me an ending for christ’s sake

because the Swaziland story still goes on ~~~ UWC Waterford Kamhlaba Alumni

#Waterford Kamhlaba UWC #Alum #submission

[jackblankhsh]

Why I Quit:  Public Relations

“Wow, that is a lot of blood.”

“Thanks.  It’s not mine.  I hit a pig on the way over.”

“Cop pig, or pig pig?”

“Cop riding a pig actually.  It’s a whole thing, I don’t really have time to get into.  Could I get a waffle cone full of mint chocolate chip?”

“No problem.”

I handed the woman her ice cream cone.  She took a lick that inspired a deep lusty bite.  The look of elation on her face – comforting cold wrapping around a burning soul – I envied that degree of satisfaction, wanted to be her.  Then a bullet whipped through the front door.  Her head exploded.  Though her body fell she did not drop the cone.  I distinctly remember a bit of brain erupting from her skull, flying over the counter, and landing in the slot full of cherries.  It sank into the maraschino pool, and I doubt anyone but me saw it vanish.  There to lurk until one day spooned onto a sundae.  

On the news that evening, a perky anchor addressed the city, “Good evening, Chicago.  This is the news.  25 people shot yesterday, all of them dead.  Cubs won their home opener, and the weather may get up into the 80s this weekend.  Isn’t that great?”

Co-anchor cocked an eyebrow, “Cubs win, and 80 degrees on the way?  Can’t get much better.”

All smiles then, leaving the grim behind.  No details.  The less known the less thought about, except I couldn’t stop wondering if office work might now be a safer profession.  In a skyscraper high above the streets full of swarms of stray bullets unintentionally murdering randomly – I decided to jump ship, but not until sight of land.  In other words, I’d stick it out at the ice cream parlor until another job came along.  I would not have to wait long.

The next day I arrived to find my manager listening to an androgynous figure in a three piece suit.  Introductions quickly ensued.

“Indigo Jackson,” turned out to be a representative of a family, whom for legal purposes will have to remain anonymous, though suffice it to say they felt yesterday’s event warranted some kind of response on their part.  To that end, without suggesting any culpability, they saw fit to replace the entire front of the store with bulletproof glass, in order to allay any concerns from patrons or employees as to the safety of our establishment; and offered to compensate me to the tune of ten thousand dollars for having witnessed the “unpleasantness;” though of course all such matters required, first, the signing of several documents Indigo summarized adroitly, escorting us through a murky swamp of legalese without ever really explaining what signing those papers meant, despite implications abounding:  here big sack ‘o’ cash, sign for it, and shut up forever.  

When at last Indigo inquired, “Do you understand?”

I said, “It must be interesting to have a job where you need to be so definitely opaque, yet somehow understood enough people do what you ask.”

Indigo nodded, “It is.”  

“I kind of want to give that a try.”

“Are you saying you want a job instead of the money?”

“Can’t I have both?  It was a very disturbing sight.”

Indigo said, “Something can be arranged.”

Clapping my hands together, “Great.  Then before I quit, how about I make you a cherry sundae?”

“Sounds good.”

#

The next day I ascended to the top of the Monadnock Building.  Once upon a time the largest skyscraper in America – circa 1893 – it still towered in its own way, evolving over the century into a marvelous amalgamation of early aesthetics and modern technological convenience.  Brick full of invisible wifi threads connecting the past, present, and future; tap a foot on red tile mosaic patterns, while listening to the lasted streaming playlist, killing time till the rush hour clog gives way.  Then up steps adorned first in ornate aluminum cast decorations then on upper floors, bronze-plated cast iron staircases, shunning the elevator for a chance to walk through history… and maybe feeling no hurry to be at work on time.  

Into the office to start a brand new –

“You the new guy?  Follow me.”  A balding man in a sweat stained shirt grabbed me by the elbow.  He pulled me into the office muttering as he poured over emails.  His phone rang.  He threw it on the floor.  I felt it crunch under foot, and before I could apologize an intern materialized from behind a file cabinet, handed him a fresh phone, and the muttering commenced once again.  Though this time I deciphered a bit, “Goddamn turkey fuckering pirates.”

