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@sociofame
#SOCIOFAME. an independent & private writing blog for dr. wendy carr from fincher’s mindhunter. 18+, selective, mutuals only. highly triggering themes ahead, proceed with caution. first established in the august of 2019, revamped many times since. written by meg (she/they, 23, gmt).
slides. pinterest. spotify. sideblog.
ellie is quick to realise she's out of practice, between her courseload and lab hours, there hasn't been much time for anything else. the third time she reverts the conversation back to her research, she forces herself to pause, "god, sorry, you must get enough people trying to bother you about their research. i don't mean to be another."
starter call | @sociofame
"you're passionate about it, at least." wendy can only shrug, the corners of her mouth quirking upward as she tries to stifle a lazy smile. "usually it's psychological research that i'm badgered about, which gets very tiring very quickly." an explanation that she would not often feel the need to give, but she likes ellie, and it works out in the young woman's favour. "i'm learning about something i don't know much about, which is always a plus." and with that comes the unspoken addendum, that there is not much which wendy does not know much about.
emily winces. "i can relate." a depressing statement, considering her job: but she does love her job. it's just that her job takes up ninety percent of her life. the other ten percent is certified weird.
"oh, books! i do books!"
"at least we can call it an occupational hazard." she is deadpan as ever, though the wry smile that is desperately trying to break through colours her a little less serious. "i'd be a little worried if you didn't." wendy would like to be able to say that she's not a judgemental person, but it's just not true, and she cannot wrap her head around people who do not read. "any kind of books in particular, or are you a ... an equal opportunist?"
"what's your forte, then?" @bauresurrected volleys back at her, and it takes all of her strength not to heave a sigh in response. but that would be terribly rude, wouldn't it? she's never been too bothered in the past about being perceived as rude, she's nearly preferred it, in fact – but she knows she ought to play nice, so an effort is made. "my job, mostly." sad, really, when she's forced to think about what her hobbies and interests really are beyond the confines of her office. "the american realism art movement, i suppose. and maybe early twentieth century english lit, at a push."
longlegs gave me such wendy muse it's actually ridiculous
a docuseries that is literally about the real woman who inspired wendy's character ... oh this was made specifically for me huh
howdy friends, saw a tiktok that was like “sometimes i forget that the lecturers and tutors that teach me in uni are literally celebrities in their field” and it made me think of wendy so 🤠
@sociofame liked for a holiday starter.
tim passes along a second glass of champagne. ❛❛ you looked like you could use an out! ❜❜ he tells her, and it's just loud enough to be heard against whatever new song's been ushered in by the party. ( lou monte, perhaps? they're all starting to blend ) ❛❛ is it usually like this? ❜❜ the holiday get-togethers, he means. not that he minds – not really. tim's simply grateful for the invitation.
"i'm in your debt." the very closest thing to gratitude is what flashes across her face in that moment, grasp closing tightly around the offered flute of bubbly just as she wafts out of previous company, insipid as it's been, and into tim's far more agreeable one. "just when i thought i had gotten used to these washington types, they manage to surprise me." dry and droll, perhaps to be considered a classic new england intellectual response: either way, she's eternally thankful to no longer be explaining the grounded theory method to a bunch of meathead g-men. "unfortunately, yes. we're just lucky the peppermint schnapps hasn't been broken out yet."
holding my own face in my own hands and screaming “there is no connection without an open heart! you must be brave! you must be honest! you must be true!” in the mirror
wendy’s the type who was called an old soul and mature for her age and a ‘old lady in an x year old’s body’ from like the age 8 onwards and i think that explains. a lot about her
house hooks a thumb over his shoulder. ❛ really? then whose steaming pile of shit did i just step in back there? ❜ his money's on the skinny kid with the bad tie. women like wendy carr possessed something of an innate talent for reducing little boys like holden ford to the smallest of sizes. if he'd have known there was going to be a show, he wouldn't have taken the scenic route. fingers and chin return to their rest. ❛ devilishly good-looking? ... tall? ❜ he knows, of course, having two good eyes and finely-tuned senses of observation. but if he spent his days outing every tom, dick, and sally on this, their good ship lollipop, where would he find the time to rib them with a little tongue-in-cheek innuendo? ❛ stop – ❜ he says plainly. ❛ you'll ruin my new pants. ❜
"someone who does things for good reasons, i'd wager." if there's the slightest upturn of her nose at that, it's surely just a figment of the imagination; don't get her wrong, for the most part, and at best, she likes the boys. at worst, she tolerates their company, with or without a slew of mental complaints and criticisms that occasionally (read: 50/50) get verbalised. she's far from a saint, is what she's trying to imply, and rarely does she ever do something simply, entirely, wholly for the greater good if it does not also assist her in some way or another. "cantankerous cynics." the sparkle in her eyes says all it needs to, a sense of joking honesty and yet ... appreciation, also. wendy's no fool, and she's not going to insult house by assuming he's one just like the boys just beyond the office walls. "shame i'm not a freud fan, then, i could make you the star subject of a new study."
@sociofame: are you suggesting i had something to do with it?
