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aion-rsa · 3 years

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Doctor Who: Perfect 10? How Fandom Forgets the Dark Side of David Tennant’s Doctor

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As recently as September 2020 David Tennant topped a Radio Times poll of favourite Doctors. He beat Tom Baker in a 2006 Doctor Who Magazine poll, and was voted the best TV character of the 21st Century by the readers of Digital Spy. He was the Doctor during one of Doctor Who‘s critical and commercial peaks, bringing in consistently high ratings and a Christmas day audience of 13.31 million for ‘Voyage of the Damned’, and 12.27 million for his final episode, ‘The End of Time – Part Two’. He is the only other Doctor who challenges Tom Baker in terms of associated iconography, even being part of the Christmas idents on BBC One as his final episodes were broadcast. Put simply, the Tenth Doctor is ‘My Doctor’ for a huge swathe of people and David Tennant in a brown coat will be the image they think of when Doctor Who is mentioned.

In articles to accompany these fan polls, Tennant’s Doctor is described as ‘amiable’ in contrast to his predecessor Christopher Eccleston’s dark take on the character. Ten is ‘down-to-earth’, ‘romantic’, ‘sweeter’, ‘more light-hearted’ and the Doctor you’d most want to invite you on board the TARDIS. That’s interesting in some respects, because the Tenth Doctor is very much a Jekyll and Hyde character. He’s handsome, he’s charismatic, and travelling with him can be addictively fun, but he is also casually cruel, harshly dismissive, and lacking in self-awareness. His ego wants feeding, and once fed, can have destructive results.

That tension in the character isn’t due to bad writing or acting. Quite the contrary. Most Doctors have an element of unpleasantness to their behaviour. Ever since the First Doctor kidnapped Ian and Barbara, the character has been moving away from the entitled snob we met him as, but can never escape it completely.

Six and Twelve were both written to be especially abrasive, then soften as time went on (with Colin Baker having to do this through Big Finish audio plays rather than on telly). A significant difference between Twelve and Ten, though, is that Twelve questions himself more. Ten, to the very end, seems to believe his own hype.

The Tenth Doctor’s duality is apparent from his first full appearance in 2005’s ‘The Christmas Invasion’. Having quoted The Lion King and fearlessly ambled through the Sycorax ship in a dressing gown, he seems the picture of bonhomie, that lighter and amiable character shining through. Then he kills their leader. True, it was in self-defence, but it was lethal force that may not have been necessary. Then he immediately topples the British Prime Minister for a not dissimilar act of aggression. Immediately we see the Tenth Doctor’s potential for violence and moral grey areas. He’s still the same man who considered braining someone with a rock in ‘An Unearthly Child’.

Teamed with Rose Tyler, a companion of similar status to Tennant’s Doctor, they blazed their way through time and space with a level of confidence that bordered on entitlement, and a love that manifested itself negatively on the people surrounding them. The most obvious example in Series 2 is ‘Tooth and Claw’, where Russell T. Davies has them react to horror and carnage in the manner of excited tourists who’ve just seen a celebrity. This aloof detachment results in Queen Victoria establishing the Torchwood institute that will eventually split them apart. We see their blinkers on again in ‘Rise of the Cybermen’, when they take Mickey for granted. Rose and the Doctor skip along the dividing line between romance and hubris.

Then, in a Christmassy romp where the Doctor is grieving the loss of Rose, he commits genocide and Donna Noble sucker punches him with ‘I think you need somebody to stop you’. Well-meaning as this statement is, the Doctor treats it as a reason to reduce his next companion to a function rather than a person. Martha Jones is there to stop the Doctor, as far as he’s concerned. She’s a rebound companion. Martha is in love with him, and though he respects her, she’s also something of a prop.

This is the series in which the Doctor becomes human in order to escape the Family of Blood (adapted from a book in which he becomes human in order to understand his companion’s grief, not realising anyone is after him), and is culpable for all the death that follows in his wake. Martha puts up with a position as a servant and with regular racist abuse on her travels with this man, before finally realising at the end of the series that she needs to get out of the relationship. For a rebound companion, Martha withstands a hell of a lot, mostly caused by the Doctor’s failings.

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Series 4 develops the Doctor further, putting the Tenth’s Doctor’s flaws in the foreground more clearly. Donna is now travelling with him, and simply calls him out on his behaviour more than Rose or Martha did. Nonetheless the Doctor ploughs on, and in ‘Midnight’ we see him reduced to desperate and ugly pleas about how clever he is when he’s put in a situation he can’t talk himself out of.

Rose has also become more Doctor-like while trapped in another reality, and brutally tells Donna that she’s going to have to die in order to return to the original timeline (just as the Doctor tells Donna she’s going to have to lose her memories of travelling with him in order to live her previous life, even as she clearly asks him not to – and how long did the Doctor know he would have to do this for? It’s not like he’s surprised when Donna starts glitching). Tied into this is the Doctor’s belief in his own legend. In ‘The Doctor’s Daughter’ he holds a gun to Cobb’s head, then withdraws it and asks that they start a society based on the morals of his actions. You know, like a well-adjusted person does.

What’s interesting here is that despite presenting himself as ‘a man who never would’, the Doctor is a man who absolutely would. We’ve seen him do it. Even the Tenth Doctor, so keen to live up to the absolute moral ideals he espouses, killed the Sycorax leader and the Krillitanes, drove the Cybermen to die of despair, brought the Family of Blood to a quiet village and then disposed of them personally. But Tennant doesn’t play this as a useful lie, he plays it as something the Doctor absolutely believes in that moment, that he is a man who would not kill even as his daughter lies dead. It’s why his picking up a gun in ‘The End of Time’ has such impact. And it makes some sense that the Tenth Doctor would reject violence following a predecessor who regenerated after refusing to commit another double-genocide.

In the series finale ‘Journey’s End‘, Davros accuses the Doctor of turning his friends into weapons. This is because the Doctor’s friends have used weapons against the Daleks who – and I can’t stress this enough – are about to kill everyone in the entire universe. Fighting back against them seems pretty rational. Also – and again I can’t stress this enough – the Daleks are bad. Like, really bad. You won’t believe just how mindbogglingly bad they are. The Doctor has tried to destroy them several times by this point. Here, there isn’t the complication of double-genocide, and instead the very real threat of absolutely everyone in the universe dying. This accusation, that the Doctor turns people into weapons, should absolutely not land.

