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infinitelytheheartexpands · 1 year

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The Wreckers (Bard SummerScape, 2015): Reactions, Part I

alright mateys i’m home sick let’s watch an opera

THIS SET LOOKS SO FUCKING COOL

“we thank Thee, O Lord, for giving us stuff to steal!”

“bitch remember when i said NO STEALING ALLOWED”

this is so prettyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy (music is also a vibe)

but what if he comes back

LEGIT EVERY SHOT LOOKS LIKE A PAINTING

this is a HARDCORE BOP

hey old guy from earlier i told you so

DAMN GOOD choral writing i love it

i like this girl already (also GREAT voice)

serves you all right

like, yes, i get that you are working-class people and this is how you survive. at the same time, a) you all are MASSIVE hypocrites and b) you’re litchrally becoming responsible for the deaths of numerous people on these ships and you’re taking all these people’s shit when all they did was happen to sail by your little scrap of cornwall

like there’s definitely an ethical puzzle here but also not

avis i liked you why do you have to try to be a little snitch

fair enough i guess

y’all are mean

TELL ‘EM OFF THIRZA

awwwwwwww forbidden love

do you want to tell her or should i

in conclusion, i am gay

NEVER say that to someone with a weapon in hand

hell hath no fury like a woman scorned

…you are a strange one and i feel conflicted about you

WELL THIS IS AWKWARD

this is prettyyyyyyyyyyyyyy

WAIT HOLD UP IS PASCOE MACKING ON AVIS

oh no oh honey girl did not look like she was into that

pascoe you little bitch

(although i did some googling and the synopsis for this production does not mention anything involving pascoe and avis whatsoever so directorial license? idk)

BITCH WHAT THE FUCK YOU JUST ASSAULTED HER

YES AVIS

ma’am the woman you are referring to is this douchebag’s wife NEITHER of you are in good situations here

more like keep her SAFE from YOU

hypocrite dusty-ass bitch

BLESS YOU THIRZA YOU ABSOLUTE QUEEN

Thirza: “I recognize that the council has made a decision, but given that it’s a stupid-ass decision, I’ve elected to ignore it”

THIRZA I DON’T CARE THAT HE’S YOUR HUSBAND AND THE LOCAL PASTOR OR WHATEVER PLEASE SHANK HIM WITH THAT

orrrrrrrrr stab it into a crate that’s fine too i guess (also onstage and offstage singing juxtaposed is my JAM)

GO THE FUCK OFF

annnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnd of course that’s how you respond and that’s why so many churches will never allow change or righteous challenges ever agggggggggh

DID YOU JUST SLASH HER HAND OPEN

oh no oh honey

you do not get a pass for wiping up the blood you spilled

oh FUCK YES

ah, the classic fire and brimstone and hatred

this is so gorg

oh SNAP

um NO

this is like Peter Grimes before Peter Grimes

noooooooooooo don’t wrap the trouser role into this mess

y’all this is SCARY

anyway this is GREAT and i am loving it

#opera #opera tag #opera liveblog #the wreckers #dame ethel smyth #i am gay for avis and i will defend thirza with my LIFE

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deeisace · 2 years

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I can’t prove it, cs tumblr’s a piece of shit, but I had this idea years ago

Mostly based on that one of my 1860s aunts had a job as a “latch press” as a teenager - which is not some sort of burglar, as it sounded to me, but someone who makes latches, with a metal press machine thingy, in a factory/workshop

Anyway, what if, she made the latches/locks, and then went of a night to steal stuff from the fucks whose locks she made?

Then come a bunch of other characters, also (obvs, I’m an idiot) loosely based on distant family members of mine

I think I gave the latch press the name of another aunt, who IRL was Isabella or Arabella at turns, cs I couldn’t remember the name of the IRL latch press - I think she might’ve been an Elizabeth or Marie or Annie or another name as common in my family

Anyway, this fictional latch press lived with this very large group of,, well, thieving orphaned children, really, ala Oliver Twist, with a some adults by also - these based on yet another aunt, Eleanor Moore, who’s husband was legally married to the woman next door, and both women had I’m sure over a dozen children total by this same man over 15 year or so, I shouldn’t like to prescribe words to the past, but y’know - anyway I think at the time I described them as a cross between Oliver Twist and the Weasleys

Anyway

Also, Isabella/Arabella had a little brother, who was after a cousin of mine Henry Bird, again c. 1860s - he only shows up on a single passenger list, going to Canada in the mid-1870s as an 8 yo - which is odd, cs he should have been on the English census previous, and he doesn’t show on the next Canadian census with Thirza and her family either. Anyway, in the story, Henry is

A bit like Nadja and haunted-doll Nadja, he is at once a zombie and also a ghost - two different versions of himself - neither one alive, but one still as he died and one who has - not grown, at all, except maybe mouldy, but experienced in life, more, or something

He - they - he died age 14, when Isabella/Arabella was 10, and she is now I think 16

I’m not sure where I was going with the whole zombie/ghost thing, exactly - something like, one person, on two different routes can turn out differently as a result? or something? idk

There was also someone based on my musical c. 1820s grandfather, who in the story was a sort of Barnardo-y Sunday-school figure to Arabella/Isabella, trying to convince her to take a good place somewhere at a house, and she arguing that she could keep on fine as she was, thanks, you don’t need to preach

In any case, it came about she couldn’t keep on - in fact, she almost got caught (by someone based on the very awful Horatio Fox), and one of the Moore kids, a lookout, was found in her place, and so she had to then go about to get him out, without getting caught, or further incriminating either of them

I didn’t ever hammer out the true details or actually write any of it, but I spose it’s something of an idea to have

#my writing #i'm pretty sure her burglary knowledge is somehow supernatural - can't have henry be the only oddity #anyway nadja's doll reminded me of henry-the-ghost

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mischiefiswritten · 4 years

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I know it may be a bit late, but I hope you have/had a wonderful Story Teller Saturday, anyways. My question for you is what animal(s) are the most important to the culture(s) of your worlds and for what reasons?

