#also if you completely removed both characters from the respective series right now not many would bat an eye | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

gimme-mor · 3 years

Text

ACOTAR THINK PIECE: ELAIN ARCHERON, UNTOUCHABLE

*DISCLAIMER*

This will be a long post.

Please take the time to read this post in its entirety and truly reflect on the message I am trying to send before commenting. My goal is to use my background in Gender and Women’s Studies to deconstruct the comments I have seen on Tumblr and Twitter and bring awareness to the ACOTAR fandom.

The reason I am tagging “Elriel” in this post is to call attention to the arguments in the Elriel fandom that: weaponize Elain’s femalehood to shame real life people for their opinions about Elain’s character and her relationship with Lucien; victimize Elain’s character in fandom discussions; and coddle Elain’s character, which limits fandom discussions about her narrative development and prevents the ACOTAR fandom from holding Elain accountable for her actions and inactions in the same way that the fandom holds other characters accountable for their actions and inactions. It is for these reasons that I WILL NOT remove the “Elriel” tag from this post because all of the above points contribute to the toxic discourse surrounding Elain’s character.

I urge those who use these arguments to understand their implications, why they are problematic, regardless of intent, and reexamine their contributions to the ACOTAR fandom. I WILL NOT tolerate anyone who tries to twist my words and say I am attacking people and their personal shipping preferences. In fact, I AM CRITIQUING THE ARGUMENTS THEMSELVES NOT THE PEOPLE USING THE ARGUMENTS.

Also, I highly encourage the Elriel fandom to read this post because it addresses how the concept of choice as an argument enables arguments to exploit social justice and feminist languge in order to vilify Elucien shippers, among other problematic things.

Elain Archeron is one of the most polarizing characters in the ACOTAR fandom. Though opinions about Elain vary, arguments in the Elriel fandom cite society’s perception of traditional female characters in comparison to non-traditional female characters as the reason behind the hate, and this belief is used to provide an explanation as to why other characters in the series are favored over her. In the series, Elain is portrayed in a wholly positive light and this image carries over into the Elriel fandom, painting her character as a good and kind female who has been unfairly wronged and a victim of circumstances that were out of her control. When arguments in the Elriel fandom oppose other viewpoints in the fandom, they fall into one of three categories:

Category 1: Weaponize Elain’s femalehood to shame real life people for their opinions

Maybe people who hate Elain are just jealous of her in a weird way similar to when someone hates the pretty, nice, and charming girl in school just because she is too perfect

Disliking Elain is misogynistic

What happened to feminism? What happened to women supporting women? What happened to she can say no? All of that disappears the second you force Elain to be with Lucien

Elain antis are misogynistic

All Eluciens are Elain antis

Antis claiming they’re feminists when in reality they hate on Elain and Feyre but love Nesta

Elain antis are such sore losers. Y’all were that bunch of people who could not get over being rejected from hanging out with the cool kids so y’all are projecting your hatred towards pretty people now to get validation

I don’t get how Elain’s love for gardening equals boring for some people. I’m sorry your misogyny finds traditionally feminine activities boring

Why are you attacking a female? What did Elain do? Where are your feminist voices?

The fandom is misogynistic towards Elain

If people loved Elain they would ship Elriel

If you hate Elain it says a lot about your feelings toward women

If you hate Elain because she has no “development” then you must hate Azriel because otherwise you’re misogynistic

Eluciens are turned off by the idea of a woman that has the autonomy to reject a man for the simple reason that it is her choice

Eluciens are all about feminism and “it’s HER choice” until it comes down to females not wanting a male

Eluciens don’t respect Elain’s feelings when they ship her with someone that was part of her trauma and makes her feel uncomfortable

The way some Elucien shippers completely disregard how uncomfortable Elain is around Lucien is so hilariously not funny. Prioritizing being mates over Elain’s feelings is just regressive

It’s hard as a fan of Elain to see someone ship her with a person who makes her physically uncomfortable to be around. Wouldn’t you want both characters to be happy to be around each other

Imagine if SJM saw all the awful things her “stans” had to say about Elain

It’s true that we know comparatively little about her, but is she really boring or do you just not value stereotypically feminine traits?

So y’all are just gonna tell me you prefer Elucien over Elriel? Even though Lucien treats Elain as if she’s something that belongs to him? The only reason he wants to be with her is because she’s his mate, he doesn’t respect her, doesn’t treat her as his equal, even though that’s what mates should be? He doesn’t bother to look past what’s on the outside to see her for who she is. And Elain is obviously repulsed by the idea that she should belong to anyone or have no choice in who she can be with. Azriel is her friend and the only person who sees her quiet strength. He has so much faith in her, in her abilities; he’s the one who kept her company when no one else did, he’s the only one who bothered to see her for more than her brokenness. You’re going to tell me you still prefer Elucien over Elriel?

The more I see Gwynriels that ship Elucien out of their hate for Elain, the less I can understand Elain stans that ship Elucien. Pls Elain has made it very clear that she doesn’t want Lucien, why would you ship her with him? Do you hate her too? Smh

The real question would be, if you care and understand Elain why would you ship her with Lucien (where she canonically shrinks when he is near)?

People crying over Helion and Lucien’s mom not getting to be with each other and her being forced into a relationship she didn’t want, but also ship Elucien? Just say you hate Elain

When Elain’s book is out, Gwyn stans will look like clowns and I will laugh because they set her up by shipping her with Azriel just because they hate Elain. Watch them play the victims now because Elriels are clapping back the hate they’ve sent towards Elain

As romantic as wanting girl who is visibly uncomfortable around a guy who caused her trauma to end up with the said guy. Guess their standards for romance are in hell

Category 2: Victimize Elain’s character

Gwynriels only want Gwyn with Azriel because they despise Elain

Gwyn stans and Gwynriels are Elain antis

No one in the books dislike Elain, so why are there so many people who do?

Elain hasn’t done anything wrong or questionable to warrant the hate she gets

Not having Elain’s POV makes it easy for people to be swayed a certain way about her character if you already don’t relate to her in some way

It’s been years since this series came out and we haven’t gotten a lick of an Elain POV, but people still hate her for what? We don’t know her thoughts, dreams, or aspirations

We haven’t even had Elain’s perspective yet and people are passing these judgments off on her

Elain antis who say she’s boring are just cruel when she has obvious symptoms of PTSD like Feyre and Nesta

Gwyn is one of the most overhyped characters and that’s only because most people hate Elain and they couldn’t wait to find a random girl to ship Azriel with

Nesta was abusive to her sisters but Elain (who has only ever been kind) is painted as the villain

From the text we know that Elain is the epitome of feminine stereotypes (gentle, gardening, baking, non confrontational for the most part). Yet people still call her boring or deny that she has any interesting character traits?

You can’t love Nesta and hate Elain

People hate Elain because of internalized misogyny and lack of taste. All the girl does is tend to her garden and mind her business and they treat her worse than Tamlin

Does Gwyn deserve all this support? Of course yes! She is amazing! But where’s that support when Elain was in the same situation as she? Where’s that support for her right now? Why do they idolize Gwyn for her interactions with Azriel and hate Elain for having any interaction with him?

It’s not even a ship war anymore, they just hate Elain

People hate Elain for no reason

Some of y’all don’t like feminine traits and it shows

We know less about Eris and Helion but people don’t call them boring. Why would rejecting femininity make Elain more interesting?

Elain has had a lot forced upon her

The main reason I believe most people love Gwyn so much is to get Azriel away from Elain. It’s not a secret that Elain has been a widely hated character for years so suddenly we get a new female who has a minimal amount of interactions with Azriel and BOOM. New ship that once again doesn’t make sense (just like Azriel x Emerie after ACOFAS)

Elain hasn’t done something so terrible for her to get this hate. At this point some of you are just being misogynistic and you don’t want to accept it. Don’t call yourselves feminists and then say bs like this, it’s embarrassing. She’s pretty and everyone agreed to hate on her

Just a personal feeling, but I feel like a lot of the Elain hate stems from internalized misogyny. That to be a strong female lead, you need to pick up a sword and fight. That to be strong, you need to adapt traditionally masculine traits

Elain is feminine. She is beautiful. She loves to bake and garden. She is docile, quiet, observant, and a people-pleaser. All traditionally feminine traits. Yet for some reason, she’s like the worst in these people’s eyes?

I think also maybe a lot of people can’t relate to her femininity? That her being so beautiful and quiet doesn’t allow for the people who dislike her not to self-insert? Most of the hate stems from people not wanting Elain to be with Azriel. It’s mean, but maybe the people who hate Elain literally just can’t self-insert if they have a story and that’s why they’re vehemently against it?

Poor Elain. The Cauldron dealt her a bad deal. Upon emerging as Fae, she is immediately declared by Lucien as his mate, never mind that she was already engaged to a prick. Her love life is not good

It blows my mind how they really think that they can compare all the shit that Elain gets with some dumb jokes about Gwyn on Twitter (and yes, the “hate” towards her started mostly because Elriels are clapping back, it was bound to happen)

I would think of it as anti-feminist with Elain and Lucien because she has consistently stated that she does not want him so if she was forced to embrace the bond that would be taking away her right to have a choice but with Az she feels comfortable around so if they were mates then Elain would be happy and feel safe which again should be the priority for women to feel safe in their relationships with anything and to not be forced into any type of situation aka the mating bond in this

Category 3: Coddle Elain’s character

Elain has value the way she is, in all her domestic girly glory. Not every character has to be badass

We don’t speak of Elain’s flaws frequently because everyone else already speaks badly of her, mainly in an unfair way

There is definitely something deeper going on with Elain but by no means will she ever be evil or any less feminine. That goes against everything we already know about her

It’s ok to critique Elain because she needs growth but y’all keep forgetting the shit her and her sisters went through

The last “bad” thing Elain did in ACOTAR was not help Feyre when they were impoverished and I’m tired of people acting like she’s a terrible character when it was their father’s responsibility. It happened 4 books ago and Feyre has forgiven both Nesta and Elain

Elain’s character and the evil Elain theory are a great example of the trend where people only consider female characters interesting if they reject femininity

We don’t know enough to hate Elain

Many people want Elain to turn evil (which in my opinion seems to come from a place of internalized misogyny)

However we don’t tend to talk about her faults, at least not publicly, as that has been, and still is, done to death, and I--personally, at least--find it much more fun to theorise about potentially interesting aspects of the overall plot, than dwell on negatives

And ultimately, I would be shocked if Elain has a more karmically-charged story than Nesta, considering that Elain’s “wrongs” are so much less severe and bad than Nesta’s, and Elain has already apologized for them (or paid the price in other ways, like through what Graysen did)

I guess I also think Elain has suffered and been punished enough. I hope her story is about finding hope in terrible situations, and learning to love her new life, and choosing her own path after everything that has been done to her. I don’t think she needs to be punished anymore or face any additional trauma

Also, why is she being judged on her decisions as a human at all? Fae are monsters to humans! They enslaved them for thousands of years, and the Wall was erected to keep them out

Like I’m sorry, but think Elain would want to leave her ONLY FAMILY AND FRIENDS for the Spring Court where she has no one because--oh look, lots of flowers!--is the craziest thing I have ever heard

Her sisters are in the Night Court. Her nephew is in the Night Court. Her closest friends (Nuala and Cerridwen) are in the Night Court. Her love interest is in the Night Court. Her extended family is in the Night Court. Her home is in the Night Court

SJM isn’t going to keep two sisters together and split up the third. Especially not keep Feyre and Nesta together and separate Elain. They were either all going to end up in separate places, or together. Not 2 here and 1 there

Compared to the other female characters in the series, Elain is the only character whose femalehood is at the center of conversations; this is because arguments in the Elriel fandom fixate on it when discussing her character. While Elain, Feyre, Nesta, and Mor are all representations of white womanhood and white beauty, Elain epitomizes the most fragile version of white womanhood. It’s easy to blame society’s perception of traditional female characters in comparison to non-traditional female characters when it comes to the discourse surrounding Elain’s character because it: falls in line with the fixation on Elain’s femalehood to silence opposing viewpoints; is a simplistic explanation that fails to tackle the underlying issues with Elain as a character, the same issues that are downplayed in-universe; absolves Elain of her wrongdoings; prevents the ACOTAR fandom from holding Elain accountable for her actions and inactions within the series; and diminishes the impact Elain’s actions and inactions have on those around her. It’s not that Elain is hated in the fandom because she’s a traditional female character; it’s the fact that arguments in the Elriel fandom deflect a critical analysis of Elain’s character because she’s a traditional female character who embodies the ideal white woman in need of protection. White fans and white-aligned fans of color, especially white women, have a tendency to vehemently defend, gatekeep, and coddle white female characters in fandom; this makes it difficult for other fans to engage in critical discussions about these white female characters because they’re viewed as flawless and all around perfect characters despite evidence to the contrary. Since Elain is viewed positively by the other characters in the series, it has rendered her character untouchable to any perceived slight or criticism in fandom discussions because those negative opinions challenge what has been said about her character thus far. And as a result, her character has been placed on a pedestal and implicitly hailed as the epitome of white womanhood; and when she’s criticized, it’s seen as a direct attack against white womanhood. Arguments in the Elriel fandom: exploit feminist language and perpetuate white feminist tactics under the guise of defending Elain’s character; center Elain in conversations about female oppression in the ACOTAR world and uphold white feminist ideologies in their critique of ACOTAR’s patriarchal society; and use the fragile white woman narrative to victimize Elain in Lucien’s presence, playing into racial biases that are associated with white supremacy’s defense of white womanhood.

Feminism is a social movement that seeks to promote equality and equity to all genders, and feminists work toward eradicating gender disparities on a macro-level, in addition to challenging gender biases on a micro-level. As feminism became more mainstream, a flat and oversimplified version of feminism emerged: mainstream feminism. The mainstream feminist movement is meant to represent all women, but rarely does it center conversations around issues that concern most women. The problem with mainstream feminism is that it’s just a popularized version of white feminism. White feminism has relied extensively on an individualized understanding of women’s oppression, exclusively from the lens of privileged white women. White feminism only focuses on the oppression experienced by white, able-bodied, affluent, educated, cishet women; and it views gender as the key mode of privileged white women’s oppression, isolated from the privileges granted by their other social identities. White women can be and are oppressed under the patriarchy but only because they are women; their identity as women does not exempt them from the privileges granted by their whiteness. The term white feminist does not mean any feminist who is white, but refers to feminists who prioritize the concerns of privileged white women as though they are representative of all women. However, the term is not exclusive to white people. Because white feminism is so pervasive, people of other racial and ethnic backgrounds often buy into white feminism, believing that if they work hard enough, they may be able to reap its rewards.

Just like white feminism, mainstream feminism only recognizes the identity of being a woman, assumes that all women share common experiences of gender oppression, fails to address other social identities in relation to overlapping systems of oppression, and disregards privilege in relation to various social identities. Just like white feminism, mainstream feminism is palatable because it doesn’t seek to challenge the systems in place, instead its goal is to succeed within them. Essentially, mainstream feminism and white feminism are extensions of performative feminism. Performative feminism is a type of performative activism that’s used to describe feminist views that are surface level and solely for the benefit of one type of person. It’s a pretense which often has nothing to do with genuine activism. Arguments in the Elriel fandom normalize and promote performative feminism because the topic of feminism is only referenced when discussing Elain. This indicates that these arguments are engaging in disingenuous discourse to push a personal agenda within the ACOTAR fandom, and it becomes more apparent when they use white feminist tactics to shut down opposing viewpoints:

White feminists weaponize and exploit feminist language to silence the opinions of other women, especially when they’re called out for their problematic behaviors

White feminists use the phrase “Women supporting women” to defend other white feminists who exhibit problematic behaviors instead of holding them accountable

White feminists weaponize phrases like “Women supporting women” and “You just hate women” to attack other women who disagree with them on any given topic

White feminists use phrases like “All women face challenges” and “Stop pitting women against each other” to sidestep conversations about privilege

White feminists divert conversations away from privilege and towards the Trauma Olympics to equate their struggles to the oppression of marginalized people

White feminists skirt around the realities of other forms of oppression and discrimination, downplaying the experiences of marginalized people

White feminists diminish or ignore the ways in which gender oppression affects other marginalized people

White feminists paint those they harmed as aggressive, mean, or divisive when confronted with the ways they have harmed a marginalized group

White feminists deflect criticism by focusing on the anger or emotions being expressed rather than the issue that is being discussed, invalidating the concerns of marginalized people

White feminists speak over marginalized voices in an attempt to sound “woke”

White feminists get defensive and insist there’s no way they could be a part of the problem because of what they’ve done to help marginalized groups already

White feminists say they don’t see color in an attempt to obscure racial issues that need to be addressed

White feminists center and victimize themselves in conversations about racism, which derails necessary conversations from taking place

White feminists who are white weaponize the intersectionality of their race and gender to avoid accountability

Feminism is not meant to be approached from an individualistic perspective nor is it only about addressing the experiences of privileged white women, it involves addressing the intersections of race, class, gender, sexuality, (dis)ability, and other social identities as well; and it involves addressing how these social identities relate to privilege. Moreover, feminism is not about women upholding complete loyalty to other women because of a shared gender identity, and to claim that it does implies that women should be held to different emotional standards than men. If men are able to dislike and criticize other individual men, real or fictional, without their characters being compromised, why aren’t women granted that same privilege?

It’s clear that SJM set up the ACOTAR world to mirror a patriarchal society, and that the imbalance of power between males and females stems from sexism. Arguments in the Elriel fandom analyze the ACOTAR world through a feminist lens to show how ACOTAR’s patriarchal society, to which the mating bond is innately tied, contributes to female oppression and limits their agency. When choice and free will are emphasized as part of Elain’s arc, they imply that Elain, through the mating bond, experiences female oppression under ACOTAR’s patriarchal society because of her identity as a female with that identity being the focal point of her oppression in the world. Elain is one of the most privileged characters in the ACOTAR world: she’s High Fae; she’s the sister of the High Lord and High Lady of the Night Court, which gives her access to wealth and political influence because of that connection; she’s able-bodied; she was magically blessed by the Cauldron; and she lives in Velaris, a place that grants females autonomy and power because of the beliefs of Rhysand and Feyre. Arguments in the Elriel fandom trivialize female oppression in the ACOTAR world because they disregard the fact that Elain’s privileges prevent her from experiencing female oppression in the same way that other marginalized females in the world do. The mating bond being one such example because those around Elain are not forcing the bond on her, instead they’re allowing Elain to reach a decision about the bond for herself; a privilege that other marginalized females in the world probably wouldn’t have. Just because Elain has endured hardships in her life and is a female in a patriarchal society, they do not erase the privileges she holds within the ACOTAR world. The failure to include Elain’s privileges in discussions about Elain being a female in a patriarchal society feeds into white feminist ideologies because white feminism operates from a very narrow perspective; it doesn’t take other intersecting identities into account when it examines gender oppression, leaving no room for discussions about privilege (or lack thereof) in relation to those intersecting identities. When discussing oppression in hierarchical societies, it’s imperative that privilege is also included in the conversation because privilege and oppression are not mutually exclusive; they equally affect the ways in which people navigate those societies through their social identities.

Rather than attributing Elain’s uncomfortability to her new life as a Fae female or the mating bond itself and her trauma to the Cauldron, the King of Hybern, or Ianthe, they’re placed on Lucien to cast his character in a negative light. Moreover, fandom discussions portray Lucien as a possessive character to further emphasize Elain’s discomfort despite the inaccuracy of this characterization in canon. Arguments in the Elriel fandom play into racial biases when it comes to Lucien (a male character of color) because they mischaracterize his character in order to victimize Elain (a white female character), placing her character in the role of the white damsel in distress. In Western society, the concept of womanhood has been conceptualized from a Eurocentric perspective with femininity and feminine attributes favoring white women. It’s the idea that a certain type of femininity is only inherent to white women as they are seen as the embodiment of an ideal womanhood. White womanhood has been a symbol of innocence and purity, and white women have been viewed as fragile beings in need of protection. The reason white womanhood functions within white supremacy is because it’s the same idea that has motivated white men to kill and beat black and brown men. The so-called protection of white women has been used as a justification for the horrific violence committed by white men because black and brown men were stereotyped as aggressive and seen as a threat to the virtue of white women. The white damsel in distress trope considered white women as worthy of protection because of their perceived innocence and purity; women of color were not granted that same treatment because they did not fit into the ideal image of womanhood. Over the years, this trope became a means for white women to exercise limited power in a patriarchal society with white women weaponizing their status as the damsel much to the detriment of black and brown men. It’s through the white damsel in distress trope that white supremacy sustains its dominance in Western society. The misrepresentation of characters of color in fandom, the dismissal of their importance to the overall story, and using them as tools in arguments centered around white characters are the foundation of fandom racism; they’re examples of how racism moves silently in fandom spaces. Instead of examining their behavior and taking constructive criticism from fans of color, white fans will often double down on their bigotry and center their uncomfortability in the conversation when confronted with their complicity in fandom racism. White fans expect fans of color to swallow fandom racism in its many forms in order to not ruin the experience of fandom, dismissing the fact that racism is prevalent in nearly every aspect of society. This mentality ensures that no one is held accountable for the harm they caused and alienates fans of color in fandom spaces.

To reiterate what I mentioned in my first think piece: terms like “oppression”, “the right to choose”, “feminist”, “feminism”, “anti-feminist”, “anti-feminism”, “internalized misogyny”, “misogyny”, “misogynist”, “sexist”, “sexism”, “racist”, “racism”, “classist”, “classism”, “discrimination”, and “patriarchy” are all used in specific ways to draw attention to the plight of marginalized people and challenge those who deny the existence of systems of oppression. Yet these words and their meanings can be twisted to attack, exclude, and invalidate people with differing opinions on any given topic. When social justice and feminist terms are thrown around antagonistically and carelessly to push a personal agenda, it becomes clear that these terms are being used to engage in disingenuous discourse and pursue personal validation rather than being used out of any deep-seated conviction to dismantle systemic oppression. Being an ally, activist, or feminist is not an identity, it’s a practice. It requires: ongoing self-reflection; holding ourselves accountable; listening to marginalized people; educating ourselves; dismantling implicit biases; challenging those around us who are exhibiting problematic behaviors; and action behind our words.

It’s important to be aware of the language that is used within the fandom when defending or critiquing characters and ships. It’s also important to question how an argument is framed and why it’s framed the way that it is to critically examine the intent behind that argument: is it used as a tool to push a personal agenda that reinforces problematic behaviors, or is it used as an opportunity to share, learn, enlighten, and educate?

-----------

Tagging: @spell-cleavers @bookofmirth @m0bulidae @ilya-boltagon

#elain archeron #elriel #acotar fandom #acotar: fandom critical

334 notes · View notes

wiypt-writes · 3 years

Text

Murder, He Wrote

Part 6.

Summary: Ransom and you attend a wake for his great-nanna Wanetta, with the rest of his family. The knives are out, and they’re sharp…

Warnings: Bad language words. MATURE (NSFW 18+) NON-CON situation, kidnap, violence. DO NOT READ IF ANY OF THOSE TRIGGER… READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!!!!

Pairing: DARK! Ransom Drysdale x Reader

A/N: So here it is, the penultimate chapter to this series! One more to go post this, plus an epilogue. I can’t believe it’s almost over…

Word Count: 9.5k (oops)

READ THE WARNINGS!!!! This is a DARK Series… don’t @ us if you can’t follow simple instructions and end up with butt-hurt. And if you’re under 18…get off my blog.

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and by writing it does NOT mean I agree with or condone the acts contained within. This fiction is classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar reader and any other OCs that may or may not be mentioned. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Murder, He Wrote Masterlist // Main Masterlist.

Part 5

You'd managed to get through Christmas fairly well. The days leading up, Ransom had been a little suspiciously sneaky but you didn't give it a second thought, really. Things between you and your captor were more than amicable, they were pleasant. But, despite the cohabitation and this new found demeanour in him, Ransom wasn't above reminding you that you were still under his eye. And under his eye you were indeed, all day long. He watched you as you read, as you cooked, as you wrote in your journal. Oddly, not once showing interest in your musings but working away on his own.

Christmas morning, the two of you had spent a few lazy hours in bed, Ransom waking you with kisses over your bare skin, stripped down and tired from the evening before where he worked you over until you couldn't move, crying out his name near midnight, his breathless, tired voice telling you 'Merry Christmas' before he slept. After an easy egg and toast breakfast, the two of you were sitting around the lounge, the fire burning, the tree lit, soft music played in the background, watching a fresh layer of snow falling outside. You were reading Dickens' holiday classic, aloud while Ransom sat next to you, idling running a long index finger over your neck in slow and soft, up and down strokes, listening to you. Suddenly he'd stopped and removed the book from your hands.

"I have something for you," he said, a slight eagerness to his tone. He slipped away for a brief moment, pulling a box, intricately wrapped, clearly not by himself, from under the tree. You'd never noticed it there, not once and you wondered when he'd put it there or if he'd hidden it in the very spot this whole time.

The red leather box sat heavy in your hand as you read the gold inscription on the top. With an unsteady breath, you lifted the hinged lid and hitched your breath at what sat inside. A white gold necklace, with two interlocking rings in a signature Cartier design glistened back at you. The screw motifs which were set in ideal oval shaped rings studded with diamonds that twinkled in the light sat snuggly inside against black velvet.

You were stunned. The gesture far too expensive and in your mind inappropriate. But you also thought it was absolutely gorgeous, and you wondered how he'd come up with such an expensive idea. You'd not mentioned anything of the sort in your time together, in fact, you hadn't had jewellery on bar your ball studs in your ears now.

You looked up from the delicate piece and your eyes met expectant ones. "It's beautiful," you spoke softly. "Thank you."

"Let me put it on you," he sat next you whilst taking the box from your hands. He gently pulled it away from the box and unclasped it, settling it around your neck as you moved your hair out of the way, thin tendrils framing your face. Your robe slipped off your shoulder and you felt his soft lips against your skin, down your neck and along your shoulder. "Let me see you," he spoke softly.

You turned in his direction and you saw the way he admired the way the piece sat across your chest, the silk robe you were wearing over your barely-there nightgown gaping open. As his eyes blatantly roved down between the valley of your breasts your own flicked across his casual, lazy-Christmas morning form, his broad chest and shoulders clad in a white thermal, sweats hung low on his hips.

"Perfect," he whispered, leaning towards you.

You were not a bought woman, no; you were his victim, his roommate, his co-habitant, his lover, his partner, his... Oh for Christ's sake you could go on with the labels that did or didn't make sense, were mutual or not, had or didn't carry the weight of a proper explanation. Right now, you were going through the motions and emotions.

"I like it, a lot, thank you again," you replied as his lips grew closer to yours. "I've never had such an expensive gift before."

His lips ghosted over yours, "There's plenty more where that came from, Sweetheart."

The implication of his words had hit you like a freight train as you realised just how many more ‘occasions’ he was planning on the pair of you spending together. New Year, Easter, Spring Break, your birthday, his birthday, summer, Memorial Day. It sparked so many conflicting opinions within you that you were glad of the distraction when he moved, his fingers delicate as he undid the ties of your robe and led you down on the rug before his lips had traced a path down your body and soon he’d had you crying his name, sheer bliss coursing through your veins.

Later that day, you'd made dinner for him, a reminder of how Christmas used to be when Wanetta and his Grandmother shared the festivities. After the quiet meal, he had expected you to join him for a shower, no doubt as pay back for him going down on you earlier. When you'd respectfully declined stating you needed to wash the dishes, he sneered and sulked off. You'd made sure that when he was gone long enough, you were able to get things set up for your gift. Now was the time to show Ransom how gifts of meaning and purpose were to be given and hopefully received. Not that it was going to make a blind bit of difference to your situation, not in the grand scheme of things anyway. You'd finished cleaning and putting everything away and headed into the lounge where you stoked the fire and then made your way back into the kitchen for your supplies. The hot cocoa burning hot, the slices of bread, tongs and a small serving of butter, complete with freshly blended cinnamon sugar. You knew he would come find you when you were not waiting in the bedroom for him. If Ransom Drysdale was anything, it was a creature of expectation and habit. You'd heard him coming down the stairs, that one spot with a creak carrying his footfall. You straightened up your things, setting up the tongs and tray of treats nicely before covering them with a cloth napkin, standing between the coffee table and the fireplace, and waited on baited breath for the tirade you thought was coming. He had turned the corner, his face stern with evident hard lines, his bare chest on display, hair still wet from the shower. You could smell him as he entered the doorway, that scent that you'd soon come to realize made you heady and needy. You waved him over, a hunt of excitement to your tone, "come on, come sit." “I don’t want to sit, Sweetheart, I want you like I had you before dinner. Crying my name with you under me.” He stood just inside the doorway, with his arms folded across his chest, sweats hung low on his hips. He wore no shirt just to entice you, but you weren't giving in so easily. "I'll say your name as many times as you want, but first, I need to give you my gift." You chose then to look at him with big eyes, sincere yet seductive.

It was a stare off between the two of you, he not budging and you popping your hip out to one side as you folded your arms over your chest. He had his fun, now you wanted to enjoy something and gift giving brought you joy.

Like a child told to apologize for hitting another, he hung his head and sulked over. You could tell it pained him to obey your request. But you again saw through his facade. You knew this meant far more to him than anything he'd ever received.