And yet, with the Tenth Doctor, it does. This is a huge distinction between him and the First Doctor, who had to persuade pacifists to fight for him in ‘The Daleks’.

In ‘The Sontaran Strategem’ Martha compares the Doctor to fire. It’s so blunt it almost seems not worth saying, but it’s the perfect analogy (especially for a show where fire is a huge part of the very first story). Yes, fire shines in dark places, yes it can be a beacon, but despite it being very much fire’s entire deal, people can forget that it burns. And fire has that mythical connection of being stolen from the gods and brought to humanity. The Time Lord Victorious concept fits the Tenth Doctor so well. Of all the Doctors, he’s the most ready to believe in himself as a semi-mythic figure.

Even when regenerating there’s a balance between hero and legend: the Tenth Doctor does ultimately save Wilfred Mott, but only after pointing out passionately how big a sacrifice he’s making. And then he goes to get his reward by meeting all his friends, only to glare at them from a distance. His last words are ‘I don’t want to go’, which works well as clearly being a poignant moment for the actor as well, but in the context of Doctor Who as a whole it renders Ten anomalous: no one else went this unwillingly. And yet, in interviews Russell T. Davies said it was important to end the story with ‘the Doctor as people have loved him: funny, the bright spark, the hero, the enthusiast’.

It’s fascinating then, that this is the Doctor who has been taken to heart by so many viewers because there’s such an extreme contrast between his good-natured front, his stated beliefs, and his actions. He clearly loves Rose and Donna, but leaves them with a compromised version of happiness. They go on extraordinary journeys only to end up somewhere that leaves them less than who they want to be, with Russell T. Davies being more brutally honest than Steven Moffat, who nearly always goes the romance route. Davies once said to Mark Lawson that he liked writing happy endings ‘because in the real world they don’t exist’, but his endings tend towards the bittersweet: Mickey and Martha end up together but this feels like they’re leftovers from the Doctor and Rose’s relationship. The Tenth Doctor doesn’t, as Nine does, go with a smile, but holding back tears.

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It’s a testament to how well written the Tenth Doctor is that the character has this light and shade, and with David Tennant’s immense likeability he can appeal to a wider audience as a result. It’s not surprise he wins all these polls, but I can’t help but feel that if the Doctor arrived and invited me on board the TARDIS, I’d want it to be anyone but Ten.

The post Doctor Who: Perfect 10? How Fandom Forgets the Dark Side of David Tennant’s Doctor appeared first on Den of Geek.

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jb-baby · 3 years

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Guy de Maupassant’s “The Necklace”: An Intersection between Marxist, Feminist, and Formalist Readings

A short story in literature is a piece of prose fiction that is typically read in one sitting. By far the criticisms on this genre focus more on the style of writing of the author rather than the genre itself. About that, several authors are known for their successful literary works, particularly in the genre of short stories. Throughout the centuries, this genre has been one of the mediums which paved the way to revolution and helped the oppressed people express their social and political objections. As short stories contain a complete single plot, it evokes strong feelings to the readers and gives them the satisfaction of the story. In Popular Literature, like any other genre, a short story contains contexts and conceptions that are intended for the masses and those that find favor in large audiences. An example is Guy de Maupassant's short story "The Necklace".

The short story was first published in 1884 in the French newspaper Le Gaulois. Even before the publication of such successful literary work, Maupassant had already established a strong reputation and credibility as one of France's foremost short story writers. He is remembered as the best French short story writer. He had published over 300 stories written in naturalist style and most of them are centered on feminist themes. The story "The Necklace" is an instant success and has become his most widely read and anthologized story. The significance of the story plays a pivotal role during the time it was written since social class and anti-feminist activities were prevalent and practiced. Such literary work of Maupassant is widely honored for the excellence of its plot and style. About that, Maupassant gained popularity as a writer. It only ended when he got infected by a devastating illness that impacted his mental stability.

With all the above mentioned, this content aims to analyze the literary work of Maupassant- “The Necklace” to understand each of its elements considering the historical background of the author and society where it was written, and its influence to the literary work. Moreover, I am utilizing some literary theories to examine the story in different perspectives aiming to widen the sense of appreciation of the intricate beauty of literature. The anchored literary theories serve as a guide to keep the analysis on track.

With the application of literary theories, readers can gain different insights from different perspectives. It provides an in-depth and profound understanding of a literary work from a particular theoretical lens, thus, postulating a wide range of appreciation and interpretations. Readers can infer whether the literary work has a big influence from its historical context, the status of its society, author's life and background, or even discover personal interpretation woven from the analysis that is different from others or the author himself. Although there are several existing literary theories, for the purpose of this analysis, the short story is analyzed from the following literary theories: Marxism, Feminism, and Formalism theories. All three lenses help for the context of the short story to be understood on a profound level and emphasize significance. For example, Marxism points up to the economic background of the characters, author, and the society itself; Feminism underscores the characters' personalities and behavior; and Formalism draws the necklace as an important symbol that drives the story and distinguishes the literary texts from their environment, and analyzes them as distinct elements.

“She was one of those pretty and charming girls born, as if by an error of fate, into a family of clerks. She had no dowry, no expectations, no means of becoming known, understood, loved or wedded by a man of wealth and distinction; and so she let herself be married to a minor official at the Ministry of Education. She dressed plainly because she had never been able to afford anything better, but she was as unhappy as if she had once been wealthy. Women don't belong to a caste or class; their beauty, grace, and natural charm take the place of birth and family. Natural delicacy, instinctive elegance and a quick wit determine their place in society, and make the daughters of commoners the equals of the very finest ladies.”

