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jomiddlemarch · 19 days

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and is there honey still

Kissing Mary Vance was nothing like kissing Faith.

This realization, occurring a moment after the kiss ended, Jem’s hand still at Mary’s slender waist, her normally pale cheeks as pink as a rare mayflower, was followed immediately by the understanding that he’d never be able to tell anyone. There was no confidant he could trust with such a secret, even if he could bring himself to so violate the rules of gentlemanly behavior. It just wasn’t done and that was before he considered speaking of kissing Mary Vance, who was accepted as Miss Cornelia’s adopted daughter, but whose personal history was never quite forgotten.

Susan, should she ever hear of it, would be scandalized beyond comprehension.

Jem would never eat another slice of her strawberry pie.

His friends and siblings would be confused, Faith put out, her pique covering any feelings of betrayal, for all that there was nothing binding between them.

Mother would be disappointed and Dad would shake his head.

The expression in Mary’s eyes, those queer eyes he now saw were the color of moonstones, told him she understood it all.

“It’s nothing to make a fuss about,” she said. Faith would have tossed her head making such a remark, her golden-brown curls shown to advantage, but Mary only looked at him steadily and let the hand that had been on his shoulder drop to her lap.

“You hold yourself too cheap, Mary,” Jem said.

“That ain’t—that isn’t possible,” she replied. “Anyway, what’s a kiss amount to?”

It was a good question, one Jem had thought he’d known the answer to, just as he thought he’d known the answer to the question she was laboring over at her desk in the empty classroom, a piece of paper scribbled over and crossed-out, grey smudges on the foolscap, on Mary’s white cuffs. She would’ve laundered them herself, being Miss Cornelia’s daughter not relieving her of her housekeeping duties, chores she’d call them though Jem knew none of his sisters had ever helped even pinning clean clothes to the line.

He supposed a kiss could be an ordinary thing, a peck on the cheek or the lips, a greeting, friendly and inconsequential as a wave, a forgettable gesture of a mild affection.

Kissing Mary Vance was nothing like that.

He could say, in all honesty, that he hadn’t planned it. He’d been pointing out something in her writing, a tricky bit she’d gotten tangled up in, and she’d been peering down at the page, trying to make it out. When she’d perceived her mistake, she’d looked up at him, her expression one he’d never seen before, victory and pride and delight all swirled together, altering her face from one he’d recognized without being aware of it into one he’d been startled to discover. Without a word, without a thought, he’d leaned in and kissed her parted lips before she crowed over her achievement or thanked him, the caress impetuous, a whim, irresistible.

She was irresistible. He’d grazed her lips with his own and in the space before the next heartbeat, he’d cupped her jaw with one hand and let the other drop to her waist to draw her close. He felt the most tremendous desire for her possess him, everything else dropped away. She tasted, quite impossibly, of honey, though that was perhaps because he had always liked honey best, and she was warm in his embrace, coming closer when his hand at her waist reached around her back, sighing a little when he stroked her cheek and angled her head to be able to kiss her more deeply. Every second, his desire for her ratcheted sharply upwards and she met him, her hand clutching his shoulder, her sharp tongue sweet in his mouth. She kissed the way a fast girl kissed but there was a terrible innocence to her response that made him know she’d never kissed anyone else, whatever she might have intimated to his sisters and her friends.

He couldn’t say why he’d broken away.

A sound in the hallway or her sudden stillness when his hand grazed her breast, the need to breathe, the pounding of his heart felt throughout his whole body.

“It doesn’t have to mean anything,” Mary went on when he was stayed silent.

“Are you sorry?” he blurted out, and hearing the words he became suddenly terrified that he’d transgressed, become that monster Reverend Meredith always warned of in his gentle way, a man consumed by his appetites, greed and lust. “Oh, God, Mary, have I made you do something you didn’t want—”

“As if you could!” she said, wry again, Mary Vance again as he’d ever known her. If she’d wanted to, she would have slapped him, he was sure of that. “There’s no person living who could make me do what I didn’t want and certainly not you, Jem Blythe.”

“That’s good, I suppose,” he said, chastened, still too close to her. Still tasting the honey-sweetness of her lips, feeling the sound of the quiet moan of hers he’d swallowed in his throat.

“We don’t have to talk about it anymore,” she offered. “Or ever again. It could be just something that happened once, like as if you’d knocked over my inkwell, and we can forget about it. If that’s what you’d like. To be easy about it.”

“We don’t have to talk about it anymore,” he repeated, agreeing. An inkwell knocked over would leave a stain, one endless scrubbing would never entirely remove. “But I won’t forget. I shan’t.”