But he'd never tell you that. Not that you thought anyway. “Oh stop being so you, Ransom, for just five minutes.” You snorted exasperatedly at his petulant nature. “It’s Christmas.” With a roll of his eyes that would make any toddler jealous, he took to his knees sitting on his heels. With a smirk, you joined him, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek, "Merry Christmas, Ransom." You pulled the napkin off the tray revealing the contents of your gift. His eyes moved over the tray, first seeing the mugs of cocoa, topped with whipped cream that was beginning to melt into the warm liquid. The tongs, the bread, the small pinch bowls of cinnamon sugar and the soft butter. With his mind occupied, you managed to grab a throw and wrap it around the two of you. He blinked, and you could see that he was fighting the smirk that was threatening to cross his handsome face. “Toast?” He finally asked and you nodded, smiling. "I couldn't go get you something, not that it mattered, so this was the next best thing." A flicker of something darkened his face, and for a moment you thought you saw regret flash in his eyes, just like the day he had marked your face but as soon as it had appeared it was gone. "Just enjoy it, even if you can't say anything about it, just...." you shrugged, "remember." That night, after the toast with cinnamon butter and cocoa from scratch were shared, he had his way with you, delightfully slow, once more by the fire, you again crying out his name and he yours, over and over again. By the time he finished, you were both boneless and breathless, his body covering yours until he rolled over and the two of you slept by the fire, wrapped up in each other's arms, the heavy throw around your naked bodies.

Christmas had been nice. Maybe, somewhat enjoyable, you'd admitted to yourself. Of course, the wrench of not seeing your family had weighed like a stone in your gut, compounded by the fact that thanks to the lie you’d been forced to tell Blanc, they thought this was your choice. That you were staying away from them because you wanted to, when nothing could be further from the truth. You missed your mom and dad goofing around over presents, still trying to tell your now well grown-up sister and you Santa had been. You ached for the usual family politics that manifested when your uncles and aunts descended for dinner. You longed for your sister to be complaining about how fat she was going to get…

"We have to go," Ransom’s deep baritone caught you completely off guard, making you jump as you stood staring out of the large French windows over the garden from the master suite.

“Oh, okay,” you nodded, taking a deep breath to centre yourself, your heart racing at the speed of light from your fright. You took a glance at yourself in the mirror above the fireplace and found yourself wishing you’d done a better job at covering up the ugly scab and green bruising on your face.

You followed Ransom in his tan coat, pin striped slacks and a black cashmere sweater as he strode from the room. You felt nervous, anxious, scared. This was the first time you were leaving the house in two months. He led you to the garage where you started walking to the SUV he'd taken you in but he stopped you short, calling out to you, "not this time, Sweetheart." He stood at the passenger door to his vintage BMW. You swallowed and walked towards the door he was holding open for you. Wordlessly, you sank into the passenger seat and reached for your belt. Pulling it across your lap, you adjusted the pencil skirt and blouse you'd tucked into so as not to wrinkle it, your soft black peacoat bluky in your seat. The car roared to life, throbbing beneath you, the hum of the engine might, in other circumstances, have excited you. But now, the only thing filling you was dread. The first time you’re out of your "castle", and it's to go to a wake, for Wanetta Thrombey.

Go figure. ***** The silence in the car was stifling. Every so often Ransom stole a glance at Y/N to find her simply staring out of the window, at one stage reaching up to wipe her eye. He didn’t say anything, but he wasn’t an idiot. Over Christmas he’d caught her numerous time completely zoned out, as if she was somewhere else, just like she had been moments before they had left. And whilst she’d done her best to keep her tears and attitude at bay, she’d been clipped with him a number of times which he’d simply let slide and instead of reminding her about her attitude, he’d pressed her to tell him what was wrong. She’d quietly admitted that she missed her family, something Ransom simply couldn’t understand, so in the spirit of their recent candid openness, he’d asked her bluntly why she needed them so much when he gave her everything she could possibly ever want. At that she had snorted, and taken great pains to explain to him that just because he failed to understand something didn’t make it any less valid of a feeling to someone else and then she’d deftly changed the subject, and he’d allowed the conversation to steer elsewhere.

And now, the first time she’d been anywhere but the inside of his house and strictly the garden for months, they were headed to spend time with his shit-head family. The irony was staggering when you considered it. He eased his beloved beemer onto the main road and pushed his foot down on the gas, weaving himself in and out of the light traffic obnoxiously fast. But he wasn’t known for his patience, he had somewhere to be and in his mind; the faster he got there the faster he could leave, keen to spend as little time with his family as possible. About halfway into the journey, Ransom felt that familiar cold feeling in his stomach as he pulled off the freeway and on to one of the smaller roads. He could drive this journey with his eyes closed but it was the first time he’d been back to the mansion since... well, since IT had all gone down. The more he thought about it, the more agitated he could feel himself getting, his hands gripping the steering wheel of the car with a force that made his knuckles white. He was jolted however, with the feeling of a hand on his arm and his head turned slightly to see Y/N looking at him. She didn’t say anything, and no sooner had he registered her touch she moved her hand dropping it back into her lap, eyes focussed downwards as his turned back to the road. He swallowed, that familiar and uncomfortable feeling of remorse once more washing over him. Despite everything he had done to her, she was still voluntarily lending him comfort.

Ten minutes later, he swung up the tree-lined driveway, his heart pounding in his chest. His jaw set hard as the mansion came into view, and low and behold his mother, standing on the front steps, a cigarette between her fingers as she exasperatedly texted on her phone. A meek voice came from the seat beside him, "its going to be okay." But he couldn't decipher if she were talking to him or herself. He cut the engine, his hands still on the wheel as he sighed and hung his head, before he turned to her. “I don’t need to warn you about trying anything do I?” He asked, ignoring her effort to placate him. "No," she replied quietly. “Good.” He reached out and gently gripped her chin between his thumb and finger, pressing as soft kiss to her lips, the action as much for him as it was for the benefit of his mother who was watching the pair of them. “Come on, let’s get this over with.” He gracefully unfolded himself from the driver’s side, shutting the door behind him and strode to the front of his car, waiting for Y/N to catch up. Her face was set, an expression he’d seen countless times before when she’d been fearful and acting under duress. He watched as she took a deep breath and drew back her shoulders whilst he reached for her hand. Obediently, she took it and together they strode towards the large wooden door, his mother watching them as they approached "You're late," Linda scoffed.

He paid her no mind and pulled Y/N along his side. “I’m sure Nanna won’t mind too much, you know, on account of her being dead.” He retorted sardonically.

You stood by his side, your eyes watching Linda and she turned her attention to you, her eyes narrowing a little, a strange expression on her features, almost as if she was sussing you out. But, as her eyes flicked to your injured cheek before they darted to Ransom who still had a possessive grip around your hand you realised with horror it wasn’t you she was suspicious of. It was the bruise on your face, more so how it had gotten there.

You cleared your throat. “Funny thing,” you gestured to it and her eyes snapped to yours, “too much Scotch and I tripped. Face first into the corner of my vanity."

Okay, so it wasn’t a complete lie…but you still felt sick to your stomach at how quickly you’d jumped to his defence.

“Sure.” Linda arched an eyebrow.

“What exactly are you getting at, Mother?” Ransom looked at her, his jaw set and Linda rolled her eyes, taking a drag of her cigarette.

“Nothing really, I just find it extremely odd that you get an interview with this girl to clear your name and she ends up in your bed, only after she’s done a complete hatchet job on all of us first.” She dropped her cigarette end to the floor before she looked at him shrewdly.

“For which she published an apology.” Ransom’s voice was flat and carried an undertone of annoyance to which Linda paid no attention.

“Because you’re really the type to forgive and forget so easily.” She scoffed as Ransom gave a dramatic sigh as his mother continued, her head now turning to you. “You know, I could hardly believe it when Blanc told us you were with him, and then I saw you with my own eyes and now here you are again…“

“What do you mean, when Blanc told you?” Ransom frowned as his hand contracted almost painfully around yours, a warning no doubt to remain silent. His mother had hit the nail on the head, proving that she knew her son a lot better than you, and no doubt he, had bothered to give her credit for.

“Her disappearance was all over the news, more so because they’d linked it to that god-awful cretin of an actor, Lucas Lee.” She turned back to look at him. “But, no sooner had they done that he was cleared thanks to a cast-iron alibi and low and behold, a few weeks later Blanc turns up.” Linda raised her brows, her gaze fixed on Ransom. “I told him where to find you-“

“Gee, thanks.” Ransom drawled and she glared at him, before he rolled his eyes and gestured with his hand for her to continue.

“And obviously he did as he came back a day or so later, saying that to his surprise you-“ her eyes flicked to yours then and you swallowed “-were seemingly there, of your own accord.”

“I erm,” you fumbled on your words and felt Ransom let go of your hand, his palm warm as it now rested between your shoulder blades. Taking a deep breath, you steeled yourself for another lie, one that this time you’d spun before and you shrugged, licking your lips. “I'll tell you the same thing I told him. I came to realize that despite my scathing feature, Ransom intrigued me. I wanted to get to know him more. One thing led to another and I figured if we kept our relationship quiet for a while, I'd save myself the spit on my face from my family and people like you.”

“People like me?” Linda arched a brow, her lips quirking up at one side. “

“I didn’t mean…” You shook your head, quickly taking a deep breath. “Sorry, that was rude.”

“A tad, but I’ve had worse.” Linda’s eyes twinkled with something that looked like amusement as she reached into her pocket for her packet of cigarettes. “But, what I don’t understand is, why let your family believe you were missing, dead even?”

“I, well, I was under a lot of pressure at work, and everything just got too much and needed to escape, from everything. Ransom told me to stay with him for a while to get some head space and I didn’t mean to cause anyone any hurt or upset and-“

You stopped dead as you felt Ransom curl his hand round the back of your neck, giving a squeeze in warning. You were rambling.

“You don’t have to explain yourself, Sweetheart,” his voice was softly spoken as he pressed a kiss to your temple. “it’s none of her business.”

Linda looked at you for a moment, before she turned to her son and shrugged, popping another cigarette into her mouth. “I’ve long since given up trying to understand anything you did.”

“Well, like the judge said,” Ransom moved, his hand now on the base of your spine as he turned and guided you to the large door of the house, “not of sound mind.”

In the spacious drawing room, the rest of the family was gathered around. There were no others at the wake, Wanetta having outlived everyone she knew. You knew Ransom would offer no introductions, but that wasn’t an issue, you knew everyone anyway from your extensive research into this fucked up family. The fire burned in the background, and Ransom’s father, Richard, lounged in an arm-chair, a young woman who you presumed to be the au-pair Ransom talked about with disdain, perched on his lap. Walt was perched in another arm-chair, his wife Donna stood behind him, clutching a half drunk glass of wine, their son Jacob absent from the room. Marta and Meg were perched on the couch with Joni flitting about, a crunch from a carrot stick heard from across the room. You walked in and immediately felt the daggers in your skin as all eyes turned towards you. The knives were out and you swallowed, adjusting your sleeve, feeling Ransom's presence behind you.

“Here…” you felt Ransom’s hands gently pulling on the shoulders of your coat and he slipped it from your body, gently pressing another kiss to your cheek. You turned to look at him, offering him a small smile before he moved to hang the coat up on the stand at the far side of the room.

“Y/N, right?” Marta was the first one to speak as she stood up, and you nodded, not bothering to ask how she knew your name. It was a given she’d have read the article, and it was also a given thanks to the conversation moment’s ago with Linda, that the rest of the family had also been briefed on the fact you were ‘with’ Ransom. What clearly hadn’t’ been anticipated from the not-so-covert surprised glances that were being shared, was that he would have brought you today. “Can I get you a drink?” She continued and you smiled.

“Please, erm, a wine would be great.”

“Red or white?”

“She prefers white.” Ransom spoke and Marta’s eyes darted to his. You instantly felt his entire body language stiffen and you turned to him, the distaste evident on his face, his entire aura radiating utter disdain and bitterness.

Marta simply took a deep breath, her expression flat, but her eyes fierce as they remained in a silent stand-off.

“Can’t she speak for herself?” Meg scoffed and Ransom pulled his eyes away from Marta, turning his glare to his cousin.

“Is explaining what a lady prefers to drink considered sexist as well now or…”

“He’s right,” You jumped in quickly, smiling at Marta. “White is great, thanks.”

Marta nodded.

“Hugh?” She looked at Ransom and you blinked at the use of that name and then realised, of course, she’d once upon a time been the help. That said, you knew she was saying it simply because she wanted to, not that her status required it and there was an amused look on Ransom’s face as he turned to her.

“Beer.”

You rolled your eyes to yourself at his lack of manners, but from the expression on Marta’s face she’d been expecting it, and to be honest, you weren’t sure why you hadn’t been. Her lips curled into a sarcastic grin as she turned and headed out.

“You should try it, Donna. It’s got camomile and lavender in. I swear by it.” Your ears then picking up on a conversation between Walt, Donna and Joni and you turned your head towards them, Ransom’s arm curled round your waist, hand resting heavy on your hip. Joni bit down on the carrot stick she was holding with a flourish of her hands. “It’s my favourite thing FLAM have done.”

"You know, I'm surprised you didn't go under given you're no longer receiving Dad's money.” Walt interjected and Joni rolled her eyes.

“Shows how much attention you pay, Walt. When I released that new line of bath-bombs and candles, sales, like literally, went through the roof.”

“Bath-bombs?” Walt frowned.

“Yeah, they’re like little cakes if you will of dried soap and fragranced that you drop into a-“

“I know what they are.” Walt rolled his eyes as Marta appeared, handing you your drink which you took with a thanks. “I was commenting on the fact you said you’d launched a new line.”

“Oh, yeah.” Joni munched her carrot stick some more. “I got the idea from Gwyneth Paltrow when she released that candle scented like her vagina.” At that you choked on your drink and hastily avoided looking at anyone in the room as various groans and loud protests from the males hit your ears.

At that point Linda walked back into the room and sat down in a chair not far from where you were sat and she smoothed down her trousers before she peered up at Ransom.

“How’s the book coming along?” She asked, peering from over the top of her wine glass as she sipped from it.

“Fine.” Ransoms shrugged. “Few little blocks here and there but I’ll work through them. Granddad always told me sometimes it pays to take a step back and pause, ideas often come when you’re not expecting them.”

Linda smiled, and you were pleased to see that, for once, it appeared genuine, as if she was actually looking at her son with something more than ambivalence. And then, the moment was ruined as Meg burst out laughing.

“You’re writing a book? What’s it called? ‘Ransom’s Guide To Being An Asshole’?” She snorted and Ransom took a deep breath.

“Eat shit.”

“Original.” Meg replied drily rolling her eyes, “you know, I'm jealous of all the people that haven't met you.” She stated as her eyes turned to you. “Seriously, what the fuck do you see in him? Why on earth anyone would ever want to be in the same room with him, let alone share his bed is completely beyond me.”

“Tell me, Meg, when was the last time you got laid?” Ransom turned to her, a smirk on his face. “And your dildo doesn’t count.” “Fuck you, you fucking prick.” Meg seethed before she turned to look at you, her face angry. “You know, it must be serious if he’s bringing you here; he normally just keeps his fuck buddies on speed dial.”

“And throws the money on the mattress.” Walt mumbled.

At that, Ransom tensed and he turned his face towards his Uncle, his nostrils flaring. But before he had time to answer back, Richard let out a derisive snort and Ransom instead turned his head to his father.

“You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?” Ransom shot back, “Tell me, how much do you pay the barely legal whore sat on your lap?”

“You little shit.” Richard spat as the poor woman in question shifted uncomfortably, her mouth falling open as the insult Ransom had shot at her registered.

You stood stock still, a warm and uncomfortable feeling washing over you as the family continued to bicker. You could feel a headache coming; this was becoming too much for you to cope with.

“Oh for God’s sake.” Linda groaned, almost lazily from her spot on the chair. “Is it too much to ask that one of our family deaths goes by without starting another feud?”

"Oh that's rich, coming from you!” Richard, turned to her. Linda met her ex-husband’s glare with a completely blank expression on her face, before she scoffed.

“Why are you wearing those ridiculous glasses?” She demanded, referring to the spectacles that adorned Richard’s face, the style being something you would attribute to Harry Potter.

“So I can see.”

“You never needed glasses in the entire thirty-four years we were married.” She scoffed.

“I did.” Richard shrugged, a snarky grin curling at one side of his mouth and you instantly recognised that expression as being one Ransom sported a lot. “Just preferred it when I couldn’t see your face.”

Linda’s mouth dropped open and you felt yourself bristle as you took a breath.

“Are you actually gonna let your dad say that to your mom?” You glanced up at Ransom. His head turned slowly towards you and the expression of anger on his face at being called out made your blood run cold. You recoiled a little and your eyes immediately darted to the floor.

“Sorry.” You whispered.

"This is fun," Jacob snickered as he, from out of nowhere, waltzed into the room and took a seat in the corner of the bay window, never once looking up from his phone. “Ransom once more manages to spark an argument.��

“Y/N meet Jacob, the poster child for the pro-choice movement.” Ransom gestured to the teenager in front of you who merely rolled his eyes as both Walt and Donna began to yell and hurl insults back at Ransom.

“Says the guy whose birth certificate is an apology letter from the condom factory.” The teen mumbled back.

“Ooh, good one, which one of your alt-right, KKK loving buddies did you learn that from?” Ransom quipped, and in a quick change of decorum, the room erupted with slander and jabs being shouted and tossed about, most of the commotion being pointed at Ransom.

It was a cacophony of noise and sound, which infiltrated your head, making your brain buzz and crackle like the wick of a dynamite stick and it was too much. After months of quiet with no one to listen or talk to bar Ransom, it was overwhelming and you felt sick.

“If you’ll excuse me, I need some air.” You mumbled, seizing the chance, as he was distracted.

You made your way into the hallway where you stood, your back leaning against the dark wooden panelling, taking huge gasps of air. Your chest hurt, your head was spinning and your legs burned but those deep breaths didn’t help. Your hand slapped against your chest, hoping to ebb the sting. Soon, lightheaded, and with a slight spin to the space around you, you felt a cool hand on your shoulder through your blouse. Your head turned and you saw a sweet pair of eyes looking at you with worry.

“Let’s get you some real air, come on,” it was Marta, coming to your aide.

She took you outside, to a covered patio, with wicker furniture and heating lamps. The rush of cold air hit your flushed skin and a different sting erupted through your lungs as the bite of winter’s breath filled you.

“Here.” The young woman handed you a tartan blanket, which you took with a grateful look, still not quite able to form any words. She helped you sit down on one of the chairs and made sure the blanket was snug around your shoulders as she took a seat opposite you.

“They’re a little overwhelming, but you get used to it,” she rubbed a small hand up and down your back.

You just looked at her, your eyes watering as you came down from your panic. You had no desire to get used to it, to any of it, but as per anything in this fucked up situation, you were no doubt going to have to, like it or not.

The breaths you took became longer, deeper, the peak of panic now steadying out leaving you feeling shaky and exposed.

“I’m sorry, that was…”

“You don’t have to apologise. With what’s happening inside, this is normal.” Marta softly smiled with a chuckle. “I’d be worried if they weren’t screaming at each other.”

“Can I ask you something?” You looked at her, speaking softly.

“Of course.” She replied, just as hushed.

“Why did you do it? Have everyone over? You don’t owe them anything.”

The former nurse rubbed her palms on her pants, “well, it’s what Wanetta wanted. She sorta came with the house and it was her last wish, for the family to come together. I think she thought after everything that happened something might have changed?” Marta shook her head at the audacity of the sound of it. “She didn’t say much more, but Allan had given me her will and that’s all it read. Things would remain the same but she wanted them here after she was cremated, for a final goodbye.”

“I admire her optimism.” You stated flatly and Marta laughed before she gave a heavy sigh, a sad smile on her face.

“Well, she loved them, not that any of them cared, not in years. The only one I ever noticed take mind of her out of want and not duty was Ransom.” She kept her eyes on yours as she spoke, genuine care coming from the sound of her. “But that was before…when he…with Harlan.”

You glanced away, not totally surprised but still a little shocked so to speak that someone else had noticed there was a little shred of humanity buried underneath all his asshole bravado. You leaned forward on your thighs, elbows resting there as your hands wrung together, a nervous habit you’d recently developed.

“Can I ask YOU something?” Marta wondered. You nodded, your stomach knotting, hoping I wasn’t what you suddenly thought it could be. “You’ve spent time with Ransom. I read your article and your apology. Do you believe all of this? The not of sound mind?” Her eyes were sorrowful but held a glare of contempt at the circumstance.

“Uh…” you started but the opening of the patio door caught both of your attentions and the man in question stepped outside, your coat in his hands.

“I was worried,” he stated, opening your coat for you as you automatically stood to receive the gesture. You had no doubt his worry was genuine, but whether it was for you or what you may or may not have revealed was another question.

“I needed some air,” you admitted, “Marta came to my rescue.”

“One man alone can be pretty dumb sometimes, but for real bona fide stupidity there ain't nothing can beat teamwork.” Ransom quipped in reference to the chaos of the family being together, chaos he narcissistically enjoyed partaking in.

You looked up at those daring blue eyes, “Mark Twain.”

He quirked a brow in agreement before his eyes flicked to Marta and then back to you. “Was I interrupting something, Sweetheart?”

There it was, that warning tone in his voice. You were on thin ice. You stuffed your hands into your peacoat pocket and shook your head.

“No.” You cleared your throat as you held his gaze. “Like I said, I just needed some air.”

As he stood there, his eyes searching hers he took a deep breath as she gazed back up at him, fear simmering within those deep globes. Ransom reached out, pulling her to him, dropping a kiss to the top of her head. “As long as that’s all it was.”

Recognising his comment for what it was, half concern and half warning, she nodded against his chest. Without so much as another glance at Marta, he turned, his arm looped possessively over her shoulders as he led her back inside. He walked slowly down the hallway, stooping slightly to speak into her ear. “From now on, you don’t leave my sight, you got that?”

“Yeah, okay.” She whispered and nodded.

“Good girl,” he smiled, tipping her face up with on finger under her chin, planting a soft kiss on her lips.

*****

The next hour or so passed reasonably uneventfully. Ransom was careful to keep as much distance between him, Y/N and the rest of the assholes in the room as possible. When the buffet was served, he watched as she picked at the plate of food she had selected, not eating a terrible amount. She’d gone in on herself again, and he found himself a little disappointed if truth be told.

“We’ll leave soon.” He turned to her and she looked at him, “you’ve behaved today, I’m impressed.”

At that she rolled her eyes. “Is going back to that fucking house supposed to be a reward or something?”

At that Ransom felt a surge of anger and he glared at her, the nerve in his jaw twitching. “Don’t push me, sweetheart.” His voice was low, and a growl but to his surprise, instead of recoiling at his outward hostility and warning she simply sat up straight, her shoulders squaring and met him with a filthy look of her own.

“Fuck you.” She spat.

“Oh we already played that game.” His lip curled back in a snarl. “Several times.”

“Trouble in paradise?” Walt leaned forward a little to pick up something off one of the plates on the table by Ransom and he took a breath, his eyes still trained on Y/N before he turned to his uncle.

“Are you not dead yet?”

“Do you have to talk to everyone like that?” Joni sighed. “God, Ransom.”

“Well I thought the guys who bust his leg might have caught up with him by now, no such luck.” Ransom shrugged.

“Listen here you little shit,” Walt leaned over the table, but no sooner had he done that he suddenly began coughing on whatever food he had in his mouth.

“I’m listening.” Ransom quipped as Walt continued to splutter, Donna hastily hitting him on the back.

Jacob, who wasn’t even looking at the table, too engrossed in his phone, then spoke. “What did you eat, Dad? Wasn’t anything he gave you was it? I mean he did kill Grandpa so I wouldn’t put it past him to poison you either.”

A deadly silence spread across the room as Ransom took a deep breath, his eyes fixed on his cousin, his hand clenching into fists. Besides him, Y/N let out a shaky breath and her head turned to look at him but he didn’t meet her eyes. Instead he leaned back in his chair and when he spoke next, his voice was icy.

“Not of sound mind.”

“Yeah, we heard. Loaf of bullshit if you ask me, but then again an expensive lawyer can get you off most things these days.” Walt snarled.

“Enough!” Linda yelled, her hand smacking on the table. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

Besides him, Y/N had begun to tremble, and Ransom glanced at her to see she was taking deep breaths, her chest heaving, face stony as she stared at the wall opposite, where a picture of his Nanna Wanetta was hung.

“Oh shut up Linda!” Walt turned to her. “Everyone here knows he’s guilty as sin, even you! Why the fuck he’s even here is beyond me. And as for you...” He turned to Y/N and she gave a start, her eyes flicking to him. “You might as well quit while you’re ahead as there ain’t no gold to be digging for. She got it all.” He pointed his fork at Marta and then that was it. Y/N let out a hell of frustration, standing up that quickly her chair tumbled to the ground behind her, the plate clattering to the floor by her feet.

“You think I’m with him for his money?” He glared at Walt, the entire room silent as all eyes focussed on her. “Jesus Christ, you have no idea. I’m with him because I have-“

At that Ransom’s hand shot out and curled round her wrist, his grip tight in warning and she jerked away from him, glaring down at him with a fire in her eyes he hadn’t seen in a long time.

“The whole lot of you are fucked in the head.” She tapped her temple with her forefinger. “I’ve never seen anything like this in my entire life. You’re nothing but a bunch of self-entitled, narcissistic assholes. After everything you've been through, you can’t even find it in your cold dead hearts to come together honour a member of your family that died without reducing the entire event to some kind of sick, twisted game of one-upmanship. Each and every one of you are all about yourselves, and what you can do to out accomplish the other. As far as I’m concerned each one of you can fuck off and die. You disgust me."

She took a deep breath, running her hands over her face before she turned on her heel and stormed from the room.

Ransom blinked, watched her leave, a slam of the door behind her. He stood there for a brief moment, processing what had just happened. He looked back to his family with a smug shrug and at that he headed quickly after Y/N, his mother's obnoxious and loudly over dramatic gasp bouncing off his back as he too slammed the front door.

****

It was your turn to stand there and act like a petulant child as you leaned against the hood of the Beemer, cares and all fucks be damned. You were tired, you were angry and God damn down right fed up with this entire family and their bullshit. You didn't even make eye contact with him as Ransom as he approached the car. You simply moved to your door, slipped in as he did and waited for him to start the car. You felt his eyes in him, heard him open his mouth to say something but rather he just took in a breath and started the engine. You sat there, your arms crossed over your chest, knees at an angle, pointed towards your door, away from him.

A rumble of a chuckle escaped his chest, "Oh Sweetheart, that was really something."

"Just drive," you spat out, turning your head to him in annoyance. Now he didn't find you amusing, this new air of confidence about you. He cleared his throat and looked at you with a stern gaze.

"Careful, Y/N," he warned, pulling around the drive to the long road before the main. You didn't care. You raised your brows as if you were silently emphasizing your demand, it was not a request, even in the slightest.

The bare trees and snow covered ground began flying by your window, clearly Ransom laying the pedal to the floor as you shook your head.

"What the hell was even the point of going today? It was blatantly obvious that they didn’t want you there, and you didn’t want to be there. If you wanted to mourn Wanetta, we could have done it from the confines of the prison you like to keep me in. Or was this just another shitty way for you to torture me? Huh? Was that amusing to you, Hugh, making me spend an afternoon with your fucked up family, whom you hate, when you’re keeping me from mine? God, you really are a twisted son of a bitch.”

Your tirade set his skin on fire, you could see the tinge of red flushing his skin as he white knuckled the wheel, his hand on the gear shift squeezing the hell out of it as you spoke. Then very quickly you felt your body lurch forward as he slammed on the breaks. "What the fuck did you just say?"

“What, are you deaf?” You blazed. “I asked why we were there? I mean I thought we were going to pay respects to your Great-Nanna, because stupid me actually believed that you felt something, you know, some kind of sorrow that she was gone, and I actually felt sorry for you at first when we got in there, and they were unloading all their vile little opinions and digging in at you and-“

"Now you listen to me you little bitch," he spat, cutting you off. "I didn’t ask for, nor do I need your pity. I don’t care what my family say to me, or think about me. And I certainly don’t care what they think or say about you”

“Oh my god, you are…” You shook your head, looking out of the window, taking a deep breath. “This isn’t pity, Ransom.”

“No, because that’s what it sounds like.” He seethed, his hands curling round the steering wheel.

“Of course it does.” You scoffed. “Because that’s probably all you’ve ever felt towards anyone else isn’t it? Pity, because they’re never going to be as good as you, or have the things you have. Well you might be rich in money terms but fuck, in everything else you’re a pauper. Have you ever truly empathised with someone? Like have even once fully understood what someone else feels? Their sorrow, their happiness, their joy?”

“What the fuck are you getting at?”

You sighed, considering your options. You knew what you wanted to tell him-that the fact he wasn’t loved as a child left him incapable of the simple emotions normal people met, but he was calling you out. And now, it was play it soft or rip it off like a band-aid…

And despite the feeling of foreboding washing over you, you chose the latter. You were tired of playing his mind games, tired of this whole situation. And whatever fucked up punishment he was going to inflict on you, well, it couldn’t be worse than anything he’d already done, you’d take it.

“You don't know how to be happy, or how to love Ransom, because you've never seen it. You've never experienced it. You just breeze through life thinking you can take what you want when you want, and it doesn't work like that.”

“You’re starting to really piss me off. If I wanted a therapy session, I’d pay for one.” He snarled, “Shut the fuck up.”