The plot begins with the introduction and description of the protagonist of the story, Mathilde. She is described as a beautiful woman born from a family with little means and marries a gentleman, who happens to be a clerk. The story happened in the late nineteenth century in France. The author sets the tone as unsympathetic towards the protagonist. And, as told and narrated from a third-person limited omniscient perspective, the readers have an intimate look at Mathilde's life. Mathilde and his husband live in a lower-middle-class status in their society. Although their life is better than those held by much of the population where they reside, Mathilde is unhappy and doesn't find the content of all that she has. This is because she looks up to herself so much that she wanted to be envied, to be pleased, and to be sought after. She believes that with her charm and beauty, she deserves better than the poverty that she is dwelling. Maupassant illustrates a typical lady from the middle class who dreams to get rich just like those in the upper class through romanticizing the idea of a wealthy life by the protagonist. Mathilde, most of the time, consumes her days dreaming of a wealthy life and her having a lot of jewels and other luxuries. She overlooks the fine life that she and her husband share. About all that is mentioned, Maupassant creates a man vs. himself and man vs. the society conflicts, which inhabit the life of the protagonist. Mathilde has internal conflicts with herself as can be depicted in how she expresses disgust and regrets about the poverty she is dwelling in, even though she could have been more grateful for the fine life she shares with her husband. As she ambitiously pushes herself to get the life of those in the upper class, she suffers a conflict between her and the society she is in. She wants to conform to the higher classification of the society, which will be talked about on the next page of this paper with the application of the theoretical lenses. On the other half, Maupassant expertly portrays the depths of emotion in the character of the protagonist especially during the invitation for a ball that her husband happily informed her about (Riu, 2009). Instead of being pleasured, it caused her so much anger and disgust because she cannot bear the shame of attending the ball in her old dress and nothing expensive to showcase in the public. She believes that she has nothing valuable because she is caved in by the thought that her social class only assumes something valuable only if it is of a high price. The emotions expressed by the character are well-crafted by the author from the muttering of Mathilde woven from the disgust and irritation, the way she throws the invitation letter on the table, and how vividly she becomes irritated and impatient with her husband (Riu, 2009).

“She had no dresses, no jewels, nothing; and these were the only things she loved. She felt she was made for them alone. She wanted so much to charm, to be envied, to be desired and sought after. She had a rich friend, a former schoolmate at the convent, whom she no longer wanted to visit because she suffered so much when she came home. For whole days afterwards she would weep with sorrow, regret, despair and misery.”

Owing to the obsession of Mathilde towards a wealthy life, she finally agreed to attend the ball when her husband thought of an idea to borrow jewelry, a necklace to be specific, from a close friend. She ended up borrowing a diamond necklace, which she thought a very expensive one, but without her knowing that the necklace is fake and made of ordinary diamond-looking beads. “Mathilde believes that since her friend is financially well off that she only buys the best, and nothing she owns would be costume jewelry. She spends so much time convincing herself that possessions only have value if they are expensive that she loses sight of the real value of things.” (Riu, 2009). It was during that decision that made a huge downfall to both her life and her husband’s.

“Loisel had eighteen thousand francs which his father had left him. He would borrow the rest.

And he did borrow, asking for a thousand francs from one man, five hundred from another, five louis here, three louis there. He gave notes, made ruinous agreements, dealt with usurers, with every type of money-lender. He compromised the rest of his life, risked signing notes without knowing if he could ever honor them, and, terrified by the anguish still to come, by the black misery about to fall on him, by the prospect of every physical privation and every moral torture he was about to suffer, he went to get the new necklace, and laid down on the jeweler's counter thirty-six thousand francs.”

It can be depicted from the above text how Mathilde and her husband suffered a hard life because of her discontentment of the fine life she has in the middle-class.

In her thirst for her dream life, Mathilde ends up losing the fine life she had with her husband before the ball. The moment she loses the borrowed necklace, they both lived a life of toil for a decade in order to pay off the debt they have invested in just to replace the lost necklace. It was because of her foolish pride that drags them down to so much struggle. She didn't even tell the truth to her friend that she lost her necklace and decided to replace it with a real one. She and her husband wouldn't have to live a hard life trying to buy a replacement for the diamond necklace if she had put aside her pride and told the truth to her friend. A decade of hard work, physical and emotional distress, and unfortunate conditions paved the way for Mathilde to gain maturity as she stumbled upon her pride, she no longer cares about how she looks. This can be depicted when she reached out to her friend looking haggard and wretched. And, little did she know, the moment she knew that the necklace she had lost was fake, she then realized her grave error (Riu, 2009).

Maupassant crafted this literary piece so well that he employs a good ironic style to create a surprise ending. This work is like a flash fiction, although, its text is longer than its expected measure, this work contains one of the characteristics of a flash fiction work of art, which is the surprise in its ending. Moreover, like most of the works of Maupassant, this short story is also recognized as a morality tale as it postulates important life lessons. It also uses symbolism like the necklace itself, which represents Mathilde in many ways; (1) it represents her fake value when she appears to be a wealthy woman in the ball, (2) the social status of a person or his wealth, especially Mathilde's, and (3) how the upper-class people deem those in the lower-class just like how Mrs. Forestier fooled Mathilde from letting her borrow a fake necklace. Also, the necklace is considered as a metaphor for Mathilde's pride as she refused to attend the ball not until she had the necklace to brag. There are also examples of personification in the story, one is when the furniture and curtains in Mathilde's house are described as tormenting and insulting her, and in the very first part of the story when the narrator narrates that fate seems to mess up with Mathilde's life. The story is centered on themes such as greed, a deceptive appearance, beauty and vanity, and a thirst for material possessions.

In light of the theoretical lenses, because of the historical context of the literary work "The Necklace", particularly the economic status of France in 1884, the Marxist lens is evident and applicable to analyzing the text. From a Marxist perspective, "we are given a clear picture of a society that has unequally distributed its goods or even the means to achieve them. Madame Loisel has no commodity or skills to sell, only her youth and beauty to be used to attract a husband" (Dobie, 2011). "This society that Dobie speaks of is the one that Matilda and Mrs. Forestier are both a part of; Mrs. Forestier belongs to the upper-class and has the goods that others envy, while Matilda is a part of the lower-middle-class, and has no means to achieve her goal of becoming a part of the upper class" ("A Necklace as a Symbol: An Intersection between Marxist, Feminist, Psychological, and Formalist Readings of Guy de Maupassant’s “The Necklace”, 2019). Although Mathilde possesses charm and beauty, she has no dowry and nothing to advance her social status. That is apparent when Mathilde was able to attend the ball when she had the jewelry and luxury to wear; Mrs. Forestier's diamond necklace. The necklace, although has no value because its fake, is deemed to be valuable since it comes from a wealthy owner. That also helps Mathilde deceive everyone to appear as a wealthy person from the upper-class. All of these demonstrate the classism in Maupassant's society.