The office buzzed with activity.  Hordes of hollow eyed business people in various states of decay, internal and external, paced the space examining documents, paper and electronic.  A middle aged man in a thread bare double breasted suit sniffed ketamine off a tablespoon, while his colleague, a young woman in a pencil skirt, slugged vodka the way the thirsty chug water.  I only caught a snippet of their exchange:

“We can’t apologize for lactose intolerance.”

“But we can apologize for a cheeseburger having cheese.” In another space a grey skinned wax figure waited for a nurse to change an IV bag dripping morphine.  Surrounded by an assortment of young professionals, the room seemed like a cult of silence devoted to holding a secret.  A woman in tortoise shell glasses spun the cylinder of a revolver, put it to her temple, and when she heard the click, sighed, took a shot of whiskey, and started reading a letter.  I heard the distinct clatter of keyboards being hammered, and riding crops striking bare flesh.

“Thank you Miss!  May I have another?”

Yet in all the seeming chaos the workers managed to flow between one another efficiently, an almost elegant ballet of the damned.

The person towing me through the scene remarked, “I’m Bernie.  For now.  Tomorrow, I don’t know.  It depends.  Don’t ask on what.  Point being, your job is to write back to the beggars.  Got it?”

“Okay.”

“Good.  Here’s your space.”  And with that Bernie detached his hand, leaving me adrift by a state of the art computer atop a turn of the century desk.  Stepping over a chalk outline, I took a seat at my desk.

“Don’t worry about that.”

I looked up to find a young lady in red.  

She nodded at the chalk outline, “Horace Fletcher.  Good guy.  Killed himself.”

“Does everybody here talk in staccato sentences.”

She smiled, “Force of habit, I’m afraid.  There’s a lot to do, and no time to do it in,” extending a hand, “I’m Patty.”

Thanks to Patty, I discovered the true parameters of my job.  Public relations is almost a tautology.  It’s name defines what it is:  relating to the public.  However, that covers a broad spectrum of ways to relate.  The top floor of the Monadnock Building devoted itself to public relations for the {redacted} family.  This involved everything from composing explanations, summaries, and denials regarding the family’s various scandals, philanthropies, business, and political concerns.  Each concern being the focus of different groups, or perhaps divisions is more appropriate:  mercenary artisans trying to paint realities.

As Patty put it, “We wrap the shit in gold, and draw all eyes to a drop in the bucket.”

When I said, “Bernie put me in charge of the 'beggars?’”

Patty got a bit misty, “Entry level stuff.  Enjoy your innocence.”

I wanted to inform Patty about my time as a sounding assistant, sterilizing metal rods used by a dominatrix to widen the hole in a penis so that objects such as fingers could be inserted into said dick-hole; however, I could tell she enjoyed the idea of my innocence so much that it would be wrong to rob her of it.  So I kept my penis stories to myself.  

The “beggars” turned out to be anyone writing to the {redacted} family asking for money.  This also constituted a broad spectrum.  On any given day I went through about fifty missives soliciting money in myriad ways.  Long lost cousins sought financial reconnection with relatives; for the low, low price of 20 grand, black sheep offered to keep silent about buried bodies; and any number of other unrecognized spawn demanding financial acknowledgement.  Meanwhile, inventors who swore to be on the verge of paradigm shifting breakthroughs – teleportation, antigravity, freeze rays, and orgasm pills – just needed another few thousand to revolutionize the world.  Folks from places like Telluride, Colorado, Marfa, Texas, and Stockbridge, Massachusetts sought coin to start hospitals for broken hearts, agencies devoted to finding lost pets, and the Fuck You Ashley Tillerman Institute.  Cash to stop the Martian invasion.  Funds to get the invasion going.  

Every day I dipped into a cornucopia full of the well intentioned, insane, and grifters.  After about two weeks, it got hard to tell the difference between them.  This mainly having to do with the fact my response to each, as instructed, remained forever always NO.  

Patty said, “You have to read the letters.  That way you can put in a personal touch.  Then they feel like someone actually considered giving them money, and we get less hate mail.  Believe me, you don’t want to piss off that department.  They have the best drugs.”

So I did my best to be accommodating:

“Dear madam,

We appreciate your desire to build a National Hardware Store Historical Society.  Hardware stores provide Americans with the means to build the future, and maintain the present.  However, we don’t feel that our company is the best one to get behind this endeavor.  Perhaps a major home improvement retailer might be a better fit.  

Best of luck in your pursuit.