“See, this is what I mean!” You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “You just asked me to elaborate, so I did, and know because I’m saying something that you don’t like or don’t wanna hear, you’re resorting to being an asshole. Every time I think I’m getting through to you, I…” You fell silent, swallowing as he glared at you, nostrils flaring and you took a deep sigh, knowing that this was pointless. “You know what, forget it. I shouldn’t-“

“No, you clearly got something to say, so go on. Say it.”

“What, so you can punish me when we get back for pissing you off some more?”

At that his face faltered and he took a deep breath, hanging his head. When he raised it again to look at you, his face was softer and he looked out of the windscreen, licking his lips. “I’m not…gonna punish you, okay.”

“How do I know?” You whispered, shaking your head. “How can I trust that you’re not just gonna lock me back in that damned basement and come down when you want to fuck me and-“ “Because I’m not!” His voice rose. “I don’t want you down there anymore. So I’ll ask again, you think you know so much about how to love,” he framed the word with his fingers, "then tell me what you think it means.”

“Fine, you wanna know…I’ll tell you. It's going on dates, it’s fun, its surprising, it’s feeling like you can’t breathe if the person you are in love with leaves you. It’s not about owning them or breaking them or how much you buy a person or throwing money at them, it’s showing them you know how they are, that you understand what they appreciate and what they need and what they want, a lot of times without being told.” You took a deep breath, watching his face, his expression never faltering. “Love is something that can't always be explained. It's that feeling of family, of having your person. Someone your heart and soul changes for, grows with. Love is a mother's hug or kiss goodnight, a father's ball landing in your mitt with a joyful laugh and smile. Love isn't forced or taken. It's given and received. It's...."

"Fresh hot cocoa on a rainy day when you have nothing left in a world that hates you,” he spoke softly, and when you realized what he'd said it stopped your thoughts cold. Did that mean what you thought it meant? That he loved you?

You were lost for words, but before you could protest and tell him he was wrong, he sighed and looked at you.

“You asked me before why I brought you today. That’s why. Because they hate me. And you make me feel fucking safe around those pieces of shit.” Your breath caught in your throat whilst your mind raced for how to respond. The tension and suspense filled the air about the two of you. You stared at him, his eyes soft, expectant, darting over your features with a bouncing worry. The reaction time between his words and your next move was merely a minute but you had quickly found a way to capitalize on this moment. You threw your belt off and kicked your heels off in the process, moving over the gear shift and the centre console into his lap, the center seam of your skirt tearing as you straddled him. "Wha...." his words were cut off by your lips on his, your palms over his softly shaven face, fingertips sliding into the hair behind his ears. Immediately, your tongue slipped deep inside his mouth, lolling around with his. His hands found your waist and gave you a squeeze. You came to your knees as best you could in the small space and continued to kiss him while trying to inch your skirt higher. He'd guessed what you were trying to do and you felt his hands move from your waist to the tops of your thighs, fingers trailing down quickly to the hem of your skirt, lifting it to above the curve of your ass where it bunched. He didn’t ask or question your sudden burst of confidence or seeming desire, just as you’d banked on, instead he was quite happy to go with it, as usual always ready to fuck you any which way he could. Your hands trailed over the soft material of his sweater and down to the end of it, where it met the top of his slacks. You lifted the clothing slightly to ghost over his skin causing him to flinch before your finger tips found the button and zip of his flies. That maddeningly smug smirk spread across his face and your lips crashed back to his, a furious clash of teeth and tongue, your hands still fumbling with his pants. He was half hard before you even got him free, no doubt from the heated exchange the two of you had to get to here. As you palmed his girth in your hand, your brain switched from playing him to wanton need, a basic primal instinct of desperation to release the toxic stress your body held. His big hand and thick fingers trailed over your hip, your ass, down your thigh and finally cupped your heat and a deep ferrral growl emitted from his chest as he'd realized you'd worn nothing under that skirt. He dipped two fingers inside you straight away and you cried out, "fuck" as your body bent back away from him, keening at the feeling. “Fuck, baby, you’ve had nothing on under here all day?” His fingers curled inside of you and you groaned, your head rolling back as your hips pushed forward, thrusting against his hand. You couldn't use your words, you looked down at him with your pupils blown and your bottom lip between your teeth. You gave him a squeeze instead and he quickly lurched you into the steering wheel with his chest, his fingers falling away and both hands tearing your blouse open, buttons flying that will never be found. His nose tucked between the valley of your breasts and he inhaled between your fleshy mounds, his tongue dipping against the underside of your thin bra. His hands each palming an ass cheek and squeezing so hard, it delightfully stung. With what little space the two of you had to move, Ransom pulled you down into his lap, the need to feel you wrapped around him dangerously feral. It took no time for that single motion to get his head then every inch of his shaft deep inside you. "Fuck, you feel so fucking good," he ground out. He didn't care the mess she would make or the way he'd cum so hard he'd leak out of her, no, he wanted to fuck her senseless and that's exactly what he'd do. His heels cemented themselves into the footwell of the car as his hips jutted upward, her body curling in on him. “Harder, please Ransom.” Her voice croaked as she begged him and with a growl that was animalistic his hips picked up their pace as he rutted up into her quickly and harshly. His mouth devoured the tops of her breasts, nipping at her nipples through the material of the lace that covered them while her fingers scratched at the back of his neck, tugging at his hair. In contrast to the cold winter conditions outside, the air inside his beloved car was now hot, fast steaming up the windows, drops of condensation trickling down towards the door sill a perfect mirror image of the sweat that was now sliding down the hollow of her throat and beading on his brow. He could feel her walls begin to squeeze him tighter and tighter with each thrust. His hands curled round her hips, pulling her down onto him as he leaned back, raising his ass off the seat slightly, spearing up into her as deep as he could. "Ransom," you started to shake senselessly, you were crashing fast and hard and there was no slowing down. "Fuck, baby, just like that," you'd heard him say over the blood that rushed to your ears, deafening you, as you came, gripping him like a vice. Your body gave way as your hands sought purchase to ground yourself from entirely collapsing, finding the lapel of his camel coat, white knuckling it with one hand while the other slapped against the damp window which felt like melting ice against your heated palm. A noise burst from your mouth, a half scream, half choked wail, a sound you weren’t sure you’d ever made before and you opened your eyes to see Ransom’s icy blue’s locked onto yours, his bottom lip clamped between his teeth. His voracious pace continued until the end when he came with a primal growl, his hips raising off the seat far enough to jolt your head against the roof of the car. You felt him fill you, the warmth of his seed settling deep inside, and then some. The air was heavy with the sound of panting as the pair of you came down from the intensity of the moment, The both of you desperately trying to breathe despite the humidity. Your hands curled over Ransom's shoulders as he sagged back in the seat, his hands smoothing up the outside of your thighs. You swallowed hard as his eyes focused on yours. You leaned forward and kissed him slowly, softly, his mouth and body languidly responding. Pulling back slightly, you kept your forehead pressed to his, and took a deep breath before you went straight in for the kill, the reason you’d instigated this entire fuck, to capitalise once more on a seeming chink in his armour. "You said you feel safe with me." He stilled underneath you, his hands gentle as they now rest on your hips and his eyes locked onto yours, widening as he realised his admission. "Do you want me to feel safe with you? To trust you?" You continued, not giving him a moment to deny it. He nodded slowly in reply. "Prove it," you stated. "How?" His voice was croaky as he cleared his throat, a slight frown furrowed his brow. "I want to see my family again." He looked at you, and you kept your eyes locked on his, a challenge to him to make good on his word, gambling on him actually wanting you to trust him as he had taken great pains to demonstrate through various means over the past few weeks. This was it, the moment where you would find out exactly what he truly wanted- someone to love and trust him, or someone to fear and obey him. He let out a slow breath through his nose and his eyes flicked over your shoulder before they returned to yours and he gave you an almost imperceptible nod. But a nod nonetheless. “Okay.”

**** Part 7

#murder he wrote #dark ransom drysdale #dark ransom drysdale x reader #dark ransom x reader #dark ransom drysdale x you #ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale x you #ransom drysdale fic #knives out #chris evans #chris evans characters #reader insert #dark fic

282 notes · View notes

thesunshinebunny · 3 years

Text

When the world falls apart, the only thing we can hold onto is ourselves (Part VI)

Series Master list

pairing: canon Eren Jaeger x reader

content: Angst, unstable relationship, breakup, smut/nswf+18, major character death, violence, blood (obviously), war (pretty obvious)

summary: War and hate. It’s what defined the world at this exact moment. You failed your comrades, and by failing them, you failed yourself. Your relationship is hanging by a thread and your enemies will not only be found on the other side of the sea, but also in the mind of the person you love the most. How will you take the reins in the face of so much destruction?

Chapter summary: After weeks of tension and mutual pining, Eren and reader finally succumb to their most carnal and animalistic desires.

Word Count: 7.9k

His cold hands were still resting on my skin. The body heat of each of us was reversing until we became the temperature of the other. In what had been burning for a moment, now my cheeks felt cold, icy, the skin on my chest and hips began to feel discomfort and the wind that was blowing did nothing but make me shiver. Instead, Eren's hands became warm, pleasant to the touch, but uncomfortable and unsure at the same time towards my sanity. The fingers of his left hand were moving over my hip in an attempt to massage a bruise that had just risen above the bone, a bruise that I had just noticed when his hand moved slightly up my shirt to lay flat on my skin and flesh. His right hand, still positioned on my cheek, ran the few tears that continued to fall, just as the trail of the already dry traces that this salty stream had left behind disappeared.

The situation wasn’t comforting at all. The burning sensation and fever that had reigned over my body moments before, had dissipated like a bucket of cold water on a small fire. Now I was cold, stiff, shivering and with memories of previous years haunting my mind, memories that once were to be saved to treasure when we were all old and at peace, but now it seemed that they only brought sadness and misfortune.

My eyes were fixed, unseeing, on Eren's bare chest. His skin showed no signs of hits or bruises like mine, damn it, the only thing that could be distinguished was his beefy abs, worked for years, stained with dirt and a few tiny blades of grass stuck to them. I watched as his chest swelled with each inhalation he took, his breathing calmed, no traces of the hectic fight or the makeout session. My hands, already tired from continuing to maintain pressure, now I limited myself to moving my fingers from the inside and out of my palm, occasionally brushing Eren's pelvis with my nails. I stretched them out, letting my fingertips rest on his hip, the small leaves adhering to his skin tickled my fingers and with slight movements I took them out one by one and left them on the grass around us... Some of them stuck to my fingers because of the humidity and the mud accumulated on the rib.

I cleaned them with my palms, but noticing that they didn’t come off easily, I simply ran my hands through my pants, staining them even more with dirt, some leaves fell to the floor due to friction in front of the fabric, others were beautifully placed on the thighs, in U-shapes or even folded into a perfect spiral. Some even broke in two and left little green spots on top of the brown ones. Eren withdrew his hand from my cheek when felt my fingers and nails stop passing through his pelvis and began to play with the small leaves. His hand removed mine from my thighs and ran every trace of wet leaves to the floor in one simple, clean motion. Now that hand was the one that rested on the flesh of my left thigh, moving up and down, occasionally grasping the soft parts and squeezing them from time to time.

I placed my hands over my thighs again, this time over the connection between my legs and my hips, preventing some unseemly movement of Eren's hand from reaching that area without my consent. I fixed my eyes on these and just at that moment I could notice how pale they were, the bruises were still visible and the blood had completely dried, the knuckles were red and little skin began to come out as bruises began to form on top all the long fingers. My left wrist had received the same treatment, a huge bruise covered a large part of the ligament and the bone of the arm, it was even slightly displaced, probably dislocated, but I didn’t feel any pain, not even when moving it, even if it was a few centimeters. As for my right hand, I had only received a few blows on the knuckles, the occasional broken fingernail, but without showing the lower flesh.

My palms, well, I don't know if I could call them palms anymore. I turned both hands to check them and the sight didn’t make me feel better, it only made me relapse into the realization of how mistreated my body was; both were full of dirt, green spots, the product of the viscous liquid that the broken leaves left, and dried blood, apart from the large superficial cut on the right palm. They looked like shit, I have to admit. I let out a long sigh at such a miserable image. My eyes burned, but I couldn't give myself the freedom to close them because I knew that if I did, more tears would shoot out.

"Hey" Eren's hand that was for minutes massaging my hip was placed under my chin and raised my head once more, without heaviness or restrictions on my part.

My view was blocked by his long fingers, which like his torso, didn’t show any sign of injury or bruises, except for a few small traces of dried blood, my blood. I couldn’t see with complete clarity if his fingertips were equally stained, I tried to turn the head to where he was caressing me a few moments ago to find some indication of blood or injury, but Eren prevented me by bringing my face back to his, lifting it more and bringing it closer to his eyes. They were the same as I had seen them a few minutes ago, greyish turquoise and glowly. God, that glow, that damn glow. Within all possible situations, in any place, they had to return to shine here and now. It wasn’t fair.

It wasn't fair at all.

I directed my hands to his face, placing each one on his cheeks and cradling him between them. I couldn't tell if the action caught him off guard, what I can say is that I could feel, for a thousandth of a second, his eyes widen at the touch. Color that had been lost for months had returned for a moment, as a small blush on his cheeks. For a moment, I swear for a moment, the Eren I knew was back. My eyes inspected his, trying to find that color that I had spotted, trying to find a sign of the Eren that I had loved so much, a sign that he was still there, hidden, curled up like an infant before the oh so many shadows surrounded him.

"You have beautiful eyes" It was a cruel reality but true in the same way.

His eyes were always one of his most impressive features I had ever noticed from a person. Huge, with a lot of accumulated life, a strong and bright color, unable to take my eyes off them. Those same eyes that brought security were the ones that made me doubt my actions and generated deep sadness in me; Those eyes that once made me tremble with exaltation now made me cry.

It was the same eyes that I had lost myself in on a hot sunny day at the cabin along with Levi and our little squad. That spring day, pollen in the air, the cabin full of dust and cobwebs, the boys doing their homework, while Eren and I were cleaning up. Each one cleaning in our small space, without speaking to us unless necessary, such as asking for help to move a piece of furniture if one couldn’t, or ask for the cleaning tool the other had to clean a small cobweb under a window frame. The dirty and torn glasses, in need of a delicate hand that could remove all traces of the excessive abuse during the years that this small home was disabled. I decided to clean all glasses on the lower level, leaving Eren to clean the door on both the outside and inside.

As I was cleaning the window closest to the front door, I noticed how the frames were starting to crack, a few splinters coming to the surface and being capable of injuring anyone who was not careful enough. I ran the rag through a fairly open crack, trying to remove as many splinters as possible, even dislodging the broken piece out of the frame entirely. Little by little the wood was detaching, some pieces stuck to the skin of my fingers, others fell right on my feet, and when I was finally able to completely detach the broken piece, I left it on the table in full view of all of them, so that when someone re-entered the cabin, I could warn them of the care with the respective window.

I decided to investigate more parts of the frame to see if I found more loose pieces when out of the corner of my eye I saw a figure move outside the window. During my little out of all reality I had completely forgotten that Eren was cleaning right on the other side of the wall. I could see him perfectly from where I was standing. His arms, while long compared to mine, didn’t reach up to the wood of the door, having to stand on tiptoe and stretch a little to reach the dust that had accumulated in that area. His hair gathered in a cloth, preventing dirt from falling on it, made a funny image at the same time... almost cute. His young face, now half covered with the cloth, was getting younger and the way in which he stretched, reminded me of the image of a little boy in the middle of the bazaar of my town trying to reach a basket of cookies without the mother found out.

But it was neither his figure nor the way his hair was flattened and took that shape little by little, but the way in which the sunset sun reflected exactly on his eyes, turning them a lush green, much lighter and more colorful. Although his eyes were directed towards the door, I could see them without complications; I could see his eyelashes rise up and the smallest of the ends bent and tangled between them, I could see the small shiny points turn a warm color while the clean wood of the door was reflected in the iris.

At some point, I opened the window outward, allowing me to stretch my body and settle on the lower wood, resting my abdomen and elbows, holding my head in my hands as I watched the incredible scene in front of me. The sun's rays hit Eren's body, giving him an orange ring of light over his entire figure, the cloth about to come loose and fall from his head because of how badly tied it was and his hands were dirty while also being delicate when holding the rag between his fingers, perhaps an act Levi had taught him while he was alone in his squad.

The rag slipped from his hand and the moment he reached down to grab it, his face turned straight to mine, allowing me to see his eyes much more conspicuously. The play of light and shadow, the way that nature itself reflected in them was the greatest work of art that I had ever seen, perhaps it was due to the fact that I hadn’t seen many people with green eyes, much less with that tonality. of green that Eren had inherited. What beautiful eyes. I thought I had said it to myself, but apparently I had unconsciously let it out in a slight sigh, as Eren raised his head in less than a second, straight at me. His eyes were wide and his face reflected surprise.

Those eyes in which I had been spellbound for long minutes were staring at me, penetrating strongly on mine, as if looking for a sign that his owner had clearly heard what the wind had brought to his ears.

"What? Did you get lost in my incredible eyes? " his humorous words and his wicked smile were what brought me back to reality. They were like an open hand spanking across the face.

My face was decomposed for a moment, eyes open and my mouth ajar, even my hands stopped supporting my head causing me to almost fall to the ground. I tried to compose myself as best I could, fixing my shirt, eliminating the wrinkles that had formed from being with my torso on the uncomfortable wood, and pulling some hair that had fallen over my eyes to one side.

"Yeah, you wish" I threw my body back and stretched out my arm to close the window, but not before giving him a half smile and admiring his eyes for the last time before going back to work.

Now I was in front of those eyes once more, with that memory stabbing a knife in the middle of my heart and mind, but with my body being drawn to them like that hot spring day.

I brought my face close to his, one hand running through his hair while the other roamed his chapped, swollen lips. The moment felt soft, calm, even though the weight on our shoulders was harder and more invasive. His hand on my chin was now caressing my neck lightly, as if he were passing a feather over my jugular, the hand that had been caressing my leg, now had placed on my lower back, stretching the fingers and feeling the greater amount of skin under his as much as possible. We both leaned forward and when our lips met again, time seemed to melt.

This time, there was no fight between our lips, there was no resistance, we just dedicated ourselves to melting into each other along with time. Everything felt delicate, Eren's touch on my back, my fingers on his scalp, his hand on my neck pulling me closer to him. Chest to chest, an almost impossible union for less garments that both of us had on, but still it was enough to feel the beating of the other's heart. No heartbeat was neither too fast nor too slow, they were just in perfect harmony, it was… perfect.

I could feel his lashes brush against mine with every turn of the head I took to sink the kiss, his locks tickling my cheeks, and his tongue, intrusive as it was, was welcome. My senses intensified, causing me to wrap myself in a sea of sensations and little by little the current took me to the deepest waters, feeling how the weight of my body was getting smaller and smaller, as if my body itself made smaller.

I felt vulnerable and it was the same Eren who brought these senses to the surface, the same one who could put them in a bottle, throw them into the sea and lose them in the waves, at the same time that he could bring them back with the simple movement of his hand.

We parted ways to reconnect once more, this time harder and needy. His hands were placed on either side of my waist, pulling me closer to him with more force, connecting our torsos even more and bumping our hips. I groaned when I felt his crotch against mine, I was perfectly positioned on him and every feverish kiss, every movement, made me grind on him. His tongue ran through my mouth as if it were the last time he would do it, it felt abrupt, as if a prayer was taking place, wishing that we would never disconnect from each other. He ran through every part of me, colliding with mine even my teeth, he was desperate and it showed. His teeth took my lower lip between them, biting and tugging slightly, giving me the perfect opportunity to elicit a guttural moan as I felt his cock already erect against my entrance.

He took my mouth back into his, sliding his hands down to the soft flesh of my ass, each hand over the round cheeks, and squeezed, marking his fingers hard over them. He took the opportunity to guide me on his cock back and forth, movements slow but accurate and hard, each grind felt like fire on my center, traveling up my back towards the brain. I was beginning to feel light in the head, my coherence was clouded and the only thing I could think was more, more, more.

At this point I just grunting at every grind he made me do, lifting me slightly to come down again and position myself even closer to his crotch. I bit his upper lip in an attempt to stifle a moan as I felt a wet spot begin to form in the middle of my pants and his dick leaning right in that same spot.

"Don't keep the moans to yourself" he lifted his lips from mine and moved down from my cheek to my neck.

I kept grinding on him involuntarily, no longer with his help, but still feeling his colossal hands squeeze my ass and hold me steady in my movements. He didn't want me to stop and honestly, I didn’t to stop either. The pressure I felt on his dick was too much, even his lips would detach from my skin from time to time, releasing small but notorious grunts, given the pleasure that this simple but filthy action generated to us.

"Fuck, Eren" I moaned as I hit his pelvis once more, this time harder than before. I felt him chuckling as I noticed how my moans began to come out of my vocal chords, with no intention of stopping. The friction felt delicious, we were both getting off with each other without even being in the main event.

My fingers tangled in his hair, drawing his face impossibly closer to my neck. I felt his lips leave a thin wet line on the hollow of my clavicle and sting lightly with his teeth. His hands couldn't stay still, the more friction we generated, the more I grinded on him, the more they moved through my body; they passed over my thighs, my back, the sides of my stomach to my chest.

I expanded my chest on the touch of him, preparing myself for what was to come, letting out a groan as I felt his fingers reach the limits of my nipples. They were a little cold and generated a perfect contrast with the heat that began to emanate from within, starting to make my nipples erect under his fingertips. Took one between his two fingers and the heat that was gradually forming in the tip of my stomach was getting bigger. The need for him not only generated great pleasure on my fibers, but also impatience, Eren was characterized by being a damn teaser when it came to sex.

His fingers eased my poor, swollen nipple and pulled my shirt off my shoulders, leaving only my leather suit like Eren, both now in direct contact with our body heat. The shirt fell to the ground at the same time that his lips were detached from my neck, he dedicated himself to arranging the shirt on the grass while still having me straddling him. The same happened with his jacket and shirt, which had been much closer to us than I had imagined. The three garments made a poor case of cover on the grass, but that was enough for Eren to roll me onto his back and settle on top of me.

Lips against lips, hands running over each other's body, savoring on our fingertips the heat of the skin, each muscle and bone marked, the hair of both getting tangled up in the environment, spread over the fabric in my case or Eren's falling towards my face if not spread over my fingers.

Eren settled to the side, leaving a small space between us, and let his hand run over my stomach, slowly, delicately, roaming around my entire torso until it reached my hips. His hand stopped to explore, feeling the bones outlining the body and the beginnings of the legs. His touch was so soft that he even tickled me. His fingers reached a sensitive area, drawing little giggles against my lips, but Eren's intentions weren’t to make me laugh and they were more than clear. Noticing my giggles climbing, he took the opportunity to reach under my pants, even under my underwear. Now the giggles were transformed into moans and sighs when I felt his finger brush my most needy area.

He was starting to burn, little beads of sweat were forming on the back of my neck and forehead, and he wasn't being fair at all. His finger was just brushing, again, and again, and again through my center, giving me the necessary pleasure to moan in his mouth, but never enough. It wasn't enough and Eren knew it, he was torturing me in the most delicious and infuriating way he knew. I guided my hand to his, undoing the buttons on the stained pants, now having more space and comfort, and placed it over his, applying just enough pressure for him to realize how needy I was.

And it worked. Eren heeded my silent prayer and inserted a finger, coming into contact with my wet walls. I moaned as I felt his finger slide slowly inside, his simple finger never fails to make me see stars and this case was no different. It's pumping slowly, too slowly, too much. This was no time for delicacies. The tip brushed the right places, driving the heat in my stomach to expand more, more and more.

"Eren" I growled hoping that my pathetic voice carried enough prayer to give me what I needed.

Eren inserted another finger, twisting it and applying more pressure to my sore spot. I felt like my body was becoming lighter as the pleasure was taking possession. Each twist, each impulse, each pressure was like an electric shock on my spine that ran through the veins and spread throughout the body, until there was no space left untouched. My back arched as I felt both fingers brush against my sweet spot, making Eren giggle over my ear.

"How do my fingers feel inside?" he whispered dangerously into my ear, biting the lobe and generating a new electrical reaction over me.

It was impossible for me to speak, the only thing that came out of my mouth were moans after moans. My free hand went to Eren's neck, I pulled him as close as I could to my face. My gaze was cloudy and narrowed, it was difficult to maintain control. His eyes were not on mine, rather they were on my crotch, seeing how his fingers disappeared without difficulty inside me and came out again and again, wetting them in the process. I tried to draw him to my lips to avoid giving an answer to his question, which had entered one ear and left the other. His fingers wreaked havoc inside me and every time I tried to open my mouth to answer, a new moan came out, making me impossible every second. I was sure that if this continued, I would end up forgetting the question.

"Say it or I'll stop and I'll leave you naked for others to find you" his voice had deepened, and being so close to my ear it only generated more vibrations under my spine.

My head was spinning, trying to formulate an answer before stammering it. It was difficult considering that his fingers had picked up the pace, moving in and out of my hole with a steady rhythm and able to propel my body along with them, and his breath over my ear and neck.

"It - ah - it feels good" it really felt good, I hadn't felt this good in months.

My answer made him smile, apart from twisting his fingers once more before applying pressure to my weak point. I couldn't tell if what came out of my mouth was a moan or a scream, or perhaps a guttural groan, but what I was sure was the fact I was close, too close, to cum. I felt like that heat at the tip of my stomach expanded more, almost without having more space in my body to expand. I was close, my legs twisting on the clothing, spreading it and disarming the covering, and just as I was about to feel the long-awaited launch, it stopped. The damned bastard had stopped.

My eyes went wide at the desperation in my body to break free. Internally I was screaming, I was angry but the trembling of my legs and my arms didn't let me do much. He wanted to curse him, ask him a thousand and a few things, demand an explanation of why in his right mind, if he still had one, it occurred him to stop. Before I could utter a word, Eren straightened up and placed his hands on my hips, exactly above the limits of my pants, squeezing them firmly but gently. I looked at him expecting him to do something, but when he didn't move after a few seconds, I looked up at his. He was looking directly at me, and he was the one waiting for a signal to continue.

I swallowed hard, placed my hands over his and guided them down, raising my butt just enough that we could remove the annoying garment. In our rush and clouded heads, we didn't realize that the shoes were still on, the pants got stuck, and we only realized our mistake when we couldn't get it down after multiple fussing. We turn our gazes to the pants, then to us. We started laughing, it was like reliving our first time, clumsy, inexperienced, but at the same time funny and careful.

Eren shed my shoes, trying to caress my legs every time the worn leather slipped off me. From so much being using them for two days in a row, using them not only for walking and treating patients, but also for running where they shouldn't be used, the leather had stuck to my legs, marking them and leaving blisters and bruises from the knees to the toes. Eren ran his hands over each one, being extra careful when he came across a blister or where the flesh was hot red. He stroked each mark that had formed on the skin, running down to his ankles, lifted my right leg over his shoulder, and began to kiss those same marks around my foot. The kisses were soft, as if it were the skin of a newborn baby, his strong but secure hand held the inside of my leg and massaged the area, which I had not realized how tense and beaten it was until I stared at the scene Eren was putting on.

Between that tour inspecting the discomfort in my leg, my eyes were at the mercy of Eren's, feverish and dark. My gaze, my half-parted lips and my ragged breathing was what Eren needed to place my other leg on his other shoulder and massage both equally, giving the same treatment that he gave to the right leg to the left. Now with half my body suspended in the air, I couldn't help but think about the notorious wet spot that surely had left seconds behind thanks to the excitement. I could feel it stick right in the middle of my crotch.

Without taking his eyes off mine, his fingers slowly descended to the strap of my underwear and slowly slid it over my legs until they reached my ankles. I pulled my legs away from his shoulders and pulled them together so he could peel off the fine fabric and discard it somewhere on the grass. My heart was beating uncontrollably in my chest, like I was about to shoot out. After Eren got rid of that miserable garment, I reconnected his lips to mine, stretching and spreading my legs so I could position myself between them. The kiss was short but effective, pulling me out of any thoughts that might have appeared without permission.

I felt Eren's hand on my leg, cupping below the knee and going palm down toward my ankle. His lips were now kissing my sternum, pressing gently on my rib cage. He looked at me, trying to find ... any reaction? Doubt? But there were none. I let my head fall back, letting my hand run through his hair as he roamed my chest and stretched my legs even more with his hands. Every now and then he bit my light skin with his teeth, generating gasps and grunts from me; Reactions that went straight to his cock, still covered and leaning against my core.

I raised my hips to connect with his dick, receiving a gasp from him as a groan escaped me as I felt him hard and throbbing against me. I hadn’t realized that Eren was just as excited as me, his kisses made thinking much more complicated, each pressure from his mouth made the knot in my lower stomach become more present. He went down, leaving a path of kisses for each part of my skin, until he reached my crotch and reached back to see how his work was reflecting in me.

He brought his face in front of where I needed it most and without being able to say anything to him, not even asking what I wanted, he leaned forward; I could feel how his eyes were fixed on me, his gaze penetrating and even if I wasn’t looking at him, I knew that he was observing every reaction, involuntary or not, on my face and on my body. He was so close that I could feel his breath on me, I waited patiently to feel his mouth on that area, but my mouth opened wide when I noticed that his tongue had gone directly to my thigh, giving it a long and wide lick against my fold.

He knew what he was doing, he knew it very well, and he knew he wasn't going to stop until he got what he wanted. Between licks, he gave himself the opportunity to bite the inside of my thigh, making me moan and, according to what he had told me once, were sweet and addictive.

