#Super coppa | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ikkosu · 3 days

Text

HEATED

(prowl.gn.cybertonian.reader)

While rooked into a case he needs to solve, and aside from getting a new partner for, well, reasons — the enforcer is faced with a certain 'predicament' he needs tending.

reader is taller than prowl btw. like, a little bit taller. Or like super tall. I just like the height difference ok. ever since I saw this fanart I just went AWOOGA he's so ndjdjdn his waist damn. I need him submissive. posted this at one am too :D warnings : mild robot gore, and mentions of valve spike. all that stuff.

CHAPTER ONE

UP at the south, Kaon's underground road network hasn't been fairing well these last few solar cyles. The tunnel, swarthed in ink, stretched across from both sides of the labyrinth with each end unseen, fading off into the deep chasm. The only light source now was Swindle's flashlight that lit a soft halo on the ceiling.

The tunnel was extremely obscure under radar. After several Deceptions attempted another revolutionary feat it was then banned of entry. You can barely trace any energon trails entering and leaving the tunnel. Small wonder it was chosen as a hideout — disregarding, of course, the daily patrols now that occured at fixed intervals.

Grimacing, he shifted on his pedes to avoid the murky puddle on his right. The shroud of sulfuric egg, rotten scum and the churn of garbage danced by, and Swindle wouldn't have chosen this place at all if it weren't for the pleasureable sum he's about to be gifted with.

This better be a good deal.

And, on cue, the silhouette of a mech emerged from the shadows, quelling any sense of irritation he had for the late timing. Chastise would be normally an appropriate response. But he figured there'd be no point about huffing now when he's sure this mech's not a force to be reckoned with — and is frame shouldn't be : optics a darkly blue, gold platings a pulsing radiance under the beam of light.

He's a physical embodiment of a shanix-jacked aristocrat. The ones those 'cons' would surely give a good beating to. Him, on the other hand? They're good customers. The best, if any.

"Traffic, eh Senator?" Swindle approaches, servos itching for a good deal. He's already skimming through the many treats he's got under his sleeve.

"Hardly." He grunts with a dismissive wave. "Just some mindless cogs trying to interfere with my work. I ought to establish some policy to prevent them from being this, ugh, trying."

"Believe me, those coppas are as persistent as sparkeaters leechin' off a snuffed mech." He mused.

The mech laughs, a deep rich rumble pricely enough to conjure gold bars. "It's a mystery to know when they'll emerge unannounced."

" Now, onto business. What do we have, here?"

Between them, a barrier, is a table. Producing a rectangular black box from his subspace, the mech sets it down on the surface. Inside, a clink of something can be heard like wind chimes fluttering against the breeze.

"All the crystals from the best of all cities and planets." He said. " Iacon, Vos, Teran, Xaraen — Camien delight, your favorite, is also a plus."

"Ohohoho!" Swindle unlatches the cover and beams at the myriad of vibrant gems. "You can't be giving me these beauties all for nothing, eh? What do I owe you the pleasure of?"

"Oh, nothing grand. I'd just like the usual."

Swindle, for a moment, visibly sags. " Sorry to disappoint but with all the bots cracking down on all of my sources. I don't got too many interesting Intel these days from hiding."

"Oh, no, no,no, no." He waved a servo to stop him." Not the surveillance. I don't need that. I've got enought. What I need, however. Or, rather — my boys on the air has been lacking in some...condiments for their next heist. See to it that they're sufficiently provided."

Now, that's a target he could aim.

"We-ell, why don't'cha just say so?" Swindle grins, interest piqued. "Y'got a benefactor to spare?"

"Quite. He's not very compliant at the moment and I'd rather he is. Could you, perhaps, 'alleviate' that stubbornness of that dear mech?"

Swindle chuckles and does a half-bow, servo on his chassis."Well, my good sir. Anythin' for the customer is a good go. It's in my policy to do so much more than just alleviate his stubbornness." He pinched his foredigit and thumb. Then, rubs it." For a small extra charge, of course."

He throws in several more shanix onto the table.

"I take it you'll be swift?"

"Quick as a turbofox in heat, I assure you."

Ivory white flashes as he grins. "Happy hunting."

THE sun peered between the dark blue clouds of the smothered the sky. Iacon and it's stretching towers loomed above like jagged mountaintops, abstract and austere in all it's glory.

Prowl grips the railings tight. He leant over and rested his helm against the cool metal. Much too cool against the feverish temperature of his helm. Slow and steady he vents, attempting to cool down his heating frame.

The chronometer beeped five thirty. He's outside. Outside in the barely risen morning, disturbed from a barely slept slumber and dragged out to barely risen city straight into a murder scene.

The scenery fleets by in a thin film of blue. Enforcers litter the region, half a mile at most, rousing nearby apartments and living spaces for questioning. Gradually, front porches open. Dawdling mechs and their slow blinking optics, half sleep-induced, are jostled awake at the sight of the officers.

A passing mech was jogging around the vicinity when he supposedly stumbled over a concrete slab. A quick double take proved it wasn't a slab but a dead mech sprawled out on the road, a mini crater indicating the weight of his fall.

And, looking up to the nearby building, where he supposedly fell, a smashed glass on the perfect teeth of windows indicated clear where the incident occured. Obviously, the mech is long gone : grey and parched of color; helm tilted to one side, optics black.

Prowl let's out another breath. It seethed through clenched dentas, hissing out as steam. His servos shook. Footsteps patter behind and Prowl grips it taut to reign it in.

"Sir? Are you—"

"I'm fine." He cuts off the mech. " Who is it?"

The junior officer blinks in surprise, a waver in his voice. "Uh— they, uh. It's someone. They...They claim to be your partner, sir." He trails off, unsure and also surprised at the prospect.

Partner? Prowl skims languidly across the ample litter of mechs bustling about. Only until his optics land on a familiar one, he nods stiffly. "They're with me. You can leave, now."

"Understood."

And not long after did his 'partner' emerged, lifting up the yellow tape, chatting with the passing enforcers amiably before sauntering towards where he stood.

"Not so bustling as I expected to be." You said. " Is it usually this quiet? Or, you could say — dead silent?"

The smaller Praxian had to take several steps back to regard you fully, an unimpressed look on his face. As usual, a loose smile eased at the gesture but you turned away to hide it.

"Enforcer." You bowed and held out a servo.

Instead, he eyes you with a cold reverie, nose raised high and haughty. "Doctor."

"Spoilsport."

And that's what it only took to carve out the familiar, seething scowl. "It's Commander, doctor."

"Actually, it's medic." You mused, optics fleeting over his frame."New paint job?"

"Excuse me?"

Even when he's scowling, the confused puppy look and the flicker of a doorwing alleviated the intimidating factor.

"You look different." You said.

"I don't."

"You kind of do."

"Just—" He rubs his face. "Just what on Cybertron are you trying to insinuate?"

" Come on, now." You nudge him. "Can't a mech compliment a good polished frame?"

Prowl makes an exasperated sound when you gesture to his body. You can't help it when really is shinier than usual. The Ivory veneer plating is practically glowing under the soft rays of the sun. Prowl, however, rubs his face.

"I take it you're aware of your current position?" He eventually says after a moment.

You rubbed your helm thoughtfully, reminiscing the words of Ironhide this morning. All you remember from the debrief was: 'He's a stick down on tha mud'. And also, a stick up his aft? A stick in or stick out? You're not sure.

"Quite." You snort. "Takes a while to get used to it. Especially when Prime didn't inform the reason why. "

"You don't need to know the details behind the transfer."

"Oh, trust me." You said. " I dont think want to, Praxian."

He regards you for a moment before shaking his head, whirling around to inspect the nearby scathes and scratches. Meanwhile, you knelt next to the body and grimaced, sliding on protective gloves. From the corner of your optics, Prowl does as well and he does it with prim and precise movements. It's been a long time since you're out on the fields.

"Why do I have to do this, again?"

Prowl tilts his helm, observing the body at a different angle, the last digit slides inside the sleeve with a plap. "You're experienced with helmichular fracture. Or, working with Cybertronian helms, for that matter."