❛ does a chicken have a pecker? ❜ in the doorway, the doctor offers a shift in his gait, fingers readjusting across the head of his cane. ❛ let me guess – ❜ head tilts, eyes narrow. he begins across the floor. ❛ you had a good reason, right? ' this one's for all the who's who in who-ville, doc. ' ❜ house exhales as he sinks down into the opposite chair. settling for what's meant to be comfort, he leans forward by the small of his back, both hands crossed now over the wooden arch. his chin comes next, perching thoughtfully as his brows shoot upward. ❛ you know, usually when i'm being fucked, i like a little romancing beforehand. thick russian accent and the burly promises of kielbasa – that tends to do the trick. ❜
"i'm a psychologist, not a veterinarian." she's being deliberately and irritatingly obtuse, one of her favourite (and most common) ways to act when it regards house. she sloooowly turns herself around in her swivel chair, legs doing their usual ritual of crossing, uncrossing, and re-crossing. a terribly predictable individual is the good doctor carr, a fact that she bristles at but does little to contradict. "relax, house, you're not my type." her smirk only grows, but it's far from smug (it's the closest she's capable to smiling when it comes to the vast majority of people). "most i can offer you is a subpar swedish accent and bland meatballs."
❝ WE ARE PRODUCTS OF OUR PAST BUT WE DON'T HAVE TO BE PRISONERS OF IT. ❞
" easy for you to say, you're an author & have a life. " your tongue sharp & your gaze so far off that you may as well be somewhere else. your own name is now your burden––– physically bound to you by the scar across your neck. it is a bruise, it is a chokehold & thus it is your prison cell. hobbs... " isn't perception like an imprisonment? reputation or whatever? " if so, you have a life sentence [ a daughter punished for the sins of her father. to what extent could this other woman understand? ]
" you... used your past to become something real & someone respectable. my past is––– " voice trails off, vaguely dripping in annoyance, or is it jealousy? at the life @sociofame made for herself. you can almost see it for yourself, the scar just a scar & your name just a name, but the picture is fuzzy, & any frustration seems to burrow itself deep inside you in the form of disappointment instead. " never mind. "
"you're allowed be frustrated. upset. angry." her voice cuts, tersely, through the silence that falls between them like a blade. she studies abigail like she might a psychological report, eyes laying heavily over her, one part judgement and two parts intrigue. the chair she sits on creaks in protest as she leans further back into it, making clear that she's not leaving anytime soon––not until she's satisfied with her visit and what all she stands to gain from it.
"your past is just that. yours." wendy allows for a beat to punctuate her words, to drive her point home. "people will never see more than what they want to see. i've learned there's little point in relenting to expectations that i don't meet." a calculated little shrug of her shoulders, then, accentuated by the structured shoulders of her blazer, polished as ever. "it may be cliche, but we can't let our pasts dictate our futures, miss hobbs."
the devil tree - jerzy kosinskt / i know what you think of me - tim kreider / the first bad man - miranda july / variation on the word sleep - margaret atwood / here yet be dragons -lucille clifton / what being a sexy worker taught me about men - melissa petro / the powerbook - jeanette winterson / blasted - sarah kane / the archer - taylor swift / strange gods - roxane gay
PICNIC AT HANGING ROCK (2018) Natalie Dormer as Mrs Hester Appleyard
𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐡𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐚𝐬𝐦 is tamed, if not snuffed out entirely. lips twisting in shame, knowing he had probably come on too strong and talked too much. if only hotch or morgan had been there to suppress his . . . what was that word derek used? oh, nerdiness. perhaps he could have toned it down several notches, kept some sort of self respect intact.
reid taps a gentle finger against the leather strap of his bag, brow lifting at her inquiry. “ i’m doctor spencer reid, ” a small, brief wave as quick as his introduction. well, really it’s just an open, lateral hand that appears for a second. “ i could let you take a look at the article if you like, i have a copy of it at home. ” then, a small pause as if to test the waters because he doesn’t want to be too straightforward. “ do you know when your first day is? ”
a flash of recognition, then, the name ringing a bell in more ways than one; though she immediately notes the blink-and-you'll-miss-it wave that she's given in lieu of the more typical handshake. "ah." if it strikes her as strange (it doesn't), she makes no mention of it, simply filing it away as something to remember about a soon-to-be colleague. that thought alone causes her stomach to churn, but whether it's unease or anticipation that sets it off, wendy has yet to figure out.
"this coming monday, i think." she barely nods, a sort of confirmation of her own answer. it's increasingly hard to believe that she's leaving behind her ivory tower of academia for law enforcement after all these years, even if not in the most typical of senses. feels a bit like a betrayal to her own principles and convictions from time to time, but she's doing it for a noble reason and for intellectual purposes – her involvement is in more of an advisory capacity than anything. that's what she just has to keep telling herself. "the director wanted to give me more time to properly settle in and find my bearings here in virginia, but the sooner i can get to work the better." boston may have been her home for almost twenty years, but too many of her memories of it are tinged and smeared with emotions that she doesn't want to deal with. quantico will be a welcome clean slate, wendy thinks.