Sincerely, {redacted}”

An intern near the coffee room enjoyed the task of rubber stamping signatures onto all correspondence.  The kid sat in a weed slack fog of delight, stamp, stamp, stamping the day away.  On more than one occasion I found myself along with others enviously eying that intern.   According to office folklore, the top floor of the Monadnock Building was purchased because a bygone patriarch of the {redacted} family said, “The city is in charge of cleaning the sidewalk.  So if they’re going to kill themselves, let them jump to their death.  Then we won’t have to pay for the mess.”  So it’s no surprise how many of us came to envy that intern’s pacific demeanor while happily assisting in the distribution of our gilded shit.  It didn’t seem to wear on the soul quite the way it did on ours.  

Having to tell a racist no we won’t be funding a School of Higher Aryan Education (and whatever hideously malignant stupidity that would lead to) does make one feel good.  However, having to deny someone asking for help with medical bills, cancer killing their bank account before it goes after them, obliterates any of that joy.  Overhearing the press release about {redacted} Junior’s latest monstrosity – “Maybe that hooker wanted to die, she didn’t say, 'Stop choking me.’” – knowing the expense of his legal defense, and ad campaign to polish the family image – we could ease a few burdens with those millions.  But no.  Cancer fighters, refugees, the infirmed, those honestly sick, dying, and in need:  fuck 'em.  

Granted, it seems like an equal fuck you, aimed at anyone asking for a penny, yet, the disparity is taxing.  

The postmark puts the letter in some part of Texas.  It’s from an elderly woman writing on behalf of her grandson.  He can’t write himself because 45% of his body is covered in burns after an oilrig catastrophe, and seeing as how [redacted} owns those oilfields, well sir, it seems right proper maybe we could help with the medical bills is all; and sure, there’s a real possibility she’s a grifter pulling some bullshit con – start thinking of everyone as full of shit – old bitch probably writes to a dozen companies a day asking for any kind of cash.  Yeah!  Suck down a fifth of bourbon writing the politest fuck you the world’s ever heard.  Don’t even wonder if it’s at all true.  Or if so, consider it sarcastically:  sorry about your extra crispy grandson, but we can’t help because there’s nothing that says we have to.

On a Wednesday, Bernie stopped into my office.  He said, “You’re doing great.  Promotion assured.  Pretty soon you’ll have my job.”

I opened my mouth to reply.  His phone rang.  He held up a finger.  In the momentary silence he answered, listened, nodded then walked to a window, and jumped out.

Few people are ever so blessed to witness their future made plain.  

Patty stuck her head in, “Did Bernie just go out a window?”

I said, “Yep, and I quit.”

#whyIquit #honestyisnotcontagious #writing #short story #comedy #humor #satire #dark humor #weird #publicrelations #fiction

[erickmalpicaflores]

Erik Malpica Flores Erik Malpica Flores recommends: SUITS Recap: The Real Samantha Wheeler

Photo by: Ian Watson/USA Network

While SUITS has been dragged down by a lack of forward movement — beyond the usual circular storytelling — for its longtime characters, the series’ latest episode finally cleared up some of the mystery surrounding eighth-season-newcomer Samantha Wheeler. In Sam’s first several episodes as a major player at Whatever This Firm Is Called, any backstory she provided was almost immediately erased by some other Insert Firm Name Here employee’s discovery that she told a completely different tale to someone else. Not so in “The Greater Good.” This time, it was Sam‘s turn to find out that something she thought was true about her past wasn’t exactly as she’d remembered it; and SUITS viewers had the unique chance to see some actual facts about where this newest name partner had come from.

And, of course, there were the subplots involving otherwise intelligent folks’ repetitive inability to make good choices.

On SUITS, we develop one character. If, when Katherine Heigl’s addition to SUITS was first announced, you had told me that the best part of the series’ eighth season — or at least the first 81.25% of it —  was her character’s development from obnoxious Woman of Mystery to Real, Complex Human…Well. Let’s just say the response wouldn’t have been great. In fact, recaps of SUITS season 8’s earliest episodes weren’t exactly kind Heigl or Wheeler. But here we are. So, let’s do this thing.