“That’s good, I suppose,” she said, her old tone mixed in with a new softness. He’d mussed her hair and some of the loose strands caught the light, a far cry from the usual trig appearance Miss Cornelia insisted upon. He wasn’t sure he’d ever see this Mary again, but it might be enough, to have seen it this one time. It was more Walter’s way to say he’d carry it as a talisman, but Jem felt it without saying it, that to have this moment might serve him well in the future.

“Mind you turn that paper in,” he said.

“Mind yourself, then,” she said and turned away.

He wouldn’t see Mary alone for another ten years.

“Thought I’d find you here,” Mary said, sitting down beside him, facing the water. She tucked her skirt around her and made no effort to conceal her sturdy, scuffed boots. It was a cool evening, cooler by the shore, but she didn’t have a coat or even the old wool shawl she’d refused to give up before he’d left for France. He shrugged off his own coat and offered it to her. He’d be warm enough in his heavy jersey, one the fisherman down at the harbor wore when the wind picked up.

“Not Rainbow Valley?” he said.

“Why would you go there? You’re not a child anymore. Haven’t been for a long time, unless I miss my mark,” she said.

“No, you’re right,” he said. “Not for a long time.”

“You don’t have to talk to me about anything. Not about the War or Walter or being a prisoner,” she said. She said it without any particular tenderness, which was the most consoling part. He recalled, very dimly, that before she had come to Miss Cornelia, she’d lived through her own horrors, yet spoke of them rarely if at all.

“Don’t have to tell me about any French girls either,” she added and he laughed.

It was the first time he’d laughed since he came home. Since he came back to the Glen, anyway, and called it home without being able to fully mean it.

“Not much to tell there. I mostly saw nuns and the Red Cross nurses are awfully brisk, whatever their nationality,” he said.

“I’ve always thought Cornelia would make a good nun, for all that she’s married,” Mary said.

“Perhaps,” Jem replied. The waves kept breaking on the sand and it was dusk, romantic if you wanted it to be. Mary had his coat wrapped around her shoulders. Jem felt scoured, raw and empty.

“Why’d you come, if you don’t expect me to talk?” he asked after several minutes of silence.

“I guess because you need someone who doesn’t expect you to talk but who’s willing to sit nearby, without fussing over anything,” she said. “I’ve plenty of handwork and housework to deal with at home. I’m perfectly content to sit and be idle and there’s nothing you can say or not say that can hurt me. I’m not hurt the way you are, I can bear whatever you need—”

“They can’t at home,” he said. Mother, with grief in her grey eyes and grey in her auburn hair, and Rilla, grown into a mother before she was a wife, Dad with something more broken inside him than any of the rest. Susan and Dog Monday and the letters from Di and Nan, blotted and halting. Una, who might as well be one of the French nuns who tended him, all of them mourning Walter and trying to rejoice at his return. Jem, trying to keep them from hearing any of his nightmares, biting his tongue when they spoke at a meal of the future or the past.

“I know,” she said. “Faith Meredith’s married a Brit. Officer, Lord Something Hoity-Toity of Fancy Abbey-on-High.”

“I’m happy for her,” Jem said tiredly. “We were childhood sweethearts, that’s all.”

“I know. Just wanted it said so you’d know I know,” Mary replied.

“If she’d waited, I wouldn’t have wanted her. I wouldn’t want her to have me now, as I am,” he said. “Befouled, diminished—”

“Walter’s dead, Jem. You don’t have to speak in his voice,” Mary said.

“I wasn’t—”

“Yes, you were. If you don’t think I’d remember, after all those afternoons, those walks and rambles, listening to him, well then. You’d be wrong. I remember,” she said.

“I want Faith to stay as she is. Beautiful, golden, untouched, a lovely memory from my splendid childhood,” Jem said.

“Good Lord, she’d far better off than I thought, even without taking a castle into account,” Mary exclaimed. “Maybe her Lord Gawain-Excalibur-Avalon actually treats her like a women. A person.”

“I didn’t know you liked the Arthurian legends,” Jem replied, taken aback by Mary’s remark, choosing to deflect.

“I liked the sword. And the Lady of the Lake with her own place,” Mary said.

“I thought it would be like that, the War, knights going out,” he said. “I knew there’d be wounds and death, but I thought there’d be honor—"

“You always were a bit of a fool,” Mary said. “Stands to reason though, the way you were raised.”