Another ideology that can be associated with the story is Classism, which Tyson, (2011) contends to be "the belief that our value as human beings is directly related to a social class to which we belong: the higher our social class, the higher our natural, or inborn superiority." This goes to show that such an ideology is present in the story how Mathilde looks down on herself as if she is of little value because of the poverty she is dwelling in. All her distress about how people, especially those in the upper-class would see her is also woven by Classism because the wealthy people only associate with wealthy people as well. “The division [between the classes] grows more apparent and unbridgeable as the couple works at increasingly demeaning jobs to acquire the money to pay off their loans” (Dobie, 2011). Dobie's Marxist reading of the story directs to the idea that “Both Mme. Loisel and her wealthy friend are victims of their society’s emphasis on sign value. The former is so dazzled by the glitter of jewels and gowns and fashionable people that she can find little happiness in the humble attentions of her husband-clerk." By simply telling the social classes of the characters in the text and how Mathilde's desire to advance the upper-class life, Maupassant clearly demonstrates the prevalence of Marxism or Classism in his literary piece.

Meanwhile, looking at the story from a feminist lens, it can be inferred that femininity and masculinity are deemed as binary oppositions, wherein women are inferior to men. That conception is characterized in the story how men, specifically the husband of Mathilde is portrayed as a rational and decisive character, who always supports his wife and the one who earns a living. While women, like Mathilde, is described as shallow, materialistic, manipulative, and has a weaker sense of character. Only beauty and charm do women hook their interests into. Also, they are deemed as nothing else with no skills and abilities but only physical aesthetics just like Mrs. Forestier and Mathilde. By the use of symbolism, the necklace represents the outer or physical beauty of women but has less or no value in Maupassant's society. The husband of Mathilde is barely mentioned in the story but is portrayed as a hardworking man who incessantly makes sacrifices for his wife. With all that being said, from a feminist lens, the story portrays gender inequality as femininity and masculinity are deemed as opposing binaries.

On the other hand, the story can be analyzed from a formalist viewpoint with the necklace as a key to interpreting the story. Like the necklace which looks beautiful and inciting, Mathilde also has her charm, but like the necklace, she is worthless or of little value since she wasn't born wealthy and does not have the skills to meet the necessary demands to live without needing a husband. She was driven by her desire for her beauty and a dream for wealth. This interpretation is solely based on the language used in the story, how the characters and situations are described regardless of the author's background and life, society's time and period in which the literary work was written.

In putting these literary theories together, it can be said that the necklace itself has a pivotal role that drives the plot of the story. It points out the substantial usage of the necklace as a symbolism no matter what lens is applied. Through the three lenses, the conception of the text differs from each of the literary theories. From the Marxist viewpoint, social class and Classism is prevalent during the time that the literary piece was written and how it affects the lives of the character. While in the feminist lens, gender inequality is being underscored, specifically how women are described as inferior to men. And, in the formalist lens, the necklace as a symbol represents a lot in the story more particularly in Mathilde and her desire to advance her social status. These theories help a lot in understanding the story from different perspectives and this only mirrors the diversity and beauty of literature.

Indeed, the story is a good reading as it depicts certain relevant lessons. I love how it effectively demonstrates the effects of greed and wanting too much beyond a person’s means. It teaches the readers not to fly the highest skies with their artificial wings. And, the best part of it is that it highlights the notion that we never get what we dream and wish for, we only get what we work for. It is effective for me because it helped me appreciate all the things that I have, may it be little things or the big ones.

Cited Works

Websites

“A Necklace as a Symbol: An Intersection between Marxist, Feminist, Psychological, and Formalist Readings of Guy de Maupassant’s ‘The Necklace.’” Literature Essay Samples, 12 May 2019, literatureessaysamples.com/a-necklace-as-a-symbol-an-intersection-between/?fbclid=IwAR08uUc41AZmrAdFFdcP4cu_n1MpwEMNNnp-GK4Xh8iZPH3TRSoP2tsCtRM.

Riu. “The Necklace (Critical Analysis).” World Literature, 14 Jan. 2021, worldliteraturenow.blogspot.com/2009/12/necklace-critical-analysis.html?m=1&fbclid=IwAR1vQGxaQ20MfFoOHR-no9p9WNtw0lcKuFEiXsAGNBcaqHqaMC-6MnAfps4.

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villanevest · 5 years

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You’re Mine [pt.1] - villanelle’s perspective in 2x08

okay so i've seen a lot of freaking out post-finale and i want to say: it's all alright. yes, it was a pretty shocking ending, but honestly, i think it was really good for the characters, and for the show. before anybody yells at me for saying that, i'm going to be explaining myself in three posts. in this post, we're going to be looking at villanelle’s perspective on the events of the episode, and next post, we’ll look at eve's, and this will hopefully make their actions a little clearer, and villaneve's future seem less uncertain. in another post, i'll explain why these kinds of tough, dramatic choices are important for the overall health of the show.

let the deep dive begin. VILLANELLE’s thoughts and feelings in the finale villanelle's first really significant scene this episode is the aaron-villanelle-eve showdown at breakfast. remember that last night was villanelle and aaron's conversation about being voids (2x07), and now that she's seen the murder tape, villanelle really feels like she's got a clean read on aaron -- enough to predict and manipulate him, as she would anyone else. seeing raymond's picture tells her it's time to get out, so she essentially invites eve in to supervise the end of the operation. villanelle has the power -- she's seen aaron's kill technique and clearly decided she can beat him, if it comes to a struggle -- and she's comfortable with the confrontation.

and then aaron offers for her to come work for him. crucially, he frames it as, "you'll never be bored again [with me]". we know for villanelle, boredom is her great vice -- she falls into it easily, it controls her, and she's trying desperately to escape it. aaron's offer in undeniably tempting -- we've seen all through 2x07 the luxury on offer -- but it's when he says "all of it" that villanelle makes up her mind.

because eve would hate her if she went with aaron, and it can't be "all of it" if "everything" doesn't include eve. here, she decides that eve, on her own, makes villanelle feel more alive/less bored than any material object or orchestrated murder aaron can provide. that's why she turns to eve -- she's saying, look what i'll give up for you.

i dont think she'd necessarily have killed aaron if he hadn't asked her to hurt eve. he might've been a good option to keep on the backburner in case eve ever gave her the green light. but he's a threat, so she gets rid of him. eve freaks out, and villanelle tries to comfort her, as best as she knows how.