Never too late, Ren! I did have a great STS, and I hope you did as well.

I’m so glad you ask this because I love the overbearing animal motifs I’ve worked up for The Calm Before. Let’s go one by one, shall we?

Wolves: This one is the most obvious because of the whole War Wolf aspect, which is a large chunk of the story’s premise. Rys is asked to step into the role of the War Wolf, an urban legend spun and made flesh by Queen Thirza Borswick as part of her play to become the First Kaiserin through victory in a Unity War. The thing that makes Rys so perfect for the role, which is designed for fearmongering, essentially, to entice allies and make those who would resist cow to Thirza, is that she’s Norsk, as the role was designed to be. The motivation here is threefold.

1) The Norlanders are the go-to enemy for the whole of the empire and have been for a couple centuries now. The details of the schism have been largely forgotten to the annals of history and myth, but centuries back, the peaceful coexistence and mixing of the Norlanders and the imperial people ended very suddenly. The Norlanders withdrew beyond the mountain range known as the Gardr, back to their ancestral lands in the north, and instilled a policy of isolation, no longer conducting trade nor politics nor communicating outside their borders. Very few Norlanders elected to still dwell south of the Gardr, leading to a lasting – though dwindling – revenant that faced increasing distaste with every generation. Whatever the reason for the Norlanders’ and imperials’ sudden mutual ire, it smoldered over centuries of animosity which eventually turned to recurrent raids and border skirmishes. The Norsk people took on the role of boogeyman and scapegoat for the people of the empire. This ease of blame and belief in their collective amoral character makes the War Wolf less of a hero figure – that would give Rys too much power – and more subject to suspicion and derision as a fiend.

2) The imperial people historically feared the Norlanders. They were always renowned as powerful, talented, and relentless warriors, and what was worse – they had magic in their blood. In ancient days, long before magic had been ripped from the world, the Norsk people were so favored by one of the spirit races indigenous to the Norlands that the spirits blessed them, bestowing a portion of their magic on their very being. Legend says a faint hum of that magic is still inside them, perhaps the only magic left to the human race, though they aren’t able to make it manifest. It does however seem to account for the slightly above average strength and resilience of the Norsk people – if you believe that sort of thing. Of course, this only stokes the fear and mistrust the imperials feel. During The Calm Before, Hale remarks that although people point to Norlanders as savages and say it’s their eyes or hair or cheekbones that mark them, he knows it’s really something deeper and intangible. Something that elicits prey instinct.

3) Since the Norlanders are the empire’s longest standing enemy, having one – especially one portrayed as a kind of murderous demon that strikes fear into the people – on a leash is a statement of Thirza’s power. Despite the Norlanders’ apparent retreat, the imperials have never managed a defining victory over them. Subjugating someone as powerful and dreaded as the War Wolf is tantamount to conquering the Norlands themselves as a political statement. As an added bonus, the ‘monster on a leash’ character maintains an image of a Norsk villain, which distracts from any distasteful acts Thirza herself may commit for her ambitions.

Now, all of that to answer the question, why ‘War Wolf’? Wolves are a symbol of the Norlands, so to suit her purposes, Thirza had to choose a wolf. The Norsk people trace their most ancient history to a continent an ocean away to the north which they refer to as the Direlands. It was such an unforgiving environment that they led a mass exodus and discovered the Norlands. There they quickly forged a mutual respect for the native wolves and began adopting them into their lives. The Norlanders formed deep and spiritual bonds with wolves, and when it came to waging war, some wolves even went into battle with their chosen masters. These were, of course, the war wolves.

This was the image that burned itself into history and legend alike. This phenomenon and the fearful picture it struck on the battlefield became synonymous with the Norlands.

Bears: Though wolves are the image that stuck with the people of the empire, bears are also valued by the Norsk people. Wolves are of course a vital part of their history and culture – though there are relatively few relationships between wolves and Norlanders compared to in the past. Wolves represent their spirit in several ways, and they feel a kinship with them still. Bears, on the other hand, are a symbol of hearth and home for them. They represent family and quiet resilience, love and comfort. Idioms relating to bears have given rise to terms of endearment used in a romantic context.

Rooks: Rooks are the symbol of the kingdom of Evors. The monarch is even known as the Rook. The birds are known for being intelligent, able to work together and creatively solve problems, and for always returning home to their rookeries. Perhaps this is part of why they were chosen to grace the flags of the kingdom… or perhaps it was just that a lot of them live there.

Snakes: The Empire of Ouroboros – a land forever locked in an endless cycle of joining and breaking apart, never completely achieving either. The ouroboros is itself a symbol for eternal cycles, a snake devouring its own tail, so it was no surprise when it emerged as the emblem and namesake of the fractured empire. It is typically depicted in bronze, so when the Unity War is declared, it is embroidered around uniform sleeves in bronze.

These are the more prominent emblematic animals of TCB, but cultures rely on different animals for infrastructure and trade as well. Evors evolved from a fishing town which sprung up around the lake. A significant portion of the population of Hale’s home region is comprised of sheep farmers. In Qa’zura, a breed of smaller cattle are a primary beast of burden and family pet alike. (They’re definitely getting an animal symbol as well, with origins in a myth I just haven’t quite worked out yet…)

Thanks so much for the ask! It turned into such a long worldbuilding post, I decided to go ahead and tag my taglist for TCB. Just drop me a line if you’d like to be added or removed from said list!