“We had a—you’re right,” he said, realizing he did not have to defend his parents or Ingleside. “Mother was so careful for us to be well-loved. To live in a world where we might imagine ourselves heroes or able to speak with the fairies—you would have done better than I at the Front, Mary.”

“No one would do better,” she said. He braced himself for her to talk about his medals, his valiant efforts in the prison camp, how he tended those around him with what little he had. How many men had died in his hands, their blood the scent in his nose as terrifying as gas. “You lived.”

“It doesn’t seem like enough.”

“Come here, then,” she said, shifting to kneel facing him. The moon had risen and it suited her, her eyes gleaming like opals, her hair silver, the shadow soft around her bare throat. She reached a hand to touch his cheek, rough with the whiskers he hadn’t shaved for the past few days. “Come here, James,” she said and the sound of his name startled him enough to move closer. To let her draw his face to hers for a kiss.

For a moment, he was seventeen again and Walter was alive, the fields of France green, the chestnut trees in leaf. Then he heard a wave break and felt Mary’s hand move to the nape of his neck, her fingers callused, and he tasted salt mixed with honey. She beckoned him and he put his arms around her, holding her tightly, trying to lose himself in her embrace. Letting her find him.

They were alone with the moon and the sea. There was no hallway and Mary kissed him well enough there were no memories, not of France or Germany or Holland, not of the ship or the train or the graveyard with the stone too white, the wilting mayflowers at its base. There was nothing Mary would not do, no end to the comfort she would offer. His hands were at her waist and her breast, eased beneath her skirts, and she coaxed him on. When he brought both back to cup her face, she’d smiled under his lips. When he lay back against the sand and brought her to lie next to him, her head resting upon his chest, she’d come with him.

“I should have asked, Miller Douglas?”

“He married Ada Parker six months ago. I didn’t shed a tear, except that they should be happy,” she said. “To be honest, I didn’t fancy being a shopkeeper’s wife, but I would have made the best of it.”

“I’m alive, but I don’t know what I have to offer,” Jem said. Mary thumped him on the chest, hard enough to notice, soft enough to be nothing more than a scolding.

“You’ve yourself and I’m myself. You don’t have to offer me anything,” she said.

“That’s the first lie you’ve told,” he said.

“Then remember me. This. How it was, how it might be,” she said. “Grieve and suffer and if you want, I’ll be there for it. Or you can come round in a while, when you’re sorted out. I’m in no hurry. I’ve an idea of how to run a doctor’s house, no offense to your mother or Susan, and I’d like to try it out some time.”

“Will there be much pie?” Jem asked.

“There will be honey-cake, pots and pots of clover honey ready to drizzle. That’s your favorite.”

“Call me James again,” he said.

She propped herself up on his chest so he could see her face, the curve of her lips, her silvery hair hanging loose around her cheeks.

“I believe you meant to say, please, James. Mind yourself, then.”

Tagging @gogandmagog who posted this:

DIANA, teasingly: “You, anyhow. I saw you kissing Faith Meredith in school last week ... and Mary Vance, too.”

JEM:- “For mercy’s sake, don’t let Susan hear you say that. She might forgive it with Faith but never with Mary Vance.” From The Blythes Are Quoted

And @freyafrida who wrote "also want to write jem/mary fic now although i have zero ideas for anything apart from the ship"

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broomsticks · 1 year

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Marauders era femslash ship stats

aka what the hell is a dorlene

Some stats focusing exclusively on the 15 ships between the six characters Alice Longbottom, Dorcas Meadowes, Emmeline Vance, Lily Evans Potter, Marlene McKinnon, and Mary Macdonald -- namely all the female characters that appeared in the Order of the Phoenix photo taken in summer 1981 (the former 5) or canonically known to have been in Gryffindor House at the same time as the Marauders (last).

Omission of Pandora Lovegood, Amelia Bones, Black sisters and Hogwarts faculty (incl. Sybil Trelawney) was intentional, but other thoughts/suggestions welcome!

other notes/caveats: works on AO3, stats gathered April 2023.

an overview:

• • •

the first question I was interested in looking at: just how overrepresented in Marauders femslash shipping are Dorlene and Marylily some ships?

Lily and Marlene are the two most-written-about characters on this list, with 42k and 12k works respectively. Dorcas and Mary are both close at 8.5k, and there are comparatively very few fics about Alice (4.7k) and Emmeline (1.5k).

that in itself is interesting and curious considering there's comparable amounts of canon info about Dorcas and Marlene (next to none), a smidge more about Emmeline, and definitely more about Mary and Alice. some suggestions there about what drives fanon popularity, at least within the 2020s HP fandom!

dorlene!

interesting -- it might feel like there's a ton of marylily, but that's actually 'just about the amount we would expect to see if they were all shipped with each other at random, with equal frequencies.'* good to know!

significant lack of alice in these marauders era pairings

also that's quite the overrepresentation of mary/emmeline! (proportionally, for two very minor characters.)