"Eren-" my voice was half out when I felt his tongue pass my core.

He gave a long lick, not once but twice. My hand settled on the back of his head, trying to draw him closer to me. My fingers applied too much force just as my legs involuntarily closed over his head, crushing it against my thighs. He felt warm and soft, softer than his fingers, but at the same time it wasn't enough. It was not a virtue of me to be patient and knowing him, I knew that he would torture me and tease me until I was left as a wet and needy bundle, begging for a release. I was writhing and shaking, my thighs crushing his head more and more with each passage of his tongue as the arousal spread over my stomach.

He raised his hand to my chest, pinning me to the floor as he left cat licks on my crotch, the other instead going to his underwear, running it down far enough to remove his dick. In my damn delusion, he was preparing me to feel his fingers enter my wet hole again, but Eren had other plans. He grabbed the back of my thighs and wrapped them around his waist, positioning himself in between and letting his cock rest between my stomach. He moved his hips forward, giving him all the pleasure against my skin. I looked at him, my lips apart, releasing long sighs, waiting for him to move a little more or turn his attention back to me, avoiding giving his sweet toss a second time.

He guided the tip of his cock towards my entrance, trying to insert it without a little preparation before. Okay, I was wet, but the situation was getting unfair at any moment. Not only unfair, but also too fast and violent. He lunged in, making me scream at such intrusion, instead he groaning as he slid his cock through my walls.

"Fuck" he growled as he placed himself completely inside me.

After weeks, months, without any interaction, or anything like it, the feeling was overwhelming. My muscles flexed at his grip, fluttering around his throbbing, venous cock, his raspy, low voice continuing to send tingles around my spine. I didn't have time to fully adjust to him, moving quickly on top of me, thrusting in and out at a fast pace, hitting the areas most in need within me. It was pleasant, but it hurt, and discomfort outweighed pleasure.

"Wait, just-wait a minute" I tried to sound straight but his shoves clouded my mind, at the same time that they tensed my body, immobilizing me.

I brought a hand to his chest, trying to stop him, but I only made his thrusts go deeper, more intense from him.

"I said wait a fucking minute!"

I reached forward, now both of us face to face, without any bond between our bodies. My hands formed into fists and went straight to his shoulders, pushing him backwards, staying within the limits of our clothes. Without waiting a second, I straddled him, taking his cock right under my entrance. I felt it throbbing, spasming, the heat that emanated from my crotch was enough for him to growl through his teeth. I guided my hand to where our hips met, lifting a little to reach his cock without complications. I could feel every one of his prominent veins on the palm of my hand, it was radiating heat and starting to leak pre-cum from the tip. I ran my thumb through his veins, going from the base to the tip torturously slow. Pumping his cock firmly, examining his reactions; I felt like my ego was inflated when I saw him with his lips parted, moaning on my hand, it was like having him at my complete mercy. To be honest, seeing him in that state, needy, slowly breaking apart beneath me, was the boost I needed to completely destroy him, as he had broken me. I felt powerful and all I needed was to get his dirty cock in my hand and give him a hand job to have him like a wet stray dog.

But ... as I said before, patience was not my virtue, so just as quickly I had started pumping him, I quickly carried him towards my core, sliding his cock back inside, moaning down my throat as I did so. The way his body trembled at the feel of my walls contracting was delicious.

"Fuck you're so tight," he moaned with his jaw open.

Now it was me who created the rhythm, each thrust I took increased the speed slightly. I stood on his shoulders, moving my palms between his collarbone and his neck, I didn't know what to do with them and I couldn't keep them still. The excitement was building very well and my body was responding on its own. Eren placed one hand on my hip, helping me maintain my thrusts, while the other positioned himself in the crook of my neck, bringing my forehead against his.

"You like this, uh? Do you like to be fuckingthe damn traitor of the country?"

I did nothing but moan at such a vulgar comment, but worst of all, they had reached my crotch; my walls had twisted when I heard him so close to me. My voice had caught in my throat, suffocating me, nothing else came out of my mouth but combinations between moans and grunts. Eren seemed to like it as he began to move more vigorously, he sheathed himself completely inside me, opening his mouth to moan under his breath as he bottoms out.

"You feel so good baby, so so good, my good little baby"

I was tighter than other times, maybe the situation, maybe the position, but fuck the reason, it felt so, so good. I buried my face in the hollow of his shoulder to keep my moans from coming out more prominent, the way his cock settled inside me and brushed every wall virtuously made my body shudder and my eyes go blank. A thrust that touched my sore spot and pulled me closer to Eren at the way he thrust, made me bite his shoulder, hard and deep.

Eren let out a groan as he felt his skin break open and begin to bleed, I could feel the taste of iron on my mouth. It hadn't been my intention to hurt him, but I couldn't control my strength or the way my hips circled as the thrusts picked up speed.

He reached out his hand to grab my hair and bend my neck back, exposing my face to him.

"Shit, that's it baby, mount that cock, I know you like it" the way our hips moved up and down and back and forth in a fiery way until they reached the flush of butt made me shudder. The way he was buried in me seemed like he was trying to reach even deeper, trying to reach my stomach; and it was right there where I felt it most. "I know you love it, you always loved it"

Every movement of him in and out was majestic, it was the best I had felt in months, even better than our previous times. His movements grew steadier, faster, and harder. I felt my body tense up completely, I arched my back against him and kept moving my hips faster, having more friction to work with as I felt the orgasm reach me.

“Are you gonna cum? I can feel your walls tightening"

I nodded my head repeatedly, unable to formulate a word. Eren captured my mouth with his, moving us both at a speed I would never have imagined, our skin colliding over and over and over. The only thing around us was the rapid slapping of skin against skin, the dirty sound of my hole taking him so well, squeezing him more and more.

A strong thrust was what I needed to collapse. I screamed, not caring if anyone was near to listen. Eren's name slipped from my lips repeatedly, as if I was saying a prayer and he alone was my salvation. My back arched again, my hands went to his hair, tousling it and letting brown strands fall over his forehead. My body felt light, much lighter, as if the stress had been released along with the orgasm. I creamed on Eren's cock and his thighs, our legs were wet and my spasms moved any liquid in different directions over our bodies.

In my bliss I hadn’t realized that Eren had never stopped moving, the difference was he’s now going in and out more slowly, much more slowly than we had started.

While we were going slow, I was completely sensitive, and the more thrusts Eren made, the overstimulation took my body by leaps and bounds. No longer moans came from my mouth, but small and soft whines every time he buried himself inside me.

"I love you" his voice came out as a sigh, even lower than that, but loud enough for me to hear.

He froze me a second time, it was already becoming a bad habit on his part. His words were like a dagger to the heart, one that stabbed me over and over and over again. I felt my chest begin to ache, but our movements never stopped. Eren kept pounding against me, like he wanted to accompany his movements with his "sweet" words. My nails dug into his shoulders, trying to dissipate the emotional pain from my chest to the physical pain above him.

"Shut up" I tried to speak still with my head turning thousands of times, avoiding letting out a moan.

His cock kept pounding in just the right places, the rhythm our bodies kept was too sweet, my still erect nipples brushing against his chest, generating more friction than he wanted. His lips still on my neck, each thrust was an open kiss on the jugular.

"I love you" again. There were those filthy words again, words that I needed to have been told months ago, even weeks just as we were returning from Marley. I didn't need them when we were in the middle of a heated sex session in the middle of the woods.

"Stop lying" I bit my lower lip as I felt my walls begin to contract.

We weren't moving at the speed I wanted and that was making me hysterical. I tried to move at my own pace, to move my hips over his pelvis and have the friction that I badly needed to cum, but Eren stopped me. He had a strong grip on my hip and no matter how many inches I moved, he would bring me back to the original position, torturing me with his slow step. His lips moved up to my cheek, giving me a small kiss before moving again and pushing me against him, both of them being chest to chest.

Another kiss, and another, and another. Each one to the rhythm of our tapping.

"I'm not lying" Eren moaned into my ear, reaching for my hair and pulling it back. His mouth now close to mine, a few millimeters closer, reaching out to kiss me.

"SHUT UP! ... please ... shut up" I pulled him away from me, throwing him to the floor, now I was on top of him.

His face twisted as he hit the ground and he closed his eyes due to the pain on his back. My hands were on either side of his head, giving me more room to settle in and examine his face perfectly. A small layer of sweat had formed on his forehead and the root of his scalp, little hickeys he had left behind, which were already fading, and his hair was already completely matted; What was once a bun, now it barely held a few strands, leaving the vast majority of the hair down and spilling over the clothes.

His eyes widened again when I placed my hands on his cheeks. His gaze was the same as always, perhaps he was showing a little sadness, or perhaps fatigue.

Please, just ... don’t

"…okay"

I began to move my hips again in a slow, gentle circular motion, trying to rebuild the mood. We maintained eye contact, neither of us wanted to stop looking at the other, even though our eyes narrowed for the little pleasure. My mouth parted as I started to increase my speed, but still going slowly, without having any hint of speed or exasperation in my movements. It was sensual, tender… desperate. His cock went in and out without difficulty, feeling it on every wall, noticing how it began to twist and get bigger as my walls tightened.

My hands didn't hold me for long, ending up collapsing on his chest. Eren never took his hands off my hips, now they helped me keep up, occasionally massaging the softness of my butt cheeks. I moaned as I felt the tip of his cock reach my deepest spot repeatedly.

One of his hands went straight to the back of my neck and squeezed, drawing me to him and capturing my mouth. His thrusts were increasing in speed and hardness, the rhythm already lost and our kisses sloppies and disheveled.

“Fuck-I’ m…”I spoke between kisses, unable to articulate words between his thrusts and his lips didn’t detach from mine. I wasn't going to last long, I knew it. Eren groaned at hearing my shaky voice and his breathing became faster.

"I know, cum again baby, cum on this cock" our hips moved in unison at a rhythm impossible to explain, if there was a rhythm to begin with. We were going fast, but at the same time slow, we tried to impact our weak spots with each other. We avoided separating, even grew closer, as if we were about to merge. Eren was holding me against his chest as close as possible.

The knot in my stomach, that familiar feeling, accumulated and began to expand in a gigantic way, my eyes narrowed but able to see the height of Eren in his eyes, as well as mine reflected in them. "Please, cum with me"

It was all I needed. My walls contracted and fluids began to flow out of my core, soaking us both and leaving a mess not only on our bodies, but also on our clothes. I moan his name in that moment of ecstasy, wasted, tired and satisfied. Eren, still at his prayer, followed me shortly after, shooting in and his heat filling me completely. His body tensed for a few moments beneath me, his hands circling my back and head as he continued to spread his cum inside me.

I felt him shooting each load, filling me up really well. I kept contracting, still gasping for air and shaking, but neither of us had any intention of separating, much less Eren of coming out. After weeks of languishing a bit of peace, as much as the situation wasn’t the right one, we had both found it. I rested my cheek on his chest, listening to his racing heart and allowing his fingers to wrap around my hair.

We were calm, only our breaths were heard around and our hearts trying to return to their normal rhythm. I relaxed when I felt his hands caress me in the same way that he had caressed me in our previous times, it was that kind of caress that allowed you to stay all the time in the world in the arms of your loved one. They were those caresses that I had longed to receive, the same ones that I was afraid of being used against me and confusing me more than I already was.

Eren gave me a light kiss on the temple, massaging my lower back and still keeping me close to him. I let him cradle me to his chest for a while longer, realizing that the moment we changed, we would be back on our own sides, ready to continue fighting for what we believed was fair.

This time, only this time, I would let myself be carried away, even to the point of being unconscious in his arms and succumbing to a much needed sleep.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tag List: @aestosia @amberciel @sof-yeager @iwony @curseofymir @etherealkatrina @mariaerdgzn @paypay0315 @despst @kisekinokishi @crazymar15 @gis21345 @urinejaeger @zhilon @dianacavendishh @lucielbinon-binary @cryingforwill @ryan249057 @stardustmonkey @asahinsunakinnie @obeymekookie @iwishyoucouldbekissed @wonkyunsstuff @jeanbabygirl @fairlynies @witchymermaid12 @aniah2 @thestrugglesofateenagedirtbag @skysdonut @crazymar15 @healpeony @odelia @shamelesschristian

#eren jaeger #eren jaeger x reader #eren yeager #Eren yeager x reader #eren jaeger smut #eren yeager smut #snk #aot #shingeki no kyojin #attack on titan #when the world falls apart #eren smut #eren angst #eren x reader #when the world falls apart updates #when the world falls apart update

100 notes · View notes

winterhawk-olympic-bang · 3 years

Text

How To Edit Your Writing

Guest Poster: Chronicwhimsy

Here is our final Writer Workshop post, written by Chronicwhimsy. Have a read and then head over to the Discord Server where we have a channel for you to take part in a discussion based on the post, with chances to share your own ideas too.

Editing: a drive-by guide

Hi, my name is Claire, and I’m an editor.

(Hi Claire)

I’ve been asked to give a quick guide on tips for editing your stories, as I’ve been a beta/editor for various fanfic writers over the years. I’m a professional editor, working for a publishing house in the UK, and I offer independent freelance editing too, via my website. I’ll be on the Discord server answering questions this evening, but I’m also happy to chat to people either through my website or even if you wanted to drop me a line on tumblr.

The key thing to remember about editing is that the end goal is to make your story the best it can be, and make sure your initial idea comes across as clearly and purely as you first imagined it. It’s about ensuring that the lines of communication between you and your reader are 100% open.

To do that, you need to have finished your story, because you can’t fix something that doesn’t exist.

Then you edit.

What now?

So, you’ve finished your Winterhawk Olympic Bang Fic, and you’re wondering what to do next?

The very first, and most important thing you should do? Celebrate. I mean congratulate the hell out of yourself, pat yourself on the back, and have some cake. Finishing stories is hard. Getting through a first draft is one of the trickiest parts of writing, so you should be proud of yourself, and proud of your story.

Because in a short while, editing is going to make you hate both.

I mean that in the nicest possible way of course, but you absolutely are going to be thoroughly sick of this whole thing by the time you’re done, and you’re going to question everything you’ve ever written. You’re going to get a close-up view of all your narrative bad habits which will make you think you’ve never had any skill at all, and you’re going to re-read your work so many times that it’ll feel trite, old, uninspired. This is normal and it is your brain lying to you. If you remember nothing else, remember that!

“The writing itself is no big deal. The editing, and even more than that, the self-doubt, is excruciatingly impossible.” Jonathan Safran Foer

Don’t lose faith! Editors and editing exist for a reason, no first draft is perfect. You’ve done something amazing in finishing, and now you’re going to make it incredible.

Before You Start - Take a Break

You know the phrase “can’t see the wood for the trees”? It could just as easily be “can’t see the story for the words.” It’s never recommended to go straight into editing as soon as you finish writing, and part of the reason for that is because you’re too deep in the story to be able to assess it objectively, or to catch things that are missed out because you know they’re there, but the reader wouldn’t.

“Once it's done, put it away until you can read it with new eyes. When you're ready, pick it up and read it, as if you've never read it before.” Neil Gaiman

Most writers and editors advocate putting a story away for a month or so before returning to edit, so you’re looking at it with fresh eyes. Obviously, with a Big Bang (or other fic event) this sort of time is usually at a premium! Try and make as much space as you can while still leaving yourself time to edit.

If you really don’t have any time, one trick that can help is changing your location. If you write in your room, can you relocate to your kitchen? Or a café (if you can safely)? Could you print it out? (Printing Top Tip: if you do print it, try and do it double-spaced - this makes it easier on the eyes, and gives you room to make notes. Also, serif fonts can often be easier to read than sans serif fonts, as it gives stronger distinctions between different letters.)

The Filter System

I like to think of the editing process as a series of different filters which, when used one after the other, produce a finely-sieved finished product. Each filter stage has slightly smaller holes than the one before it, as you look increasingly closely at your work.

Filter 1: Structural editing

Does the story make sense? Is the pace okay? Do all the scenes work where they are, or would they be better elsewhere? Do some scenes need to be there at all? Is the characterisation consistent? Does anyone change names halfway through? Did you forget what time of year it was set halfway through?

Filter 2: Line editing

Is this phrase as tight as it could be? Have you repeated yourself anywhere? Does this sentence add anything or does it throw the pace off? Have you gone overboard with adjectives and similes? Have you been too sparse with them?

Filter 3: Copy editing

Is your style consistent? Did you start writing in present tense and switch to past tense? Could this scene transition be snappier? Are there any bits that you want to tidy up? Have you left any half-finished sentences because you got distracted before you could end it?

Filter 4: Proofreading

Is everything spelled correctly? Have you caught all the strange grammar mistakes?

Some of these things might be picked up by your beta reader if you have one. Different beta readers have different styles, and also they will work based on their relationship with you and what you prefer. Some may stick to proofreading and consistency-checking, others may be more confident to dive right in and look at structure, pacing and characterisation. Some may work through the process with you as you write, others may only look at the story when it’s complete so they can get a full overview. There is no right or wrong answer, and having a conversation with your beta about your respective styles at the start can help you work better together!

Filter 1 - Structural Editing

For this stage, you want to read your whole story through from start to finish, and resist the urge to tweak anything to begin with! You will want a way of making notes as you go through because as you do, you’ll make yourself a cheat-sheet to help you with your line edit. Things to keep track of:

Character name spellings

Character ages

Character relationships (drawing a relationship web can be very helpful to visualise this!)

The time span of the story - the date it starts, the date it ends.

As a subset of this, I find it can be very helpful to set up a spreadsheet with a timeline of what happens in the story, and who is involved. Doing this both chronologically for the characters and in order of how it happens in the story can help you keep track of what characters know when, and also when the readers find out certain information. You might have one of these from when you were planning your story (as detailed in Sara Holmes’ workshop). If you’ve kept it up to date with changes to the plot and structure as you’ve written, this will be super helpful.

At this stage, you’re looking to see if everything works as a consistent story. You want to check to see if it feels like it’s the right pace, or if there are bits where it drags or rushes through the action. Why is this? Are there scenes which aren’t adding anything to the progress? Could they just be referred to in passing, or removed entirely without impacting the story? Are there other scenes which need to be added to provide more detail and growth? Is there anything that you as a writer know that is essential to the story, but you forgot to actually put in the text?

“Crafty writers...don't allow Exposition to form Lumps. They break up the information, grind it fine, and make it into bricks to build the story with.” Ursula K. Le Guin

You’re also looking to see if the characters feel true to themselves all the way through. Do the relationships spark? Do they sound like themselves? Can you hear them in your head?

Some people recommend doing several structural edits, with a different focus each time. One pass to look at the pacing, one pass to look at the characters, one to look at the story arc. You’ll work out what floats your boat, but you will be re-reading this story a lot of times before you’re done editing - which is why it’s very important to write what you love and want to read! You’ll go through many stages of hating this story before you let it go, and that will be even harder if it wasn’t something you enjoyed in the first place.

Filter 2 - Line Editing

So you remember I told you to make all those notes during your structural edit? Here’s where you’re going to use them. Now’s the time to go through your story line by line and check that the details in your cheat sheet are correct all the way through the story. I’ve written a novel that I initially set in November, but by the time I finished it, I’d decided it was taking place in early May. I had to go back and fix all the dates and weather descriptions to make sure the action hadn’t actually been yeeted forward six months spontaneously in the middle of a conversation.

Arguably, the line edit will be the most painful part of editing. At this stage, you will be taking a fine-tooth comb to everything you have written, examining it to within an inch of its life, and casting judgement. You’re going to find every stylistic tic you have (for me, everyone is constantly quirking their eyebrows and smirking like they’ve got cramp in their facial muscles), and you’re going to get rid of them (a person only has so many eyebrows, and they can only quirk so far). Now is the time to kill your darlings - don’t hang on to anything unless you feel it’s really doing a job to further the story and the characters.

“Kill your darlings, kill your darlings, even when it breaks your egocentric little scribbler's heart, kill your darlings.” Stephen King

If you have ever worried about the unbearable sensation of being Known, the line edit is where you will experience that with every word, and you’ll be doing it to yourself. This is when the doubts will really start to creep in and you will maybe feel like everything you write is unoriginal, derivative trash and unfit for human eyes.

Here I’ll reiterate what I said above:

This is a normal feeling, everyone experiences it when editing. E V E R Y O N E.

It’s a lie. No-one else will ever read your story in this state, no-one else will ever read your story this closely. Of course it feels obvious and uninspired to you - you wrote it. It’s your idea, and you’ve read it several times, it holds no surprises for you. (I may be projecting my feelings from every time I’ve edited something here, but…)

You’ll also be catching any ELEPHANTS or whatever your mammal of choice for placeholder text is that you’ve stationed throughout the story as a flag for you to come back and add in a name, or a food, or a song title later. You know, the things you decided were a problem for Future!You. I have bad news, the future is now.

Top Tip: if you have changed someone’s name halfway through, DON’T for the love of Mike, just do a straight find and replace to correct it. Because that’s when you suddenly find out how many other words actually contain names (Mark became Bill? That’s great, until your characters are going to the superBillet to buy groceries). Some word processing programmes have a “whole word” option which is your friend, otherwise ensure to put spaces either side of the word when you search. If you don’t, you’ve just made another horrible job for yourself...

Filter 3 - Copy Editing

Once you’ve made it out the other side of the Line Edit (and given yourself a nice treat to congratulate yourself because that stage is HARD), we get onto copy editing. This is basically the set-dressing stage. You’ve built the house, you’ve decorated the room, and now you’re just making sure every bit of furniture is in the right place for optimal feng shui.

Here’s where you go through and go, do I really need a dash here, or could I just use a comma? Could I use fewer commas? Could I go in and move all of @kangofu_cb’s commas around because I’m the sort of person who will come into your house and change how you hang your toilet paper or where you keep your ketchup.

Now is the time to be as picky as possible, like you’re an interior designer for the most demanding client in the world and the ornament must be exactly equidistant from both ends of the mantlepiece and facing precisely south-west. Things that may have just survived your line edit will be measured again, and if they’re found wanting, then they get binned.

“Substitute ‘damn’ every time you’re inclined to write ‘very’; your editor will delete it and the writing will be just as it should be.” Mark Twain

Another thing you might like to do here is check that all your features and things are correct. Did you make a wild claim about the lifecycle of salamanders, or the average price of corn and then never go back to verify this? Take a second to just do that now. It may be that you decide it’s not a problem (I received one copy edit note saying that an idiom used in a book wasn’t recorded until 200 years later, and I made the editorial decision that no-one would care), but for bigger things you may want to make sure you’re accurate.

If you google it (as I just did, to make sure I was definitely giving you the right information), copy editing is often conflated with line editing, and that’s because in reality a lot of the elements of copy editing actually wouldn’t usually be done by the author, and are probably irrelevant to fanfic. The copy editor is responsible for ensuring the book has a consistent grammatical style in line with the preferences of the publisher (em-dash or en-dash, curly quote marks or straight ones, how you deal with acronyms, what needs to be italicised, etc. etc.), which isn’t necessarily required for fanfic. In reality, for fanfic I’d use this stage as a second, lighter line-edit to see where things can be tightened up in phrasing, as well as perhaps a preliminary proofread where you start to mark up any spelling errors.

Filter 4 - Proofreading

By this stage, you’ll be exhausted, and sick to death of the blasted thing. But the end is in sight! Now you’re onto the proofread. This is another close read, where you go through and check for spelling errors, typos, missing full stops, strange formatting stuff (which probably will be less of an issue as AO3 basically makes everything uniform anyway).

Before you even start this, change your font.

We’ve all been there, thought we’d caught every spelling error, every weird typo, only to spot six immediately after posting. That’s because after a certain point our brain becomes used to the font we’ve written in, and will automatically correct things that aren’t right. AO3 has its own unique formatting - colour, spacing, font - and the minute your fic appears on there in this new format you brain wakes up and is like “oh shit, yeah, that’s not how it should be.”

By changing the font before you proofread, you preempt this step.

Another thing to remember: it’s unlikely you will ever catch every mistake. Published books regularly go out with a smattering of typographical errors throughout the text - how many first editions of books are valuable because of misspellings that slipped through the net? You’re only human.

“Connie's other job was proof-editing which she did very badly. Transferring the author's corrections to a clean sheet of proofs was something Connie was unable to do without missing an average of three corrections a page, or transcribing newly inserted material all wrong... she put angry authors' letters about the mutilation of their books under the cushion of her chair to deal with later.” Muriel Spark, A Far Cry from Kensington

Often, spelling errors and things you would look for in a proofread are things that a beta reader will pick up as they go, as they’re the easiest things to spot, but it’s also worth looking over yourself for anything your beta might have missed.

Whether you decide to follow any or all of these steps, always do the proofread last.There is no point carefully spellchecking a chapter you are then going to delete, or proofreading the whole thing, but adding loads of new paragraphs later that either don’t get looked at or mean you end up having to proofread twice. That’s the only hard and fast rule when it comes to editing, and it will save you a lot of unnecessary work!

FREEDOM

And then, finally, unbelievably - you’re done. Your literary child is ready to leave the nest. Resist the urge to keep re-reading and tweaking. Instead, click “publish” and give yourself a nice little treat. You’ve earned it.

Miscellany and Disclaimers

These editing stages are ones that would be applied to a published novel. An author would probably do this several times - once on their own to get it ready for submission, then perhaps again with their agent, but the really heavy work would be done with their editor. The structural edit would be done under the advice of an agent or editor where the author looks at their comments, rejigs things accordingly, and lather, rinse, repeat until everyone’s happy. The editor would undertake the line edit, and the author would decide what they wanted to keep or change. The copy edit and proofread would be done in-house or sent to freelancers, with queries and changes wafted past the author for clarification or approval.

Self-published authors will often hire freelancers to help at various stages to get feedback and advice.

Very rarely would an author go from draft to final published piece by doing all their editing alone. Because it’s hard fucking work, and because your brain will get exhausted.

In light of that, you need to remember:

You’ve written a fanfic

The editorial standards of fanfic are significantly less stringent than published books

Editing by yourself is really hard work that many people are often paid to do for published books

No-one is paying you for your fanfic

Fanfic is supposed to be fun

Some published authors will edit and rewrite and edit and rewrite again and again. At a panel I attended, Joanne Harris said that if she didn’t rewrite her work at least five times she was being too easy on herself, while Joe Hill said he usually aimed for three rewrites - Joe edited as he went along, going over the previous day’s pages before continuing, where Joanne completed her manuscripts before editing. Elizabeth May has talked about her stages of drafting, starting with her Trash Draft, then her Clean Draft, and then rewriting and editing after that.

These are people who are writing professionally, getting paid for their work, and so the time they put in has monetary results. If you want to write original fiction, their advice is extremely valuable.

For fanfiction, it’s a large time investment for something you’re doing as a hobby for free. If I’m strictly honest, I’m fairly lax with my fanfiction editing. I do structural discussions and tweaks with my beta reader as I write, and then a spell check. I’m also aware that my fanfics aren’t narratively complex, nor do they seem as polished, rich and deep as some of the other works out there. That’s fine by me. You simply need to find the level you’re happy at, where you can still feel proud of your work but you’re enjoying the experience.

In the end - it’s all for fun!

Resources:

Online

Curtis Brown Creative: An Editor’s Guide to Editing Your Novel

Joanne Harris: Ten Tweets About Editing

Joanne Harris: Writing Resources

NerdsLikeMe: Beta Reading vs Proofreading vs Editing

Books

Stephen King - On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft

Ursula K. Le Guin - Steering the Craft: Exercises and Discussions on Story Writing for the Lone Navigator or the Mutinous Crew

#winterhawk #winterhawk olympic bang #whob #writer workshops #writer workshop: editing #guest post #chronicwhimsy

19 notes · View notes

homeformyheart · 3 years

Note

Jen, my soul requires physical affection prompt #14 play wrestling, Adam and baby du Mortains (or!!! whoever you want!!! this is just the thought that popped in my head) ❤️ (-@wayhavenots)

thank you for requesting this one! It’s a little cute baby du mortain fluff but I couldn’t help but get a little angsty at the end. I haven’t written Adina in a while, so thank you!

author’s note: thank you for the request @wayhavenots. this takes place in the same universe as cottage by the sea and bucket list. it does have a bittersweet ending, so you have been warned and i hope you enjoy! copyright: all characters, except my oc detective, are owned by mishka jenkins @seraphinitegames. series/pairing: the wayhaven chronicles – adam du mortain x f!detective (regina bishop) rating/warnings: 14+; fluff and angst based on/prompt: physical affection prompts // 14. play wrestling word count: ~900 summary: adam reminisces on the times he used to play wrestle with his children.

“papa, i got you!”

regina looked up from where she was playing with philip on the porch to see jacques latching himself on to adam’s leg, his five-year-old sister mimicking the motion on adam’s other leg.

adam smiled and gave her a wink before pretending to stumble backward until he was laying on his back. the children climbed on top of him, doing their best to “pin” his arms down.

“yes, you ‘got’ me. when did you get so strong?”

cecilia grinned, a large gap showing where her two front teeth should be. “me too, papa?”

“yes, you too, my darling,” adam said, curling his arm around her. she squealed and kicked her feet, trying to break out of adam’s grip.

jacques scrambled to sit on top of his father’s abdomen, raising his arms to flex. regina chuckled, knowing full well no one could ever hope to match adam’s strength.