You scanned the dried energon smeared under the poor mech's helm. Primus, how in Unicron's two aft did he get here? You swivel up. Oh, right. Falling.

"I work with the inner parts. Nothing the same like Chromedome does. That's heinous work. Mine's more on the anatomy, actually."Plating fracture, check. Spinal strut loose and fragile — check. Stiff joints, check. " Couldn't you have figured this out on your own?"

You prod the neck cables, feeling it flaccid. Prowl was silent for a moment. If he was irritated, you could tell by the scowl deepening from the reflection of the puddle beside you.

" I could," he says eventually. "But I don't need your input. I simply.... require a presence to rectify my hypothesis."

Oh? "That's a statement I never thought I'd hear you say." You mutter.

Prowl knelt beside you. He angles himself in a way you would have to look over his shoulder to see the body. The soft scent of datapad and office paperwork wafts by.

"This mech, here, is Strongholt." He said. "He's a member of the High Council. Tasked with handling ammunitions. Obviously, on close inspection it appears as though this body is conformed to the fall."

With the way he worded it, you're sure he doesn't think that way.

"The spinal struts is smashed." You said, optics quick and scaning. "....and everything else is broken. It could be ruled out as suicide but with you here I don't think that's the case."

He lets out a sound you're not sure if it's a conceding one or something else entirely. But he juts out a digit and you look at where he points. Disregarding the scratched plating, some regions of the surface were unusually glossy and some were worn.

"He hasn't gotten his plating polished." Prowl says.

"A bit late for that now, don't you think so?"

"He rushed all the way here in the dead of the night. Why else would he do that?" Prowl rests a servo on his face, mumbling into it thoughtfully. " Senator Stronghold is have said to taken care of his plating with precise delicacy. But this time—" Slowly, he traces a digit along the platings. " —Observe the fringes. It seems indelicate along the seams. His arm is polished but the rest isn't."

"Oookay." You try to grasp the pieces together. Trying to fit in the missing cogs from the machine. "So, he didn't jump. Is that what you're saying?"

"Not suicide."

" Then, what could it be?"

"He brought himself to a place." He muttered. " To somewhere. Unless it's someone and if he complied then it's not a matter of force-handing, is it?"

"I'm assuming things aren't as what they seem to be, apparently."

Prowl taps his thigh in an irritated manner. Either he was talking to himself or to you, it was hard to tell. But with how he disregarded your questions and looks — it was obvious he's cooped up in his thoughts.

"Dragged up there." He continues the muttering to himself. You noticed he's a little restless with the mini-movements he makes. From the rock of his kneeplates and the subtle, but often, flick of his doorwings. " No, down here. He walks. Over there. Then, close to the pole. How many footprints?"

You snapped out of your thoughts with a jolt, scrambling for an answer at the sudden question. Lamely, you said. "Five?"

"No, it's three." He waves at you dismissively. "Foot prints indicate long exposure to standing. Disagreement ensues. Blunt force trauma to the helm. Dragged up—" On cue Prowl swivels up. "Then pushed. Guise of a murder. Two mechs. An accomplice, to be precise."

" A what— Wait— so, hold on." You tug him close, lowering your voice. " He orchestrated his own death?"

Prowl leans away.

"Were you even listening to what I said?" He gives you an incredulous look." If you have so much to lose, would you really do that?"

You groan. He's not helping one bit."You're being real cryptic right now and I'm trying my best."

"No, not orchestrated." He vents. " That'd be ridiculous. But miscalculations did occur during the 'composing' of the Orchestra. He's compliant all but for the money. Both a victim to his faults and thinking."

You turn over his words in your processor. The lingering feeling that this isn't some kind of suicide rules out clear and Prowl had, somehow, figured it beforehand.".... You dont need me here to help you figure out case, don't you?"

He gives you a look that basically confirms it : a smug, but begrudging tug of his lips.

"I need you to confirm a certain theory." He points to the helm. " Blunt force trauma — Zero point."

You move over to the chassis and unlatched the plating. As expected the spark chamber indicated clear signs of restrictive energy flow from the burnt out, damaged ports. This could only occur if—

"He had suffered heavy blunt force trauma." Prowl stands up, gripping the railings with a vent.

" So, this is murder." You follow him, pacing around, a bit reeling from the new turn of events. "Its— it's murder, right?"

" We can't prove it is yet. We..." He trails off, then shake his head. "Tommorow when the warrant comes we'll able to consult his company....and...."

"Prowl, mech. You good?" You turn to the Enforcer who's looking a little off to be well, right now. "Hey, you need a moment?"

Crime scenes aren't the most pleasing sight to behold. Especially, the brutality of it all. You just didn't expect Prowl to be affected this badly.

" I'll—" He clutches his chest, shudders and groans lowly, stumbling forward.

"Prowl!" You caught him before he could hit the ground and instantly limps against your body, venting hard.

His frame was warm. So warm that once you touched his shoulder every moisture on the tip of your digit sizzles into steam. He's shaking and Primus, he's burning!

"You're sick and you didn't tell me?!" You laid him against the railing, loosening his taut platings to let air inside. Steam practically chuffs out from the pistons, smoldering your face with vapor when you unlatched the clips.

"I'm not sick." Was his weak protest and he pawed your servos away, attempting to get up. "The warrant—"

"Don't even try." You push him down. "Your optics are glazed! Plating is burning even worse than a typical fan-clog fever!"

"I'll get through it." He grits out.

"I'm sending you back. Doctor's orders."

He lets out an exasperated sound. " You're stalling the process! I need to solve the case before some overcharged single brained processor messes it up. "

"And you'll smelt into alloy by then, little mech." You clicked on your comm. " I'll deal with the body and I'll deal with the paperwork. You, on the other hand, need ratchet. If you preach for efficiency — then be compliant to it. "

Prowl opens his intake but ozone burns his tongue and another shudder sears through his platings. He turns away from you, groaning lowly. Maybe it's better if he complied because, right now, all he feels, is like a mech doused in gasoline and set on flames.

"Will you be fine?" Ratchet cocks a brow

Prowl grunts, swinging his legs off the medical berth. " I'll manage."

"Sure? Your internal processors are charged up than usual, Prowl." Ratchet grimaces at the datapads. Doesn't look much too good, if he had to be hoenst. " I wouldn't recommend you going about your tasks if you don't want your battle computer burning out out."

Prowl keeps quiet. He can feel the wanton heat pooling in his panel, itching, clawing to be spring free and abuse.

" Prowl?"

He sucks in a breath. "I need to go." And with that he turns on his heel and leaves.

He shouldn't have known it would be today. Especially, when the signs are clear enough these past few weeks : frequent mood swings, strange cravings at strange hours

He could've have pieced it all together and prevented the inevitable — but when he onlined this morning on his berth and felt the familiar trickle of lubricant coating his inner thighs, it was over.

He was too late.

Heat cycles.

Just the worse.

It was easy to know when it's coming just as easy to know it's going to get worse : the numbness on the tip of your digits, restless frame, unfocused and glazed optics. The desire to lodge a hole into every walk you find. All typical sign.

Some frames are more accustomed to such a cycle. Unlike the smaller frames, larger ones are able to disperse heat more efficiently. So, it was a tolerable task to wait it out during work and return home and take care of whatever problem they had with their conjux. Even better, take heat suppressants and the charge, while not entirely taken care of, is reduced.

But given his Praxian frame slim build, demure size and all, the heat isn't so well dispersed and the intake of suppressants just happens to make it worse. His tanks are sensitive to the chemicals; he took it once and it wasn't fun taking turns purging his tank and satisfying himself.

Prowl groans, squeezing his thighs together as the words blur out from his optics. The datapad in his servos dented from his grip and he discards it on the table, landing across with a tack. Blasted report. He keeps reading the same line over and over and his processors won't digest the damn thing.

He leans against the chair and his helm tips back until his optics met the ceiling. An experimental servo glides down his abdomen and he shudders as it clamps on his heated panel. He gives it a little stroke, venting when lubricant smear the seams. A low whine churned from his throat. Prowl flushes, chagrined.