"it's okay", "i'll take care of it", reassuring physical contact. she's probably a bit smug too because now she's killed two people in front of eve, and eve's only upset because of their operation, not because of the murder; for villanelle, this is another indication that violence is not a problem to eve.

i think after this, though, villanelle becomes a bit worried that eve feels like she doesn't have control, which she knows is something eve needs (see: 2x06, when eve was micromanaging the mission). we’ll get back to this. villanelle tries to keep the keel level -- she skirts around the picture of raymond, not wanting to pile on, and slaps eve to start her out of her tailspin. from villanelle's perspective, the morning has probably not been ideal, but it's running fairly smoothly. so villanelle makes her first overture, both because it's what she's wanted this whole time (since konstantin said, "if anything happens, you and eve are on your own"), and because she thinks it'll stop eve from running in to danger.

once she realises eve is serious about it mattering, she stops protesting, and starts helping. and then she runs into konstantin, the second most important person in the world to her, and in her mind, he betrays her. she tells him that she and eve are the same. this is particularly notable at this juncture, because he has just picked his family over villanelle; this comment is partly a bite-back -- villanelle believes she will be eve's first choice, even if she wasn’t his.

then we have the hotel fight with raymond, which again, only really begins once he threatens eve.

unrelated, but i believe raymond's claim "i'm a real somebody" may prove vital in season 3. is he perhaps a high-ranking member of the twelve who likes to indulge in a little recreational axe murder? if yes, then eve may have real problems on that front later.

when raymond is strangling her, villanelle is definitely in a bad way. i dont think, at that point, she has the strength or cognizance to reach for the gun. then eve hits raymond with an axe, and villanelle gets a second to breathe. this is where we get a callback to her saying, "you wanted to save me. and you did." if villanelle is concerned eve feels a lack of control, then this is a chance to return it to her. her encouraging eve to kill raymond is motivated by more than just practicality. firstly, villanelle needs to prove herself right to konstantin -- after he's shaken her faith, she needs absolute unwavering certainty that she and eve are the same. secondly, it binds them, just like the stabbing did in season one. thirdly, villanelle finds a liberation and excitement and power in killing, and she wants to give eve a chance to feel that. finally, and least significantly, i think villanelle probably just found the idea of eve killing someone hot and wanted to watch.

eve starts going into shock again, so villanelle gets her away from the sensory input -- takes off her bloodied shirt and directs her quickly from the scene. she's very gentle and physical in this moment, both because she wants to take care of eve and make sure she feels safe, and because she feels closer to eve than ever before. "like us".

villanelle holds onto eve as they move through rome. she has already turned down one chance (with konstantin's car) to run away without eve, and she's definitely not losing her, especially now. in the tunnels, she lets eve smash through the wall alone, because she can tell she needs a way to get out her excess energy and deal with the overload of sensation.

but the gravity of eve's response is more than villanelle expected. she thought eve would probably panic a little, and then right herself. even though they're both on the psychopathy spectrum, villanelle (in addition to being further along that spectrum) was raised with very little moral framework, whereas eve has spent the last forty years assimilated to society and ideas of good/bad, and these are integral to her sense of self.

but eve says "yeah", she is okay, and villanelle kind of assumes that things are alright, after this beat of catharsis. eve is taking a bit longer to process, but that's fine. maybe villanelle can take her mind off it, right? so she starts with talking about dinner, and then pitches her big idea: alaska.

villanelle has probably been entertaining the abstract idea of "alaska" for a while. she has either watched or help eve lose tethers to her old life (e.g. niko), and villanelle wants a way to make their new connection permanent. she doesn't want eve to vanish like anna did. she picks alaska itself because of the snow globe, which as i said in another post, makes her think that eve's been there before, and liked it enough to buy a souvenir. also, it's in america, so eve would feel like she was on home turf. villanelle clearly prefers europe, but i think alaska has a faraway allure, and she's prepared to compromise.

she reminds eve that they could be normal as another way of allaying her worries post-murder. she's saying, not everything has to change, don't stress, you don't have to kill all the time. we can have half my life and half yours.

and then eve sees the gun. villanelle knows that not shooting raymond was manipulative, otherwise she wouldn't try and distract eve from the fact she had a weapon all along. then she defends, "you had it under control" -- like i mentioned before, she’s trying to return power to eve, remind her of her agency, assure that she's not spiralling.

in this situation, villanelle sees herself like the babysitter who has lied to the child about holding on to the back of the bike to get them to ride without training wheels -- it's for their own good, to teach them their own capabilities. it made me think this:

and then:

this really cemented for me that villanelle saw raymond's death as almost a gift to eve, a way to give her something she'd been missing, that villanelle was SURE she'd, if not necessarily immediately enjoy, then find valuable and help her understand herself. which is why she says she's proud -- she thinks eve has had a personal growth moment. she tells eve, "you made us safe", which mirrors, "you wanted to save me and you did". the "we can look after ourselves now" not only affirms their similarities, but is villanelle's way of saying, you can hold your own, you're in control, which she thinks eve needs to hear. but eve replies that she's going home, leaving. the exact thing villanelle wanted NOT to happen. it's a rejection of what villanelle sees as a big shared experience for them (raymond's death), and of "alaska", which translates to a rejection of villanelle herself. then we have this:

which i think shows a lot of villanelle's character development this season. she's clearly feeling a lot here, but primarily hurt (eve doesn't want her) and fear (eve will leave; she's not enough). konstantin just abandoned her too, by her measure, so villanelle's already more emotionally unstable than she's been. BUT. she takes a breath, and she tries to reopen lines of communication.

when eve says villanelle wants her to be a mess, i think that upsets villanelle quite a bit, because we've been shown that eve is most exciting and attractive to her when she has agency and power, and also because from villanelle's perspective, she's spent half the time trying to STOP eve from becoming a mess. she's held her and reassured her. villanelle wants to steady her again. villanelle does believe that eve wanted this: wanted to kill raymond, maybe wanted alaska, certainly wanted villanelle. part of what makes villanelle so fun for us to watch is her short-sightedness and impatience, but here all that means is that she hasn't got the long-term empathy to see how this might be utterly rearranging eve's worldview. as we'll talk about in eve's post, eve has actually recovered remarkably well (villanelle's efforts to return her sense of control have worked, and she begins to dominate this exchange, and feel confident again), but she's experiencing A LOT of cognitive dissonance (she's a killer / doesn't think of herself as a killer), and she turns that into anger, and projects that anger onto villanelle. a perfectly justified trauma response. villanelle genuinely doesn't understand why eve is having such a strong reaction to this. it'd be like if you thought your friend would really like chocolate, so you left some on the table for them, and then they got mad at you for making them break their diet, which you'd thought they were never actually serious about. no, that's not at all what it's like in actuality, but it's essentially how villanelle is reading this. "you love me." "no." again, villanelle tries one last way of reaching out, and putting herself on the line to prove to eve how serious she is -- "i love you."