“i’m going to be big and strong like you when i grow up, papa!”

adam chuckled. “but don’t grow up too fast, my son.”

he knew moments like this were fleeting, not just as a parent but because of his nature. he glanced over at regina, currently rocking philip to sleep in her arms as she paced the length of the porch. he knew, with a heaviness in his heart that in the blink of an eye, his entire world would disappear from the earth.

and there was nothing he could do about it.

even if he kept his eyes open for eternity.

instead, he turned back to his children, determined to focus on what he could do. which was to fill his heart with as many memories and happy moments as possible. and hope that when the time came, it would be enough to keep him warm.

many, many decades later

adam smiled up at his great-great grandchild, who was sitting on his chest and holding his face between their tiny hands.

he took note of how the mid-afternoon sun seemed to hit the golden highlights of their sandy-brown hair, softening the bright blue of their eyes that reminded him of his wife’s.

“pappy, will i be as big as you when i grow up?”

“if you work hard, jackie, you can be whatever you want to be,” he said, chuckling inwardly at the feeling of déjà vu.

over a lifetime ago he said something similar to a child once. if his memory served him right, it was at the wayhaven police station; the pathologist’s child. regina had found it hilarious at the time but later admitted she thought it was adorable.

“do you have to go already, pappy?” jackie pleaded as adam carefully stood up, giving them a tender kiss on the forehead before handing them to their parents.

“yes, i have to go see your great-nana. but i’ll come visit next week, alright?”

“okay, i love you pappy!”

adam paused at the gate to look back at his children (because no matter how many generations passed, they were all his children) waving at him. he gave a small wave back, trying not to dwell on how his heart felt both full and heavy as he made his way over to the cemetery on the other side of town, picking up a small bouquet of regina’s favorite flowers on the way.

each step he took on the cobblestone walkway was a slow and deliberate exercise in leaving his grief, however temporary, at the gate. he didn’t want to be overcome with sadness when he visited with her, because she deserved to know how many lives she touched and how much good her own life did, even generations later.

with every step forward he tried to think back only on the most joyful moments from the life they shared. and stories that would make her smile and laugh, even if it was at his expense.

he visualized the wall around his heart falling away, piece by piece, as he got closer to her grave until he felt completely exposed. he wanted to lay himself bare before her – a penance, perhaps, for holding so much back from her while they were together.

even at his best and most honest, he had still hidden away some of his most prominent fears – perhaps, because they all revolved around her. he also never mustered the courage to tell her how much he wanted to take back his word that he would respect her decision.

because he wanted her to stay.

to turn.

to choose forever in the truest sense of the word.

“you should’ve seen them,” he murmured, eyes shining with pride but glimmering with tears. “they’re so big now and curious. stubbornly so, like you.”

he knelt down on one knee to brush away the dirt on the inscription and clear away the weeds, frowning as he realized it had been a while since he last visited.

“i wish you were here, my love. i miss you.”

he placed the bouquet in front of her headstone, removing the withered one from his last visit before standing back up.

he had long since stopped promising to visit again soon, having broken those promises many times over when it was too difficult for him to face that she was gone forever.

at least while he was busy with work, he could distract himself and let the time pass him by. but he was trying to visit with his children more often, and there were some parts of his reality he couldn’t ignore anymore. so he needed to find a different way to cope.

as he walked out of the cemetery, he let the wall around his heart rebuild itself, brick by brick. hopefully, the wall would last until next time.

from these physical affection prompts (always accepting)

* * * * * taglist: @kelseaaa; @kat-tia801; @anotherbeingsworld; @crackerdumortain; @pearlsandsteel; @gloynporslen; @writer-ish; @sosolenoo; @alyssalauren; @fhauvilles; @wayhavenots; @gingerbreton; @takemyopenheart;

42 notes · View notes

politalysis · 3 years

Text

# What has happened to JK Rowling?

Growing up in the early 2000s immediately made Harry Potter a huge part of your childhood. Even if you never read the books or watched the films, you can probably name the three main characters. Even if you weren’t interested in Harry Potter in the slightest, you probably know your Hogwarts house. It’s incredible what Harry Potter did for our generation all over the world. Children would stay up on their eleventh birthdays anxiously awaiting a Hogwarts acceptance letter, knowing full well that owl was never going to come. Our imagination kept the dream of going to Hogwarts and learning magic alive anyway. Even now at the age of 23, I can for the most part keep a conversation flowing with anyone who has read the books or even just watched the films. You could even go as far as to say it was our generation’s Lord of the Rings.

JK Rowling came from very humble beginnings. She suffered with depression in her childhood and early teens, and lost her mother to multiple sclerosis in 1990. These struggles inspired her a lot when writing Harry Potter. She channeled her grief and pain into her writing. In 1992, she married a man she had met whilst living in Portugal, but Rowling suffered domestic abuse at his hands and the couple separated a year later. She lost her job and moved to Edinburgh in Scotland, where she had to sign up for welfare benefits, which left her a poor and depressed single mother spending her time writing in coffee shops. When she finished writing Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone, twelve publishers rejected the opportunity to publish the book. Once someone finally agreed to publish the book, it became the best selling children’s book of the year.

We all know how the story goes from there. Rowling wrote six more Harry Potter books, eight films were made, and Rowling went from a poor vulnerable single mother to a multi millionaire in the space of a few short years. Harry Potter is now a global brand estimated to be worth about $15 billion. The last four books have each consecutively set the record for the fastest selling book in history. Rowling is now the richest author in the world, with a net worth of $92 million. But as well as money, JK Rowling has over 14 million followers on Twitter. This gives her massive influence as well as money. Rowling seemed to initially use this influence for good, spreading mental health awareness, LGBT inclusivity, interacting with fans and creating a website for all us Harry Potter fans to determine our houses and let our wands choose us.

I remember being 8 years old when Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince was released, and I was attending a religious school where some parents complained and called to ban Harry Potter over the controversial decision JK Rowling made regarding Dumbledore’s sexuality. Rowling had made the claim that Dumbledore was gay. Looking back, the controversy was ridiculous and I can only imagine how embarrassed some of those parents must be. I also remember as I got older, re-reading Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows I noticed more that the emotion behind Dumbledore’s relationship with Grindelwald was one he held with a romantic love. So years later, when several members of the LGBT community attacked Rowling for only deciding Dumbledore’s sexuality after the books were written, I publicly defended her with my knowledge that that simply wasn’t true. I had this image of Rowling in my mind, that she had always been on the right side of this debate. She had always been inclusive and supportive of LGBT people as far as I could see, and I just didn’t understand the issue. Rowling had always expressed a centre-left political perspective, and although I didn’t agree with all her views, they seemed relatively uncontroversial.

When Harry Potter and the Cursed Child was released, I hated it. It was a literary disaster, completely disrespectful of the original book series, the characters were a shell of the characters we had grown up with, the plot was almost deliberately ridiculous and overly elaborate and I immediately dismissed it as not canon. I have never forgiven JK Rowling for publicly stating the book was canon. She almost destroyed a whole two decades of her own hard work and the franchise that she’d built that had been like a home for a whole generation. All because she wanted to grab a few extra quid for a terrible book she didn’t even write. To this day I can’t help but wonder if she has even read the book. If I had written the masterpiece that is Harry Potter, I would view the Cursed Child as an insult. Perhaps I’ll even write a review one day, just for fun. Rowling also annoyed me by going back on her story, regretting pairing Ron and Hermione together and not pairing Hermione with Harry. Ron and Hermione are my favourite couple from the story, and their relationship had so much meaning. I couldn’t believe that the author who wrote such a clever and consistent relationship between two beloved characters could ever regret it. At this point in my life, I was beginning to wonder if perhaps Rowling was losing her mind. It was almost like she was trying to destroy her legacy.

As more years passed, the Fantastic Beasts films were released. The first film looked promising, but the second film was yet another disaster. Again, it was inconsistent with the franchise as we knew it, for some reason Hogwarts was full of people wearing 3 piece suits instead of the robes they wore in the Harry Potter series and Minerva McGonigall appeared as a teacher despite the fact that canonically there is no way she could have been old enough. The film was a disaster with both fans and critics hating it. Amongst this mess came controversy in December 2019. Rowling lost all respect she had once held amongst the transgender community when she made a public statement supporting Maya Forstater, a British woman who lost her employment tribunal case against her employer who fired her over transphobic comments. Six months later on June 6 2020, Rowling criticised the term “people who menstruate” and stated: "If sex isn’t real, the lived reality of women globally is erased. I know and love trans people, but erasing the concept of sex removes the ability of many to meaningfully discuss their lives." Rowling’s views on these issues were heavily criticised by GLAAD and even by the actors from the Harry Potter movies including lead actors Daniel Radcliffe, Rupert Grint and Emma Watson.

Rowling published a 3,600 word essay in response to the mass criticism of her views four days later. The essay did her no favours, as she wrote: “When you throw open the doors of bathrooms and changing rooms to any man who believes or feels he’s a woman then you open the door to any and all men who wish to come inside.” She seemed to be suggesting that trans women are often just men disguised as women in order to trick or even harm other women. This obviously angered the transgender community even more, and women’s refuge shelters that allow trans women were reporting no rise in violence as a result, children’s charities that support gender non conforming children were criticising Rowling, she was being made to give back awards and ultimately Rowling was labelled a Trans exclusionary radical feminist, a term often abbreviated to TERF.

JK Rowling is the perfect example of how money and influence can make someone forget their roots so easily. For someone who survived poverty, domestic abuse and sexual assault, she is so lacking in self awareness and how the things she has said and done can be harmful to transgender people. It is widely reported that transgender women are at more risk of harm in female restrooms than cisgender women. With acceptance becoming the norm, transgender people are feeling more safe to come out now than ever before, and so the rise in numbers of the community is huge, especially amongst our generation who grew up with Harry Potter. For a young transgender teenager to grow up wondering how Hogwarts would accommodate them, only to hear the author who gave us Hogwarts in the first place disapprove of equal rights for transgender people, must be very disheartening. However, JK Rowling has proven that she has no idea how powerful the legacy her books created really is. She was tasked with following up the Harry Potter series, and what she gave us was inconsistent and very poorly written screenplays. I have read better sequels on tumblr. Lots of them. Hogwarts doesn’t belong to JK Rowling, it belongs to the fandom. And I’ll be willing to bet my last penny that if Professor McGonigall witnessed any bullying of transgender students in her classroom (or indeed the girls bathroom!) she’d absolutely defend the victim without a moment’s hesitation. Hermione would decorate the Gryffindor common room with little blue, pink and white flags in support of a transgender first year who’d just been sorted into Gryffindor. Luna Lovegood would sit and befriend any trans student who looked lonely, and Ginny would dish out a bat bogey hex to anyone who dared pick on them. No matter what JK Rowling thinks, Hogwarts is not hers to ruin. It is ours. Regardless of what makes us different, Hogwarts is our home.

#jk rowling #harry potter #hogwarts #gryffindor #hufflepuff #ravenclaw #slytherin #gay dumbledore #trans rights #edinburgh #professor umbridge #fuck rowling #cursed child is not canon #ron and hermione #lgbtq #lgbt representation #writing

47 notes · View notes

dingoes8myrp · 3 years

Text

An Examination of Joss Whedon

On February 11th, Charisma Carpenter made a post on her Instagram account detailing mistreatment she experienced on the sets of Angel and Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Carpenter worked on both shows from 1996 to 2004 and attributes this mistreatment to show creator Joss Whedon.

On the same day, I made a post on my Tumblr and my WordPress accounts regarding my stance on this topic. I felt it was important for me to post something quickly due to the large number of Buffyverse followers and mutuals on my Tumblr.

I was overwhelmed by the likes, reblogs, and comments this post received in less than twenty-four hours. I’m so glad so many people support Charisma Carpenter and others who are speaking out about their experiences.

Workplace mistreatment is insidious, and too often the systems in place to mediate these situations are designed to protect the employer rather than the person experiencing mistreatment. This happens everywhere in every industry. When people in the public eye draw attention to these issues it helps bring awareness to everyone and encourages societal change.

In today’s climate, social media moves faster than legal or internal HR systems. This means, more often than not, accusations spread, opinions form, and action is taken long before any investigation can occur. Because of this, it’s important for people to seek out the facts themselves in order to stay informed or make decisions about who in fandom they choose to support or not.

I’m going to go through various tid-bits I’ve seen over the past twenty-five years regarding Joss Whedon’s behavior, which prompted my quick response to Charisma Carpenter’s post. I feel it’s important to share this with those who may be new to the fandom, or those who doubt Charisma Carpenter’s claims and those of others.

The Bronze

Before there was Twitter, there was The Bronze.

The Bronze was the official online gathering place of Buffyverse fans. Joss Whedon and others involved with the shows occasionally popped in and posted, interacting with the fans. There was speculation about the trajectory of the show, discussion about lore, fan theories, and behind the scenes rumors.

I didn’t learn about these forums until I was in high school (from 2002 to 2006) and I never posted. I just read up on the fun factoids I could find. I wasn’t a heavy Internet user back then. We had one computer in my house and it was shared with my parents. I was only allowed on for so much time per day, yada yada.

I think Buffy the Vampire Slayer was one of the first shows – if not the first – to utilize this kind of creator/fan interaction. It wasn’t a regular thing back then.

The vibe of these forums was very laidback. When someone directly involved with Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Angel posted (known as a V.I.P.) it was with a very casual, unmoderated tone. There was no screenshotting every word to be saved for later. Someone from the media couldn’t grab a comment made and spread it across the Internet in real time. There were mailing lists – collections of email addresses for people who wanted updates on show spoilers or particular non-show activities of various actors. Fan letters were still a thing – actual snail mail letters you could send to actors and writers of the shows. Things moved slowly, and there wasn’t as much transparency as there is on the Internet today with sites like Instagram and Twitter.

In a series of posts made on November 6th, 2001, Joss Whedon reacted to the airing of the musical episode, “Once More with Feeling.” He called it “the biggest undertaking of my life,” but expressed his appreciation toward the UPN network, the cast, and crew – particularly Anthony Head, Amber Benson, and James Marsters. He calls Anthony Head “the golden throat” and writes of James Marsters, “And James, who always tells me to do everything I dream of, then brings that intense voice and those cheekbones along for the ride.”

All he writes about Amber Benson is, “Amber… just, you know… Amber….”

Alarmingly absent from his praise is star Sarah Michelle Gellar, who “went back and forth” over whether or not to sing in the episode. “I’m not a singer,” she told EW. She didn’t feel prepared enough and “didn’t feel confident.” As someone who broke out of her comfort zone and pulled off a wonderful leading performance, Gellar was certainly deserving of some acknowledgment.

Seemingly realizing he neglected to mention Marti Noxon, Whedon tacked on, “Do you know anyone that hot who can run a show? Do you? I don’t think so. What a voice.” At the time, alongside comments about James Marsters’ cheekbones and being “a little gay” for Anthony Head, this seemed to be an attempt at an edgy complement (though a little cringey). Marti Noxon was a new showrunner for Buffy, taking over for Joss. Referring to her as hot rather than praising her work is a little demeaning, in my opinion, particularly when it was up to him to make sure she was respected and taken seriously in filling his shoes.

On May 22nd, 2002, Whedon posted about “the gay thing” – probably not for the first time. Regarding some fan reactions to the death of Tara Maclay, Joss wrote, “I knew some people would be angry with me for destroying the only gay couple on the show, but the idea that I COULDN’T kill Tara because she was gay is as offensive to me as the idea that I DID kill her because she was gay. Willow’s story was not about being gay. It was about weakness, addiction, loss… the way life hits you in the gut right when you think you’re back on your feet.”

Keep in mind, at the time, Willow was one of the first gay main characters – if not THE first – on a major primetime show in the sci-fi/fantasy genre. Having a gay couple on a major show like this was not a regular thing, which made the shocking death of Tara and the dark turn of Willow particularly hard-hitting. While Whedon isn’t saying anything particularly inflammatory here, it does show a sort of crass attitude toward the removal of this representation from the show, which had become so important to so many fans – and still is now.

There’s not a lot of meaty information to be found that I could dig up, but I wanted to give people an idea of this landscape back in the day. I picked out those particular Joss Whedon posts because they show a very casual disregard for the women involved in the shows – an insidious and subtle thing, but it’s there.

Fighting with Buffy

Jeff Pruitt was a stunt coordinator on Buffy the Vampire Slayer from 1997 to 2000. He also happened to be romantically involved with Sarah Michelle Gellar’s stunt double, Sophia Crawford. Both would exit the show by its fifth season. According to Pruitt, it was not an amicable exit.

Pruitt claims he and Crawford were treated badly on the set, that Crawford was “one never ending injury” and she had “reached the end of her rope.” He said that they were threatened and blackballed when they made attempts to leave before the 100th episode. They got an opportunity to work on Dark Angel, but the people at Dark Angel supposedly received a phone call from “someone high up at their studio” and were told not to hire Pruitt and Crawford. He suspects this was to keep Sophia Crawford from leaving Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

Their firing was unceremonious, according to Pruitt. “Sophia was told point blank that she was being fired because she knew too much about things,” he claimed. He said Joss Whedon and Jane Espenson threatened Crawford, saying if she spoke about what happened on set she’d “never work in this town again.”

Jeff Pruitt spoke about “sneaky politics” behind the scenes, saying “there was something weird going on” in the months leading up to his and Crawford’s exit. Pruitt claims Sarah Michelle Gellar was a “spoiled starlett” and that she was “out to get” him and Crawford. He attributes statements he made in private emails that were later read by Joss Whedon to his firing.

It’s worth noting that many people have stated that Sarah Michelle Gellar is undeserving of a “diva” label. When asked in 2004 what it was like working with Sarah Michelle Gellar, Julie Benz said, “She’s extremely talented and generous. Her reputation is just completely untrue. Unfortunately in Hollywood if you’re young and female and you have an opinion you get labeled a diva or something…else. Sarah’s an amazing talent, but she got labeled.”

In a 2013 interview on Bravo’s Watch What Happens Live, Alyson Hannigan answered a series of rapid-fire questions about Buffy the Vampire Slayer. When asked who was the most “annoyed” by the end of the show, she said, “Sarah,” referring to Sarah Michelle Gellar. When the audience booed, Hannigan clarified, “Well, she had a big career going, and it was a lot of work.” When asked when Gellar started to “hate” the show, Hannigan quickly said season three. In a later interview for Huffpost Live, Hannigan clarified her comments further. “[Sarah Michelle Gellar] worked her butt off,” she stated. “She worked eighteen-hour days for years.” Hannigan said she wouldn’t have classified Gellar as “annoyed,” saying, “she was super professional.”

Honestly, I’m Team Sarah on this one. I couldn’t find corroborating sources for Jeff Pruitt’s claims of her “diva” behavior, but I found several sources stating otherwise. Gellar did confirm during a cast reunion that she may have oversold her stunt experience, which ultimately would have meant more work for her stunt double and the stunt coordinator. It seems to me like this set everything on a bad foot with that team. But, the reasons Jeff Pruitt and Sophia Crawford gave for their exit had little-to-nothing to do with Gellar.

Vincent Kartheiser

Vincent Kartheiser played Connor on Angel, and he did a number of interviews talking about his experience on the show. I picked his interviews because I’ve always found him to be very candid and he doesn’t seem to shy away from uncomfortable answers to questions. A few of his answers provide a little insight into the mood on the set at times, and Charisma Carpenter’s attitude.

When Charisma Carpenter was pregnant on the show, she had a storyline that heavily involved Connor, so the two spent a lot of time working together on set. He was asked about her pregnancy and how it affected filming. In a 2003 interview for BBC Cult, Kartheiser said of Carpenter, “she was a great sport and would suck up the pain even though you could see that she was in it.”

In another interview for Angel Magazine from the same year, he said Carpenter had “an abundance of energy for a working, pregnant lady who, right in the heart of her pregnancy, they put her in so much.”

It’s worth noting Vincent Kartheiser had his own issues with the show. “What really made me interested in Angel was the idea that as a show, it changed so much and all the characters could change so much,” he told Angel Magazine. “It wasn’t that clichéd kind of ‘show up, do your thing, go home’ all the time.” Unfortunately, the potential that interested him never came to fruition for his character. “As the season went on, we never really got to deal with the relationship problems between me and David,” Kartheiser said, referring to David Boreanaz as Angel. “I never really got the opportunity to bond with any other characters.” He expressed a feeling that there was nowhere for his character to go and that Connor’s motivations seemed to change from week to week. “There were parts of the season I didn’t have the opportunity to stretch,” he explained, “that it felt like I was doing the same scene over and over.”

Vincent Kartheiser did a later interview with Giantmag.com where he reiterated some of these frustrations. For him, the character of Connor started to get stale early on. “Every week I’d show up and have a scene with Cordelia,” he said, “then Angel would show up and I’d have some sort of conflict with him. There’d be a couple of fight scenes where I’d fight with them even though I didn’t want to and then I would sulk and leave. That to me was every episode.” He felt the writers had written Connor “into a corner” and that fans responded poorly to him.

When comparing his experience on Angel to his experience playing Pete Campbell on Mad Men, Kartheiser expressed a lackluster feeling on the set of Angel. “There was a real sense on Angel that people were just doing a job,” Kartheiser said of the set. “The grips, the DP, even the directors would kind of just show up, do their job and go home.” This atmosphere is a direct contrast to what had attracted Vincent Kartheiser to the show in the first place. “On Mad Men we also have Matthew Weiner on set all the time whereas Joss [Whedon] was hardly ever on Angel,” Kartheiser explained. “I think Joss was doing Firefly at that point and was in love with his next project. I had a friend who filmed a few episodes in the first season of Angel and said everyone was invested and there was crazy energy, so maybe I just came into it late.”

Kartheiser also delved deeper into his frustrations over the direction (or lack thereof) of his character. “I let them know right off the bat that some of the choices they were making [about Conner] were wrong,” he said. “I showed up to play that character and I had a lot of ideas. And they didn’t like any of those ideas.” As a result, Kartheiser said he got “jaded” and “angry” at the show. “I felt like it wasn’t a collaboration, that the people I was working with didn’t care to take risks.”

In hindsight, he went on to say, “I was never a fan of Buffy, I’ll say it straight out. I was never a fan of Angel. I always found it hard to say Joss’ words.”

From all these comments, both from the beginning of Vincent Kartheiser’s journey as Connor, and from a few years after the show ended, it seems like he was excited for the opportunity, but ultimately disappointed with the overall experience. He also revealed how uncomfortable Charisma Carpenter had to be during filming while she was pregnant, but noted her energy and attitude were never a problem.

Farewell Cordelia

Prior to Charisma Carpenter’s official exit from Angel, her character arc had taken a very strange turn and Cordelia had been ominously left in a coma. Concern grew when Charisma Carpenter was not included in the cast of season 5. In a 2003 interview with TV Guide Online, Joss Whedon stated, “The Angel/Cordelia [love story] had gone pretty much as far as we wanted to take it” and that it wasn’t popular with the fans. “It just seemed like a good time for certain people to move on,” he continued. “Not completely, obviously. I’m hoping that we’ll get Charisma to do some episodes as Cordelia sometime during the year.”

TV Guide asked, “Isn’t that a disservice to fans who invested all those years in the character and her redemption? It seems an odd thing to do to the show’s leading lady.” Whedon responded, “That’s a fluctuating concept, the leading lady thing. And it is a little odd. Some choices are ultimately kind of controversial about who stays and who goes and who we focus on. But obviously, we had to have her out of a bunch of episodes toward the end of the year because she was having a baby… so what we had [leading] up to it wasn’t a dynamic I wanted to play out that much.” When asked if things were left on good terms with Charisma Carpenter, Joss Whedon stated he wouldn’t discuss that in an interview.

From Charisma Carpenter’s perspective, she was uncomfortable with Cordelia’s storyline prior to her coma and her death. “It was creepy,” she said of Cordelia’s relationship with Connor. “Connor was Angel’s son and half my age.” Carpenter stated it was important for her to return to wrap up the character’s storyline. “We didn’t want to just leave Cordelia in a coma,” she stated. “Whatever happens after this, I’m open. But it’s just best this story be [resolved] now. Otherwise, it’s a disservice to the fans of our show.” When pressed regarding whether or not she’d return to the show, Carpenter replied, “I don’t think it’ll be necessary. You never say never. However, at this point in time, I don’t see a future for her.” She continued with, “I feel like Joss feels – the Cordelia stories have been told. There were no other directions to go with her.”

Carpenter’s final appearance as Cordelia was an emotional experience. “We’ve been crying for the last two days,” she said in a behind-the-scenes interview. “I’m so physically drained.” She wasn’t the only one affected, either. “The director was crying, the crew was crying, we were crying,” she said. She called it a sad goodbye personally, professionally, and story-wise.

Working with Joss Whedon

Over the years, Joss Whedon gained a reputation for being unconventional to work with. Many actors from the Buffyverse have said they were unhappy with their characters’ creative paths. Sarah Michelle Gellar felt season six “betrayed” who Buffy was, saying she had to be “talked off a ledge” a number of times during filming.

Nicholas Brendon felt the character of Xander was “underrated,” particularly during season seven. “Joss did have a talk with Sarah and I because he was kind of contemplating the idea of Xander and Buffy ending up together at the end of season seven,” Brendon told AV Club. “We were both for it, but then that never came to fruition and I lost my eye.”

On an episode of Michael Rosenbaum’s Inside of You podcast, James Marsters said he was “terrified” of Joss Whedon. “I wasn’t designed to be a romantic character,” he explained. “The audience reacted that way to it. And I remember [Joss Whedon] backed me up against a wall one day, and he was just like, ‘I don’t care how popular you are, kid. You’re dead! You hear me? You’re dead! Dead!” Rosenbaum asked, “Was he kidding around?” and Marsters replied, “No. Hell, no.” Marsters also said he had “open wounds” on his scalp from over-using bleach on his roots every eight days to keep the roots from growing out.

Multiple actors from Angel have talked about Whedon’s habit of making actors squirm. David Boreanaz spoke about how he learned about the Angel spinoff during a twentieth anniversary cast reunion. “I got a phone call that Joss wanted to talk to me,” Boreanaz recalled. “The only thing he said was, ‘I want you to come into my office tomorrow,’ and I’m like, ‘I’m fired.’” He described having a night of “angst” and spent the following day working on some flashback scenes. When he finally met with Whedon at lunch it took some time for Whedon to tell him his character was getting a spin-off. Alexis Denisof expressed a similar knee-jerk feeling of “uh-oh,” but had an idea the spin-off was filming. However, Amy Acker had a similar story to what Boreanaz experienced when she was told about her character Fred’s transformation into Illyria. “It seems to be an echo of, like, ‘Hey, can you meet me for coffee tomorrow?’ and I’m like, ‘Ohh, they’re firing me!’ And we sat down to coffee and he said, ‘I just wanted you to know I’m killing Fred.’ And he waited, like, really a long time.” Charisma Carpenter chimed in, “He likes to do that!” Acker was then informed she would still be on the show as Illyria.

Charisma Carpenter and Marti Noxon have shared their own stories about Joss’s “You’re fired, just kidding” stories. Seth Green quipped “He did that to me too, but it took.”

Whedon’s View of Women

While Joss Whedon considers his writing to be feminist, his portrayal of women as well as other statements he’s made contradict this. In 2013, he gave a speech for Equality Now about his dislike of the word “feminist.” While this speech earned him some acclaim, it also earned him some backlash from the feminist community. This was mainly because he claimed it’s natural for people to be equal, and to add “-ist” to the end of the word “feminist” implies that people’s natural state is to be unequal. This stance was seen as disrespectful to Feminism as a movement, for some.

Joss Whedon received wide criticism for his portrayal of women in the Marvel Cinematic Universe. One critic, Scott Mendelson, talked about Whedon’s portrayal of Scarlet Witch and Black Widow in Avengers: Age of Ultron. “Scarlet Witch eventually has to be coaxed into bravery by one of the male heroes,” Mendelson writes of Elizabeth’s Olson’s character. Mendelson was even less thrilled with Scarlet Johansson’s Natasha Romanoff. “Maybe I shouldn’t be annoyed that the only major female character’s primary arc is a theoretically unrequited pining for a nice guy with major anger issues,” he writes, “or that said character briefly gets captured by the villain in the second act and tossed in a cage for no reason other than to be rescued by her male compatriots.” Backlash over this film caused Whedon to quit Twitter. In an article for Gizmodo, writers Meredith Woerner and Katharine Trendacosta point out that Joss Whedon teased a “killer” backstory for Natasha Romanoff. “Instead of an assassin constantly struggling with finding moral lines she didn’t know existed, we got a woman who feels incomplete because she cannot have babies,” Woerner and Trendacosta concluded.

In 2017, Whedon’s ex-wife Kai Cole wrote a blog for The Wrap stating, “he used his relationship with me as a shield, both during and after our marriage, so no one would question his relationships with other women or scrutinize his writing as anything other than feminist.”

Cole alleges Whedon wrote her a letter in which he said, “When I was running ‘Buffy,’ I was surrounded by beautiful, needy, aggressive young women… As a guilty man I knew the only way to hide was to act as though I were righteous… In many ways I was the HEIGHT of normal, in this culture. We’re taught to be providers and companions and at the same time, to conquer and acquire — specifically sexually — and I was pulling off both!” At the end of her essay, Cole wrote, “I want the people who worship him to know he is human, and the organizations giving him awards for his feminist work, to think twice in the future about honoring a man who does not practice what he preaches.”

In response to Kai Cole’s letter, Laura M. Browning wrote in an AV Club article, “I was sad, but not shocked—maybe a little embarrassed I hadn’t looked more closely at some very clear problems in his work… His work has plenty of male gaze and women in refrigerators and some narratively pointless rape scenes—it’s all right there, in hundreds of hours of television and film—but boy, it sure is a lot more comfortable to listen to a guy tell you he’s a feminist than listen to a lot of women telling you he’s not.”