*: i really like this analysis method and might try to apply this to All The Marauders Gen(TM), and maybe make some observations about M/M vs F/M vs F/F shipping. note to self!

some % over- or under-representation. lazy to explain the logic but it's essentially observed/expected similar to that above, "how much more or less do two characters appear shipped together based on what would be expected by how often they're each tagged", where 1 would be the 'baseline' of "these characters are shipped together exactly as often as would be expected", <1 is "less than expected" and >1 "more than expected".

dorlene centralization

marylily overtook lily/marlene

many mary femslash ships growing

alice is really not shipped with this crowd hahaha

• • •

on a different note,

for comparison, the OTP:true % for wolfstar is 43%, drarry 70%, jily 23%, and jegulus 22%. the average otp:true % for the top 5 ships here is 8.9%.

most of these femslash ships are written alongside wolfstar and to a lesser extent jily, more so than jegulus...

...with the biiig exception of lily/mary, which was notably different from most femslash ships in the lack of overlap with jily and 80% overlap with jegulus.

surprising and unexpected: the overlap of dorcas/emmeline with jily, and mary/emmeline with dorlene.

i would love to do a change over time but i'd have to get sO MANY STATS that realistically idt this is happening

• • •

"overall average" looks identical to dorlene, which makes up 70% of the fics here.

this is not filtered for otp:true or for f/f excluding m/m and f/m, so more stats needed to determine whether this relatively low % of E fic is exclusively a femslash phenomenon or a more general marauders subfandom trend.

(alice/marlene, the ship with the highest % of E fic, is one of the ships with a relatively high otp:true %, but with 11 fics total i'm not sure how much we can conclude from this.)

also not too sure what to make of the (in my opinion?) high? percentage of NR fics.

• • •

my very rough attempt to quantify 'average age of ship' -- getting a "date at which which half the existing works in the ship tag on ao3 were posted updated."

Dorcas/Emmeline: 2019/04

Alice/Lily: 2020/05

Emmeline/Marlene: 2020/08

Emmeline/Lily: 2021/02

Lily/Marlene: 2021/03

Alice/Marlene: 2021/04

Dorcas/Mary: 2021/07

Dorcas/Marlene: 2021/08

Emmeline/Mary: 2021/09

Marlene/Mary: 2021/09

Dorcas/Lily: 2021/12

Lily/Mary: 2022/01

all dates obviously veerrryy rough.

• • •

Conclusions:

there isn't actually an overrepresentation of lily/mary (*within the very specific parameters of this study etcetc)

dorlene centralization over time

these marauders femslash ship fics are mostly also wolfstar fics

marylily fics are mostly also jegulus fics

lack of E rated fics?

some interesting differences in 'average age of ship'

#hp fandom stats #hp femslash #fandom stats

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harpersplay · 3 years

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4x14 Thoughts

I touched on this before, but context fucking matters. Even though it erased Annie's class & Ruby's race while using Beth's momness and whiteness as a shield, the speech in 1x02 works because it's life and death. It works because these women have just been thrown into this scary world and Beth makes a desperate but savvy (she picks up on Rio being more than just a gangbanger and appeals to his business side) plea. She uses what she can (Annie has never brought orange slices to any game ever, let's be real) and saves the day. And yet we see how terrified she was even after it worked. IT WAS AN UNREAL SITUATION THAT FELT REAL. Beth's recent "boss bitch" moments do not work because it's just her fully leaning into the smug entitled white lady role. I feel like too many fans ignore 2x13-3x02. The threat of Rio (and the FBI) was GONE as far as Beth knew. But she decided to do crime. Ruby was stealing from her workplace. Beth was putting Dorothy and Lucy at legal risk by using her store and her work, respectively, to commit crimes without telling them. That's who Beth is. So reframing her actions in S3 & S4 as simply reactions to evil Rio trying to ruin her life not only removes Beth's agency. It is also hollow. Because Beth has zero problem with crime—stealing Gayle's business, bribing a city official, hiring a hitman, setting up an innocent man to be a murderer, making Dean "sell" a hot tub to Mick, selling counterfeit purses, blackmailing men into buying those purses. Beth has a problem with not getting her way. And that's not enjoyable to watch. This is not me saying Beth has to be likeable as in a "good" person. But she has to be likeable to watch. Mary Pat is a total weirdo with very questionable morality, but she's enjoyable to watch. Vance is fucking creepy as shit, but he's enjoyable to watch. And while the show gave both those characters some dimension, it never portrayed them as characters we should unabashedly cheer for. That's not how they write Beth. They still—four fucking seasons in—want us to see her as a mom just trying to survive. But that's not the story plotwise that they have chosen to write. And the fact that Beth's "wins" are almost always at the expense of other women or POC is an added gross factor.