@drowsy-quill / @thewritertiffany / @ephemeralseraph / @uccelletto-di-kokuyo / @ashesconstellation / @maliyagi / @kainablue / @fruzsiwrites / @landofsky / @els-writes / @awrenthatwrites

#writing #writeblr #writers on tumblr #amwriting #mischiefiswritten #my wip #tcb

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leontincs · 5 years

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･:*:･ﾟ☆ jessica chastain. forty six. cisfemale. she/her ↷ léonie winters has been spotted by the paparazzi in los angeles. they are an a-list celebrity known for their career as an actress. they’re known by their fans to be industrious, meticulous, and philanthropic but the tabloids frequently portray them to be anomalous, cynical, & unorthodox. i wish them every success in the entertainment industry. ･:*:･ﾟ☆

hola everyone , my name’s frankie ( she / her ) and i’m a twenty - two year old living in the good ol’ state of texas ( cst ) , and i’m so excited that fameshq is back ! if you were previously in the rp and remember mariëlla * , bless your soul but i present to you miss LÉONIE WINTERS. i decided to start afresh with the rp back , so please bear with me. PLEASE NOTE : if you’d like me to fill out a wanted connection of yours , don’t be afraid to hmu either ! thank you for taking a moment out of your time in reading this lame intro. i love you. i’m being serious though.

* loosely based off of an old muse of mine , which is irrelevant.

before i forget , please click on the lovely heart so it magically turns to its natural color if you’d like to plot. if not , i won’t. just kidding. i’m going to disappear after posting this , but i’ll definitely be around before we open and hopefully with no interruptions. fingers crossed.

━━━━━ quick facts / basic information .

birth name: léontine thirza cruyssen viscaal .

stage name: léonie “ lay-OH-nee ” winters .

nickname(s): if you can come up with one , you’re a genius but perhaps leo .

age: forty - six [ 46 years old ]

date of birth: november 25th , 1972 .

place of birth: amsterdam , netherlands .

romantic / sexual orientation: panromantic + demisexual .

gender + species: cisgender female + human.

hometown: new york city , new york .

education: some high school in ny , nyu tisch school of the arts.

languages: english , dutch , and spanish .

nationality: dutch , american .

ethnicity: caucasian ( european ) .

religion: non - practicing christian / roman catholic .

drinks, smokes & drugs: yes / yes / no .

current location: los angeles , california .

occupation: actress / executive producer / wannabe director / writer .

━━━━━ personality .

zodiac sign: sagittarius .

mbti: esfp .

likes: matcha tea , peanut butter , volunteering , traveling , + writing .

dislikes: coffee , mint chocolate , traffic , reckless drivers , + hospitals .

bad habits: smoking , procrastinating , perfectionism , + swearing .

secret talent: probably none .

hobbies: cooking , hiking , writing , baking , + knitting / crocheting .

fears: probably too many , as in a few , to list .

five positive traits: industrious , meticulous , easygoing , philanthropic + zealous .

five negative traits: anomalous , cynical , unorthodox , anxious , + restless .

other mentionable details: a history of anxiety disorder / panic attacks ( tw ) , collects movie tickets , closet organized by color , tba / etc .

━━━━━ appearance .

tattoos: three tattoos but to be determined .

piercings: one single piercing on each earlobe .

━━━━━ family information .

parents’ names: constantin and thea cruyssen ( née viscaal ) .

parent relationship: healthy , tight - knit .

sibling names: tba because i might send in a wc to the main .

sibling relationship: all right , all right , all right .

other relevant relatives: saskia winters / maternal grandmother , etc .

children: three kids. might also send in a wc to the main but i don’t know .

pets: clea the dalmatian ( f ) , electra breed tba ( f ) , and toby the tuxedo cat ( m ) .

━━━━━ lazily written biography .

léonie was born in the city of amsterdam in the early 1970′s to constantin + thea cruyssen. they were a family of five. the cruyssens moved to manhattan when their kids were young ( their ages aren’t too far apart ) . raised the children mostly in new york city. every summer they’d visit their extended family in the netherlands. she wasn’t too bad of a student throughout her scholastic years. she had a keen interest in acting , but always had a great appreciation for film and its history . so when it was time for college applications , she chose tisch school of the arts and hoped the school would accept her application. they accepted her ! in that moment , her life’s made and was off to start her journey as an ACTRESS .

léonie graduated from nyu in 1994 for a bachelor’s in drama and performance studies. she spent two years working as a waitress in new york before having the desire to move , but she managed to earn herself some acting gigs. it wasn’t easy but she’d have guest starring & recurring roles on popular tv shows such as law & order and nypd blue. basically shows that were based in new york. fast forward to 1996 when she decided to move to los angeles at the age of 24. when leonie first moved to LA , she started working as a waitress ( again ) , babysitter , and a dog walker so that she is able to afford a roof over her head , pay the bills , and have food on the table to survive. after quite some time , she was able to hire an agent to help keep her career in check or offer what’s best. the redhead was pleased with how her life was going even with a few hardships here and there.

thankfully , she and her agent have been together ever since , and only being in los angeles for nearly a year. at the start of her journey as an a performer , she was eternally grateful for the roles she’d gotten ... but why did they have to be the most STEREOTYPICAL WOMEN portrayed on small screens and big screens ? THIS occured a few years before the 21st century ! so that’s when she started to slowly but surely build her career. her agent understood , meaning that they stood by her still. HALLELUJAH ! grateful as ever , léonie never once slowed down for anything. [ rihanna’s work plays in the background ] anyways , she hasn’t stopped working. her agent tells her that she’s a damn workaholic and all she can respond with is , ‘ so are you ! ’ or ‘ that makes two of us ! ’ throughout this time , léonie has secretly written and sold scripts to production companies without receiving any of the credit. to this day , it’s probably what she regrets the most.

years and years have gone by and miss winters is known for portraying very intense women on the big screen. she is probably most notable for being cast as POISON IVY from the dc comics. winters almost dropped out of the project without a reason , however she felt / believed she wasn’t good enough to act the part of a unique character. later , she’d take up roles such as a headstrong business woman to a spy and a central intelligence agent. for a women to portray ‘em was possible in the film industry and would kindly imply that women shouldn’t be afraid to follow their passions / dreams no matter what they were. her favorite role would have to be portraying a vigilante with an anti - hero qualities. forget about the comics for a sec , it was an “original” script. yadda yadda yadda , LÉONIE’S AN A - LIST ACTRESS. how the fuck did that happen ?

appearances , red carpets , excessive interviews , traveling , movie premieres , etc. the dutch - american never thought she would be in the position that she is in currently. she has a desire of wanting to disappear from the limelight and focus on herself a little more as she has been described as restless and anomalous. this red head in particular doesn’t have time for any bullshit NONSENSE , honestly. leonie’s gonna do what’s she’s gotta do with respect , harmony , confidence , and dignity. screw anyone that’s out to get her and other women in the industry. she will stand up for everyone , including talents that have potential. she’ll be following your career without you knowing it. she’s full of wonder and has an element of surprise. even if she’s feeling rather weary , she’s still working to the maximum degree today. the bitch needs to rest at some point.