Whedon’s veneer of feminism has been cracking for several years.

Recent Allegations

Actor Ray Fisher claimed Joss Whedon behaved inappropriately on the set of Justice League, tweeting, “Joss Wheadon’s on-set treatment of the cast and crew of Justice League was gross, abusive, unprofessional, and completely unacceptable.” Fisher also accused Geoff Johns and Jon Berg of enabling Whedon’s behavior. An investigation was done by Warner Brothers and co-stars Jason Mamoa and Kiersey Clemons publicly supported Fisher. Ultimately, the investigation concluded and “remedial action” was taken. The action taken has not been specified.

Shortly after, Joss Whedon exited the HBO series The Nevers, which Fisher attributes to his own claims.

Team Charisma

Those who have shown support to Charisma Carpenter include: Sarah Michelle Gellar Ray Fisher J. August Richards Michelle Trachtenberg Amber Benson Eliza Dushku Jose Molina Marti Noxon Emma Caulfield James Marsters Anthony Head Clare Kramer James C. Leary Sophia Crawford David Boreanaz Amy Acker Julie Benz Danny Strong Adam Busch Tom Lenk Nicholas Brendon Jeff Mariotte

Others who have written about Joss Whedon or come out to support those coming forward:

Courtney Enlow Nell Scovell Glen Mazzara

My Conclusion

As I stated in my previous post on this topic, I stand with Team Charisma. It is not okay for a person in a position of power over others in the workplace to misuse that power in an inappropriate or abusive manner. No matter how talented that person may be and how beloved the work may be.

#buffy the vampire slayer #btvs #angel the series #joss whedon #charisma carpenter

49 notes · View notes

mrs-nate-humphrey · 3 years

Text

So not to be dramatic, but if you could get a degree in discourse-ology, the topic of my master’s thesis would definitely be “Which political candidates did the characters of the CW’s Gossip Girl (2007-2012) support?” I’m doing this in order from most to least obvious, and considering both the 2016 and 2020 presidential elections.

[ little ivy interjection here: i haven’t changed ANYTHING, except adding a screencap of the title + the submission, because that made me laugh & more people deserve to see it, and putting this under a read more because that’s how i generally try & organise stuff on this blog. so this submission is exactly as it was when i received it! also while we’re at it, anon, this MADE my day.]

Blair Waldorf: “Hillary Clinton is one of my role models. I do not break treaties, you ass!” (04x13) There’s no question that Blair would go hard for Hillary in 2016, she praised her on multiple occasions throughout the series. Blair’s a classic American neoliberal, third wave Democrat-type: she’s decently progressive when it comes to social policies, and would be decidedly supportive of causes like gay marriage, racial equity, and women’s reproductive rights, but she’s still very much in favor of maintaining the status quo when it comes to capitalism and the hegemonic structure of power that, lets face it, heavily favors her own class interests. To use the American healthcare system as an example: Blair would have been all for the Affordable Care Act, and is largely supportive of the idea of creating a public option - but single payer, nationalized health care? It just wouldn't work in a country like the United States for “X” reason (although the real reason, deep down, is that she doesn’t want to see her tax rate go up in any meaningful way). So she’s thoroughly for Clinton in both the 2016 primaries and the general election, she maybe even comes out with a line of high-end “I’m With Her” merchandise if she’s still CEO of Waldorf Designs, and is personally heartbroken when Clinton loses.

Flash forward to the 2020 primaries. Blairhates Donald Trump, like emotionally, viscerally hates him - his misogyny, his incompetence, and his blatant tackiness are a direct repudiation of her beliefs, and the fact that he’s representing Manhattan society and the Upper East Side to the world in such a godawful way is frankly embarrassing. So in a certain sense, her strategy, like frankly many Americans at the time going into the 2020 Democratic primaries is, “Which one of these candidates has the greatest chance at beating Donald Trump?” I see Blair being rather conflicted at first, but ultimately going for either Amy Klobuchar or Kamala Harris. She has a certain admiration for Elizabeth Warren given her professional background, but her policies are a bit too progressive for someone like Blair. Buttigeg is fine, but not especially thrilling. Biden, quite frankly, doesn’t seem like he has any real chance at winning, although I think he’d be Blair’s third choice after Harris and Klobuchar. I can see her leaning more towards Harris ultimately - although, after the “Amy Klobuchar throws staplers at her interns!!” rumors start spreading, Blair cannot help but, at a personal level, kind of respect her for that. When Biden unexpectedly takes South Carolina and then the Democratic nomination, Blair is a bit disappointed, but not overly so, and quickly marshals her financial resources into supporting and fundraising for him for the remainder of the election. At least it’s not Sanders - or Bloomberg. As a New Yorker, of course Blair’s opinion is “Fuck Michael Bloomberg”.

Chuck Bass: Now here’s where it gets interesting. Chuck, as you said, isn’t stupid - there’s no way he falls for the “build the wall” crap or any of Trump’s rhetoric, he knows it’s a bullshit farce and sees right through it. But you know what he definitely is? Deeply greedy and deeply selfish. I’m hardly the first person to point this out, but Chuck Bass is, in many ways, the fictional equivalent of the Donald Trumps and Michael Bloombergs and Brett Kavanaughs of the world - new money billionaire who inherited his wealth from his father working in the real estate industry, who despite his lack of business acumen and deeply problematic history with women, has managed to coast through life failing upwards with absolutely no social or legal accountability? I mean, back in 2010, Forbes Magazine actually did a real interview with the fictional Chuck Bass in which they outright compare him to Donald Trump. I couldn’t tell you if the Gossip Girl writers meant to write Chuck as their Trump analogue - I mean, they did invite Jared and Ivanka onto the show, after all - but the parallels are just too strong to ignore. All of which is to say, not only did Chuck Bass vote for Donald Trump, he held exclusive political fundraisers for him and was probably a substantial donor to his campaign. Now, did Chuck distance himself publicly over time as the political climate became increasingly caustic and public sentiment towards Trump plummeted even further? Perhaps, perhaps not. It really depends on if the board of Bass Industries felt like being connected to Trump was a liability or an asset - but privately, I imagine Chuck once again voted for him in 2020, because the one policy Donald Trump did effectively execute during his tenure in office was massive tax cuts for billionaires, and for someone like Chuck Bass, that’s the only political policy that really matters. He wouldn’t wear a red hat and wouldn’t be caught dead within sniffing distance of a MAGA rally and the hoi polloi, but dude is basically the image of what the kind of rich conservatives backing the Trump administration for personal gain look like. On the off chance that the distastefulness of it all got to be a little much for even Chuck post-2016, perhaps he might switch his vote to Bloomberg. But I highly doubt Chuck would be politically invested in anything other than his own wallet to such an extent that he wouldn’t vote for Trump, no matter how much it would no doubt completely infuriate Blair.

Dan Humphrey: As the unofficial king of the hipsters, Dan has been a Sanders supporter since before it was cool. Seriously, Bernie Sanders appeals to Dan intrinsically on every level - his policies, his rhetoric, even his aesthetic - the rumpled old man with wild hair wearing mittens and railing against the upper class is the sort of thing that’s basically political catnip for someone like Dan Humphrey. Not only would Dan vote for Sanders in both the 2016 and 2020 primaries, he’d go out and be one of the celebrities campaigning for him. This would definitely lead to him butting heads with Blair, and she would no doubt call him out on supporting someone like Sanders when Dan himself is now a millionaire, who made his money from writing stories about the upper class. The fact that in 2017 he apparently gets married to Serena, a billionaire heiress, and may or may not have been engaged to her back in 2016 when the Democratic primaries were happening might cause him a bit of cognitive dissonance, but really, just because he’s climbed up the socio-economic ladder now doesn’t mean his values have really changed, have they? (Debatable.) In any case, in both the 2016 and 2020 general elections, Dan would definitely vote for Clinton and Biden respectively - although he’d be significantly more disgruntled about it than Blair would be switching from Harris to Biden. I don’t think Dan would be a “Bernie bro” in the way that term is used, but he’d definitely chafe against Clinton’s past policy decisions, and would probably make some snippy Tweets about her during the election. Nevertheless, once it became clear that Trump was going to be the Republican nominee and was a serious threat, I think Dan would change his tone and start encouraging his fans and followers to vote for Clinton. Likewise, in 2020, Dan would probably become one of the Sanders supporters doing outreach for Biden, having become more politically pragmatic following the experience of living under the Trump administration.

Vanessa Abrams: Much like Dan, Vanessa is a progressive, although unlike Dan, Vanessa’s activism is more focused around specific issues and less around specific politicians. I can see Dan and Vanessa being in roughly the same place in 2016, and given that the only real choices were between Sanders and Clinton in the primaries (RIP to Martin O'Malley), Vanessa would no doubt go for Sanders. Whereas Dan might campaign for Sanders directly however, Vanessa would instead focus her time and resources around advocacy for specific causes that are important to her, like climate change and racial justice, and would probably use her platform as a filmmaker and documentarian to advance those causes. I could very much see her getting involved with movements like Black Lives Matter and organizations like the Sunrise Movement, and taking part in protests, marches, and sit-ins. When the 2020 Democratic primaries come around, I could see her possibly switching from Sanders to Warren for a while (and Dan would definitely argue with her about it if she did), but I can also see her switching back to Sanders after Warren amended her support for single-payer, “Medicare for All”. She’d definitely vote for Clinton and Biden in the generals, but not enthusiastically.

Nate Archibald: For someone whose family business is politics and who, in 2017, is apparently a candidate in the New York City mayoral election, Nate seems to be rather removed from politics. As Vanessa puts it in 02x19, “The only thing Nate’s ever voted for is American Idol.” Still, as Editor-in-Chief of The Spectator, Nate kind of has to have an opinion, and in that respect, I see him gravitating towards the type of center-left “establishment” candidates that he and his family would no doubt have close ties with. In the Gossip Girl universe, the Vanderbilts are portrayed as being a lot like the Kennedys, and I think Nate’s policies as a mayoral candidate would really reflect that. In 2016, he would vote for Hillary Clinton in both the primaries and the generals without much of a second thought - after all, she’s the obvious choice, and there’s no way a candidate like Donald Trump could actually beat her, right? Actually, optimistically, maybe that’s why Nate decides to jump into the mayoral race in 2017 - previously, he had been for all intents and purposes politically apathetic, but seeing someone as genuinely vile as Donald Trump ascend to the office of the presidency stirs him out of that apathy, and he wants to make a positive difference in the only way an incredibly privileged white man from a politically prominent family knows how. So he runs as a Kennedy-esque center left candidate, further left of someone like Hillary Clinton, but more moderate than someone like Elizabeth Warren - sort of like Kamala Harris, now that I think about it. I have no idea if he would actually be able to beat Bill de Blasio given the major incumbency advantage de Blasio would have, but who knows. Come the 2020 Democratic primaries, I think Nate would probably just vote for whoever he believed was most likely to beat Donald Trump. I don’t see him having any sort of clear preference - maybe he would gravitate towards Biden on the basis of him being the most established candidate, or maybe he would gravitate towards Harris on the basis of her campaigning as the “moderate progressive” candidate. I could also seeing him liking Andrew Yang, come to think of it. In any case, he would most definitely support Joe Biden in the generals. How involved he’d be in supporting him really depends on whether or not Nate actually gets elected to mayor - if he was the mayor, he’d definitely endorse him and probably donate to him, but I think he’d be too wrapped up in his own political responsibilities to really do much more than that. If, however, he lost the election and was still the Editor-in-Chief of The Spectator, I can see Nate getting more involved alongside the rest of his family, officially endorsing him in The Spectator, hosting political fundraisers for him, and maybe even campaigning for him. The Vanderbilts in the Gossip Girl universe (I have no idea what the family’s actual political beliefs are in real life) definitely seem to me like they’d be Biden supporters, and I imagine they’d use their political clout to try and get Biden in, and more importantly, Trump out.

Serena van der Woodsen: Oh Serena. Look, she knows it’s important, okay? It’s just, she’s been really busy lately, and she doesn’t really like to think about politics, and hey, remember that fundraiser she did with her mom for last month’s philanthropic cause du jour? Serena’s a Democrat, vaguely, but if you tried to really pin her down on her political beliefs she’d probably just change the topic. So who does she vote for in 2016? The truth is, she doesn’t. Not in the primaries, not in the general, not at all. She meant to, okay, Blair’s definitely been pestering her to send in her mail-in-ballot for weeks, but she just got distracted and forgot. Serena really strikes me as the kind of person who doesn’t enjoy thinking or talking about politics, save for perhaps a few specific issues, and she has a sense that everything will work itself out eventually and she doesn’t really need to participate. And then the 2016 election happens, and holy shit, she didn’t vote. Blair and Dan might have spent early 2016 bickering with each other over Clinton versus Sanders, but the one thing they can definitely agree on is “What the fuck, Serena?!?!” They both reminded her like, a million times, how could she possibly forget?! Serena feels really bad about it - she didn’t think it was such a big deal, she didn’t think Donald Trump could actually win! - and so she starts overcompensating whenever the topic of politics comes up, maybe even joins Vanessa at a few protests and marches, even though she’s still sort of clueless about the actual issues at hand. She does vote in the 2018 midterms, although only in the general election - straight blue ticket, all the way down. She takes a picture of herself at the voting booth wearing an “I Voted!” sticker and posts it on Instagram, tagging both Dan and Blair in the post (who already voted weeks ago using mail-in ballots, but it’s the thought that counts). Flash forward to 2020, and she really needs to make a decision about who to vote for in the primaries… but there’s just so many choices. Everything seems so scary and stressful and real in a way now that it didn’t back in 2016, and she can’t just ignore it and assume things will work out for the best like she did back then. So who does she vote for? Well, Serena always wins, so she votes for Biden. Conspiratorially, both Dan and Blair privately wonder if her voting for Biden isn’t on some cosmic level the reason for his unexpected victory, even if they know there’s no logical way that’s possible, right? But it would be such a Serena thing to do… In any case, Serena’s just happy her candidate won, and would probably host political fundraisers for him with her mom’s circle of philanthropic friends. Assuming she and Dan are still married at this point, she offers to help him do political outreach to Sanders supporters to get them to vote for Biden, which he sweetly dissuades her from given that most Sanders supporters would probably dislike her on principle.

So that’s how, in my opinion, the main cast would vote, ordered roughly in how confident I am about that analysis. You could make the argument that perhaps some characters would vote or act differently based on whether or not they’re dating or married at the time - like, would Chuck openly fundraise for Trump when Blair is a dyed-in-the-wool Clinton supporter if they’re married? (He totally would.) But I tried to consider them purely on the merits of their personalities and values, and not on the particularities of their situations at the time (with the exception of Nate, just because him being in office or not would obviously make a huge difference in regards to how politically involved he’s going to be).

I wish I put as much effort into my actual university essays as I did on Gossip Girl political analysis.

#meta #gossip girl #anon you're literally a legend #i cannot believe you submitted this to my little blog when you could've like......#sent it in to vox or something #it's just SO good?#also honestly 'i wish i put as much effort into uni as i did into gg meta' is like #THE BRAND on my blog so #*raises a glass* cheers!#i don't even have words i just think you're objectively correct about ALL of this #gg politics #submission #i am LITERALLY flattered to receive this gem thank you so much?#no no flattered is the wrong word: honoured is better #but i really appreciate it is all

45 notes · View notes

avomorg · 3 years

Note

can we read anything for the glass cutter AU? Its living in my brain rent free and I neeeeed more 0-0 Its so amazing <3

Unfortunately (or fortunately), this is not just a romantic story, it's just that I'm drawing one challenge right now. :) I'm sorry, there is a lot of text here.

I use this tag to mark posts related to story of my main character, Hani. The presence of the OC changes the events of the plot of the series, so I can say that this is AU. Since this is not a single plot, but a story associated with almost each of the seasons of Ninjago, AU doesn't have a single idea. But I can say that this is a story where there is another ninja in the team.

I know there are many such characters, and this AU was originally made just for fun. But maybe I can make something good out of it.

I have a detailed article describing Hani's storyline, but I haven't translated it yet, so I'll tell you the most important things.

Hani is the daughter of Wu's ally, Keyon. During the events of the pilot episode, he was killed by skeletons – so Wu said. Hani then became the new master of glass.

Hani studied at Darkley's Boarding School for Great Children, where the ninjas worked as teachers after the second season. She could not learn to control the element on her own, so the glass was attracted to her against her will and left cuts. The ninjas noticed this, but didn't going to interfere, but Zane took pity on the girl. He became involved with her despite Wu's ban (he didn't need the daughter of Keyon, because Keyon died through Wu's fault). Hani became very attached to Zane, with whom she felt safe. He taught the girl frightened by her abilities to find strength in herself. Zane was not sure if her abilities were similar to those of a ninja, but he understood that they should be used for the good of Ninjago so that Hani would not use them for evil. Therefore, he did his best to have Hani join the ninja team and be under their supervision. To do this, he had to argue with his friends and Wu.

In Rebooted, Zane managed to gain Hani's recognition as a team member. Yes, she was weaker than a ninjas, but over time she could become a good fighter – and, most importantly, her abilities would not threaten the safety of Ninjago. Unfortunately, Zane died, and the ninjas didn't want to take responsibility for the girl, so they left her in the care of Garmadon.

After the death of Zane, she was devastated, as after losing her father. But she continued to train alongside Lloyd and Garmadon. Constant training and the desire to be stronger made her character quite tough, but she could confidently fight the enemy. Garmadon didn't like her aggression and too strong will to win, he tried to make Hani more calm.

In the Tournament of Elements, these problems intensified. Clouse skillfully used Hani's aggression, making her an enemy for all other participants in the Tournament. The girl herself, due to the constant use of the element in battles, lost her common sense. Even her appearance began to change. In the end, Clouse was almost able to get her to fight by his side – but Hani was too dangerous, so Chen decided to get rid of her. She was thrown in the desert, chained to the skeleton of some monster. Hani missed the battle in the Elders' Corridors. It was only after this hard lesson that she realized the importance of Garmadon's ideas. But it was already too late.

Maybe Hani would have died in the desert... If not for Morro. He introduced himself as a poor traveler and helped her get out of the chains, while learning from Hani about what is happening in Ninjago. Later they met as opponents. Morro offered Wu to exchange Lloyd for one of the ninjas (this was an attempt to eliminate Nya; if the elements returned to the ninjas, Wu would not develop her abilities). Wu traded Lloyd for Hani. Master never wanted to take her on the team and thus got rid of her. Hani realized that Lloyd was more valuable to the team than she was, and also she hoped to get rid of Wu with Morro's help. As a result, Morro and Hani tried to manipulate each other, but they succeeded equally badly – so they only learned the secrets and weaknesses of each other, being in the same body. Both became vulnerable to each other, so they ceased to be strangers. At the end of Possession, Hani pulled Morro out of the water, creating her Elemental Dragon for the first time. Morro was unable to surrender and die when he had a living ally.

After Morro stayed with the ninjas, the course of events in the canon changed quite a lot.

In the Skybound, Hani looked for ways to bring Morro back to life. But first, Wu had to be convinced to remove the curse from the student. While trying to complete these tasks, Hani found herself trapped like the other ninjas. But Morro was used to achieving everything himself and remained at large, and in the end he helped Jay and his team.

Day of the Departed was the perfect moment to bring Morro back to life. Wu surrendered and removed the curse from him, the portal is open and can let Morro through. But his fear of being unprepared for life almost ruined everything. Morro considers Yang's fate unfair and was ready to give him a place in the world of the living. Cole practically forcibly sent Morro into the portal so that he would not interfere in the fight between the master of the earth and Yang.

In the Recording (fanseason) reveals the stories of the Morro and Hani families. The wind masters are associated with the Cloud Kingdom, which is now in danger. Only Morro, whose fate is in his own hands, can fight the lord of fate. Hani and Lloyd go in search of the Master of Writing, because only they can actively move between worlds: Lloyd is a descendant of the FSM, and Hani, like the former glass masters, is called upon to protect him and follow him. The fates of Morro and Hani, written in the scrolls of their fates, are contrary to their wishes, and they must deal with this.

You can find a little more information about Record on my Instagram, later I want to make full posts here.

During the fight with the Hands of Time, Hani was almost glad that Wu had resigned and supported Lloyd as the new leader. But gradually she began to sympathize with Wu, despite what he had done in the past. The fact that he sacrificed himself to save the students changed Hani's opinion of him. But Morro still hasn't forgiven the teacher. He believed that Wu couldn't just disappear from the life of a ninjas.

The events of the Sons of Garmadon are changed: Lloyd approaches Harumi not because of sympathy for her (since he is already in a relationship with another character, besides, sympathy for the girl is too weak a hook), but because of the desire to bring his father back to life. But to bring back the real Garmadon, not his evil appearance. The real Garmadon will be able to deal with the Sons, like the Anacondrai generals with Chen's army. Harumi, like the entire imperial family, belongs to a mysterious association that knows the secrets of resurrection from the dead. Mysticism and a blind desire to meet his father again deprives Lloyd of the ability to think sanely, and he believes Harumi. Can't a whole secret society lie? Unbeknownst to Lloyd, Harumi bribed the respected Ninjago explorers and mystics to put on this whole show. But Morro doesn't trust the imperial family, since he once participated in the war between the dynasties. He is confident that the Sons of Garmadon are ruled by the descendants of the overthrown dynasty. He doesn't believe in the resurrection of Garmadon and condemns such attachment of Lloyd to his dead father. Morro is also suspicious of Harumi's physical fitness. He is a dangerous foe, so the Sons are trying to eliminate him. Hani generally agrees with Morro, but she still really wants to see Garmadon, so she doesn't want to suspect Harumi. Morro is on a ship and enters the Realm of Oni and Dragons, Hani stays with Lloyd. Before parting, Morro manages to conclude a Yin-Yang Promise with her.

In Hunted, Morro didn't lose heart and settled in the desert - he was used to wandering and starving. Morro tried to save the wind dragon from the Hunters, but failed, was punished, and nearly died. Despite all this, the cruel world of Oni and Dragons came to his liking. As Wu grew older, he and Morro finally found a common language and came to an agreement. Hani at this time trying to continue the fight after the loss of Morro and Zane. She becomes cruel again, like in the Tournament. Due to the destruction of the city in the streets a lot of broken glass, and with so many shells Hani can easily destroy enemies. Harumi gives the order to clear the streets of glass in order to deprive the Resistance of such a dangerous and ubiquitous weapon, but getting rid of all the glass in the city is impossible. The ninjas returned in time – blinded by grief, Hani has not yet lost herself, as in the Tournament.

Morro and Hani already hope for a respite and calm, but Oni's appearance again forces them to be ready for battle. Hani has both interest and disgust for Garmadon, who was resurrected by Harumi. Morro willingly communicates with him, Garmadon cannot really offend him with his sharp remarks. Hani greatly fears for Lloyd's life as he and Garmadon descend into the Darkness. After Cole's fall, Hani tries not to lose control of herself, as she did before. Morro tries to use the wind to pull Cole out of the Darkness, but is unable to break through the cloud. In the final battle with Oni, Morro and Hani use Spinjitzu. Morro is hesitant to team up with the others in the Tornado of Creation because he is unsure of his ability to use Spinjitzu, but Hani persuades him to take the risk. After the completion of the Tornado, Morro hits hard against the wall of the monastery. This encourages him to actively learn Spinjitzu.

The Secrets of the Forbidden Spinjitzu events have been changed, but I haven't finished the AU for this season yet. For now, I can say that the ninjas ended up in the tomb of snakes not out of boredom, but because of the deception of Clutch Powers: he competed with a young researcher for a place in the Club and wanted to use the ninjas to pass traps in the tomb. The Forbidden Spinjitzu is a special elimination weapon used by the FSM to purge Ninjago of its serious competitors. The theme of not just winning, but eliminating enemies runs through the entire season and makes it darker, because the enemy of the ninjas is now Zane. And he is not going to negotiate with them.

Hani's story in 12-13 seasons in progress.

Thanks for reading to the end!

#hani shane #glass cutter au #ninjago record

36 notes · View notes

allthesapphicstars · 3 years

Note

In the books it's Mrs Coulter who decides she doesn't want anything to do with baby Lyra after the scandal, that's why she's given to Lord Asriel, not the other way around. The show changed this (and her character) completely. After the trial Lord Asriel is declared unfit for parenting and Lyra is given to a nunnery, but he decides to 'kidnap' her and brings her to Jordan College. And it's not like Lord Asriel is not left crawling as well, he used to be as rich as a king, after Lyra he had to swallow his pride and go beg colleges for funding (even 12 years later), whereas Mrs. Coulter (now a widow and free) is given funding by the Magisterium itself, so again, in the books she does achieve what she wants, in unconventional ways maybe, but she has her own research department and is never seen as subordinate to any man, until book 3 at least. And most importantly, in the books she subdues to no man, let alone Boreal. He's literally her puppet in the books 😔

I think you raise some good points here. But I want to say that my post about Marisa and the patriarchy was very much my own opinion and interpretation of both the books and the show from my own perspective as a woman having lived the experiences I have. That being said I do think I should go through your points and explain my own reasoning behind my interpretation.

1) Who got to take care of Lyra.

I never actually said that Asriel didn't want anything to do with Lyra. I do believe that both of them, in their own ways, do love and care about Lyra. They're just not very good at it.

But in terms of who took care of Lyra after she was born that responsibility immediately fell to Asriel. And there are probably lots of reasons for this. But, for me, I don't think that it was ever really a consideration or much of an option for Mrs Coulter to do so because of the environment of their world.

Marisa was married and had an affair that produced a child. In their world, women are second class citizens in comparison to men and as such any power or financial security that she may have would have been derived from her position as a wife. And a wife to a powerful man. To be able to keep a child requires resources that she would have only been able to get through her husband.

We know that Mrs Coulter kept her affair and also her child a secret because it would have ruined her. But also, I don't think we should forget, that she kept Lyra a secret from her husband to protect her too. As when Mr Coulter found out about the affair and Lyra he went to Asriel's house to kill them both, but Asriel got there first.

If you consider this, then Marisa wasn't really given much of a choice about what to do with Lyra. If she'd taken care of her herself then it's likely that her husband would have banished her from his home and therefore stopped her access to any resources, or he would have killed the child. Neither of those options look particularly good if you ask me.

Asriel's decision to "kidnap" Lyra and get her to Jordan is, to me, an act of desperation to protect his child in the same vein as Marisa's decision to not care for her herself.

Don't forget, by this point Marisa has been marked as an adulterer and a widow and is a pariah to most of society. She's also no longer under the protection of a man which is why the magisterium don't allow her to take Lyra back into her custody but instead give her to the nunnery.

Neither of Lyra's parents have many options when it comes to custody because of the patriarchal structure of their world. (although I highly doubt Marisa would have been let off as lightly as Asriel was in terms of breaking the rules about Lyra)

2) Asriel also had to crawl his way back.

Yes. You're right, Asriel did have to work his way back up to respected by society again. But as you yourself pointed out, his main obstacle was the loss of his money.

Asriel still retains his title. His academic standing is relatively untouched. He may have to beg to get funding but so does pretty much everyone trying to get funding tbh. The college's still listen to what he has to say. His name carries weight.

Let's compare this to what Marisa lost in the scandal. Yes, she didn't lose all of her finances like Asriel. But with the death of Mr Coulter she lost the male presence that in their society allowed her access to so many places. Without a husband she doesn't have the same security that she did before. She also lost her reputation, which for a woman (and not just in their world) is detrimental in how she is treated.

When I say that Marisa had to claw her way back into society I really do mean it. She wasn't just struggling to get finances like Asriel, she was struggling to be listened to, to be respected, to have any form of control over her life that having power gives you. Their world is deeply misogynistic so anything that Asriel struggled to gain, Marisa would have had to work against the same odds but also factor in her gender setting her back deeply.

3) freedom

Honestly I can't agree with your statement that Marisa is more free compared to Asriel.

Ok, so yes, Marisa gets funding from the Magisterium but that is explicitly because she is doing research that they want doing (experimenting with the concept of removing sin by cutting children) that they don't want to be seen doing because it's barbaric. Her research funding comes directly from the fact that as a woman, who's a pariah and not a member of the church authority, if what they were doing was made public she's easily expendable. Someone that they can deny ever colluding with. And Marisa knows this. She knows how vulnerable her position within the church really is. That the power the church gives her is an illusion.

So she creates her own power through using what condemned her in the eyes of the church against them. Her ability to seduce. They view her as a wanton adulterer so she uses that fear of her sexuality to arouse and then manipulate the men in power.

But this doesn't mean she not seen as a subordinate to a man. She 100% is. She has to answer to the male heads of the church. And is expected to bow down to their will when they change their minds. She doesn't have this freedom to do what she wants with her research that you say because she always has to justify her actions to a man.

4) Boreal

Boreal is not her puppet. Yes, he does do what she wants but that's because of his attraction to her. He doesn't submit to her desires because he respects her. He definitely doesn't do it because he sees her as an equal.

Boreal does what Marisa wants because he thinks that as a man he has more power over her. He submits to her whims because he think that if he plays along with her wishes and appeases her, gives her the illusion of having control over him, he'll be more attractive to her. All of Boreal's motivations come from wanting to sleep with her. And actually I'd argue that even more than that, Boreal is a collector (and this is something that the show drew on in the last episode) he wants to be able to say that he triumphed by being the first man to fully get Mrs Coulter to submit. He wants to own her.