Mhn. Hot. He feels hot. So, hot. So Restless. He needs to purge out this excess energy or driving him insane. He could head out into the sparring range and punt in a few dents jn the testing dummies but he's too restless for that. He needs something and that something has to be inside and pumping his valve until he's all but a writhing mess on the floor.

The panel slides and a throbbing spike springs out. Ivory in color, grey outline, it stands at attention and the tip weeps with transfluid. Prowl slides his digits inside the swollen valve. He groans as he feels his calipers pulsing around his digits, spreading the folds out.

He can't keep going on like this.

On cue, the door opens. Prowl jolts in his seat and swivels up at the intrusion, lodging his digits deeper inside in tandem of his fluster. It was you. You're by the doorway. Stiff and straight to the brim, optics wide. The datapad you were holding drops from your servos just as your jaw had flung open in surprise

#;) mehehe #transformers #maccadam #transformers x reader #transformers idw #idw prowl #prowl x reader #valveplug #prowl #i got the next draft ready jts going to be spicay #header is by@cafekitsune!!

66 notes · View notes

gogandmagog · 1 month

Text

Guys! Yesterday I had a book-shaped piece of mail, and inside of it was my copy of Children and Childhoods in L.M. Montgomery: Continuing Conversations being returned, from another very dear user here! I bring this up only because some-months-ago I promised to copy out a particular article from this book, for yet another user here, who was interested! Interested because it’s on the the subject of a Fan Favourite thing... fan fiction. And better still because some of our (basically famous) mutuals here are mentioned by name! If you’ve ever wondered if the Montgomery scholarship is reading your fan fiction... the answer is yes, they are! They totally are. More than that, they also have some thoughts to share… as well as recommendations of their faves too! This article even covers the F/F and M/M fan fiction presented by fans in LMM’s universe, and I’m personally super excited to be able to begin reading these works, as soon as I can find them all. I’ve done my best to link what I could immediately find, but some of the mentioned stories were unavailable... potentially due to changes in usernames? (That said... if anyone knows of the works indicated here, that I haven’t provided a link for, please do share!) This article, by the way, was written recently... in 2020! It’s very current, and it covers a few stories that were still being actively updated during the pandemic. The focus of this article is less so on canon (or really just the Anne/Gilbert pairing), though, and seems to prefer demonstrating the versatility of mixing relationships (Anne and Emily, for one!) and the wider more general universe-building aspects (the entanglements of future generations/Anne’s grandchildren) that fans have been expounding on for nothing less than decades.

Okay, here we go! xx

Continuing Stories: L.M. Montgomery and Fanfiction in the Digital Era by Balaka Basu

Fanfiction – the recreational (re)writing of texts – is a literary genre of rapidly growing significance. Abigail Derecho in her brief history of fanfiction identifies it as “a genre that has a long history of appealing to women and minorities, minorities, individuals on the cultural margins who used archontic writing as a means to express not only their narrative creativity, but their criticisms of social and political inequities as well.”

Insightfully defined by Francesca Coppa and Mary Ellen Curtin as “speculative fiction about character,” fanfiction can be even more precisely understood as fantasies about the diegetic positioning of characters in the context of various settings, communities, relationships both textual and paratextual, and eventually all manner of cultural mythologies.

Kristina Busse and Karen Hellekson describe the production of fanfiction as “part collaboration and part response to not only the source text, but also the cultural context within and outside the fannish community in which it is produced.”

They point out that the shift in the method of dissemination of fanfiction from newsletters and zines to internet archives means that “ever-younger fans who previously would not have had access to the fannish culture except through their parents can now enter the fan space effortlessly; financial resources have become less of a concern because access to a computer is the only prerequisite; and national boundaries and time zones have ceased to limit fannish interaction.”

The nature of fanfiction allows participants to cross-generational and socio-economic boundaries in an ongoing exchange of responses to a source text with which they share a fascination, developing new texts that in turn elicit their own responses. While the creation of fanfiction is evidence of an affective, loving, communal relationship with the source text, this genre of writing is still dismissed in many quarters as overly emotional, purely erotic, and even perverse, a type of amateur and immature engagement with popular texts that produces writing necessarily divorced from literary significance. Produced in staggeringly vast quantities by subcultures with complex vocabularies and traditions that can intimidate the casual reader, fanfiction is perceived by many to be more of a cultural practice than a literary genre, variously denigrated for its pornographic potential and its lack of originality. However, close examination reveals that fan writers are able to create a critical dialogue with the originating author in acts of communal storytelling that incorporate allusions and reference points to which other dedicated fan readers and writers may respond.

In this chapter, after examining how L.M. Montgomery and her writer heroine Emily themselves engage in practices now associated with fanfiction, I survey four forms of fanfiction that remove Montgomery’s novels from her seemingly idyllic and timeless island settings, contextualizing her characters and plots within history and other genres: the sequel set during the Second World War, the modern AU (alternate universe), the gap-filler, and the slash fic, all of which allow the young readers who grow up with her novels to engage in dialogue with the stories they love, a type of literary conversation that Montgomery herself models within her texts. Emily’s reading, which is active rather than passive, resembles twenty-first-century fans’ ownership of the texts they love, provoking creative responses. For instance, after reading works by Lord Tennyson, Elizabeth Barrett Browning, and Matthew Arnold, Emily writes, “Teddy lent me 3 books of poetry. One of them was Tennyson and I have learned The Bugle Song off by heart so I will always have it. One was Mrs. Browning. She is lovely. I would like to meet her. I suppose I will when I die but that may be a long time away. The other was just one poem called Sohrab and Rustum. After I went to bed I cried over it. Aunt Elizabeth said ‘what are you sniffling about?’ I wasn’t sniffling – I was weeping sore … I couldn’t go to sleep until I had thought out a different end for it – a happy one.”

The reactions Emily catalogues are those of the fan; they are viscerally felt in the body and attempt to dissolve the boundary between author and reader, producer and consumer. She inscribes Tennyson within her heart in order to possess the poem she loves; she creates a relationship between Barrett Browning and herself; and, most significantly, she interjects her own desired happy ending into Arnold’s tragic narrative, a corrective desire that is at the core of many works of fanfiction. Emily’s diaries and her story reflect Montgomery’s own experiences from childhood to adulthood as reader, writer, and reader-turned-writer discussed in the introduction to this volume. Depicting Emily as a voracious reader and a life-writer like herself, Montgomery places the child Emily’s voice in conversation with that of the narrator through Emily’s letters to her dead father in Emily of New Moon and through her diary entries in Emily Climbs and Emily’s Quest, creating a form of joint authorship that is referenced explicitly in “Salad Days,” the second chapter of Emily Climbs: “book is not going to be wholly, or even mainly, made up of extracts from Emily’s diary; but, by way of linking up matters unimportant enough for a chapter in themselves, and yet necessary for a proper understanding of her personality and environment, I am going to include some more of them. Besides, when one has material ready to hand, why not use it?”

The narrator’s willingness to use the “material” that is “ready to hand” reflects Montgomery’s and Emily’s practices, and also validates other writers’ use of the material Montgomery places at their disposal. As with many fans, Emily’s reading frequently makes itself felt within her writing.

Like Montgomery, Emily learns her trade through mimicry, from her first poem in blank verse inspired by James Thomson’s Seasons to her unwitting imitation of Kipling that is pointed out by her teacher, Mr Carpenter, in his review of her work. Like Sara Stanley of The Story Girl, whose compelling and fascinating stories are rarely if ever original, Emily is a fan of the oral traditions of her community, incorporating and building upon them in her own writing, transforming and recreating, for instance, the story of “The Woman Who Spanked the King” in Emily Climbs.

The retelling and versioning that Emily practises signal her immense admiration for the source texts she adapts, just as the creation of fanfiction does for Montgomery’s readership and fans. The possibilities inherent in versioning and adaptation are illustrated in Emily’s Quest. When Montgomery depicts Emily undertaking the reworking of someone else’s narrative, she is adapting an episode from her own experience while working for The Echo in Halifax, which she records in her journal. Montgomery, like Emily, was asked to create an ending for a serialized story, “A Royal Betrothal,” after compositors had misplaced the original text.