━━━━━ extra info .

TBA AS SOON AND THE MORE LEONIE IS DEVELOPED. THANKS FOR READING.

#fameshq.intro

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krwioholik · 5 years

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Thirza slips quietly through the window one evening when Dettlaff is away, hissing a low curse when she notes the lack of Regis in his bed. 'Regisssss... you are to be in bed. Do you wish to upset Dettlaff so?' The bruxa growls when she finds him with little effort.

@weltschmerze

“Thatcertainly is not my intention.” He replies quietly, offering the bruxa a smile.He’s sat by the desk, a journal open before him and a thin charcoal in histhin, bony hand. He’s still so weak, frail and defenseless and he needs all therest Dettlaff demands he has. But he’s becoming more himself now, his mindregenerating faster than the rest of his body, and Regis finds spending hoursupon hours in bed, even with books, painfully boring.

“I had anidea on how I could improve the fermentation process of mandrake. I wanted towrite it down before it would slip my mind.” He explains himself to theshe-vampire.

#thirza #we gotta do more with her because she sounds so interesting!#weltschmerze

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qccpafmaf · 6 years

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PERFORUM ROUND TABLE DISCUSSION - SEPTEMBER 22, 2018

By Saima Desai

“My grandmother told me that the only time she remembered hearing Lenape was in songs that her grandmother would sing while they were making baskets,” Vanessa tells us, “and they would only do it at night.”

We’re halfway into a conversation on “Performing Alterity.” On the stage are six Black and Indigenous performance artists: Thirza Cuthand, Raven Davis, Vanessa Dion Fletcher, Dana Michel, Harold Offeh, and Adrian Stimson.

The panel’s moderator, John G. Hampton, told us that the panel was about the differences and similarities between everyday performances and artistic performances of self. Predictably, John began with Judith Butler’s idea of performativity: performativity is a “stylized repetition of actions,” John tells us. “Gender is constructed alongside your sense of self through the way you live your life, your daily performance of self, and that’s informed by social norms and structures that you grow up in.”

But this is a panel of brown and Black queer people. The panelists understandably don’t seem interested in discussing white queer theory.

Instead, the conversation turns to languages. John, Raven, Vanessa, and Adrian introduce themselves in their own Indigenous languages before switching to English. Later, we’ll learn that Thirza has taken a few Cree language classes, and Dana never learned Patois. Harold knows only enough Akan to be embarrassed when he visits Accra.

There’s a sharp, new sadness I found in adulthood. It’s the sadness of not being able to speak my parents’ language. My parents gave up on sending me to Gujarati language school after years of dragging my sulky, whiny ass to Sunday classes. All my friends got to go to ballet lessons on Sundays. I was stuck in a suburban classroom that smelled like the inside of a cupboard, with a teacher who rewarded up for proper conjugation with those biscuits you give to teething babies.

Today, I can nod and smile and speak in simple two-word sentences. I can I can spell my name and nothing else, the letters shy and childish. I’m embarrassed to speak to my motapapa, my grandfather. I feel shame – not just the shame of failure, but the shame of failing at something that should be as natural as breathing.

“She’d be lying at night, hearing these songs, and that was the only exposure she got to her language,” Vanessa continues. “[… My grandmother’s parents] wanted the kids to learn English, as a survival mechanism, and also to hide from the Indian Agents and the government.”

Indigenous languages were literally beaten out of children in residential schools, and outlawed by white colonizers. For others of us, whose people have also lived under colonization, our languages were wiped from textbooks, deprioritized, shamed, silenced, or simply forgotten.

Today, there are very few speakers of the Lenape languages, Munsee and Unami. There are only two fluent Munsee speakers, aged 77 and 90. The conversation turns briefly to a fire that destroyed 20 million items at Brazil's National Museum earlier this month. Among the items lost were audio recordings of Indigenous languages that are no longer spoken.

The news sends a shiver of fear through me. I wonder if, hundreds of years into the future, my family’s language might be endangered like that. If its connection to this world could ever be so tenuous that the string could be snapped in one go.

Vanessa continues: “But when I feel that deep sadness at the lack of access I have to my language, I think: not all moments in the past or present or future have to be ones that are through language. There are always moments of silence and moments of communicating physically and visually. Even though I will always mourn the loss of my language, for myself and for everybody, I can still have experiences that are outside of that loss.”

Later, Dana Michel will tell us that she never learned Patois from her parents: “it was deemed ‘not proper’ to pass it on to your children.” She often feels a lack of connection with her history, she says, but there are ways in which our bodies hold and speak that history. Family members tell her that she’s a lot like her grandfather – a grandfather she met maybe twice in her life.

“There’s a way of history and heritage being passed down without our knowing,” she muses. “Or a certain kind of knowing.”

“We’re becoming more aware of intergeneration trauma, so then logically, intergenerational wisdom…” she trails off.

Vanessa’s performance, on Wednesday, used porcupine quills, Wampum belts, and menstrual blood to probe the outlines of a body – physical and cultural. At one point, she filled her mouth with porcupine quills, and then walked around the Regina Public Library pulling quills from her mouth and handing them to strangers.

“Porcupine quills were used before glass beads or embroidery – to tell stories, to adorn our bodies,” explains Vanessa. “Porcupine quills would be put in your mouth to soften them before they would be sewn into clothing.”