And Marisa is fully aware of this. And yes, whilst being aware of how one is being manipulated does give you some power over the person doing the manipulating, it still doesn't negate the fact that the entitlement to her as a person that Boreal expresses comes directly from how their society views women.

Marisa's sexuality is both a weapon and also a cage. And I'm not going to go further into that here because tbh it's like a whole post on it's own and this is already way too long. (and also it makes me sad and stressed to think about).

I did just want to add on though to your comment about book three being the first time Marisa submits herself to a man. As you can probably guess I don't agree with that assessment, she is constantly having to submit herself to men and you can tell that it wears her down even if she pretends she's above it.

But even if you don't see all of her interactions as reflecting this then the scenes I think your referencing to in book three really do reinforce that submission is not a new act she's had to play. When Marisa is in Asriel's fortress and talks about playing the demure and naive woman with the generals, and even with Asriel (yes I know he's aware that she's manipulating him but I also think he's not aware of just how much), shows that it's not a new concept to her. It's definitely something she's had to do before. And honestly I think it's something she's had to do her whole life.

To summarise: yes Mrs Coulter is a figure of power in the books and is a master manipulator. But that doesn't mean she isn't constantly struggling against a world that condemns her as inferior because she's a woman. She's judged harsher because of her sex.

And you can't forget we only get her point of view in book three, but throughout the series you can see how her being a woman holds her back from everything that she wants to achieve and I still believe that going up against those struggles is a direct impact on her actions and who she is as a person.

She's spent her whole life fighting. And I think there's something really tragic about that.

#mrs coulter #marisa coulter #his dark materials #his dark materials meta #hdm series 2 #hdm #lord asriel #long post #anon answered #sorry i have a lot of feelings about mrs coulter ok #hdm analysis

78 notes · View notes

wiypt-writes · 3 years

Text

Stark Spangled Banner

Ch47: Use Your Words, Old Man

Intro: Jamie reaches another milestone, and 2021 ticks by with many more memories for the Rogers and Stark family.

Warnings: Bad Language words. Smut (NSFW, 18+)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x OFC Katie Stark

A/N: I adore the edit again... @angrybirdcr did good!!!

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar Katie Stark and the other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Chapter 46

Stark Spangled Banner Masterlist // Main Masterlist

May 2021

“Jamie, no!” Steve swooped down and picked up the tot who had been toddling, albeit, unsteadily, towards Lucky giggling away. Lucky, however, was fast enough to understand and jumped up bolting towards the door of the room, leaping over the baby gate to avoid Jamie’s vice like grip on his ears.

“NO!” Jamie yelled and Steve stopped dead, Jamie in his large arms, as Katie looked up at them both, her mouth falling open.

“Did he just…?” she held her breath. The fourteen month old had been uttering the odd thing that sound like a word for a good few months now, but nothing that anyone would recognise as a proper term.

Until now.

“Yeah I think so!” Steve grinned, looking at her then his son. “Did you just talk buddy? Did you just say no?” “NO! No, No!” Jamie wriggled in his dad’s arms, grabbing at his shirt. Katie, who had managed to get the last few iterations of the word on her phone camera, grinned as Steve placed him back on the floor where he headed over to this play-mat and landed with a thud on the floor, picking up a pile of the large, coloured blocks he liked to play with.

“Of course his first word would be no.” She sighed as Steve sat on the couch next to her. He laughed and dropped a hand to her knee.

“To be fair, honey, that’s what we spend half our time telling him one way or another.” Katie snorted, that much was true. Since he had been fully mobile and walking unaided over the last two months, they had constantly been moving things out of his reach or removing them from his grasp, followed by the word. Nine times out of ten the tot was content to let them do so, but the odd time he would throw a temper tantrum to rival those of his Momma’s.

“NO!” Jamie called again, clacking the blocks together and Steve gave a grin, moving off the couch to drop by his son on the play-mat. Katie watched the two of them for a moment, smiling to herself. She knew it was a cliché but she literally couldn’t have wished for a better father for either of her kids. They were experiencing first parenting issues at both ends of the spectrum, with Emmy five months off her fourteenth birthday and Jamie two months on from his first. It wasn’t easy, hell, they spent half their time second guessing their decisions. Where they being too strict or too lenient with Emmy? Was Jamie developing right? Were his toys educational enough? Was the floor clean enough for him to be crawling or lying on with having a dog in the house? But, when she saw moments like this, Jamie now trying to push his large, red Mega-Block into his Dad’s mouth, Steve clamping his lips together and shaking his head making their son screech with laughter, all her worries faded away.

Jamie really was fast turning into a miniature version of his dad, which was another thing Katie loved. Steve himself didn’t see it, but there had been a moment a few weeks back where the soldier had recognised someone he knew, loved and missed daily in his Son, and it had choked both Parents up.

Steve was led on his back on the bed, Jamie cackling away as his dad was holding him at arms-length and then bringing him back down again to blow a raspberry on his cheek, repeating the motion over and over, until he paused and his eyes widened a little. Katie frowned slightly at the look on his face as Steve gulped, looking into his son’s eyes, their familiarity hitting him like a brick.

“Soldier, what is it?” Katie asked, as Steve’s eyes misted up and he swallowed thickly.

“His eyes. Erm, do you think they’ll carry on turning green?”

Katie frowned. “I don’t know, I doubt it. Apparently most babies, if their eyes are gonna change, will have done it by six months. Why do you ask?”

“I just, well, I never thought I’d see those eyes again.” He whispered, gently resuming his actions.

“I’m not following you, love.” Katie frowned

“He has my ma’s eyes” Steve’s voice was choked as he looked at her, bringing Jamie down to his chest, pressing a kiss to his head, a soft smile playing on his face.

“Then you see your mother’s eyes every time you look in the mirror.” Katie smiled, leaning over to give him a soft kiss as her own chest felt slightly tighter than normal. She wiped a tear Steve hadn’t even been aware he’d shed off his check gently with her thumb, leaving her hand trailing softly across his skin. “Because when I look at him all I see is you. Those eyes are yours.”

He looked up at her and smiled, “yeah?” “Yeah,” she nodded, “I think you’re more like your mother than you realise. Maybe not in looks completely but, well, she raised you single handed. You’re the man you are because of her.”

“She was a fantastic woman.” Steve sighed.

“Well then you should be proud.” Katie said, and he smiled looking over at her.

“I am,” he replied softly, his attention going back to his son, “and you know what else I’m proud of?”

“What?”

“That you’re a Mrs Rogers too.” He looked at her again. “I know it’s just a name but, I really am glad you took it. Jamie has a Rogers momma as good as mine, helping to carry the name forward.”

“You sentimental sap.” Katie sniffed slightly as her own tears threatened to spill from her eyes.

“I love you so much.” He beamed at her, pressing his lips to hers softly. “Even if you are still a Stark really.” She laughed against his lips,”jerk.”

Katie turned back to the laptop she’d been looking at, flicking through a few spreadsheets with the latest figures the SIDE accountants had produced. Steve and Emmy’s idea around the support groups had been well received by everyone involved with the foundation and as such they’d started drafting up the paper work and working out the estimated funding. Steve had consulted Rhodey about the programme and the Colonel had enthusiastically agreed it was a great idea, and as such they’d pitched it to the Government, President Ellis’ reaction had been the same as theirs – why didn’t we think of this before?

As such, they were currently working up the particulars such as how they set up across the country, mobilisation, publicity…and Steve had taken up control of the project, his natural leadership qualities made him a superb Project Manager. He’d also expressed an interest in actually running the ones across New York himself, another way he felt he could help.

They were aiming to open the first ones in September, running two a week for the time being, just to see how well they were received and, from a purely selfish point of view, Katie was enjoying working alongside him again and having him at home permanently instead of traveling with the Military.

“How many groups do you think you’re gonna have eventually?” She asked and Steve tuned to look at her, momentarily confused by her sudden change of topic until he realised what she was talking about.

“I dunno.” He shrugged. “I’d like eventually to maybe run them three times a week, twice a day. Give everyone who wants to come a chance to you know…why d’ya ask?” “Just drilling into these numbers. I reckon we have enough to fund that to start with,” she paused, “and if the government meet our request then we can step it up.” He nodded. “I put the design idea in for the fliers and posters yesterday. Has to be the most sombre thing I’ve ever drawn.”

“I know,” she said softly, “but it’s gonna make a difference Steve, focus on that.”

He was about to reply but he was cut off when they heard the voice from the security system informing them that the gate had been opened by ‘Emmy Rogers’. Steve glanced at the clock and frowned.

“It’s not even one?”

“They’re on half day,” Katie didn’t look up from the numbers on the screen, “teacher training or something.”

Moments later the front door opened and the chatter of two excited teenage girls hit their ears and Lucky gave a bark, his nails clicking on the wooden floor as he trotted through from where he had been on his bed under the stairs to greet Emmy.

“I know, it’s so cool, right?” Emmy was saying, as her voice grew louder. “I never thought they’d do anything like this, not after the Decimation but, oh hi buddy!”

They heard Lucky’s excited whine as Emmy continued to coo at him, before the two girls and dog appeared in the lounge doorway.

“What’s so cool?” Steve asked instantly and Emmy rolled her eyes.

“Do you earwig into every conversation I have?” She opened the baby-gate and stepped into the room.

“Yes.” Steve deadpanned. “Now spill.” “It’s a Geography field trip Mr R.” Brooke grinned. “Hamilton for the Niagara Escarpment.”

“Canada?” Katie smiled before her smile turned to a smirk as she side eyed Steve “I had a vacation in Canada once.” Steve shot her a glare and his voice dropped to a growl. “That’s not funny.” He said sternly. The memory of what she’d been through wasn’t a laughing matter as far as he was concerned. She flashed him a grin and he rolled his eyes. “So when is it?” He turned to Emmy.

“Last week of term in June.” She answered, reaching down to pick Jamie up who had toddled over to his sister excitedly chattering jibberish as he went. “Just for three nights. I know it’s really short notice but apparently they weren’t sure they could pull it off. Hi Jay!” She swung him up and kissed the little boy on the cheek as Brooke gently tweaked his nose causing him to laugh.

“Six weeks, yeah that is short notice.” Katie pondered. “Do you wanna go?” Emmy’s eyes lit up and she nodded. “I’d love to.” Steve took in a deep breath and Katie looked at him. She could see him grappling with something but Jamie spoke before he could.

“No!”

“Did he just talk?” Emmy’s eyes widened.

“Yeah, he hasn’t shut up saying it for the last hour.” Katie grinned “Look, have you got the details of the trip?” “In my bag.”

“Okay, well leave them on the table, me and your dad will give it the once over and we’ll talk about it later.”

Emmy placed Jamie down on the floor and fished in her bag for the forms before she dropped them onto the coffee table with a soft slap. Jamie wandered this time over to Katie who set her laptop down and picked him up. He sat on her lap and gently wound his hand into her hair, rubbing his face into her neck the way he always did when he was tired.

“I’m gonna put him down for a nap.” Katie stood up and looked at the two girls. “What are you doing this afternoon?”

“Pool!” They both grinned, sharing a hi-five before Emmy looked at her mom, the familiar hopeful expression on her face she always got when she was about to ask for something.

“Can Brooke stay?”

Katie arched an eyebrow. “I thought that was a given, seeing as you’re both already here.”

The two girls grinned and Emmy looked at her mom again, her smile growing even bigger. “And, can we get Thai tonight? It is Friday.” “Dontcha mean Thaiday?” Steve quipped causing Katie to groan as Emmy picked up a cushion off the couch with her spare arm and hit her dad with it.

“That is so lame.” Emmy rolled her eyes as Brooke cackled. “C’mon…”

Katie watched as they left the room, Steve still chuckling at his own joke.

“She’s right.” Katie looked at him, gently re-arranging Jamie slightly as he had started to nod off. “That was lame.”

Steve gave her a look of mock hurt, clutching his chest, before she left and he sat up to read the information Emmy had left on the table. He was struggling a little bit between wanting to let her go and also the worry that had instantly flooded his system about her being safe. He carefully read the details, the trip wasn’t cheap, not that that really mattered, the activities looked good, and a quick google showed him the hotel looked fairly reasonable and was in a nice enough area…

“I knew you’d be on that as soon as you could be.” Katie laughed and Steve looked up at her from his spot on the floor by the table and he gave a sheepish grin.

“Busted,” he sighed, “I just wanted to look into it properly. I really want her to go and enjoy stuff like this but…” “We can’t keep her sheltered, Steve.” Katie reasoned. “No matter how much we want to. She’s gonna be fourteen this time round.” “I know, I know.” He sighed “Do you think we should let her go?” “Yeah, I do.” Katie nodded “We’re lucky enough to be able to afford things like that for our kids, plenty of other families aren’t.”

Steve’s tongue poked the inside of his cheek for a moment as he considered his wife’s words. She was right. Emmy would never have been on a trip like this before, and it did look like a lot of fun.

“Alright.” He heaved himself up off the floor “You’ve convinced me.” Katie grinned “If only everything was that easy.” “It is.” He arched an eyebrow. “All you have to do is pull those eyes at me.” “What eyes?” She asked innocently. “You know damned well what eyes. Those eyes. The ones that can get me to do whatever you want.” “Is it working now?” She looked up at him, batting her eyelashes. “Why, what do you want?” He asked, smirking, knowing full well what she was implying as her hands slid up his chest.

“Well the girls are out at the pool,” her eyes followed her fingers as they started to undo the buttons of his Henley, “and Jamie’s asleep…” Grinning, Steve span her round, shoved her gently forward and aimed a smack to her ass causing her to yelp playfully. “Get up those stairs Mrs Rogers.” He growled, and the pair of them hurried off, giggling like a pair of naughty school kids till they reached their bedroom, where the giggles turned into shared moans, groans and happy sighs.

**** “Thanks for dropping Brooke off.” Jennifer placed a latte down in front of Katie.

“It was no problem, I had to come this way on my way up to the compound anyway.” Katie smiled and then frowned slightly as she noticed the look on her friend’s face.

“You alright?” She asked gently.

“Not really,” Jen sighed, sitting down. “Brooke called last night about the field trip…” “Yeah Steve wasn’t so keen but I talked him round. The girls seem to be looking forward to it.” “That’s the thing.” Jen rubbed at her temple “I really want Brooke to go but, well, business hasn’t been what it used to be before, you know, and I’m not sure I can afford it. Not at such short notice.” Katie instantly felt like a jerk. She knew she was incredibly privileged to be so wealthy but was well aware many weren’t as fortunate.

“I haven’t had the heart to tell her yet.” Jen swallowed and Katie bit her lip.

“Jen,” she leaned over the table dropping her voice, “if you want…” “No.” Jen shook her head, her lips pressing into a thin line, instantly understanding what Katie was offering “I’m not a charity case.” Her voice was clipped. “No, that’s not what I meant.” Katie hastily assured the woman. “Honestly, I didn’t mean to offend you.” “I know.” Jen shook her head “Sorry,that was really ungrateful.” “It’s fine.” Katie waved her apology off, “but the offer is there. We could consider it a loan if you liked.” Jen chewed her lip, and Katie saw her friend’s eyes begin to water.

“Look,” Katie gripped her mug, “it’s a couple of hundred bucks. And this probably sounds crass and really, really fucking shitty when I think about it, but I make more than enough and I really, really won’t notice that amount going out, trust me.”

“I just hate this, you know.” Jen hastily wiped her face. “A few years ago this place was thriving and now, well I just about make enough to cover bills and the thought she is the one that has to miss out…” “Then let me help.” Katie pleaded, looking at the red head opposite her. “Brooke’s been a good friend to Emmy and, well, from a selfish point of view I’d be a lot more comfortable if they were together.”

“That’s really kind of you.” Jennifer nodded after a pause. “Are you sure? I’ll pay you back as soon as I can.”

“Whenever, it’s not a big deal.” Katie nodded, smiling “On one condition.” “What?”

“You sneak me one of your delicious brownies every once in a while.” Jenifer laughed “Oh honey, you and Steve can get free coffee and brownies for life.” “Erm, yeah, pretty sure in a month you’d be bankrupt if I told Steve that.” Katie grinned and Jenifer smiled.

“Would you like to come over?” She asked suddenly. “The pair of you, for dinner maybe? Tonight? Emmy and Jamie as well, of course.”

“Yeah, that sounds great.” Katie smiled. “We’re not doing anything that I know of but I’ll check with Steve and let you know as soon as I can.”

“Great, well, Emmy can stay here if she likes. I’m sure once I tell Brooke she can go they’ll be planning all sorts of mischief.”

“I dread to think.” Katie mused “You know I remember my last field trip. It was to San Fran and I was sixteen. Me and my friend, a girl called Laura, I made some fake ID and we got plastered in a bar. Tony absolutely kicked my ass, before he told me he was actually quite impressed at the quality of my forgeries.”

Jennifer snorted “Yeah, this isn’t exactly filling me full of confidence.”

Katie laughed. “Emmy is much better behaved than I was at that age, Steve wouldn’t stand for her getting into the same amount of crap as I did.” She drained her mug and stood up. “I best be going.”

“Sure, see you tonight? What time will suit with Jamie?”

“Well he normally goes down about seven and he’ll just sleep in his car seat.” Katie smiled “So say six ish? I can feed him and settle him then at yours before we eat.”

“Fab.” Jenifer stood up and Katie mirrored her.“And thank you.”

“My pleasure.” Katie smiled, and she handed Jen her mug. Once the woman was out of sight she dug into her purse and dropped the customary twenty bucks into the tip jar on her way out.

****

Steve was in the kitchen when he heard his wife come home. He didn’t move though, he was too busy watching his son, trying to figure out how the hell the fourteen month old had managed to climb up on top of the breakfast bar unaided. Steve had turned his back for thirty goddamned seconds to load the dishwasher and now his son was crawling along the unit. The only explanation was he’d used one of the stools as leverage, but even that was baffling the Captain, and there was no way Jamie should have been able to manage that, at all.

“Thank you Dr Erskine” Steve grumbled as he swept his son off the surface. “You’re gonna be the death of me, pal.” “No!” Jamie cackled, and Steve sighed, his son carefully held in his arms as Katie walked into the kitchen. “Hey, Doll.” He smiled, dropping a kiss to her lips.

“Hi.” She greeted him, returning his gentle sign of affection before she blew a raspberry on Jamie’s cheek. He giggled as she made her way to the fridge and Steve deposited their boy on the mat at the corner of the room.

“How was Nat?” Steve asked and Katie sighed, grabbing out a bottle of water and opening it.

“Still insisting on flying out to Nepal.” She shut the fridge. “I’ve told her Barton doesn’t wanna be found, but…” she trailed off. “And Bruce has gone again.”

“Where to this time?” Steve frowned.

“Back to the lab in Seoul.” Katie shrugged. “I don’t know what for. Anyway, I told her to come for dinner on Sunday and that if she misses it again this week imma kick her ass.” Steve smiled as Katie took a drink from the bottle “Oh, and speaking of dinner, we’re not doing anything tonight are we?”

“Not at the moment, but I’m sure you’re about to tell me we are.” “Jen’s asked us round.” Katie sat down at the table.

“That’s nice of her.” Steve poured himself mug of coffee, Katie waving away his offer of one. “You wanna go?”

“Yeah, and it’s kind of a thank you so we should do really.”

“What for?” He sat down opposite her.

“Well, she was upset about not being able to send Brooke on the Field Trip so I offered to help out money wise.She didn’t want to take it at first but she agreed in the end. As long as it’s a loan”

“I’m glad she did. I’m assuming Emmy has stayed with them for the day?”

Katie hummed a response.

“Those two are joined at the hip.” Steve snorted

“Another reason I really wanted Brooke to go.”

A movement caught Steve’s eye from the corner of the room and he looked up to see Jamie was now stood up again and was heading back towards the breakfast bar. He quietly observed his son, watching as the boy gripped the legs of one of the stools and pulled himself up. Steve was horrified to see that he was managing to lift his legs off the floor, swinging them onto the foot bar.

“James, No!” He said loudly. The use of their boy’s full name didn’t pass Katie by and she turned in her seat to see Jamie looking at his father before he let go of the stool and fell backwards onto his butt, the pout on his face reminding Steve so much of his wife that he had to stifle a laugh. Katie watched as he got to his feet and toddled towards her.

“He managed to get up onto the kitchen counter before.” Steve eyed the boy as Katie picked him up and sat him on her knee. “What?” Katie’s voice was high pitched as she whipped her head round to look at Steve. “How the hell?”

“Beats me, although from that I suspect he was using the stool as a climbing frame.” Steve sighed watching as Jamie’s attention turned to the now empty bottle of water in front of Katie. “I was loading the dishwasher and in the time it took me to put the plates in he’d made it from his play mat to the top of the damned breakfast bar.” “This is your fault.” Katie laughed, smoothing down her son’s blonde hair. “You and your damned super serum.”

“I know.” Steve shook his head. “I thought we could take him and Lucky out for a walk maybe see if that settles his energy.”

Katie checked her watch “Yeah, we could do. Maybe head to the park. If we go now then we should be back for his nap.”

“Or we can wait a while, and he can sleep in the stroller and I can take you for lunch?”

“Okay so that sounds even better” she grinned “You know, you’re not as dumb as-“

Steve never found out what he wasn’t as dumb as, because at that moment they heard a yell that made his breath catch.

“DADA!”

The parents looked at one another, a shit eating grin spreading across Steve’s face as he leaned forward across the table.

“Dada?” Katie asked, pointing at Steve, bouncing Jamie on her knee. “Dada!” Jamie babbled again, grinning. “Dada!”

“Typical.” Katie rolled her eyes. “I carry you for nine months, give birth, feed you from my boobs and you come out looking like your father and you say Dada first. That’s gratitude for you”

“Guess that means I’m his favourite.” Steve teased, slumping back in his chair, earning himself a glare from his wife. He blew her a kiss, shrugging.

Steve was pleased, however that Katie didn’t have to wait long for her turn. A few days later when she went into Jamie’s room to get him up for the morning he beamed at her and held his arms up exclaiming “ma-ma!” Steve watched his wife on the baby monitor screen and felt his heart swell to what felt like five times its normal size as Katie picked up their son, her eyes pricking with tears and held him tight.

*****

June 2021

Katie woke with a start, pausing for a moment, wondering why it was so quiet. It took her a second but then she remembered Jamie was at Tony’s, staying for a sleepover. As Emmy was on her field trip, Pepper and Tony had taken the boy to give Katie and Steve a night on their own, the first one they had had in a very long time. Tony had rung them mid-afternoon to ask who on earth had taught him the word ‘whatever’, albeit in Jamie’s pronunciation ‘tever’ and Katie had laughed, that one was firmly down to Emmy. He hadn’t quite managed the sign to go with it yet thought, despite her best attempts.

They’d taken full advantage of it too. Steve had gone into complete romantic overdrive, coming home from a meeting at the tower with a bunch of calla lilies for his wife and told her to get dressed up as they were going out. They’d headed into Brooklyn for a meal at a small Italian (Katie only checking her phone five times, which was an improvement on the twenty the first time they’d left Jamie with his Uncle) and they’d had a great time. It had been intimate, and they’d teased each other relentlessly meaning when they got home they hadn’t even made it up the stairs before they’d been clawing at each other, desperate touches and kisses shared in the hallway before they’d both tumbled into the lounge onto the rug in front of the fire. Grinning to herself at the slight tenderness between her legs, Katie turned over and glanced at Steve who gently shifted in his sleep, a sure sign that he was slowly waking. She scooted closer and rested her hand on his chest, her smile widening as he unconsciously let out a soft sigh of contentment. His eyes were moving under their lids, and as her hand started trailing down over his stomach he took in a deep breath, finally opening his eyes and meeting her gaze just as her touch dipped below the waistband of his boxers. He let out a low groan.

“You’re awake early considering the kids are away.” He murmured, kissing the skin in the crook of her shoulder, his morning stubble scratching her skin slightly as she continued her strokes, teasing him lightly.

“Force of habit.” She whispered back, sighing as he kissed her neck again and again. He wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close until she was pressed against him, his thigh between hers as he rolled them both over so she was nestled under him. His lips made their way to hers and he gave her a deep, languid kiss as she shifted so that her legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him flush against her. Steve propped himself up with his left arm while his other hand went under the shirt she was wearing, his shirt, to her chest, his fingertips barely brushing against her nipples. She groaned loudly at his touch, and he was just about to warn her to be quiet, but then he realised he didn’t have to. With the knowledge that he really could make her scream, he hastily pulled the top over her head and his lips crashed back to hers, the kiss hot and intentional as her legs gripped him tightly in an attempt to get a little more friction between them. He went to tug at the waistband of her underwear, barely breaking his lips away from hers for a moment.

“You want me?” He asked, his voice low and raspy.

“Always,” she groaned, aware of the desperation that flooded her tone and Steve let out a low growl. Katie felt the tearing along one side of the thin lace garment he had hold of and she laughed into his mouth, remembering their first time together when he had done the very same thing. Her fingers scrambled to push down his boxers as he repositioned himself slightly, reaching down with his hand to line himself up, before he gently worked into her. Man and wife both let out a satisfied sigh as Steve’s hand grabbed Katie’s knee and hitched it over his shoulder, a move he knew drove her wild. She moaned loudly and her fingers dug into his arms as he starting pushing a little harder, a little faster, then faster, until he had reached a relentless pace making his wife curse and leaving her short of breath.

He slowed for a moment, making her look at him, letting out a noise of protest. “Don’t stop,” she begged, “Please Stevie.”

Grinning slightly he picked up the pace again, enjoying the noises she was making as she keened underneath him, her head pressing further back into the pillow a she gave another loud cry of his name before he felt her tighten round him as she came, her nails biting at the skin on his arms. He continued to thrust three, four more times before the snake in his belly uncoiled and he jerked on top of her with a loud cry of his own and let go of her leg, collapsing onto her, his face buried into her neck.

“Morning,” she mumbled, her hands tangling into his hair and he let out a soft chuckle.

“Morning, Beautiful.”

They stayed in bed for another hour or so, just laying with one another and talking before it was time to shower. They did that together too, and by the time they were climbing into the car to go and pick Jamie up, Katie was feeling literally and figuratively thoroughly fucked and fell asleep on the journey, Steve smirking to himself at the fact he could still tire her out like that after almost eight years of being with one another.

“Late night was it?” Tony quipped as Katie let out a yawn as she walked into his living room.

“Yeah, and an early morning,” she shot back and Tony snorted, shaking his head.

“Dada!” Jamie giggled as he tottered over from where he had been sat on the rug with Morgan and Pepper “Mama!”

“Hi, Baby!” Katie swept him up in her arms and placed a kiss to his cheek “We missed you.” “Nee!” He said gleefully and Katie frowned, and it wasn’t until he pointed to his uncle and repeated the word that she understood. “Nee!”

Steve let out a snort “Uncle Nee. Suits you Tone.” “Shut up, Spangles” Tony raised an eyebrow as Morgan laughed.

“Uncle Pangles!” The two year old quipped as if on cue, and Steve let out a moan

“Did you teach her that?” He looked accusingly at his brother in law.

“Of course he did.” Pepper sighed, sweeping the small girl into her arms as she stood up, smirking at Katie. “You guys eaten breakfast yet or were you too busy?” Katie let out a snort. “If there’s any going I won’t say no.”

Pepper handed Morgan to Steve as she was trying to reach him and he took her, tossing her into the air ignoring the wince from Tony as he did so, catching the girl expertly.

“Again!” she pleaded and Steve obliged happily, knowing that it was winding Tony up only added to the enjoyment of seeing his niece cackle with laughter. “When’s Emmy back?” Tony asked, tearing his eyes away from where Steve was tossing his daughter in the air like he was wielding that fucking shield to look at his sister.

“This evening.” Katie answered. “Spoke to her last night, not sure she wants to come home.” “I remember your field trip to San Fran.” Tony mused, raising an eyebrow and Katie snorted.

“Yeah, so do I.” She smirked “I was telling Jen about that the other month. My first hangover.” “Okay, can you stop that now!” Tony rounded on Steve who grinned and rest Morgan on his hip and she pouted.

“More!”

“Sorry, Moo.” Steve apologised and she gave a huff as he placed her on the floor and she headed off to find her mum in the kitchen. He arched an eyebrow at Tony who rolled his eyes.

“Dick.” He mumbled.

“Dick.” Jamie repeated loudly and Katie’s eyes widened. Steve looked at his son, utterly horrified, then to Tony whose shocked expression was fast turning into one of utter glee.

“Oh you-” Steve glared at Tony as Katie bit her lip to try and stop her laughter “For f-“ he stopped himself, took a deep breath and pointed at Tony. “You are an absolute…”

“Use your words, Old Man!” Tony grinned, delightedly and Steve’s jaw clenched as he turned so his back was to his son and raised his hand, flipping his brother-in-law off.

*****

October 2021

“Your daddy is gonna be soaked” Katie mused to Jamie as she looked out of the window “It’s absolutely pouring with rain.”

“Dada. Rain!” Jamie grinned, chanting the words back at her, ignoring the small piece of toast that was left on his plate.

Steve had gone for his morning run with Lucky before he headed out to the first of the two support groups he was running that day. He had held the first one in September in an old church hall, and at first Katie was worried that more people would attend to take their anger out on him and had wanted to be there to help but Steve refused point blank, but her concern wasn’t completely unfounded as a lot of people were angry at first, but no one else hit him, and he said it was actually therapeutic for him too, as he could answer questions, and speak honestly and openly about how he felt about the situation. As it turned out, Steve was a natural born councillor as well as a leader, and by the end of the month he had six different groups running through the week at different places across Manhattan. It was good for him and he was relishing the fact he could still be useful.