Like Emily, she claims that her “knowledge of royal love affairs [was] limited,” and that she was unaccustomed “to write with flippant levity of kings and queens.” Nevertheless, Montgomery manages to create a conclusion that passes muster, since “as yet nobody has guessed where the ‘seam’ comes in.” She is, however, curious about the original author’s reaction to her unauthorized adaptation, and while she never discovers this in real life, she does imagine it in her fiction when she introduces Mark Greaves, who is horrified by Emily’s new ending for the story but enchanted by its author. Neither Montgomery nor Emily engages in this sort of writing from a place of fandom; they have no previous attachment to “A Royal Betrothal,” and both are writing professionally. Nevertheless, the ability to solve the puzzle of the story and the weaving of their work into an already extant text are the very project of fanfiction: ludic narrative composition that recalls the way children play make-believe with the narratives they love, reworking and extending them. It is telling that Montgomery uses the metaphor of the “seam” to describe this particular craft. Jane Dawkins, writing about her fanfiction, which is inspired by Jane Austen, describes her fan novel Letters from Pemberley as “an old-fashioned patchwork quilt, where in place of the scraps of fabric reminding one of the favorite frocks or shirts whence they came, there is a line or a phrase or a sentence from one of [the original] books or letters stitched alongside the lesser scraps of my own manufacture.”

Montgomery’s final book, framed by the two world wars, is just such a patchwork sequel, albeit providing only brief glimpses of the characters that readers met as children and who have now grown older. When a version of the book was published in 1974 as The Road to Yesterday, these glimpses, lacking the interstitial materials, became even briefer, mirroring the more forced insertion of beloved characters that the two earlier collections, Chronicles of Avonlea and Further Chronicles of Avonlea, display. Only two of Anne’s grandchildren – Gilbert Ford and Walter Blythe – are obliquely referred to, in the story “A Commonplace Woman,” where an unpleasant young doctor reflects on both of them as potential rivals for the affection of a beautiful girl he himself hopes to pursue.

However, the full novel, The Blythes Are Quoted, published in 2009 and comprised of short stories about the people in Glen St Mary and over the harbour, is interspersed with poetry by both a young Walter and an adult Anne. The poems are cut with tiny slices of dialogue that suggest the continuing lives of fans’ favourite characters and how they might have developed. In “‘Dragged at Anne’s Chariot Wheels’: L.M. Montgomery and the Sequels to Anne of Green Gables,” Carole Gerson notes the mixture of feelings from pleasure to frustration that Montgomery records in her journals as she prepares to write her first sequel.

While Montgomery wrote the first installments of her various series out of inspiration, she was certainly aware of what her market desired from subsequent installments. She often regretted the necessity of marrying off her characters, but was aware that her fans demanded this conventional outcome for the characters they had come to love; these traditionally romantic endings, when not offered by Montgomery herself at the instigation of her publishers, are regularly deployed by contemporary fanfiction authors building on the source texts.

Indeed, long before the original structure of The Blythes Are Quoted was revealed to readers in Benjamin Lefebvre’s afterword, fanfiction writers were spinning off lengthy narratives that included a third generation of young Blythes, Fords, and Merediths dealing with the onslaught of the Second World War. While earlier installments in the Anne series – such as Anne of Green Gables and Anne’s House of Dreams – depict the deaths of Matthew, Anne and Gilbert’s first daughter (Joyce), and Captain Jim, Walter’s death in Rilla of Ingleside is somehow more striking. Unlike Matthew and Captain Jim, he has not yet had time to grow old; unlike Joyce, readers have had opportunities to get to know him as a child in Rainbow Valley and as he grows into young adulthood in Rilla of Ingleside. His death is unnatural and, therefore, all the more horrifying. These two aspects of Rilla of Ingleside – the evocation of history by a nostalgic fictional world that is still tied to real time and the use of high drama, tragedy, and romance – provide fanfiction authors with a model they can use to appeal to the emotions of those readers who are immersed in the next generation of Montgomery characters.

The Second World War, then, provides an entry point into the series for fanfiction authors, who can deploy real history coupled with beloved characters to create a tale that feels absolutely authentic. One example of this is a short story, “The Pen and the Sword,” written in 2007 by MarnaNightingale. Here, mimicking the style of Dorothy L. Sayers’s The Wimsey Papers (a series of Spectator articles published between 1939 and 1940, which interestingly also continue the story of First World War–era characters during the Second World War), MarnaNightingale employs epistolary excerpts and newspaper articles to tell the story of a family going through the horrors of war for a second time. Grounding her fragmented story – like The Blythes Are Quoted, a mixture of genres – in the accounts of novelist Mollie Panter-Downes (1939) and war correspondents Ernie Pyle (1940) and Ross Munro of the Canadian Press (1941), whose articles are attributed to Kenneth Ford, she offers a story that, like Rilla of Ingleside, is anchored to the historical moment, while also nostalgically focusing on the character development that comes from Gilbert Ford’s death, Rilla’s and Faith’s reactions to the war, and the lives of their children. Here war also serves as an opportunity for new experiences, particularly for women and children: Rilla takes a factory job as a machinist, liking it better than working in Carter Flagg’s store; one of Anne’s grandchildren, Susan, plans to be a doctor; and Faith, who worked as a Voluntary Aid Detachment nurse in the First World War, mentions how she can sympathize. As well, the daily tidbits that flavour the pages of Rilla of Ingleside are there: one article, attributed to Anne, includes the recipe for Susan Baker’s war bread, reminding readers of the problems of wartime rationing, even in the Americas. Real life events – like the Canadian forces trying (and failing) to make a beachhead at Dieppe – arouse the passions of the reader. Unlike Austen – who also famously wrote of three or four families in a country town, but kept the Napoleonic wars firmly in the shadows – Montgomery brings the passions and high drama of the world stage into the sleepy villages of Prince Edward Island, which inspire fanfiction spinoffs.

The long novel Cecilia of Red Apple Farm, by a fan author who posts under the pseudonym ruby gillis, also directly reworks passages and scenes from the whole range of Anne books, set in the late-nineteenth century, to The Blythes Are Quoted, set in the early years of the Second World War, to highlight the similarity between her new generation of characters and their ancestors. Cecilia is the daughter of Una Meredith and Shirley Blythe (characters often married off in fanfiction). Like MarnaNightingale, ruby gillis provides period flavouring in the styles of dresses and behaviour and in references to 1940s popular films and songs. Simultaneously, this setting offers new opportunities to her female character: Cecilia wants to be a doctor, and rather than staying in Canada, she joins up to be a nurse in England. She has a series of romances – one with Sid Gardiner (before he marries May Binnie), and one with her cousin Blythe Meredith, who is this generation’s poet – before finally ending up with Marshall Douglas (the son of Mary Vance). Just as Anne initially refuses Gilbert Blythe in favour of Roy Gardner’s resemblance to her ideal man in Anne of the Island, ruby gillis’s Cecilia is fooled by the allure of Sid and Blythe as Roy Gardner–like romantic heroes into believing that she does not truly love her fun, practical, “Gilbert-esque” friend. Published in 2004, Cecilia of Red Apple Farm further illustrates the opportunities presented by reusing and reworking a body of texts through its incorporation of Montgomery’s poem “I Wish You” as the work of Blythe Meredith. Montgomery includes this poem and attributes it to Anne in The Blythes Are Quoted, although ruby gillis could not have known this when writing. The repetition of names and circumstances might seem derivative, but for readers who have read and reread the original books so many times, the extension of the story world is prized, even if – perhaps even because of – its callbacks to the original text. Due to the tendency of fans to fixate on “the good bits” in a reread, these parts can be taken for the whole.