but eve tells her she doesn't, that she doesn't know what love is. and that really angers villanelle, because after so long doubting herself, knowing she's a psychopath and wondering how authentic her emotional experience is, she FINALLY got closure last night, with aaron. as we discussed in my post about that, she now believes what she feels is real, and so it's especially crushing to have it questioned by eve. but in this heated, stressful exchange, when she feels rejected after everything (especially considering how attached she probably was to "alaska"), she retreats to the relatively emotionless security of the "i / it".

villanelle's sense of entitlement comes screaming through here. from her point of view, she's done so much for eve. just hours earlier at breakfast, she chose eve over aaron's offer of everything else money can buy. she had the alaska plan. she supported eve when she wanted to go back into the death-trap hotel and get the recordings. villanelle is SURE she's done EVERYTHING right. she's played the game perfectly and is somehow still losing. she's not used to losing, to failing, to not having what she wants. villanelle is addicted to instant gratification (she wants something, she gets it asap), and eve has been the only exception. she worked for her. but the extra time and effort is suddenly for nothing.

and so villanelle does the only thing she can think of, and she moves eve from the category of "special"/"wanted"/"important" to "not special"/"not wanted"/"not important". it's literally emotional triage. yes, villanelle feels things more than aaron, more than most psychopaths, but what she still does have is an ability to mute those feelings, if not entirely, then by quite a lot. so she shoots eve. the logic probably is that if eve isn't around, then villanelle can reconstruct the narrative -- there's nobody else eve's with instead of her, because eve's gone; eve would probably have come back by now if she could, etc. but she doesn't commit entirely, because she doesn't aim to kill. instead, she chooses to replicate how eve stabbed her, because it's something eve "think[s] about all the time". this becomes a don't forget me. it's a think about this, too. is it also an expression of anger? absolutely. villanelle's default is destruction. eve hurt her. she wants to hurt eve. it's a childish tit-for-tat equation. villanelle externalises her feelings, because she can't reckon with them when they're all inside. if she's hungry or annoyed or bored then someone's going to know about it. and here, there is her instinct, and the gun is already in her hand.

she fires.

will villanelle regret this? will she rationalise it? will she stay angry at eve or reconsider? i'll get into that in my write-up about narrative choices for the show. i've also posted another one of these about eve, and how eve's thinking and feeling (check #villanevest writes). i'm a fan of both eve and villanelle, and i think they were acting in ways that made sense to them. i get that we want them to be happy, but i think it's ignoring a lot of context to blame one or the other of them. remember, killing eve is a show about dangerous and irrational people doing dangerous and irrational things.

#ke #killing eve #killing eve spoilers #ke spoilers #killing eve finale #killing eve 2x08 #ke 2x08 #ke finale #villanelle #eve polastri #villaneve #villanevest #villanevest writes #villainever writes #villanelle x eve #eve x villanelle

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theresa-of-liechtenstein · 4 years

Note

3, 7, 19, 20 for the writer ask thing!

sure!! here you go <3

3. What is that one scene that you’ve always wanted to write but can’t be arsed to write all of the set-up and context it would need? (consider this permission to write it and/or share it anyway)

The incredibly cheesy ending scene to the epistolary novel I’ll never write (which I described here), which is the only scene that will be written in anything other than a text message, a handwritten note, or otherwise. i will not provide any context x but yes this is a coming-of-age story. it’s supposed to be a subversion of the usual archetypal american high school story tho

Seeing that her parents and Lucas’ were most likely gearing up to converse for the rest of Time itself, Lou decided to traipse around the field for the last time.

Excusing herself, she stepped away from the group. For a fleeting second, she watched Lucas in animated conversation with Martin. [nothing to do with cabin pressure martin, may i remark; it was just a conveniently two-syllable name] There would be time, at least in the next few months or so, for them to talk about what came next.

Tonight would not be that time.

Adjusting her mortarboard cap, she walked away, heading for the bleachers. She hadn’t spent time here for the last four years. As she climbed the metal steps and chose a seat high above the field, she realized just how far she’d come since then.

The thin yellow robe was no shield for the chill setting in. Gathering it about her as she sat, she sighed and propped her feet up on the metal seat in front of her.

Her thoughts flew over the past four years. Much had remained the same. She still saw herself in the mirror every day. Her integrity had never been compromised; for the most part, she was fundamentally the same.

But in others, she was not and never would be—and those changes would be difficult to quantify.

She sighed again.

“Thinking deep thoughts, Lou?”

Lou whipped her head up and gasped. “Otto Rhee!”

He stood next to her, silhouetted against the setting sun. He looked supremely awkward in an ill-fitting shirt and tie. Lou hadn’t seen him in about a year. To her great relief, her friend, had managed to stay just the same as before, as always. At least in appearance.

“Congratulations, Lou,” he said. “You’ve made it.” As he usually did, he sat next to her without asking. Lou made room for him on the bleacher, adjusting her voluminous outfit as she did so.

They looked out over the field in companionable silence, and somehow Lou knew that Otto—Otto who could have been a brother to her, Otto who was a brother to her in all the ways that mattered—was seeing the same things on that field. Four years of elongated snapshots, a moment stretched almost too long. UN conferences and dinners in fast-food joints, honors history class. Standing in the deserted road, where the weeds grew between the cracks, and screaming at the sky. And in every microcosm [it was literally midnight, i couldn’t be bothered to use that word properly] there they were. Always the three of them. Otto and Martin and Lou, racing down empty hallways, biking to Cassidy’s around the corner, scaring each other when they stayed too late at school, the lights gone out and everyone else gone. Significant looks, texts sent across the room.

The way all three of them—Otto to Lou to Martin and back around—when they had asked what they shared in common.

Lou looked sidelong and Otto, and Otto at her.

The spell broke, and they were sitting together again—just Lou and Otto, Otto and Lou.

They stared at each other once more before simultaneously saying, “Martin!”

And indeed, Martin was running up the bleachers towards them, his black robe billowing in the breeze. Lucas pounded up the steps, not far behind.

Lou and Otto rose to meet them, and they all smiled.

7. What do you think are the characteristics of your personal writing style? Would others agree?

Detail-oriented. I have to describe everything or it just doesn’t work. “Show not tell” was always my least favorite rule (though I have always tried my best to follow it!) because I’m telling you a story, not making a movie! Oral storytelling made up a lot of my childhood, and I should hope it shows in my style.

also my dialogue feels kind of punchy sometimes, I rarely have people talk in drawn out sentences bc im the only person i know who talks that way unless it’s important they do so.

i’m not making it up, people have told me these things in some form or another (mostly in the form of getting penalized for telling rather than showing)

19. Is there something you always find yourself repeating in your writing? (favourite verb, something you describe ‘too often’, trope you can’t get enough of?)