Sam’s attempt at being a responsible adult and getting to work on time was a failure. But unlike some folks, she actually had a legitimate reason for leaving home a bit later than planned: a visit from her foster mother, Judy O’Brien. Judy was in trouble because Corey, one of her current foster children, had been pulled over in her car with a bunch of pills. Rather than see Corey’s life ruined, Judy was trying to cover for him; but she needed Sam to keep her out of any criminal trouble in order to be allowed to continue to provide a stable, loving home for her remaining foster children.

Right from the start, Sam wanted Judy to let Corey face the consequences of his own actions, but Judy didn’t want to see Corey face the same fate that Sam once did: “I lost you all those years ago, and I have never regretted anything more. I can’t let something like that happen again.”

(My notes: “I WANT TO KNOW MORE ABOUT THIS!” The SUITS team: Ok! But you have to sit through the Catrina and Donna being very unDonna, too! Me: I’ll take it…for now.)

Because she was conflicted about whether or not she should even take Judy’s case, Sam’s first stop was to see Papa Zane, who was the absolute perfect support system for her throughout the entire ordeal. If the lawyers’ history seemed fake when this new character suddenly appeared, it was certainly validated here.

After a failed attempt at shaking down the prosecutor left Samantha with the realization that this case wasn’t going to be the slam dunk she had hoped, she visited Judy at home — the very place where Sam herself had once lived — in order to deliver the bad news. Things went from bad to worse, though, when Judy let it slide that the state hadn’t exactly ripped Sam away from her all those years ago. She was given a choice and ultimately decided to sacrifice her troublemaking foster daughter for the good of the other children. And Judy refused to repeat a decision that she had come to regret, meaning she refused to accept any deal that involved hurting Corey.

Unable to deal with the news that one of her worst memories was even worse than she’d ever imagined, Sam left Judy and planned to drop the case. This would have made for a pretty short SUITS episode — or, even worse, one with more time for shenanigans — though, so it was time for a bit of an intervention.

Back at The Law Firm of Names and Changing Names, it was Papa Zane who was, yet again, ready to be the  best of mentors. He helped Sam to realize that it must have killed Judy to have to admit what happened, and “sometimes, being a parent is living with choices that break your heart.” Ultimately, though, Sam turned out pretty well; and it was this knowledge and her own (redacted) rap sheet that wound up helping keep Judy out of trouble.

While the prosecutor had initially thought that Sam was just some hotshot lawyer, it was her own criminal past that helped her save Judy without ruining Corey’s life. Using her own success in the face of so many early mistakes, Sam was able to convince the prosecutor that taking Corey — or any of the children — away from Judy would prevent from having the opportunity to become a productive member of society like she, eventually, had. Because sometimes, making a tough choice, like the one that Judy made in giving Sam up, is what it takes to be the best possible mother.

Through Sam, SUITS told a great story about the pain that’s sometimes involved in doing the right thing, the many ways just one mistake can change a life, and the possibility that even the biggest screwups can become the greatest successes. Maybe there’s hope.

Speaking of big screwups: Harvey Specter. In SUITS’ seventh season, Harvey finally dumped Paula had Donna ask Stu to do something shady involving a stock. If you forgot about this, you’re not alone. Now, a full season later, that bad move came back to haunt literally everyone. Who’s surprised? Nobody? Good.

Nick, a guy who was basically out for Stu’s throne, spent the entirety of “The Greater Good” trying to blackmail Stu into stepping down, all while Harvey and a barely-focused Donna scrambled to patch things up. It was almost as if they should have learned by now that breaking the law, even if it means helping innocent people keep their jobs, is a terrible idea that will cause trouble later. But why learn, when you can keep doing the same thing over and over, all while having the ego to expect different results?

Harvey’s latest attempt at keeping himself and Donna out of jail involved…trying to get Mike Ross’s former prison boyfriend, Kevin Miller, to try to get Nick to back off. Something about giving him the “hey, Harvey Specter’s someone you don’t mess with” line or whatever? I don’t know. Nobody does — least of all Harvey himself.

Mr. Best Closer In The City also asked (demanded for) Sean Cahill to step in; but that meant admitting to breaking the law, which Cahill promised he’d throw Harvey in jail for if he ever came back asking for another favor like this one. Of course, just as it seemed inevitable that Stu would have to step aside and live on only the massive amount of wealth he’d accumulated thus far, rather than making even more, Harvey realized that he could go to Cahill but with a different take on the whole situation: prove that Nick was out to blackmail folks, which was worse than undercutting stocks.