Austen fanfiction demonstrates this aptly. Indeed, Helen Fielding’s second Bridget Jones novel, Bridget Jones and the Edge of Reason (1999), illustrates just such a reading of Pride and Prejudice: she shows Bridget, a fan, watching the scene from the 1995 mini-series in which Darcy, dripping in a wet see-through shirt, exits the lake, and then rewinding and rewatching the scene multiple times. How many times might a similar fan reread Walter’s letter from Courcelette? This repeated reviewing of selected portions can replace the amplitude of the original novel. With this delimited focus, narrative is no longer seen as a progression, but as a single moment of pleasure, sustained as long as possible. Reading the Second World War as a repetitive sequel to the First World War further highlights this possibility.

Even Montgomery seems to do so, as demonstrated in The Blythes Are Quoted, with its new generation of characters confusingly named after the old: Walter, Jem, Rilla, Di, Anne, and Gilbert. A variation on Marah Gubar’s kinship model, this kind of continuation highlights the blurred boundaries between child and adult characters who are literally related to one another and whose adventures mimic one another.

In a third example of fanfiction set during the Second World War, Weeping May Tarry, a long novel by ElouiseBates, Meggie, the heroine, is Shirley’s daughter (and also, surprisingly, Paul Irving’s granddaughter). In this story, which like Cecilia of Red Apple Farm is an installment of a longer series, Meggie is sent off to a conservatory of music to study singing, aptly combining the traditions of the nostalgic boarding-school novel with “Girl’s Own” wartime fiction. Following the tradition of Magic for Marigold, which explicitly suggests in its second chapter that the Murrays of Blair Water and the Lesleys of Cloud of Spruce exist in the same universe, @e-louise-bates (like many other fanfiction authors, including ruby gillis) suggests that all of Montgomery’s characters exist in a single universe: Meggie partners briefly with the grandson of Sara Stanley (The Story Girl and The Golden Road) and is close friends with Jane Stuart (Jane of Lantern Hill).

Going even further, @e-louise-bates introduces the grandchildren of the What Katy Did series as friends for Meggie and includes Betsy from Dorothy Canfield Fisher’s Understood Betsy as Bruce Meredith’s wife, creating a world where all the characters of early-twentieth-century girls’ fiction seem to have truly lived, where their descendants must cope with victory gardens and dances with soldiers at the Exhibition Grounds, and where kisses are much more commonplace than they once were.

These particular continuers of Montgomery are also desirous of membership in the community of her fans, seeing their literary endeavours as productive of approval from a fellow readership. Likewise, the novels are notable for their sociality – they seem to offer the reader not only a fantasy friendship with the characters themselves but also the very real society of fellow readers of the works. Thus, these fan authors attempt to diversify their stories so that they represent contemporary beliefs regarding multiculturalism; ruby gillis, for instance, introduces into the family by way of marriage a French girl who has had to flee the Nazis due to being Jewish, a situation Montgomery and her contemporaries might have had some difficulty accepting, considering early-twentieth-century attitudes toward interreligious marriage and Montgomery’s othering of the German-Jewish peddler who sells Anne green hair dye.

The Second World War thus offers writers of Montgomery fanfiction the loom on which to weave new, more diverse stories, even as The Blythes Are Quoted, which also traces the characters’ reactions to this new war, demonstrates how these readers-turned-writers followed Montgomery’s own trajectory, not knowing that they were doing so. On the subject of fanfiction, young-adult author Patricia C. Wrede writes: “The thing that fascinates me about fanfiction, though, is the way that it models the decision tree that writers go through (whether consciously or unconsciously) to get to their final product. For those of us who do this part mostly unconsciously, it can be interesting and instructing to see the multitude of alternate paths that a story could have taken, all laid out more-or-less neatly in different authors’ fanfics [… taking a slightly different fork in the road] resulting in the plot veering in a completely new direction. Friends become enemies; enemies become friends; goals and objectives and results shift and change.” Within these pieces of fanfiction, then, fan writers are able to follow these decision trees with subsequent generations of characters as well.

Another avenue of access occurs when fan authors transpose historical narratives into the contemporary moment. Perhaps the best-known example of this modern alternate universe [AU] conversion is the television program Sherlock, which takes Arthur Conan Doyle’s Victorian detective into the twenty-first century. While new cultural contexts appear, the essence of character is meant to be retained. Just as Sherlock uses text messages and blogs to substitute for telegraphs and handwritten journals, fans of Montgomery reimagine the relationships between her characters as if they were taking place online.

For instance, “Work in Progress” (2012) by verity postulates a friendship between Montgomery’s most famous heroines, Anne and Emily. In this piece of fanfiction, Emily circumvents Aunt Elizabeth’s injunction against fiction during her time at Shrewsbury High by becoming a blogger who is restricted to the “truth.” The story’s online summary, a part of which reads “Anne rolls her eyes. ‘Is your aunt really going to know if you cheat on your nonfiction with some hot prose on the side?’” shows how the story preserves the character qualities that Montgomery laid out, complete with references to the Murray pride and Anne’s orphanhood. Mr Carpenter’s admonitions are spelled out at the beginning of the story:

“Emily Byrd Starr has a sticky note on her desktop. It reads:

ITALICS

CAPITALS

!!!!!

“just”

“really”

CTRL+F!

It is almost like having Mr Carpenter in the room with her.”

Verity creates humour through the juxtaposition of contemporary social media and allusions to Montgomery’s source text. Another story by verity detailing Rilla’s romance with Ken Ford and her friendship with Una Meredith, “Rilla of Toronto,” takes place mainly through instant messages. In this story, Rilla reflects on her life from eighteen to twenty-five, tracing a continuum from her child self to her new adulthood, underscored by verity’s translation of Montgomery’s work into contemporary millennial language.

A third type of fanfiction narrative, the gap-filler, focuses on and expands the implications of the source texts. Moira Walley-Beckett’s Netflix/CBC series Anne with an “E,” as Laura Robinson shows in chapter 12 of this volume, is somewhat fanfictional in and of itself: as Robinson points out, the show fills gaps by bringing to the fore the darker currents that have always been beneath the seemingly untroubled waters of Anne of Green Gables, including Anne’s potential post-traumatic stress disorder from the disturbing life she led before coming to Green Gables. This kind of versioning and adaptation tacitly permits fan authors to feel that their versions are just as valid as those produced by professionals. Gap-fillers frequently expand on romantic pairings and in fandom are often referred to by portmanteaux of characters’ names that perpetuate some inside joke or work as puns. “Shirbert” – a moniker for Anne and Gilbert – is the latter, and demonstrates how fans posting on sites like Archive of Our Own (Ao3), Fanfiction.net, and Wattpad (this last generally populated by younger fans) develop their own language to identify their stories within the community for which they write.

One such story, “You caught me staring, but I caught you staring back,” by Anuka, clearly inspired more by the television series than the novels, begins with an author’s note that reads, “I decided to write some fluff for these two, because I need more Shirbert moments, and season 2 is so far away. I added gifs to make it more vivid.” Here, the romance between Anne and Gilbert as depicted by Montgomery and Walley-Beckett is not sufficient for the reader-turned-writer. Anuka wants the gaps in the narrative to be more fully explored than they are on either page or screen and to be made more “vivid” by the inclusion of images that help make the story come alive.

Similarly, “Rilla Blythe’s Wedding: A Not Entirely Comprehensive Account” by Scylla also fills a gap: Rilla and Ken’s wedding day, a scene that Montgomery leaves to the reader’s imagination at the end of Rilla of Ingleside. Modelled upon other accounts of weddings within Montgomery’s fiction, the story also suggests that accounts of Walter’s death have been gravely exaggerated, as he makes a stunning appearance at his sister’s wedding. In order to align her work with Montgomery’s novel, Scylla ensures that Little Dog Monday’s awareness of Walter’s death remains, but makes it only a technicality, writing, “His heart had stopped for a full ten seconds – long enough for his Captain to feel for his empty pulse and for Dog Monday to be jolted with the fullness of his death. Little dogs, after all, can only have tender dogs’ hearts. Grief to Dog Monday was an all-consuming thing, and when Walter’s heart began to beat once more, he was deaf to its spark of joy.” After meeting with his eldest sister, Joyce, in heaven – which is, as he had always hoped, Rainbow Valley, Walter is returned to life so that he may write of peace as well as war (as he did when he was a boy), marry Una, and repair the broken hearts of readers who did not want to lose him.