I have a habit of using fragments far too often. And em dashes. i also can never leave out the wind. if i don’t talk about the wind at some point, consider it a forgery /s

20. Tell us the meta about your writing that you really want to ramble to people about (symbolism you’ve included, character or relationship development that you love, hidden references, callbacks or clues for future scenes?)

i wrote a novel about power as a little project earlier this year to distract myself >.< and it was a lot of practice at negative character development; I mean where the character ends up becoming worse at the end of the narrative instead of better, but I don’t know if there’s an actual word for that haha. it didn’t cross my mind until after I’d written it, though!

that novel was about the price of selling off your soul in order to obtain power. it was set in a political setting to push that point. the protag started off with a humble beginning. but spoiler alert, the protag gets the power she desires at the end of the novel. the clincher is that she does so at a steep cost. nobody respects her anymore; they only fear her. her best friend, sister, and younger brother distance themselves from her and she’s basically alone at the end of the novel, except for the people who have the same thirst for power as she does. the methods that she’s used to gain that power are also INCREDIBLY ethically questionable, and the only way she managed to wiggle free of those was her privilege (as my favorite character pointed out while submitting a resignation letter, which is one of the more satisfying scenes I’ve ever written)

it’s also a cautionary tale because the protag and her closest cronies check all the boxes for what people of a certain ideological bent would consider an “inclusivity win.” sure, she ends up in a really high position of power, but it’s not really a win after all because of all the heads she had to step on to get there. again, i really didn’t think hard about it until i had finished and started re-reading (and even now it sounds like the novel is much cooler than it really is: it was written over the course of three months and it shows!) and once i sent it off to some of the people who asked me to read it, it was immensely obvious how echo-chamber-y the discussion of representation and power can get. for example, one person immediately assumed i was holding the protag up as the very inclusivity win she is not (this person literally asked me, “Did you base Aileen’s leadership off of yours?” HELL to the NO! i was literally bout to SCREAM. as a person aileen is pretty decent and i could vibe with her, but as a politican aileen is morally bereft!!) but that could just be the weakness of my writing in retrospect

but i want to close with two extracts from robert bolt’s A Man for All Seasons, which I couldn’t put in the epigraph because it isn’t in the public domain and it also might be too long.

MORE: In matters of conscience, the loyal subject is more bounden to be loyal to his conscience than to any other thing.

CROMWELL: And so provide a noble motive for his frivolous self-conceit!

MORE: It is not so, Master Cromwell—very and pure necessity for respect of my own soul.

CROMWELL: Your own self, you mean!

MORE: Yes, a man’s soul is his self! ...

MORE (Looking into Rich’s face, with pain and amusement): [...] Why Richard, it profits a man nothing to give his soul for the whole world... but for Wales!

#em speaks #skatingthinandice #long post /

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danddymaro · 5 years

Text

By Amazonian Law | Ranma 1/2 Mousse x Reader

Summary: the Amazonian law states that women who are defeated by outsider women are to fight to the death to regain honor. However, those who are defeated by outsider men must marry those men. In a tribe whom is prideful of producing powerful warriors, such rules would apply for a male defeated in battle. An outsider woman capable of defeating him is worthy of being his bride. In short; Mousse is bested by the reader, forcing the traditional laws to apply, but she is reluctant, despite the likeness she has for him, and the little aching feeling in her chest, he morality fights against this proposition... And then there's the issue of Shampoo... Anyways I don't know of many Ranma 1/2 stories, especially including the reader inserts. If you haven't watched it give it a try. It's pretty cute. P.S. Even if it seems they fell in love so quickly, come on its Ranma 1/2, doesn't everyone?

HE’S SO FREAKING CUTE!

Italics are a person's thoughts. example; 'sample.' (f/n) , (l/n) = Reader's First Name, Last Name. (e/c) = eye color (h/c) = hair color Timeskips and/ or changes in scenery are both identified by the little periods I put to separate them. While I do love filling space with a description about just every little thing, it can get tedious, forgive me. I, of course, own nothing but the story itself. The characters mentioned and used are not property of me of course. Mousse silently followed (f/n), trailing behind the young woman with a dark cloud looming over his hanging head and slumped shoulders. He looked like the definition of misery and suffrage as he followed her like a second shadow, trudging his feet with each step, accenting even more his grief. It took a while for the (h/c) haired girl to notice his presence, having been stuck in a daydream, one of little significance as a matter a fact. However, when she did notice him and his seldom appearance, she couldn't help but pull up a brow at his actions. Taking quick glances back at him, making sure she wasn't just imagining things, she looked completely lost and confused at the confirmation that he, was in fact, following her... But as far as she knew the only woman the long-haired boy ever trailed behind was Shampoo, so what was his deal now? And just Why did he look like his life was practically over?

‘So many questions...’ she thought to herself, nibbling on the top of her thumb’s nail.

‘ ...But come on (f/n) you have to be imagining this,’ she added, unconvinced that there would be any reason the Amazonian male had to follow her.

I mean, Come on...

‘ Maybe we’re headed the same direction…’ she thought brainstorming for ideas, coming up with the only logical excuse she could muster up, that he was actually headed in the same direction as her and it was just a coincidence.

“But the cafe isn't anywhere in this direction,” she mumbled to herself, dismissing that thought and scratching her head. “ He’s not delivering anything… and he doesn't live around here…” She Said softly. Another possibility struck her,

‘Well, it could be…’

'No,’ she thought, shaking her head in denial. ‘that's not why.’ She rather set that idea aside, certain it couldn't be it because If he was set on revenge on her, he would have attacked her by now. Besides his beef was with Ranma, not her.

‘ i swear, ‘ she started. ‘ it would be because of that Ranma Saotome.’

....................................................................................................................... ( short flashback) The last time she had crossed paths with Ranma, and Mousse for that matter, there had been a mistake of identity. That day she had the misfortune of quite literally walking in between one of their squabbles, which of course ended in a fight between the two boys as usual. There was never such a thing as a discussion with Ranma because the boy was a hit first ask questions later, or as she would dub it; a hard headed idiot. Mousse’s horrible vision cost him yet another match when he focused on (f/n)’s blurred vision, rather than the retreating form of Ranma, who had seen his opportunity to scramble away.