The back door opened, and Katie could hear the man she was thinking about stepping into the small utility room off the side of the kitchen.

“Ahhh thanks, pal, “his voice dripped with sarcasm as she heard Lucky’s tag tinkling along with the noise of the dog shaking, “that’s great. really great.” Katie chuckled to herself, picturing his face as he continued to grumble

“Could have waited until I got a towel.”

“DADA!” Jamie yelled at the sound of his dad’s voice, squirming in his seat, breakfast abandoned. “Ucky!”

“Hey, Buddy” Steve called back, as Katie undid the straps from his high chair and they made their way into the utility area where Steve was drying Lucky off as best he could with an old towel. Lucky took the opportunity as soon as he could to scoot past Katie into the kitchen.

Jamie glanced at his dad and excitedly wiggled his arms and legs as Steve shrugged off his sodden waterproof running jacket.

“Hi!” He screeched “Hi Dada!”

Steve’s bright smile light up his face “Hi, Son.” He kissed him once on both cheeks and Jamie squeaked happily before Katie set him down and he toddled back over to the play-mat in the corner of the kitchen.

“What, no kiss from my baby mama?” Steve asked, sweeping Katie into his arms and rubbing at her neck with his cold, damp face.

She squealed and tried to pull away, to absolutely no avail, and Steve continued to laugh and use her as a drying cloth.

“Ew! You’re cold and damp and sweaty!” She wrinkled her nose.

“You don’t seem to mind my sweat when I’m chasing your fourth orgasm.” Steve quipped cheekily, dropping his voice to barely more than a whisper, making her laugh.

“That’s different.” “How?”

“Because that’s sex sweat, this is run sweat.”

Steve laughed loudly “I didn’t realise I had different sweat pores for different activities”

“I didn’t mean that!” Katie rolled her eyes “I mean that I’m not sweaty now, I’m warm, and dry…” “Yeah, and if you give me a moment I can rectify that situation.”

“Dirtbag.” She grinned, his chuckle vibrating into her chest. "Go get showered and warmed up. I’ll make you some breakfast.”

"Kiss first.” Steve muttered before he leaned forward and pressed his mouth to hers. His lips were warm and despite herself, Katie leaned into his arms, her hands snaking up into his damp hair.

“Kissy!” Jamie giggled, and they broke apart to look at the tot who was sat on the floor clapping. “Kissy, kissy!”

“I’m gonna kill Emmy.” Steve muttered, and then he spotted Lucky expertly stealing the toast that Jamie had left on the highchair, before sidling out of the room with his precious treat. “And that damned dog.”

Katie laughed and gave him another peck on the cheek before Steve swept past his son, giving his hair a quick ruffle. She leaned back against the counter and smiled, before she sighed, her happy expression faltering a little. They’d had almost three years now of pretty much non-stop domestic bliss, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that something surely had to come along at some point and turn it all upside down.

That was how things went for them, right?

“Mama!”

Her attention flew back to her son as he toddled over to her and held his arms up. “Hungry.” “Again?” Katie rolled her eyes as she picked him up.

“Yup.” He nodded emphatically.

Katie smiled, kissing his cheek, and moved him so he was perched on her hip. With one arm she placed more bread in the toaster and looked at her son, who smiled at her and pressed his lips to her cheek in a sloppy kiss.

“Love you.” He grinned and Katie beamed back at him, brushing his hair back.

“Love you too, Sweetheart.” And with that simple act, she managed to push those worries she had to the back of her mind, again, content to just enjoy what they had for as long as they had it.

**** Chapter 48 Part 1

**Original Posting**

#stark spangled banner #steve rogers #Katie Stark #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers x ofc #steve rogers x original female character #steve rogers fic #mcu #mcu fanfic #chris evans #chris evans characters

55 notes · View notes

itsclydebitches · 3 years

Note

Voyager. Now that’s a kettle of fish. Obviously watch/enjoy whatever you wish, but I do recommend also checking out SFDebris’ reviews of the episodes (he’s the rwde of Voyager). He is a lot smarter and more eloquent than me.

Putting these two asks together since my thoughts on both are all jumbled!

Now, I want to emphasize that I’ve only watched the first 16 episodes (Season One + Season 2 premiere), so idk if Voyager is going to go seriously downhill later on, but right now I do really like it. And not in a, “Lol yeah compared to the other crap on it’s good, I guess” way, but in a completely honest, “It has its flaws, but is overall a solid, compelling show with lovable characters” way. Out of curiosity I watched SFDebris’ review of “Phage,” though I’m afraid I didn’t agree with it. The only part were I was like, “Yeah okay” was pointing out that they had the Doctor using a keypad when he supposedly wasn’t solid, but that’s precisely the sort of continuity error that, in an otherwise strong show, I’m willing to shrug off. For all the major points, it sounds like SFDebris is concerned primarily with the show he wants Voyager to be, rather than the show Voyager actually is. Which I know sounds familiar--I’ve heard that criticism leveled at my own work: “You just want RWBY to be a totally different show”--but the difference is that Voyager is a part of an established franchise, following three other TV shows, an animated series, and a collection of films. It’s not an original show (like RWBY) that can take itself in any direction the story may need/claim to want (again, RWBY). It has a brand and those established characteristics seem to be bumping up against SFDebris’ critiques:

Hating Neelix as a character - You’re supposed to hate him. Or at least find him frustrating (I don’t personally hate him) because that’s what all the characters are grappling with too. From Tuvok forced to have an awkward conversation while Neelix is in the bath to Janeway dealing with him taking over her dining room, Neelix’s conflict revolves around how others learn to accept him. Star Trek as a franchise is about “Infinite diversity in infinite combinations.” Voyager begins with the problem of how the trained Federation officers are supposed to work with the more violent Maquis. Difference doesn’t just create “Wow, you’re so amazing!” reactions, it also includes frustration, disagreement, and outright hostility. Creating an outsider character with a kind heart but incredibly overbearing personality is a great way to test the other characters’ convictions. Do they actually care about all life in the universe? Or do they only care about life when they personally find it palatable? Having Neelix around is a great reminder for them--and the viewer--that just because someone annoys you at times doesn’t mean they’re any less worthy of love, respect, and companionship. It also doesn’t mean they don’t have something to offer: he keeps the crew fed even if his cooking is horrible, he provides information about this area of space even if he sometimes gets it wrong, we roll our eyes at the “Morale Officer” stuff, but Neelix does provide much needed perspective for characters like Tuvok. If Neelix made fewer mistakes, stopped bugging the crew, became a “cooler” character for the audience to root for rather than be frustrated by... a lot of the point of his character would be lost.

Frustration about discoveries not carrying over to the next episode - AKA, the crew finds inanely powerful, alien tech and then (presumably) never uses it again. This would indeed be a big problem in a serialized story (like RWBY) but Voyager maintains much of Star Trek’s original, episodic nature. Though we have continuity in the form of them inching towards home and evolving as characters, the world still resets to a certain point at the end of each episode. This is what allows Star Trek to explore so many different questions and have so many different adventures. If you demand that serialized continuity--this character needs to have an arc to deal with this traumatic experience, the crew has to follow the thread they just discovered, our Doctor needs to do something with the new tech they just found--then you lose the variety that Star Trek is known for. Instead of a new story each week (or, occasionally, across two weeks) you’ve got a single story spanning months. Neither form is better or worse than the other, it’s absolutely a preference, but there’s a very specific, structural, intentional reason why the characters “forget” about the things they’ve discovered and, at times, experienced. Unlike Ozpin forgetting that he has a nuke in his cane for seven volumes, or Ruby forgetting to use her eyes at crucial points, Star Trek deliberately sets things aside to ensure there’s room for new ideas and questions next episode.

Janeway doesn’t kill the Vidiians to get Neelix his lungs back - No Starfleet captain would. At least, not during this period of Star Trek. Sisko has development in that regard (making morally gray choices), but that’s built into the heart of the show from the start: he’s on a station, not a starship, that is jointly run by the Federation and the Bajorans, and built by the Cardassians. The rules of the Federation always had a tenuous hold there and Sisko as a character always pushed the boundary of the Federations expectations (Q: “Picard never hit me!”) Janeway, in contrast, is 100% a Federation captain and, more importantly, has explicitly told her crew that they will be operating as a Federation vessel, despite being so far from home. That’s the conflict between the officers and the Maquis. That’s why Tuvok accepts the alien tech in “Prime Factors,” recognizing that Janeway can’t. That’s why Seska is a compelling antagonist, pressuring the crew to abandon their ideals for survival. The series (or at least that first season) revolves around questions about identity and whether they’re willing to give that identity up now that they’re out from under the Federation’s thumb. Overwhelmingly, they choose not to... which would make murdering the Vidiian a complete 180 for her character. We’re not necessarily supposed to agree with Janeway’s choice, we’re supposed to acknowledge that murdering another sentient being is not some simple choice to make, especially when you’re a leader devoted to a certain set of ideals. We’re supposed to recognize the challenges here (many of which SFDebris doesn’t acknowledge) like how you’re supposed to keep a prisoner for the next 75 years when you’re already struggling to feed and take care of the crew you have, or the fact that they claim to take organs from dead bodies and this was a rare time when they couldn’t. (It’s only in “Faces” that we learn this is complete BS and they actively kidnap people to work as slaves and then be harvested.) The frustration that Janeway doesn’t act here stems from wanting her to be a character who is, fundamentally, not a Star Trek captain.

Granted, I only watched one review, but that’s what the whole thing felt like: wanting a series that’s not Star Trek. Something without a token, challenging character, without hand-wavy science, that’s more serialized, and doesn’t adhere to a “do no harm” code. (I just started “Initiations” and Chakotay asks a vessel to stand down three times, while actively being attacked, before finally retaliating and then he tries to reestablish communications and then he warns them about their engine and then he beams them aboard his shuttle. That’s what Star Trek (usually) is: that idealized love of life, even when that life is actively hostile). And like, that’s obviously fine! As you say, Flawartist, “watch/enjoy whatever you wish,” but just based on this one review I wonder if SFDebris just wants something other than Star Trek.

I think one of the reasons why I feel passionately about this (beyond my love of context and recognizing when shows are actively trying to accomplish something specific) is that I went through this with DS9. For years I heard about how horrible the show was. It’s trash. It’s a mess. It’s not TNG, so don’t even bother. Or, if you do, be prepared for disappointment. There was this whole, strong rhetoric about how silly it all is--Star Trek is, by default, silly, so supposedly only the Shakespeare loving, archeology obsessed captain is sophisticated enough to save it--and then... I found nothing of the sort. I mean yeah, obviously Star Trek is silly as hell (that’s part of its charm), but DS9 was also a complex, nuanced look into everything from personal agency to the threat of genocide. There’s so much wonderful storytelling there... little of which made it into my cultural understanding of DS9. And now I’m seeing the same thing with Voyager. When I did some quick googling I was bombarded by articles saying how bad it is and now I have an ask comparing it to a show I don’t think has even a quarter of the heart the Star Trek franchise does. Which is is not AT ALL meant as a knock against you, anon. I’m just fascinated by this cultural summary of Star Trek: TOS is ridiculous but fun if you’re willing to ignore large swaths of it, TNG is a masterpiece and that’s that, DS9 is bad, Voyager is bad, and to be frank I haven’t heard much of anything about Enterprise. It’s weird! Because I watch these shows and I’m like, “Holy shit there’s so much good storytelling here.” Is it perfect? Not on your life, but it’s trying in a way that I can really appreciate. It’s Star Trek and Star Trek (at least at the time) meant something pretty specific. Criticisms about divisive characters or idealized forgiveness feel like walking out of a Fast and Furious film and going, “There was too much driving and silly combat. Why didn’t they just fix the situation in this easy way?” Because then we wouldn’t have a film about lots of driving and silly combat! If you make all the characters palatable, make Janeway harder, extend the impact of all the discoveries, remove the ridiculous science that doesn’t make any sense... then you don’t have Star Trek anymore.

#star trek #ST #mymeats #flawartist

19 notes · View notes

wickwrites · 3 years

Text

Burning as a Motif for Humanity in Violet Evergarden

I think, when watching Violet Evergarden, most of us picked up on fire as a motif for Violet’s trauma – the violence and destruction she witnessed in the war, and the violence and destruction she engendered with her own hands. I’m not going to go into this too much because it’s all pretty self-explanatory, if not trite, but here are some quick examples of fire as a motif for her trauma just to lay the groundwork for the rest of the essay:

In frame 1 (episode 8), Violet draws first blood on the battlefield, and the once contained fire from the felled soldiers’ lanterns spread quickly through the forest, a symbol for how one small act of violence can cascade into large scale destruction. In frame 2, Gilbert stares at the carnage in front of him, horrified. In frame 3, the major is shot, and all we get to see is a screen of flames. In frame 4 (episode 12), Merkulov stares into a fire as he schemes about re-kindling the war.

I want to follow this (well trodden) opinion up with a more encompassing statement. That is, fire, in Violet Evergarden, is not limited to representing the destructive power of violence and trauma. Instead, it is a motif for humanity itself – an embodiment of the full range of experiences and emotions that make us human.

To show this, I’m going to start off at the beginning of Violet’s journey, focusing on how her disconnect (from herself as well as others) is illustrated in episode one. For instance, her initial struggle to move her now mechanical arms as she sits in her hospital bed in the opening sequence is an excellent embodiment of her dissociation from her own body and lack of agency. I want to, however, focus on two scenes that are particularly relevant for our discussion:

First, the scene where Violet spills tea on her hand:

And second, the scene where Hodgins insists that Violet is burning:

These scenes are similar: in both, someone asserts that Violet must be in pain, specifically due to burning, and in both, Violet rejects that statement. In the first, however, that burning is physical. And in the second, that burning is emotional. Regardless, Violet is so removed from her own body that she is incapable of feeling either. Her mechanical hand is therefore an embodiment of her inhumanity (ie. her “dollness” or “weapon-ness”). Like her, it is cold, mechanical, insensitive, without life or agency. After all, up until now, all she’s been doing is killing on command, without the ability to think for herself, experience her own pain, or sympathize with her victims’ pain.

When the screen shows that Hodgins is indeed correct, that Violet is literally on fire (frame 1), that fire is depicted with restraint. Flames engulfs Violet’s body, but those flames are from a streetlamp enclosed in glass. It is controlled and distant. This encapsulates Violet’s current state; she is literally on fire, but that fire is so compartmentalized and suppressed, and she is so far removed from her own experience, that she is incapable of feeling it.

In frame 2, we are viewing Violet in a flashback, from Hodgin’s point of view. Although we’re offered a close up shot of her bloodied hands, we see, about two cuts later, that Hodgin is actually observing Violet from afar (frame 2.5). This distance demonstrates that he cannot bring himself to reach out to her, something that Hodgin confesses he feels guilty about literally 5 seconds later. They were, at that point in time, and perhaps even now, unable to connect.

In frames 3 and 4, Hodgin is speaking again. We get this super far shot of Violet’s body. The camera is straight on, objective, and unfeeling. This unsympathetic framing has two functions. First, it distances us from Violet. Our inability to see the details on her face and her relatively neutral body language gives us, the audience, no real way inidication her thoughts. Second, it distances Violet from herself. As someone who experiences dissociative symptoms from PTSD, this is a very poignant way of framing what it feels like to be removed from your own experience. Hodgin’s line, “You’ll understand what I’m saying one day. And, for the first time, you’ll notice all your burn scars,” further drives home the sense that Violet is completely estranged from herself. It almost feels like we are looking at her, from her own detached point of view.

We’re going to move on now, but we’ll get back to these frames later in the analysis, so hold onto them.

Throughout Violet’s journey, fire comes up again and again. Specifically, it shows up in moments of emotional intimacy, connection, and healing. Let’s see what I mean by this:

I have here a collection of moments that all occur at the same narrative point in their respective mini-stories: the moment where one character reaches out to another, sympathizes with them, and literally pulls them of their darkness. For example, frame 1 (episode 3) shows Violet bringing a letter from Luculia to her brother. It expresses Luculia’s gratitude and love for him, and ultimately mends their relationship. In frame 2 (episode 4), Violet and Iris share a moment of emotional intimacy and connection, which is the beginning of Iris’ story’s resolution. In frame 3 (episode 9), Violet’s suicidal despondency is interrupted by the mailman, bringing her a heartwarming letter from all her friends. In frame 4 (episode 11), Violet comforts a dying solder by a fireplace.

It’s not that other modes of lighting do not exist – modern looking lamps show up repeatedly in the show. Even Iris’ rural family has them, so I can reasonably assume that, no, the above moments do not all coincidentally use lamps because that’s all there is in this universe; the usage of fire during moments of catharsis is deliberate, and establishes that fire can also bring hope, kindness, and love.

Now that we’ve explored the dual nature of fire as both destructive/constructive, painful/cathartic, let’s go onto the thesis of my essay. Why do I say that being on fire is to be human? Let’s go back to the scene where Hodgin tells Violet she’s on fire (episode 1, on the left), and compare it to the scene where Violet finally realizes that Hodgin was right and that she is on fire (episode 7, on the right):

In these sequences, there is a notable shift in framing and perspective. In frame 1b, we finally get to see Violet’s blood-stained hands from her point of view, as opposed to from Hodgin’s point of view in 1a. Violet becomes aware of her past as an actual agent choosing to kill, shown through the first-person point of view. Similarly, the medium, straight on shot of Violet looking down at her hands (frame 2a) is replaced with an intimate first-person, close-up view (frame 2b). In shots 3a and 3b, the difference in framing is most pronounced. In 3a, we get this straight on, long shot. In frame 3b, the camera’s detachment is replaced by a claustrophobic closeness. While this framing does an excellent job at conveying the panicked feeling of “everything crashing down all at once”, it also demonstrates Violet’s new-found awareness of herself. While before, the camera was used to alienate, now it is used to create a sense of painful awareness and intimacy.

These series of shots are the first in the entire show, I believe, of Violet's body from her own point of view. Their co-incidence with her awakening self-awareness characterizes the state of “being in one’s body” as a precondition to self-connection, or more specifically, to Violet’s understanding of herself as neither a weapon nor a doll, but as a human. Correspondingly, this pivotal moment serves as a catalyst for her subsequent emotional development. From this episode on towards the finale, we’re launched into a heart wrenching sequence of events: Violet’s desperate grieving for Gilbert’s apparent death, her attempted suicide driven by newfound grief, and most importantly, Violet receiving her first written letter, an act that is strongly representative of genuine human connection. Following these events, Violet’s emotional connection to both herself and others only continues to grow; during her two final jobs of the story, she breaks down crying in response to the suffering of her clients, demonstrating a level of compassion—if not empathy—that she seems to have never been able to tap into before.

At the same time, Violet acquires a new sense of agency, making plot-driving decisions that no longer require other characters’ validations. Most poignantly, in episode 12, she chooses to stay on the train to fight Merkulov, explicitly going against Dietfried’s order for her to leave. Her reason?

She doesn’t want anyone to die anymore.

And it’s this moment, for me, that consolidated her as a character with true agency. Up until now, all her major decisions have been framed in relation to Gilbert: she killed in the war because Gilbert ordered her to, and she became an Auto Memories Doll because she wanted to understand Gilbert’s enigmatic “I love you”. Now, however, her motivation is purely her own—she fights, simply because she doesn’t want anyone else to die. It’s a line implies an intimate knowledge of loss. It’s a sentiment motivated by compassion. It’s a raw and extraordinarily human thing to say.

When Violet embarks on her journey to decipher Gilbert’s love, she is devoid of many traits we consider inherent and possibly even unique to being human—suffering, compassion, altruism, love, agency, and the interplay between them. As an Auto Memories Doll, she learns to live, experiencing all these emotions she had never had the luxury to experience before, and we quickly realize that she cannot know what love is without simultaneously wrestling with her trauma. She learns that yes, sometimes the fire destroys and sometimes it burns, but sometimes it thaws too, and you cannot have one without the other. You cannot choose what the fire does to you; you cannot choose what you want to feel. Thus, to be on fire is to know the anguish of its destruction, but it is also, and more importantly, to know the catharsis of human connection, to be the warm flame that pulls someone else out of the dark, to be pulled out of the dark yourself. To be on fire is to be human.

#violet evergarden #violet evergarden analysis #anime analysis #anime #anime essay #anime meta #violet evergarden meta #analysis #w.writing #w.analysis

48 notes · View notes

thechekhov · 4 years

Photo

Due to popular demand, I’m making a 4-part series about how to make a comic! Check out the other parts while you’re here!

1) Thinking of a story 2) Making characters (this part) 3) Drafting pages (coming not soon) 4) Presentation (coming eventually, we hope)

So, here’s the big question:

How do you make a good character?

I’m going to have us step back for a moment to say:

There is no such thing as a “Good” Character. Because how good a character is or isn’t is subjective. We can argue back and forth for hours about what we value in a character, but no one will ever agree. You can’t make a character that EVERYONE will like, and you shouldn’t try to.

Instead, I urge you to focus on trying to make ONE or MORE of the following:

Relatable characters

Sympathetic characters

Useful characters

“What the FUCK is goin’ on here I just wanna know” characters

I think they’re pretty self-explanatory, but let’s go through it anyway.

1. Relatable Characters:

What is says on the tin. These are character you and someone else could relate to. Maybe they’re a teenager who hates school. (Timeless classic.) Maybe they’re a young adult down on their luck and in need of money, willing to forgo some moral standards to get by. (Millennials, roll call!) Or maybe they’re just like you (or literally you. We don’t judge self-insert. There’s a reason Write What You Know is a thing.)

Regardless of what you want to believe, many human experiences are universal. Some of them are universally unacknowledged, but they are still universal. You want to just be careful about falling into the ‘my character is so special and the rest of my characters are dumb’ trope. That isn’t interesting - or realistic.

(source: xkcd)

2. Sympathetic Character:

I also call this the Looking Glass Character.

Even if most of us have universal human experiences, many of our own experiences are also unique to us. Some experiences are things we will never live through - but we can still sympathise with the emotional state of the characters. If a story allows us to experience new things THROUGH a character, we feel connected to them.

Keep in mind - this character still has to be somewhat relatable. We have to be able to say “if I was in this situation, I would do that too!” Allowing your readers to believe what is happening makes the reading experience more believable.

(I’m pretty sure none of us have been a half-gem half-human hybrid suffering through trying to right your defected-the-diamond-authority war-criminal mom’s past mistakes, but seeing Steven repeatedly say “I’m fine!” as he descends into madness is something we can all sympathise with.)

Similarly, if your character is in the woods and finds a tiny house on the edge of the prairie and it’s getting dark and the house has flickering lights - whether or not they go inside is inconsequential to sympathy. What matters is if they have a good REASON to go inside. Sometimes, it’s not the actions that’s sympathetic - it’s the motivation!

(My sister disappeared in just such a house! I must get revenge! vs I’m a bored teenager with a potentially unrequited deathwish and/or a crush on a ghost. Well... scratch that, I can sympathise with both scenarios.)

3. Useful Characters

I was previously asked what to do to avoid making your characters into a Mary Sue. This part will be about that.

Let me start by saying: I don’t think Mary Sues are as prevalent as some people bemoan them to be.

A Mary Sue is a character that is often described as ‘too perfect’ - they can do everything, know everything, never fail at anything, have a tragic past that excuses every emotional outburst, and are overall just ‘too good to be true’.

I think, if played correctly, such a character can still be a good one. What makes all the difference is how useful these aforementioned traits are to the plot - or to other characters.

Let’s acknowledge some universal truths (aside from the one about the men in want of wives and the relation of such a desire in proportion to their fortune):

The plot must go on. That’s obvious.

In order for the plot to move, there must be things happening (in one sense or another). Also obvious.

In order for things to happen, there must be a conflict or a tension of some sort. THAT is your litmus test for a ‘Mary Sue’ character.

“If I remove them from the plot, will the plot suffer any holes? Will they impact the plot or impede it? Will their OP superpowers make some other worldbuilding completely useless? Will their incredibly tragic backstory overshadow another conflict between other characters?”

Characters should be like legos - they must have a function within your plot. Looking cool isn’t a function. Well, sure, it CAN be - but it must also be a function that doesn’t break Newton’s Laws. An object at rest will remain at rest. If your Perfect Character is already flawless, they have no reason to change, ergo nothing needs to happen.

Make your character serve a use within your plot!

4. WtFiGOHIWK Characters:

Do you ever watch a show, or listen to a podcast or read a webcomic and think to yourself “Okay, cool, but what the FUCK is UP with _____? What’s their deal?!”

I like to categorize these characters in a group of their own. These characters are likable ONLY because we all have a socially wired brain that makes us CRAVE comprehension of social background like drugs. We CRAVE THAT MINERAL. And the mineral is - gossip. Backstory. Tea. The DEETS.

Many characters are somewhat of an enigma, and the initial plot doesn’t give away all their secrets. We get hooked not because the characters are relatable, and sometimes not even because they’re sympathetic - but because their social tension within a group of other characters is RIDICULOUS and we are wired to want to understand them.

Everyone has their own examples, but one of my favorites is this asshole:

Do I relate or sympathise with Dr. House? Broadly, no. He’s obscene, rude, and most of the time he’s not even the good guy in any given episode. But his morality roadmap resembles knitting directions for a scarf and his reactions to the most mundane situations are FASCINATING.

(Never underestimate the power of human curiosity and how strongly it can work to make your readers turn to the next page, even if your whole plot is about a dumpster truck on fire next to a fireworks factory.)

Q: So how do I make a character?

There are several options:

- Wait and do nothing. The character will happen when you least expect it or are least prepared. Now they’re in your head. They won’t leave. aaaaAAAAAAA!

- Take a person or another character you know. Change 3-5 fundamental things about them (I don’t mean name, hair color and shoe size... I mean something PERSONAL, like background, motivations, religion, dream job, species, etc.) BAM character. (I mean, is it QUESTIONABLE to write a story about your sister as a lizard who wants to go to the moon? MAYBE. Should she still be more grateful than she is? ALSO MAYBE.)

- Take yourself and change uhhh... at least one thing about the character. Try to veil the fact that it’s actually just you. Fail. Wipe away tears. Write the story anyway. Hope no one notices.

- Write a story in your head and then think “Who is the LEAST likely person to participate in these shenanigans?” There’s your character.

Q: What should I avoid in a character?

Honestly, you can go around to 100 people and ask this, and they’ll give you 100 different answers. What people dislike and like in characters is so vast that there’s NOTHING you can do to stop people from hating on a character.

But yes, there ARE some overused tropes and I want to share 1 rule that I personally keep to when making characters. (Keep in mind, this is MY personal list. It isn’t the end-all-be-all, and yes, you can argue about this. But don’t @ me, I don’t care.)

DON’T describe your character as “______ is kind and friendly until you piss them off - then they will kill you.”

This has been my biggest pet peeve since high school - and it’s unfortunately an absolute staple of any YA character. Someone is ‘friendly’ and ‘nice’ and ‘shy’ UNTIL - you hurt their friends. Then they go berserk.

I know it’s tempting because ‘usually demure character lets loose their True Potential’ is a very empowering thing to see. (And I admit, I think Mob Psycho 100 pulled this Trope back in by the scruff of its neck and managed to get JUST the right angle for it to work.)

BUT it’s overused and it tells us absolutely NOTHING about your character. It’s a calorie-free fact. Feels like a description but is actively devoid of any interesting information about your character.

Why? Because literally EVERYONE is like this.

We are all, at a baseline, somewhat friendly. That’s... just how most people are. Societal convention tells us we must behave with some semblance of dignity and respect towards others in standard situations in order to keep peace.

And I daresay getting pissed off and Breaking Character is ALSO a thing that most humans experience. Getting angry when your friends/loved ones are hurt is the bare minimum necessary for being relatable.

Not to say your character can’t do this but - it doesn’t need to be described as a part of their personality any more than, say, the fact that they have hair on their head.

Q: How do I make my character more believable?

Research.

We all hate that word, because school usually teaches us to think of research as boring but it is ESSENTIAL to your desire to make ‘good’ (relatable, sympathetic, useful) characters.

IF YOU PLAN TO WRITE FOR AN AUDIENCE, THEN YOU NEED TO PUT IN THE EFFORT OF MAKING YOUR CHARACTERS MULTIDIMENSIONAL.

That means - knowing their background. Knowing details. Knowing cultural, financial, religious terms you need to know to write them believably.

I know, I know - what if I’m just writing for myself? you say.

Well, fine. If you’re not planning to have your work be widely public, if you’re just having fun and don’t care, then write whatever you want. Make a Japanese character with a Korean name. Force your UK characters to use USA slang. Forgo any historical accuracy. Change up facts! Erase the moon landing, whatever.

But if you want to share your work with people, and if you want people to interact with your writing on a more serious level, then you NEED to know how to use Google and gather at least SURFACE information what you are writing. If you don’t but pretend you did, people WILL be jolted out of their zone.

Research the things and people you are writing about. And more importantly - READ about the experiences of the people you are writing about! Avoiding Stereotypes in this day and age is EASY. You literally have an endless, free encyclopedia in your hands. If you can send a tumblr ask, you can google it.

That’s all for now, and CHEERS!

#how to comic #how to comic part 2 #chekhov writes a tutorial #writing

1K notes · View notes