“When I learned that, I thought: ‘I’m never going to speak the words that I want, I’m never going to have all the ideas that I want. I’m never going to be able to hear or sing the songs that my grandmother heard falling asleep at night. But I can still put this quill in my mouth, and I can feel the same thing that people in my community have felt forever.’ And that’s something that hasn’t been interrupted by colonialism.”

In my voice recorder, all the panelists hum softly in agreement. I think of the sharpness of a mouth full of quills, of jagged shards of words you’ll never speak, shattered by colonization and displacement.

“I think that’s the beauty of being an artist, and being a performance artist,” begins Adrian. “That we create our own language.”

PERFORMANCE - VISITING THAHAB - NABIL VEGA - SEPTEMBER 22, 2018

by Saima Desai

This story begins with a delayed flight. It’s fitting, for a performance about 9/11.

Because of their flight delay, Nabil Vega’s morning performance has been cancelled. Instead, I make it to the Dunlop in the evening for the second part of “Visiting Thabab.”

I am the only South Asian or Arab person I can pick out in the audience. That’s not at all unusual for the Regina art scene, but I feel a little bit smug about it today. I expect I’m better positioned to understand the art than anybody else in the room. Who better to write about a performance on what it is to be a brown femme in post-9/11 North America than me?

Nabil emerges under a sheet of gold fabric that drapes to their thighs. They silently stand or crouch in front of each audience member. I watch the audience members steel themselves for eye contact with this eyeless apparition – when their turn comes, some smirk, some squint, some adopt an air of practiced seriousness.

Nabil leaves, returns with a plastic bag full of gold glitter that slithers between their knuckles as they pace the room, casting a protective circle around the space. They wade into a red kiddie pool in the center of the room, sit wide-legged on a stool, and begin combing a tangled clump of dark hair out from under the gold sheet, eventually letting it fall into the pool.

Grasping for meaning, I think of the importance of hair for Indian women – as a tool of intergenerational care, a locus of beauty, a site of vicious gender control. I remember my own long ponytail I once cut off, eventually working up to shaving my head to a buzzcut. My parents were – still are – livid at my boyish cut.

Then, Nabil crouches in the pool, ripping at a seam at the side. Silently, and almost imperceptibly, the pool begins to leak water – I don’t notice it until audience members start nervously lifting their shoes out of its spreading path.

The water picks up glitter as it spreads, gilding its edges. There’s something sinister about this silent, unstoppable crawl of water, bordered with gold, fingers reaching towards our toes. It looks like the spread of a virus, or the march of a colonial army across a map. I think of Harsha Walia’s concept of border imperialism, which "links the politics of borders to global systems of power and repression, systems which find their roots in ‘othering,’ colonization, and slavery.”

I don’t understand the performance.

I don’t understand what it means to be a brown girl in post 9/11 North America.

After, I ask Nabil when their second performance will be, and whether it’s a continuation of the first. I’m not sure this is true, but I tell her I “really liked” the first one. I guess I really liked that a brown queerdo was making art – but I couldn’t tell you any more about what I liked about it. Haltingly, shyly, I tell them that I found their performance “more opaque” than I expected and that I was still “grappling with the symbolism.” It is my way of very quietly screaming, “I don’t get it! Why don’t I get it? Don’t I – a brown girl living in post-9/11 North America – deserve to get it?” I stop myself before actually asking Nabil to explain any of the symbolism – but anyways, they have already darted off to help a volunteer wrestle the now-flaccid kiddie pool into a bucket. When they hefts it off the ground, it looks like a dead body, still sagging with water.

Later, I show up outside the Dunlop art gallery in downtown Regina. Nabil is already outside, under their gold sheet. I watch as they crouch in the middle of Scarth Street and light the first blue smoke bomb between their feet, rich indigo clouds rising like bubbles in a glass. Seeing the smoke, people begin to filter out of the afterparty, gathering at a distance around Nabil. The drunk people at the bar across the street start shouting at us.

Nabil takes off towards the bar, and we begin to follow. Gary, the director of QCC, chases them, muttering “I told them they needed to take someone with them, for protection.” I glance nervously at the drunk white guys at the bar, still yelling. Do white men not know than whenever they yell – excitedly or belligerently – my whole body fractures into little triangles of fear? I’m shot through by that same fear for Nabil, which is really a fear for myself – another queer brown femme walking home alone at night past a bar of drunk and yelling white guys.

They turn, stop, stand in the middle of the darkened street, set off another haldi-yellow smoke bomb, study us. Under the rippling gold sheet, in absolute silence, with the smoke rising like a prayer, they look like a ghost.

I think of the other brown ghosts of 9/11:

Balbir Singh Sodhi, a Sikh man originally from India, murdered at a gas station in Arizona on September 15, 2001. He was the first fatality of the post-9/11 backlash against Muslims and those perceived as Muslim. His killer also shot at a Lebanese person and an Afghan family’s house. In 2011, the Arizona legislature tried to remove Mr. Sodhi's name from their state 9/11 memorial.

On the same day, Waqar Hasan, an immigrant from Pakistan, was murdered in a grocery store in Texas. He was the second fatality. Three weeks later, his murderer would kill Vasudev Patel, an Indian man.

Two weeks after Hasan’s death, Abdo Ali Ahmed, a 51-year-old Yemeni man, was shot to death outside his convenience store. Two days earlier a note reading, “We’re going to kill all you fucking Arabs,” was left on his car windshield.

I was only six when 9/11 happened. I couldn’t tell you where I was when I heard the news – probably in my Grade One classroom. I’d be lying if I said I felt, at the time, even the slightest shiver of what 9/11 would come to mean for people who look like me. How it would change entire regimes of race, of state violence and systematic dehumanization, of wars and geopolitics, of displacement and migration. The exhaustion of being “randomly selected” for the thousandth time at airport security.

I think of the way I walk faster, clamp my teeth around my tongue, tighten my heart when I pass a bar full of drunk white men, yelling. The times I thought I might become another brown ghost.