Rah, rah. Everybody wins…except for SUITS viewers, left wondering why this with so few episodes left.

Of course, it wouldn’t be SUITS if some personal matters weren’t leaked into the legal drama like breadcrumbs to feed those of us just starving for meaningful content. There was the realization that Donna Paulsen, the woman who had always loved her job and fought for it so hard — even when it meant her ruining her whatever-he-is’ relationship with someone else — was suddenly totally fine with being late for work because she’d had a late night with a guy she’d known for five minutes. And, of course, it was predictably exciting to see Harvey get on edge the second Nick brought Donna’s name to the list of people he was taking down.

Perhaps the best part of the whole saga was the shot of a successful, yet lonely, Harvey Specter making calls to Mike’s voicemail about Cahill and the prison boyfriend, just before Donna ignored his two — two! — calls to get ready for another night with Sir Thomas The Presumptuous.

But if all of this has zero payoff, as it has for eight seasons, then it’s just about as pointless as getting Kevin Miller out of prison, only to ask him to risk his newly-stable life to help you save your own sorry hide.

So, we’ll see.

This and that.

“Samantha, when you care about someone, you fight twice as hard.” Mhm.

See also: Harvey fighting for his platonic coworker.

“Be careful what you say next and who you threaten.” GO HARVEY GO. “Looks like I touched a nerve.” HE DID.

We’ve seen all of that before, and yet.

Imagine being so hellbent on keeping a kid from selling some pills that you’re willing to ruin a 65-year-old woman, who you know to be innocent, and her other current and (potential) future foster children. Can’t relate to the system! Don’t want to!

Regardless of where anything else does or doesn’t go, or how frustrating it all may be, that “I miss you, buddy” was golden. As in, it receives a gold medal for creating pain. That may just be the theme of this SUITS episode, honestly.

“Let me just get this straight: Rather than fight for me or even tell me the truth, you gave up? And then years later, walk into my home to have me save you from making the same mistake again.” This performance had me on the floor. Good job, Katherine Heigl.

Also, everything about that previous line, up to and including “you gave up,” could have been from a certain dumb male to a certain just-as-dumb female. I’ll see myself out.

Ok, I’ll admit it: I laughed at the “severance package” Harvey showed Nick.

“I always thought it was the state that took me from her. It turns out it was Judy. She put me back in the system, just when I thought I had a real home. So, tell me: Why should I stick by her, when she didn’t stick by me?” Everything hurts, and I loved this.

“You raised this?” “I did, and I’m proud of her.” CRYING.

“This is where the gravy train ends, and if you ever threaten me again, I’ll take you down on the spot.” Shoutout to Neal McDonough’s Sean Cahill, as always.

I didn’t get a chance to weave the Catrina (Craig from Degrassi x Katrina, for those of you just now joining us) drama into the rest of this, but Louis’ reaction was beautiful. “The only thing I think about you is that you are the same brilliant, wonderful, quirky woman that I’ve had the honor of working with all these years. And that’s never going to change.” I LOVE LOUIS THE WORK DAD. Still not a fan of Louis the ass-slapper, though.

The other takeaway from the Catrina drama? Donna Paulsen needs help. Like. Let’s examine: “I mean, I know what it’s like to have complicated issues with someone you work with — especially when that person can’t have a real conversation about it.” POT, KETTLE, BLACK. Does a “real conversation” involve kissing someone who’s in a relationship, then lying about how it meant nothing?

“Are you talking about…?” “You know who I’m talking about, Katrina.” Yes, we all do. It’s exhausting.

“Sometimes, the answer is to fall for someone who has nothing to do with this place at all.” I’m. Is Donna sick? Is she being held hostage? Is this a pod Donna? Did she borrow some of Craig from Degrassi’s drugs or, like, Corey’s pills??? Clients now have “nothing to do with this place at all,” I guess?????

Ok. Enough of that. Samantha Wheeler and Robert Zane deserve better than to have this SUITS recap end on a low note. So. Let’s talk about the awesome scene where Louis chewed Robert out for bailing on his case was. “That’s enough! I’m not going to listen to another word of your delusions. Because from the minute I stepped down, all I’ve done is help you.” That’s what I’m talking about.

And Vulnerable!Louis? That’s some gourmet shit right there. “It is just…so…much. The pressure, it’s just. Too much.” Been there, hated it.