While heterosexual pairings are the most prevalent in Montgomery fandom, there is room for queer imaginings as well.

This very popular genre of fanfiction, known as “slash,” is generally defined as stories that centre on samesex romances between characters, particularly between men. Montgomery slash fiction usually stars Walter Blythe.

One slash story, “but i don’t know who you are” by @freyafrida, imagines a bisexual Walter. Told in an enduringly popular sub-genre of fanfiction often referred to as Five Things Plus One (which involves a series of thematically linked but not necessarily chronological scenes), the story is summarized by @freyafrida as “Five people Walter thought he wanted, and one person he didn’t notice until it was too late.”

This last person is original to Montgomery’s text: Una, whose apparently unreturned attraction to Walter is woven through Rilla of Ingleside. The other five potential partners are all alluded to as Walter’s close friends, beginning in childhood with Alice Parker from Anne of Ingleside and Pat Brewster from The Blythes Are Quoted and then carrying on through adolescence and young adulthood with Faith Meredith, Ken Ford, and finally Paul Irving from Anne of Avonlea. While his feelings for Faith and Ken are clearly unrequited, Alice, Pat, and Paul all express their own desire for Walter. The inclusion of the famous poet and Walter’s “model” uncle, Paul Irving, in particular, particular, illustrates how traits of sensitivity and aesthetic appreciation that challenge traditional ideas about masculinity are frequently interpreted as queer by fan readers and writers.

In another slash fiction, cero_ate’s “The Moving Finger Writes, and Having Writ Moves On,” Walter discovers his homosexuality while fighting in Europe:

He wrote half truths and lies once more, when he wrote his Rilla that he could not form poems of the depths of the war. For who could write his sister of the phallic love he had found? He had found his reason in a tow-headed American boy. He meant so much more to Walter than mere friendship could explain. He wanted to write, as sweethearts write, of the tempest of joy in the darkest night. But how would they understand? How would they even try to understand he sought not the Dark Lady of Shakespeare but the youth, fair and Wilde? When he was presented with Una’s faithful heart, he spurned it. When his tow-headed darling presented his own, Walter took it, greedy for him. His grecian style love, the boy who’s [sic] eyes danced, even in the darkest of days. He would do anything to keep him safe. But he could not present him to his family, for their scorn or pity. War had broken him, but made him as well.

While male/male pairings are generally the most popular stories in fandoms, Montgomery’s novels, peopled as they are by communities of girls and women, require that readers who want to queer the text must explore what is called femslash (that is, slash fiction featuring two female characters).

Such relationships have been explored within the academic setting. For instance, Laura Robinson remarks in “Bosom Friends: Lesbian Desire and the Anne Books,” that the relationship between Anne and Diana uses “the language that readers associate with adult romantic love rather than girlhood affections,” even as it is expressed through the heterosexual paradigm of marriage.

One fanfiction author, ArcticLava21, makes it clear that such fan written stories are not speculation but instead address key issues of representation. The author’s note to ArcticLava21’s short Anne/Diana story, “Nature,” reads, “Hello everybody! Hope your [sic] having a wonderful day. Before anyone yells at me for ‘sexualizing platonic friendships’ please note that this is for all those queer kids who grew up pretending. Pretending that he ended up with him instead of her, or desperately wanted representation. Are we good? <3 Enjoy yourselves lovely people.” The intended audience of the story, “queer kids who grew up,” again establishes the transgenerational kinship between Montgomery’s child and adult fans.

All fan fiction, shared on the Internet, exist in dialogue not just with Montgomery’s fiction but with the author herself, and between the fans who read the novels as children and adolescents and the adults that these readers become.

Whether fan writers extend the narrative or fill gaps, transpose chronology or to queer the text, these pieces of fanfiction allow fans not only to insert themselves into the narrative, but also simultaneously to revivify the original novels, published a century ago. In performing interventions to the text, Montgomery’s young fans grow up to reply to the discussions that she began long ago in the pages of her journals and stories, ensuring that all three – author, reader, and text – are continually reborn into a conversation that will never end.

#any typos here are all mine 😑#apologies because i’m sure there’s so many… i’m just bleary-eyed from the screen time it took to type this guy up!#like #why didn’t i just get the kindle version #lucy maud montgomery #fan fiction #anne of green gables #emily of new moon #too many individually referenced characters to tag here really!

51 notes · View notes

cloudsspoke · 11 months

Text

¿La Scaloneta? Una poesía muy buena ~

Some heated, hilarious, and heartwarming moments when the boys meet each other as a rival ⚔️

↳ Previously on “¿La Scaloneta? Una familia (part 1)”

Nico: No estaría mal que Leo se coma una patadita Caro: NOOOO

Le dije que no se tenía que enojar porque fue todo pelota. Después se reía porque sabe que se tiró al pedo. Tenemos una gran relación con Ale, son cosas del Partido y quedan ahí - Cuti Romero's interview with Sofi Martinez

↳ Context: Mac was actually upset that Brighton lost because he felt injustice from the Ref’s decision

🔴 Enzo (Benfica) vs Messi (PSG): two legs UCL game all draw, vs Di Maria-Paredes (Juventus): two legs UCL game all won

🔵 Meanwhile, Chelsea’s Enzo vs Cuti – Licha-Garnacho – Julian – Mac Allister – Dibu: all LOSE 😭

Sad to know we don’t get to see Cuti vs Licha during the Spurs clash against United because of Licha’s injury, but at least we get to see Juli-Enzo together once again 💕

FROM THIS >>>> TO THIS

I'm not crying, you are :')

🟥 El Huevo got a red card that prevented him from playing in the Final match

The hard pill from having “The All-Argentinian Final” 😔

The more (Muchachos play in the same team), the better 💕

⚽ Molina dedicated his goal to Angelito Correa (who missed the game due to the death of his beloved Mother)

Is this even legal to have 5 Argentines in 1 club 😭😭

Lisandro Martinez es como mi padre - Garnacho on MUTV

In September, if all is well and Ten Haag is nice to us, let’s hope to see these two together play for Argentina, as what a stroke of bad luck that we had when in March it was Garnacho who couldn’t join the squad during the 1st FMD, and last month we missed Licha when Garnacho made his debut 😩

⚫⚪ Being Juventini for 20 years I’m happy both of them left the club, especially after Juventus’ point deduction that made them couldn’t participate in any Europe competition. And although to me they playing there is like a failed project aka wrong decision, at least I got to see Di Maria scored a hattrick (Sofascore rating solid perfect 10) and Paredes also got MOTM with his superb free kick goal (against Lecce) ⚽

⭐⭐⭐

2022/2023 Season wrap-up:

CONGRATULATIONS:

Lautaro & Tucu for winning Super Coppa and Coppa Italia 2022-23 (Lautaro scored in both final matches) 🏆🏆

Licha & Garnacho for winning Carabao Cup 2022-23 🏆

Messi for winning Ligue1 2022-23 🏆

Gio Simone for winning Serie A 2022-23 🏆

Otamendi for winning La Primeira Liga 2022-23 🏆

Montiel, Acuña, Papu, Lamela, & Ocampos for Winning UEL 2022-23 🏆

Manu Lanzini for winning UECL 2022-23 🏆

↳ Not to mention Brighton & Hove Albion who finished #6 which makes them qualified for UEL Group Stage 👏 and Aston Villa (#7) who for the 1st time in 12 years have qualified for European competition (UECL Qualifier) 👏

Finally and above all, triple applause for ‘La Araña que pica’ Julian for winning the Treble [EPL-FA Cup-UCL] with City 🏆🏆🏆

🕸️

📌 Honorable mention from me goes to Facu Medina:

MAN IS ON A MISSION 🤭

We were talking, you know what Leo is as a person and as a player. To be honest, I congratulated him and thanked him for the World Cup - Facu Medina on his chat with Messi after the game @ SC_ESPN

⭐⭐⭐

👋 if you enjoy reading this post you can also click here to similar posts I have already made:

(1) Little Things I Love from La Scaloneta

(2) Hilarious & Heartwarming stories about La Scaloneta

(3) Crackhead Muchachos

(4) Full thread about AFA's Tournament de Truco

(5) Full thread about Players' room arrangement (¿Quién duerme con quién?) + more gifs about Messi and the gang

Coming up next: Argentina FMD + Holiday picts, stay tuned 😉

38 notes · View notes

fabiochampioraro · 4 months

Note

No aspè, non sapevo nulla di sta cosa delle farfalle, puoi spiegare?

certo che posso anon, scusa se sarà una risposta un po' lunghina.