I think of the way my skin looks under lake water, so brown it’s just a little gold.

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kisiskaciwanopenletter-blog · 7 years

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An Open Letter to the University of Regina Press, regarding the kisiskâciwan anthology:

An Open Letter to the University of Regina Press, regarding the kisiskâciwan anthology (Indigenous Voices from where the River Flows Swiftly):

Over the past year, University of Regina Press invited Indigenous authors from the four directions of Saskatchewan to submit their written works for an upcoming anthology. We were excited to be part of the necessary honoring of great Indigenous writing from our respective homelands.

Much of our writing is an expression of our experiences with the ongoing, violent impacts of colonization. We know the intricacies of this violence: racism has deep roots here, entangled with misogyny and patriarchy. As Indigenous women and Two-Spirit people, we are too familiar with the verbal, physical, and psychological abuse that is a key part of colonialism, attempting to make Indigenous women’s experiences invisible, and therefore, disposable. We want to see the end of violence that is freely and inconsequentially directed at our bodies, minds, and well-being.

It was brought to our attention that the kisiskâciwan anthology will include the work of Neal McLeod, who has recently been charged and pled guilty to domestic assault. We cannot consent to publish our work alongside Neal McLeod, whom to the best of our knowledge has not made amends to those that he has harmed.

After discussions with the University of Regina Press, we are disappointed that their decision is to proceed with the anthology in support of Neal’s work, even after we stated we will be removing our collection of voices from the anthology in an act of solidarity with Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women, Girls, and Two-Spirit people (MMIWG2S) and survivors of assault. In an era of MMIWG2S, we believe in concrete actions to build a future where gendered colonial violence is over.

We ask the University of Regina Press and the editors of the kisiskâciwan anthology to honor the experiences of Indigenous women and abuse survivors by removing Neal McLeod from this anthology.

We ask the University of Regina Press, along with all other publishing houses, schools and universities, governments, and cultural spaces to recognize the lifesaving necessity of supporting Indigenous women, girls, and Two-Spirit people who name abuse and abusers.

We believe we must question, disrupt and abolish systems of misogyny and patriarchy, in order to be free to direct our energy and work towards a place of thriving for Indigenous women and Two-Spirit folks. Until these places become real and readily accessible, our work will remain with us, and with publishers who understand our worth.

Signed,

Erica Violet Lee Nickita Longman Sylvia McAdam Lindsay Knight Night Kinistino Dawn Dumont

In Solidarity, Chelsea Vowel, Ian Campeau, Billy-Ray Belcourt, Alicia Elliott, Zoe Todd, Sheelah McLean, Janice Makokis, Samantha Marie Nock, Katherena Vermette, Emily Riddle, Shannon Houle, Robert Innes, Christi Belcourt, Jesse Wente, Tracey Lindberg, Hayden King, Daniel Heath Justice, Leanne Simpson, Eden Robinson, Tara Williamson, Paul Seesequasis, Tracy Bear, Erin Marie Konsmo, Kayla Ironstar, Angela Semple, Laura Reid Kooji, Jennifer Adese, Eve Tuck, Dallas Hunt, Joshua Whitehead, Ryan McMahon, Sandi Auger, Renae Watchman, David Gaertner, Melanie Lefebvre, Sarah Nickel, Gail MacKay, Lou Cornum, Thohahente Kim Weaver, Lee Maracle, Thirza Cuthand, Sherri Swidrovich, Tara Borin, Erin Soros, David Parent, Emma Schultz, Darlene Sicotte, Susan Greer, Pauline Wakeham, Kim Wheeler, The Regina Public Interest Research Group (RPIRG), Sarah Cortez, Molly Swain, Cowboy Smithx, Rene Ariens, Michelle Lee, Shawn Johnston, Crystal Fraser, Adam Gaudry, Ashley Morford, RJ Jones, Aylan Couchie, Julia Christensen, Renée Roman Nose, Franki Harrogate, Terri Monture, Veldon Coburn, Hayley Lapalme, Darryl Leroux, Kathryn NicDhàna, Madeleine Reddon, Glen Coulthard, Stephen Steward, Christian Bertelsen, Turning the Tide Bookstore, Jaime Forsythe.

to add your name in support, email [email protected].

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mortalheartache · 2 months

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Drain You

Your stepbrother is going to fuck you — whether you like it or not.

Tags: NON-CON, DDDNE, stepcest, use of “big brother” and “little sister”, forced creampie, threat of anal, degrading (slut, bitch), impact play, overstimulation, pussy slapping, literally so much use of the word “fuck”

Word Count: 0.9k

─── ⋆⋅ ☆ ⋅⋆ ───

Your nails, scraping for purchase, escape, a fight, anything, left angry red marks on his forearms, but he didn’t even bother to flinch and give you the slightest sliver of triumph in your fucked-out brain. “C’mon baby, you know that’s not gonna stop me. Why bother?” Sam taunted, flexing his bicep just slightly to make you sputter and squirm more from lack of oxygen.

“Just- fuck!- just stop struggling, and I’ll let you breathe. I pr- fuckyou’resotight- promise.”

With your brain going fuzzy and your vision starting to blur, you finally relented, dropping your hands from his arm and going limp under him. He sighed, removing his arm from your neck and placing his large hand onto your hip, using it to fuck you even harder. You whined, tears pricking your eyes as your arms shook, trying to hold yourself up. It was getting more and more strenuous with each thrust of his cock kissing your cervix. He was pummeling your pussy into the shape of his cock, the thought making you clench against your will and moan lowly.

“Fuck, honey. You like it, don’t you? Say it. Say you like your big brother’s cock in you.” He sneered, slapping your ass harshly and gripping the skin, jiggling it. You squeezed your eyes, trying to fend off your orgasm and tears, shaking your head in defiance.