Catch more SUITS on Wednesday, February 13, at 10/9c on USA.

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#ErikMalpicaFlores

[613526362]

A Life and a Lie

Maybe if I just get this out It will help I'm lying in bed And I can't get out It's been two or three hours Since a phone call from someone calling about [redacted] courses woke me up. She wanted to complain about the prices a lot. I should have told her that I paid about six thousand dollars of my own money so that she can receive classes at this price. I mean I paid sixteen grand, but at least eight grand or so has been paid back to me. That doesn't add up but whatever And I just want to go to [redacted] next month and tell them, no, I'm not going to do your expansion to The Big City, because I don't make any money off this. I'm not trying to make even more not making money. I'm actually going to apply for other jobs just so I have a valid excuse to say no to them. When I drove up to work last night, there was police tape all around the ER. I guess a kid got shot in a car or something, and the car parked outside the ER was evidence or something. When I got in, that kid was gone, but there was another child who was stabbed. The way he screamed was haunting. Jesus we don't even take pediatric trauma anymore. But if EMS knows we don't, people out in the jungle still don't. They'll come forever. So many flashes of terror in mind. The resident wearing a "banned" shirt with two pistols on the front and "MOG TRAUMA" printed across them in stylized font. It's so cool for these twenty something doctors to see so many poor and black people shot. It's a fucking sport to them, and all that cool violence just soaks right into their walk, and clothes, and aura. They're so fucking cool for all this misery they walk past. The cockroach scurrying about of the box of IV flush that I grab. I'm told there's a room upstairs with tons of children's clothes in it, and there are just cockroaches scurrying everywhere. The beautiful medical and PA students. I try to teach one of them to insert IVs. She can't advance the catheter far enough. I take it, and twirl it in, showing her one technique to save the attempt. A nurse watches. The IV doesn't work, and when I pull it out, it's all distorted and twisted around. The nurse steps in to show her the "right" way to do it, humiliating me. I've used that technique a million times successfully, but of course the one time I'm showing a beautiful student who looked up to me how to do it, it fails terribly. I want to write her real name, it's such a beautiful name. She was Croatian. She was tall, and pretty, and I felt nervous next to her. I looked in the mirror shortly after I first talked to her. When I did, I saw my lips were terribly chapped, and I saw something black on my neck. I thought it was a scab from cutting myself while shaving (I also had a cut on my chin from that), but when I grabbed at it, it was actually a flea. It had just bit me and left a red mark. I killed it,and inspected it more closely. I wondered if she had seen the flea on my neck when we were taking. I wondered if the flea had jumped off a patient, or i f I just have fleas now. If they're in my bed. If they're in my hair. If I'm just living in fleas now. One of the five gunshot victims of the night had his sister with him. They were joking around while I was preparing the cast to keep his leg still until an orthopedic clinic could see the next day, and I caught something she said. "Wait, what did you say?" "Morgue Mog" "What's that?" "That's what they call it here, because everyone who comes here dies." I can just see poor black people, on street corners and in homes, talking about family members that I touch and I stick needles into and put blankets on. I can just see them casually referring to the place I spend 40 hours a week as "Morgue Mog." I work in a morgue. I find a library open the third floor, and that saves the night. I'm so excited to start using the library to study, but there's a passcode on the door. When I email the "library administrator" the next morning, she calls and says that the library is just for medical students, and my medical school isn't a medical school that's affiliated with the hospital. Crazy that I work here and get patients blood on my skin every single time I come to work and it's the students who are allowed to use the library and not me. They do nothing while they're here. Nothing. Nothing. So I'll either bribe the janitor to get me the code, or I'll send emails and harass uppers administrators to get permission to use it. Or I won't do either, because I'm just so tired of everything being a fight. I'm so tired of fighting. I just barely paid rent, but more bills are coming. I don't have the will to do any other things I need to do right now. When I got home I swatted at a mosquito ont he wall in the shower, and it caused the curtain rod to fall down and hit me on the head. It was a heavy metal one. It hurts now. I want to fast, and I want to sit in my room and pray. I want to study for the exam, or see my father. I just want to touch my fathers hand. I just want to hug my best friend's daughter. But I am alone here. I joined a Christian dating app. I just wanted someone to talk to. I purposefully avoided Tinder and Bumble because it's