Allora...in primis la ginnastica ritmica è uno sport che ricerca la perfezione e richiede ore di duro allenamento (in genere almeno 6/8 per 6 giorni a settimana) e per performare al meglio, e non infortunarsi, bisogna essere più o meno in un range di peso. Non so se hai familiarità con come funziona la nazionale di ritmica, il gruppo (a differenza delle individualiste che si allenano nei loro club fino alle gare) è formato a Desio da ginnaste provenienti da diverse società scelte dall' allenatrice.

La suddetta allenatrice è dal 1996 Emanuela Maccarani. Con lei la squadra ha iniziato vincere molto, ma anni fa hanno cominciato ad uscire cose abbastanza problematic presentate come niente di che. Ad esempio nel suo libro "la farfalla dell'est" Anželika Savrajuk ha scritto che veniva punita se la domenica, suo giorno libero, la vedevano fare dei piccoli sgarri nella dieta tipo mangiare un gelato.

Il botto è avvenuto nel 2019, quando Anna Basta (plurimedagliata mondiale, europea, coppa del mondo) si è ritirata a soli 19 anni, nella ritmica si è senior a 16, ancora relativamente giovane. Poco dopo ha cominciato a parlare del suo problema di anoressia, pubblicando anche sui vecchi messaggi a sua madre ai tempi della nazionale, rivelando di essere stata così depressa da arrivare a pensare di togliersi la vita, il tutto senza che le sue ex compagne dicessero nulla, anzi l'hanno unfollowata passando da super amiche, sorelle, famiglia a paria.

Negli stessi anni altre giovani ginnaste passate da individualiste alla squadra da poco si sono ritirate misteriosamente. Nel 2022 Anna Basta, Nina Corradini e poi anche Giulia Galtarossa hanno deciso di denunciare sia pubblicamente con un' intervista sia al tribunale coni gli abusi ricevuti dalla maccarani e l' assistente tishina. L' attuale squadra ha risposto a queste accuse praticamente accusando chi ha avuto il coraggio di parlare di averlo fatto solo perché non erano abbastanza brave da arrivare in alto (incredibile lo so) e di essere invidiose, che loro erano quelle che stavano soffrendo.

Il tutto è finito in un niente dato che la sentenza è stata che gli abusi erano "per troppo amore", si hai letto bene, e la maccarani è ancora lì ad allenare ricevendo i più alti riconoscimenti dalla federazione.

Oltre ai detti abusi maccarani ha sempre avuto un ego enorme, spesso quando la squadra non vince l'oro per lei è colpa dei giudici biased verso altri paesi, e cerca di far ricadere il, raro, riflettore sulla ritmica solo sulla squadra e non sulle individualiste. Per fare ciò ha portato o dato più attrezzi ad individualiste meno forti al posto di altre, tolto spazi ad allenatrici delle individualiste tipo Spela Dragas dell' udinese o Julietta Cantaluppi di fabriano che dopo aver allenato Raffaeli che ha vinto ori e medaglie a world cups, europei e mondiali si è talmente rotta che è andata ad allenare all'estero.

Spero di essere stata abbastanza comprensibile, se hai altre domande sono qui.

#sanremo 2024 #sanremo #rhythmic gymnastics #rg

6 notes · View notes

raffaeleitlodeo · 4 months

Text

Il mondo del calcio mi è incomprensibile. Celebra Gigi Riva e la sua orgogliosa, generosa scelta sarda … e intanto si gioca la super coppa a Riad. Graziella Priulla, Facebook

6 notes · View notes

daughter-of-sapph0 · 2 years

Text

have you people ever heard of Zammis fucking Clark? let me tell you all a wild story about my favorite hacker, aka, SlipStream

so this guy hacked vtech in 2015 (vtech makes kids electronics and smart devices) and stole the data of over 6 million kids by complete accident.

the hacker, known as slipstream, found that vtech's website was using fucking abode flash for their logging page, which is notoriously bad because of its vulnerability to sql injections, which basically means putting malicious code in the box instead of your password. and it fucking worked. he had root access, and downloaded as much as he could before disconnecting. it was only afterwards when he realized he had collected the data of millions of users. emails, passwords, home addresses, full names, and tons of texts and videos sent by children who were on average 7 years old! slipstream basically went "holy fucking shit this is so bad! this is a serious fucking coppa violation! I need to report this immediately!!!" so he contacted a reporter who contacted a friend to verify that the leak was legit. and after like a week of trying to contact vtech, the reporter finally got through, and vtech said they didn't even know about the attack until they were contacted. what the actual fuck

so the news gets out. vtech is in serious hot water. they shut down their servers completely for two weeks, and also secretly update their tos to say "hey if we get hacked and your data gets stolen, it's your fault for trusting us and you are not allowed to sue us. okay? :)" slipstream eventually gets tracked down and arrested by the English authorities, but is released with basically just a slap on the wrist as it's a first time offense and he hadn't sold any data nor had any intention to sell the data. vtech, also basically got a slap on the wrist from the us government. for having a highly vulnerable website, collecting the data of children under 12, not notifying the parents, and not encrypting any of the data, what are they forced to pay for this serious violation of privacy? 10 cents per kid. that's it. that's how much the us government considers your private and personal data to be worth.

anyway, that was 2015. what happened since then? well vtech is still a profitable company for some fucking reason. they claim to have undated their security, but I fucking doubt that. what about slipstream? well he went on to have a normal career and give up on hacking forever... I'm fucking lieing! he hacked mother fucking Microsoft! he leaked press releases, emails, and development versions of unreleased operating systems!

and then he went on to hack Nintendo in their biggest leak of all time, known as the Gigaleak. yes, THAT Gigaleak! the same Gigaleak that gave us so much information of development versions of Mario, Zelda, Pokemon, and more. the same Gigaleak that showed off never before seen beta content. the same Gigaleak that confirmed that Luigi was planned but unfortunately cut from Super Mario 64! that Gigaleak.

he was again arrested, this time by europol, but didn't go to prison because he was autistic and they were worried about his safety. so they let him free without any computer or internet restrictions. and guess what he does. he (allegedly) hacks fucking North Korea and leaks their operating system Red Star OS 3.0, which has been so secret that before slipstream's leak, we had only a few blurry screenshots of it! (I say allegedly, because Wikipedia doesn't have a citation, but I'm pretty sure it's true as other sources for the leak cite his twitter username)

so yeah, that's the story of SlipStream. a guy who hacked multi billion dollar international corporations and god damn North Korea, all before the age of 25

#dostxt #SlipStream

106 notes · View notes

ilpianistasultetto · 1 year

Text

Oggi, finalmente, ho ricevuto la prima bolletta elettricita' in epoca Meloni. Bim ottobre-novembre, 227 euro contro i 57 del bim agosto-settembre, a parita' di kw, 350...quattro volte tanto. Stessa sorte sara' per la bolletta gas quando arrivera'. Se ci metto 200 euro in piu' di mutuo dato dall'aumento dei tassi d'interesse e altri 100 euro per l'aumento del carrello della spesa, siamo a 500 euro di costi mensili in piu; 6000 euro l'anno. Due belle vacanze in meno tra Londra e Parigi o la retta universitaria annua per due figli, o 6 anni di ceck-sanitari o 60 super-cene al ristorante in compagnia di amici. Credo questa sia la situazione di almeno meta' paese. Ora, se questo a molti tifosi di Donna Giorgia fa dire " Quanto e' bella Giorgia, che brava mamma che e' ( visto che sbandiera la figlia sui social come un marocchino la bandiera nella semifinale di coppa del mondo), che bello seguirla mentre racconta il Diario di Giorgia" sono contento e auguro loro di cuore questa condizione e questo entusiasmo per tanti prossimi anni. Mi spiace solo per chi non batte le mani e capisce che sta vivendo un gran periodo di merda.