“God- c’mon! You know you like it! Just fucking admit it! You like being split open by your big brother’s cock, don’t you, slut?” He snarled in your ear, gripping your hair and pulling your head as far back as it could go. You screamed at the sudden pain, arms going out and hands reaching to the end of the bed to try and scramble away. Tears began to fall, and he just laughed.

“Your little pussy is so wet around me, she’s gripping me like a fucking vice. Just stop acting like you’re not turned on by this. Say it.”

His cruel words made you clench again, the knot in your stomach tightening and your legs starting to shake. Sam slapped your ass again, and upon seeing how you whined and tried to squirm away again, he slapped your pussy, hard. The pain and malice of it all tipped you over the edge, cumming on his cock. Your vision went white for a moment, moaning loud enough that you were certain your neighbors could hear you.

He kept pounding into you, using one arm under your stomach to keep you up for him to use without you collapsing and moving his other hand to your clit, violently rubbing it in a way that made your back arch and legs jerk.

“Fuck- fuck- I want another one. Cum again, bitch.” He moaned into your ear, rolling his hips and pinching your clit in a way that made you sob, fisting the sheets and burying your face in them.

“S-Sammy! Sammy, stop, it hurts! It hurts too much, please!” You cried, trying to crawl away. His arm across your stomach was infallible, quickly yanking you down the bed and further onto his cock. You came again, nearly blinding you, feeling your own cum spurt out around his cock and dripping from your cunt and his pubic hair.

The overstimulation was becoming unbearable, your body nearly convulsing with each thrust of his cock and swipe of his fingers on your clit. Your tears and drool mixed onto the sheets under your face.

“Don’t make me go into this tight little asshole, squirmy bitch.” He punctuated his words by moving his hand from your clit and circling your asshole with his fingers, tauntingly pushing his middle finger in just enough to make you sob out a protest and force yourself to be still.

“Good. Keep being obedient,” he bit back a moan, “and I’ll let you go sooner.”

You nodded aggressively, tangled and sweaty hair covering your face and hiding your wobbling lip.

“Fuck, baby. You’re such a good little sister for me, aren’t you? I need to fuck you more oft-“ Before he could finish the terrifying thought, you felt his thrusts stutter and his cock twitch in your sensitive little hole. You choked on your own scream, not wanting him to cum inside you. His hot cum painted your walls as he kept thrusting, fucking it deeper and deeper into you.

Finally pulling out, he fell limp, body covered in a sheen of sweat as he panted. The sudden weight of him on your back knocked the air out of you, and he laughed again at your pathetic begs for him to move.

He stretched his arm across the bed to his bedside table, opening the drawer and grabbing something you couldn’t see. You tried to turn your head to see, but he used his free hand to grab the back of your skull and twist it forward again, pushing your face into the mattress. He shoved it again into the bed, harder, smirking at the choked yelp you couldn’t silence by yourself.

Suddenly, you felt a pop as something was placed into your leaking cunt. He’d put a plug into you, keeping his cum inside.

“Not letting any of your big brother’s cum go to waste, are we?” He tutted, in faux sympathy.

“Now don’t try to take it out. I don’t want to have to tie you up. You don’t want that either, do you, baby?” He cooed, stroking your hair as your body wracked with your sobs.

──────────

Want more? Comment on my taglist to be notified when I post more smut!

A/N: Good lord, welcome to my first DDDNE work. The title is a Nirvana song <3333

As always, thanks for reading! xx

@jadegmfu @fuckmyskywalker @tracymbcm @anakinsbunniegirl @slvttedoutmars @bunnylovesani @zapernz @erinkeifer @arzua10 @no-oneelsebutnsu @bubsmarx @offthethirlwall @skywalkershootme @titaniasfairy

#thirza writes #sam monroe #sam monroe smut #sam monroe x reader #stepbro!sam #hayden christensen x reader #hayden x reader #hayden smut #tw stepcest #tw noncon #dddne

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mortalheartache · 5 months

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Spelling Bee

Anakin needs one thing before he lets you cum — for you to spell his name on his cock.

Tags - Smut, NO Y/N, overstim, little bit of sadism, dom!Ani, use of ‘slut’, orgasm denial, ‘good girl’, lmk if I missed anything, first time tagging stuff lol

Word count - 0.3k

─── ⋆⋅ ☆ ⋅⋆ ───

“C’mon baby, just a little more.” Anakin crooned, watching you helplessly bounce on his cock. You were sputtering, overstimulated, and begging him to let you cum.

You cried as he grabbed your hips, forcing you all the way down and holding you still. You fell forward, holding yourself up by your forearms on his chest, shimmering with sweat.

“I’ll let you cum if you do one thing for me.” He tilted his head, a sly smirk on his face.

“Anything, Ani-“ You moaned, tears running down your face and hair a mess.

“Spell my name. With your hips.” He borderline growled, relishing how your legs shook a little at his dominance.

You nodded profusely, and he grabbed your waist, sitting you up on his cock, eliciting a whimper from you.

Steadily, you began with the ‘A’. Every “stroke” was agony, the way his cock massaged your insides and brought you closer and closer to your orgasm.

‘N’ had his cock rubbing against your G-spot, and you whined, but persisted.

‘A’, again.

“Good girl. Just a few more letters and you can release.” In contrast to his encouraging words, he grabbed your neck, forcing you to look him in the eyes.

‘K’ resulted in you bumping your poor, swollen clit against his pubic bone, and you shook violently, doing everything you could to prevent yourself from cumming without permission.

“Two more, doll. Just 2.” His grip on your throat tightened and you choked a little.

With ‘I’, you tried to “write” it as a simple line. He clicked his tongue, shaking his head.

“Mm-mm. Do it right, slut. Don’t get lazy on me.”

You whined, doing it again and adding the lines on top and bottom. He nodded in approval.

‘N’ took all of your effort, and with the final stroke he smiled.

“Good girl, cum for me.”

─── ⋆⋅ ☆ ⋅⋆ ───

A/N: first time publishing smut, notes and encouragement are appreciated!! ALSO!! inbox is open for requests, check about blog link for criteria!