too romantic, too sexual. I just wanted to make a friend, but I couldn't find an app for friends that anyone actually uses. I guess everyone wants more than that in life. That's all I want. All of the girls whose profiles I like don't like me back. There aren't many people in my area, so I had to expand the geographical region I was searching in more and more. To make a long and cruel story short, I wound up accidentally talking to the cousin of someone I wrote about when I was on the island. When she found out who I was, she started worshipping me. Her "favorite cousin" had already told her all about me, how great I was, my work in Africa. And then, when we finally talked on the phone, she was so disappointed to find out that I care more about peoples bodies than their souls. She told me a story about bringing someone to Christ, and then she said, "I'm so sorry you've never had that feeling before." I informed her that I've treated over 60,000 patients in the last ten years, and worked as an advocate for abused and neglected children, and worked with communities in schools, and so on and so on, and I have that feeling every week. But that's not true. There's no gratification in anything I do. In her eyes I'm not even a Christian. It jarred me to have that conversation with her. To see myself as so wrong in her eyes. And it made it worse that she's actually done more more medical work in Africa than I have. She's just an EMT, and at 22, she's done more of what I base my whole life on that I have. A week ago I was in the closet at a wedding making out with the maid of honor. When she came to my hotel that night, I noticed she'd been drinking. I think sometimes women do that. I think they expect that they're about to have sex, and they just want to relax. Maybe the guy will be bad at it, maybe he'll rush it, maybe he'll do things she's not comfortable with. Best to drink a bit before it gets started, and then it won't hurt as much. But as Finding Dory played on my hotel TV in the background (I own the movie since I used to play it off my iPad for pediatric patients on my ambulance, but I've never actually watched more than five monitors of it), she was shocked. She was shocked how comfortable she was with me, she was shocked that I wanted to hear about her life, and was actually, genuinely interested in it. She was shocked that I didn't come closer to her. When we did finally kiss, and things got heated, I said, "We need to stop, or else we might wind up having sex." And she said, "No that won't happen." Oh it won't? It won't? You're right it won't. Because ten hours later, I had cuddled you and held you and showed you what love is really like. You woke up in my arms to kisses on your neck, I make you cum using just my fingers in the morning. And you beg me to miss my flight, you beg me to move to South Carolina, you beg me to get a condom and put myself inside of you. But you're right. We won't have sex. I just needed someone to hold I just wanted to not be alone. I just didn't want to want, for a minute. So I kept my underwear on, even though she pulled my dick out of them and put it in her mouth. I try to turn over,a get out of bed. She grabs me, pulls me back in. I tried to walk away from bed. She follows me and tries to push me back into bed. She's trying to rape me, but eventually she gives up. And I'm in another state for two days, to attend my assistants wedding. While people in the state where I was last year cry out for help from a hurricane. The exact city where I used to work 911 needs people urgently to come help. It's a state of crisis. It's what as a kid I always dreamed of happening. Hurricane Katrina. I wanted nothing more than to go and help. And now, when it happens, in the exact city where I worked last year, it doesn't. even. fucking. occur to me to go. I'm literally making out with some girl I'm not attracted to in a closet while people post on Facebook that medical workers are urgently needed in [redacted]. Boats are needed to save people. I pin her up against the door and kiss her, I slip down her dress and touch her breast. My soul is dead. I need to get out of bed and prep paperwork and equipment for my CPR clases tomorrow morning. Jesus, being a fake version of you is shit. I tell myself I'm trying to be like you, but I'm not trying hard enough for it not to be a lie. I am the biggest lie ever. I convince women of me the lie, my father believes in me the lie. Promise me you'll take me quickly someday. Promise me I won't have to deal with all the debilitating shit that I see patients slowly suffering and dying from each day. Or just don't hold it against me if I take myself. I can't do this for more than 20 more years God. I don't deserve that. I don't deserve a quick way out. But as I see how much a lie I am more and more, I just don't know what to do. Do I go back to church Do I settle down and give up on Africa Do I get more radical What the fuck Do I do Let me have a dog some day, God. Let it be a sweet dog, who sleeps in my bed with me and cuddles me, and runs with me, and loves me like I love it. And don't let it die God, don't let it die ever We do get more selfish with age We do forget about others and care more about ourselves Forgive me for what I have become god I am a life and a lie I love you God