The show needs to make up it's mind about the monetary situation. Either things are dire and they are saving every penny to "escape" to Nevada. Or they have enough money to refurbish Sweet P's and buy Kenny an iPad.

Detroit city council is by district. Why do they keep referencing Ward 5?

Nice of the show to have Dave & Phoebe literally walk thru the situation. Super FUN! that the women who have been in this for years (per date revealed in 4x13) still don't understand how it works. The only way I like this scene is if it is a meta commentary about how the majority of the show stans have never understood how any of the crime aspects work 🧐 And I see that the show is yet again ignoring Turner's whiteboard and everything else implied about Rio's business dealings in S1.

Phoebe's no Turner, but I've never disliked her. She was really good in this episode, but the Phoebe/Beth stuff from stans is annoying. Why are people so into ships where Beth is awful to the other person and yet the other person is willing to risk things for Beth? Wait...I think I answered my own question.

So much wasted time on these MRA guys. I guess they don't need to be ~mysterious~ and I love (I don't) the casual misogyny in all their scenes. Preemptive GTFOH: I know—believe me, more than I want to—that men like this exist. I know it is realistic. But, again, as I mentioned before, the show is more than happy to ignore all types of realism to make the story they want to tell work. So don't tell me that this is simply a reflection of society. Jenna & Co are choosing to write this storyline in this way and she thinks it is fun and comedic.

The show is about the 3 women and anyone asking for more screen time for Rio is a misogynist. One minute spent on Annie's new shitty white male love interest popping her pimple = crickets.

The show is about the 3 women and anyone asking for more screen time for Rio is a misogynist. Dean having the reasonable response to Beth running for city council while she dismisses his legitimate concerns = crickets.

And, btw, Denise doesn't need secret insider information. Even if Dean's police records are sealed—why tho?—the two extremely visible daytime raids on the family businesses would have been on the news. And—gag!—Beth's visit to Denise was hella stupid. Denise is not a criminal, like the girls were in S1, so she has no narrative reason not to call the cops on Beth & her "thug." It was a shallow parallel and just another example of Beth needing a man to handle things for her.

I mentioned in my 4x13 thoughts about how the Sweet P's "fun and empowering...unlikely feminist statement" is bullshit. The girls, specifically Ruby, spent a lot of time judging the dancers. Beth straight up mocked Krystal's voice. They didn't care about implicating them in crime or costing them their jobs when they set up Gene to take the fall for the money laundering. They only "care" now because they need them.

Annie & Nancy's scene would have been nicer if Annie didn't imply that Greg(g)'s cheating was Nancy's failure. Again, they could have had them talk about the cheating and difficulty that Nancy went through as an example of a hardship she overcame. But they CHOSE to have Nancy explicitly frame the business disaster as a personal failing. So having Annie respond with the infidelity doesn't come across as tough love. It comes across as needlessly callous and victim-blaming.

This is long already, so I'm not even going to get into the Beth & Rio conversation at Sweet P's.

Ugh, Rio & Nick. So fucking dumb. Where was Nick before all of this? Why is he flexing his muscle now? With what we've gotten of his characterisation & attitude, are we to believe that this is the first time in 20 years that Rio & Nick have clashed? I would think that he would have been very concerned and involved when Rio drew the attention of the FBI. But Nick was nowhere to be found. (Because these writers don't understand the difference between retconning and world expansion.) Although I did get a chuckle when Nick said, "You think you'd have any of this?" while gesturing to Rio's usually empty bar.

Yet again, no cameras in an area that would most likely have cameras. And white woman Beth implicating gangs (which to cops = Black & brown youth) with her "broken windows theory" scare tactic is disgusting.

Caribbean flair and Mahalo. I'm so goddamn exhausted at this point.

Hello, Random Bitch Wife. FUN!

Hey, speaking of context matters....that entire last scene Beth is actively working with Phoebe & Dave to send Rio to prison. Romance!!!

#nbc good girls #good girls nbc #good girls season 4

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