#thirza writes #hayden christensen #anakin skywalker #anakin smut #dom!anakin #dom!ani #star wars smut #anakin x reader #hayden christensen x reader #hayden x reader #idk what else to tag lmao #i couldnt think of a title so have fun with spelling bee lmao

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mortalheartache · 5 months

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Shallow Breaths

Anakin knows just how to get you to relax after a tiring day — even if you don’t.

Tags - Smut, NO Y/N, somnophilia, dubcon, inappropriate use of the Force (choking), unprotected p in v (DO NOT DO THIS)

Word Count - 0.25k

─── ⋆⋅ ☆ ⋅⋆ ───

Anakin Skywalker, who waits for you to take a nap after a long day of training. He slides into bed next to you as soon as your breathing gets even and shallow, reaching a hand over your chest to feel your heartbeat (and also grope your tit).

Slowly beginning to grind his hips against your ass to ensure you won’t wake up, eventually taking his cock out when he sees you haven’t stirred. Gingerly pulling your pants down, taking your underwear with them. Pulling them down to your mid thigh so he can pull them back up quickly if you start to wake up.

He sees you’re already slick, for him, he thinks. Pushing his tip against your hole, gyrating his hips a little and groaning at the sensation, slowly pushing himself in halfway. Your breathing quickens and becomes slightly irregular, so he freezes. You even out again, and he pushes in all the way, moaning when he’s filled you.

Slowly pumping in and out so as not to wake you, but he quickly gets impatient. He throws caution to the wind, wrapping his arm around your chest and fully pushing your back against him, thrusting in fast and deep, hearing your whimpers in your sleep.

He senses you waking and shushes you gently. He’s going to follow through, your hole too sweet for him to leave.

“It’s alright. I’m going to take care of you.”

His voice laced with lust and a little malice, he swiftly uses the Force to close your throat enough to prevent any protest.

─── ⋆⋅ ☆ ⋅⋆ ───

A/N: I think I tagged everything, lmk if I didn’t! Also send in requests! Masterlist in progress I swear I’m just busy lmao

#anakin skywalker #hayden christensen #anakin smut #thirza writes #anakin somno #anakin x reader #tw dubcon #tw somno #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin x y/n #hayden x reader

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mortalheartache · 4 months

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Bloody Love

Sam Monroe has a knife kink… and a blood kink. You give him what he needs. (Requested by @zapernz 🤍)

Tags: Smut, NO Y/N, blood play, knife play, sub!Sam, dom!reader, consumption of blood, degrading (slut, pathetic), use of “good boy”

Word Count: 0.62K

─── ⋆⋅ ☆ ⋅⋆ ───

Dragging the knife along his pale skin, you watched the little beads of blood appear in the knife’s wake. Sam squirmed under you, lowly whining.

“You wanted this, no? So shut up and take it.” You sneered at him, punctuating your words by increasing the pressure of the blade along his collarbone slightly. You reached your free hand down to his cock, not missing how it twitched as you dragged the knife further down his body.

You gave the base a little squeeze, and Sam moaned pathetically. Lifting the knife from his flesh, you removed your free hand from his throbbing dick and ran your fingers along the blood pooling along his collarbone, then brought your fingers to your mouth, sucking the blood off of them. He looked at you in surprise that quickly morphed into some fucked up kind of lust. His pupils were blown wide, and his chest heaving as he panted.

Smiling at him, you dipped down to lick the blood off of his body, twisting one of his nipples sharply then toying with the barbell through it. He cried out and squirmed further, but quickly stopped when you brought your mouth to his, his own blood still on your tongue. His response was borderline pitiful as he lapped the blood from inside your mouth, the metallic taste making his face twist up briefly.

You sucked on his tongue and brought the knife up to his throat, pressing the cold steel against it. His mewls were music to your ears as you kept the blade flush with his skin, but didn’t draw blood. Pulling away from his mouth, a thin string of red-tinged saliva connected your lips to his pink, kiss-swollen ones momentarily before breaking and falling onto his chin and labret piercing.

You kept the knife steady and moved your hand back to his cock, smearing the precum from his twitching tip along the shaft, his moans getting higher in pitch every time you touched his poor dick.

“You’re pathetic, you know that? You’re getting off on me putting a knife to your throat and making you swallow your own blood. Disgusting.” You muttered to him, his cock jumping in your hand. You snickered at him, lips curling into a cocky smile.

“Fucking pathetic.”

His blissed-out face was angelic as he struggled to form words, groaning at the feeling of the knife’s pressure increasing as he tried to speak.

“P- Please let me cum. I’ll be so- so good, I promise.” He whined, looking into your eyes and searching for your mercy. He was so gorgeous, who were you to deny him.

Without warning, your furiously pumped his shaft, biting your lip to hold in a moan as you felt the velvety skin in your hand. He almost screamed at the sudden stimulation, trying his best not to writhe so as not to injure himself on your blade.

“C’mon baby, you asked for it.” You taunted, picking up the pace on his dick, swiping your thumb over the tip periodically. His hips lifted, bucking into your hand violently as he whined. His dick twitched more and more and his thrusts into your fist got shakier, a sign he was moment away from cumming on your hand.

You pressed the knife harder against his throat while you squeezed him, and he came undone deliciously easy, almost screaming in relief. His eyes welled with tears at the sensation, and he babbled a string of “thank you”s and “oh my god”s, interspersed with expletives. His cum painted your fist as you jerked him through his orgasm.

You removed the knife, setting it on your bedside table.

“You’re such a good boy, taking that for me. What a pretty slut.” You cooed at him.

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Want more? Check out my taglist for notifications when I post!

A/N - Thank you for reading, I hope you all liked it! More dom!reader to come teehee, and more Sam content as well!! xx

@jadegmfu @fuckmyskywalker

#thirza writes #sam monroe x reader #sam monroe #hayden christensen #hayden christensen x reader #hayden x reader #sam monroe smut #sub!sam monroe #tw knife #tw blood

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