@ilpianistasultetto

52 notes · View notes

petello993 · 4 months

Text

Super coppa italiana ?

Giocata in Arabia da 2 squadre dove il 90% dei giocatori NON è italiano, dove una squadra è di proprieta di un presidente straniero....

Dove, per il minuto di silenzio per un giocstore che ha fatto la storia del calcio italiano si sentono i fischi del pubblico...

Non capisco cosa ci sia di italiano in tutto questo !

2 notes · View notes

theladyorlando · 9 months

Text

Il Viaggiatore Notturno

Un viaggio di ritorno dalla bellezza. Così, Maurizio Maggiani la chiama per nome, non la nasconde dietro metafore. Il suo viaggiatore notturno ha cercato la bellezza sui polpastrelli, l'ha voluta proprio toccare. Finché lo leggo, quasi ci guardiamo con Maggiani e ci chiediamo: esiste allora la bellezza? posso sentirla sulla punta delle mie dita, come questo telefono su cui scrivo? posso tenerla nelle mani a coppa, come se raccogliessi acqua a una fontana? posso guardarla negli occhi? ma soprattutto: cosa lascia quel tocco sulle mie mani una volta che loro sono tornate ad essere vuote? cosa mi lascia la bellezza vissuta, on my fingertips? toccare la bellezza, e poi vedere cosa resta di lei: questa è la storia di questo libro. Il protagonista è un irundologo che aspetta l'arrivo della rondine comune in mezzo a un deserto. E immerso in questa attesa, in questa assenza totale di contatto fisico con le rondini e con gli uomini, lui ricorda invece tutte le volte in cui quelle mani hanno toccato, si sono riempite significativamente del bello: sono diventate un nido. Le rondini sono il bello, e così anche l'orsa Amapola, che lui incontra anni prima di quel deserto, in mezzo ai boschi delle Alpi: è una rondine anche lei, addormentata tra le sue mani. E infine, la Perfetta. Lei è la bellezza. Completa, rotonda. Lui la trova ferita, la porta in salvo e le tiene il viso tra le mani, come aveva già fatto con le rondini, come aveva fatto con Amapola. Ma la Perfetta è la somma di tutta la bellezza che esiste al mondo, ed è lì, per un attimo, tra le sue mani, come l'acqua che uno raccoglie alla fontana. Neanche si capiscono, lui e quella donna, ma non ce n'è affatto bisogno: loro si toccano, che altro serve? Non importa se ora lui è solo, nel deserto. Non ha bisogno neanche di pensarci, alla bellezza: loro si sono toccati, e lei è la Perfetta, lo seguirà ovunque lui si trovi, sulle spalle, come un saio, anche in mezzo a quella solitudine, a quel silenzio, a quell'assenza: lui è per sempre toccato dalla bellezza, anche nel deserto.

Io ultimamente ho toccato ben poca bellezza e ne ho guadagnato, con sorpresa, un terribile super potere. Ho guardato talmente tanto il brutto da vicino, che ormai quasi non mi spaventa più. Ma questo non è ancora il potere. È una cosa singolare quella che mi succede, se penso alla persona che io ero prima: perché io ero quella persona che al primo linfonodo ingrossato, al primo colpo di tosse sospetta, al primo sudore precoce di bambina, si tuffa in un mare di forum-salute, quelli in cui non risponde mai l'ombra di un medico vero, per capirci, e riemerge dopo giorni di vero terrore con una laura ad honorem: ematologia, bronco-pneumologia, endocrinologia pediatrica. Esattamente come Neo in Matrix: conosco il Kung fu. Ecco, uguale. Ho passato la vita nel terrore della malattia, che mi sono sempre figurata nella mia testa come un macigno che ti cade dal cielo, senza intelligenza, ciecamente. Così ho camminato tutti i giorni con la testa incassata nelle spalle, sperando che quella mia attesa del macigno, quella mia consapevolezza della sua esistenza nell'aria potesse in qualche modo salvarmi, o almeno farmi trovare pronta: il pensiero magico. Ho pensato per anni, tutti i santi giorni, al terremoto, perché io lo sento prima di tutti, sono peggio di un gatto, e sono terrorizzata da lui, dallo sciame sismico che si lascia dietro. Di nuovo, il pensiero magico. Sono esagerata, mi dicevano tutti: ho troppa paura, dai. E invece ora che quel macigno ha colpito così ciecamente io ho sviluppato, o ne ho guadagnato, un super potere. Ho scoperto di avere il potere di rovinare un pranzo di famiglia, una riunione di amici, un aperitivo, semplicemente rispondendo alla domanda: "'come va?". Perché io sono testimone del brutto, e posso rovinarti il pranzo apparecchiandotelo tutto sotto agli occhi: il brutto, quello senza intelligenza. Mi ha colpita e ho perso la paura di lui. Qualche volta in questi mesi ho persino desiderato sentire una scossetta di terremoto. Piccola o grande. Tanto non ho più paura. E lo vado perfezionando, quel potere, perché ogni giorno divento una testimone più accurata. Quando mia figlia mi chiede a tavola cos'è una metastasi, e tutti i commensali mi guardano muti lasciando che sia io a rispondere, il potere aumenta. E a volte, questo è bello e inconfessabile insieme, provo piacere ad usarlo contro gli altri: contro quelli che non mi aiutano a rispondere a mia figlia. Contro quelli che ora hanno negli occhi la paura, gliela leggo benissimo, quando mi chiedono come va: ti prego abbi pietà di me. Come va? Provo un certo gusto perverso ad infliggere il brutto a chi mi diceva esagerata quando confessavo ingenuamente di avere paura dei temporali. Un giorno un fulmine scoperchierà casa a tutti, e mi sentirete ridere di gusto.

E invece lo voglio ancora toccare, il bello. Nonostante il mio superpotere, mi ritrovo ancora a sperare di fargli un nido con le mani. Come l'irundologo di Maggiani, voglio sentire il tocco della bellezza sulla punta delle mie dita: voglio conoscere la sua Perfetta Intelligenza. Allora, adesso che ho finito il libro, adesso che sono proprio sola, devo chiedermelo di nuovo: esiste la bellezza? E me lo chiedo nel reparto di radioterapia oncologica, davanti a un avviso per donne incinte o in allattamento: si prega di rivolgersi a un medico dell'ambulatorio prima di procedere alla radioterapia. E quindi, dicevamo: esiste la bellezza? Davvero? Io l'ho toccata la tua bellezza oppure quello che ho sentito era solo il calore che lasci dietro di te, quando passi, quando te ne vai? Posso dire di averti toccato con le mie mani, oppure esiste solo quel vuoto dentro di loro, e basta? Questa prospettiva per me, quella della assenza per sempre garantita, degli oggetti che sono caldi solo del calore delle mie mani, è esattamente il contrario della bellezza: come una donna incinta che deve fare radioterapia: ma è mai possibile? Mi fa venire voglia di urlare dal dolore, quanto è stupida questa cosa? quanto manca di intelligenza? e quanto posso affinare il mio potere, non c'è un limite? Sono tornata a casa ho trovato una canzone che mi ha risposto. È la canzone che si trova sul frontespizio del romanzo di Maggiani, Suzanne, di Leonard Cohen. È sempre stata lì, la risposta: toccare la bellezza, come si fa? Per forza con le mani? Come si fa se siamo destinati ad avere le mani vuote? Ecco, c'era scritto lì, almeno così voglio credere, ancora prima che il viaggiatore iniziasse il suo viaggio, ancora prima che tornasse da quello.

But just when you mean to tell her

That you have no love to give her

Then she gets you on her wavelenght

And she lets the river answer

That you've always been her lover

And you want to travel with her

You want to travel blind

And you know that you can trust her

Cause she's touched your perfect body with her mind.

#Maggiani #illustration #literature #poetry #viaggiatore notturno #amapola

3 notes · View notes