Unfortunately, for someone as gifted and strong as Ranma, he never misses a chance at a quick escape, a trait he probably picked up from his yellow belly father she supposed. When the opportunity struck, he didn’t let it go to waste, leaving (f/n) to fend for herself against a very vengeful, hot-headed enemy. And while she usually found the amazonian male’s methods of martial arts amusing from outside a match, he was quite terrifying on the other end of the ring. However, to her great fortune, A bucket of icy, cold water was always available, and with little effort, she had found her ticket out and splashed him with the entire content of a passing little, old lady’s flower bucket onto him. All of which included the rusty can itself, hitting him straight in the face with a rageful force. The curse took its effects and he turned into a squabbling mess of feathers, defeated beneath her right hand as she pressed him down forcefully.

With another hand reaching out and taking hold of his thick-lensed glasses she placed them on his head, frowning at him when she knew he could see her clearer. The stern look she gave him showed every bit of her frustration, annoyed that he had her heart racing like a stallion on an open field when all she wanted was to get a little snack to begin with. When his eyes set on her he had stilled, releasing one single cry and flopping his head down with a huge honk, making her jump and release him in shock.

After that he had flown off he left her dumbfounded, a bit worried as well as to why he seemed so frantic as he saw her. The annoyance she felt had washed away as she watched him fill with desperation.

All she was certain was that whatever his reasoning was for leaving so abruptly, it was enough serious and grave enough for him to cower away and hide from her for the following week, avoiding her whenever she was around, which in a way hurt.

She had assumed they were on good terms for the most part.

……………………………………………………………………………………

( Back to the present)

Taking one last look over her shoulder, she frowned, stopping herself from walking further. ‘I can't just have him following me around like this,’ she inwardly sighed, noticing onlookers stare at the pair, whispering amongst themselves as always. The number of gossipers in town was outstanding and it seemed that there was always a spare set of lips passing on new information, much to her annoyance.

‘I’ve got to just ask, get it over with.’ she thought while Inhaling a large breath from her nostrils. she turned to mousse, directly facing him with determination and without looking up at her, he stopped too, sniffling. “Alright! What in the heck has gotten into you?” she asked bewildered. “What's going on, and why do you look like all is lost?” she said with a heave. He stayed still, unmoving and unresponsive to her questions, until she had an idea of her own, hopefully explaining his display of misery. There was only one reason for his suffering, and it was of course 'his beloved,' Shampoo. “ Ahh, so Did shampoo reject you again?” She asked a bit softly, making him sniffle again at the mention of the purple-haired amazonian warrior.

At least That got a good response as he exclaimed, “M-my shampoo!” making her ears ring. He continued to cry, making quite the unpleasant scene unfold, rather than just getting on and speaking about the issue. “ my dear shampoo, now we will never come to be!” he said loudly, with his head in his hands. (f/n) was left baffled, unsure why this had anything to do with her, and before she spoke The dark-haired, bespeckled teen looked up at her, tears streaming down his face like two large rivers cascading down his cheeks.

‘exaggerated as always.’ she thought to roll her eyes at his display, however, it did hit a pang in her heart seeing him that way, especially when it came to shampoo… She could never understand why he kept persisting with someone who clearly had no feelings for him, but she supposed she couldn't speak much on the matter herself when she was just as bad. “Uh, mousse, calm down,” she said softly, gingerly putting a hand to his shoulder and giving him a gentle smile, hoping to cease the ever ending tears he wept. She felt an immense amount of sympathy and compassion for the weeping boy, compelling her to bring him comfort. “ just tell me what's wrong ok?” she added, trying her best to comfort him and finally draw a clear answer. Nodding silently, he slowly struggled to make the words to come out. “By amazonian law…” He started, “by Amazonian law, you're now my fiance…” he muttered, croaking out the last bit of revelation.

The sounds around them, the chattering of the passing people, the birds alike, as well as the breeze, stilled and quieted. There was a ringing in her ears, making her spine tingle and feel icy cold pricks run along its course.

‘Did he really just say that?’ she thought wide-eyed, feeling her mouth dry. ‘Amazonian law? The same one that had tied shampoo to Ranma right? That same one?’ she questioned herself, still looking at him bug-eyed.

She took a couple of moments to blink, cocking her head to the side, and just as the realization hit her like a ton of hard bricks and had its moment to settle, she quickly shook her head, crossing her arms in front of her into an x. “No, no, no, no, no, no “ She chanted out. Unwillingly a fit of laughter left her as she was gone into a full denial and disbelief. “I'm gonna walk away, “ she said unable to control her nervous tick. “ I'm gonna walk away and pretend this didn't happen, ok … ok?” she compromised, immediately, sprinting away, jumping from house to house, and dashing through the air faster than she ever has before. ‘He's crazy…’ she thought to herself, feeling the world around her beginning swirl, twisting her stomach along with it. “He's freaking nuts!” she squealed slapping two cool palms onto her very heated cheeks. He had made her entire face glow red and heart wildly beat with an arrhythmic, jumbled quickness.

“ME?!? MARRIED….WITH HIM!?” she cried loudly, leaving a trail of hysterical laughter behind. ………………………………………………………………………………… Shortly after receiving the heavy news she had made it her goal to avoid anything that had to do with the dark-haired young man, and So She went on, going the rest of the week rather stiffly, almost having bit off her nails into short nubs in anxious wait for the inevitable run-in she’d have with him. With her luck it’d be a complete mess, worrying her even further. So She opted for what seemed like a good plan, avoiding the outside world instead, hoping it would blow over.

The entire ordeal had to go away eventually... if only she’d wait it out. She was certain it would, and he’d probably forget, and go back to pursuing shampoo like always, an idea she found herself pained at. The wait felt eternal for her and after being confined within the walls of her home for only three days, she found herself facing the front door, glaring at it with uncertainty. ‘I have to come out sooner or later,’ she thought swallowing down thickly. ‘I can't hide here forever,' She contemplated further, mustering the courage she needed. Huffing, she swung her front door open in one quick movement and jumped out into the world. Silently, to not draw so much attention, she walked around town looking in every direction, careful not to run into her new supposed fiance.

Despite the many time's she's replayed his words in her head, and the scene as well, she still couldn't believe it.

To be roped into something so insane and unbelievable...

‘I bet this is what Ranma feels, having to watch out for all those crazy girls...at least it's just one guy for me,’ she thought with a bit of relief. ‘ just one guy, And he’s actually kind of cute…’ she added in consideration as she peered around the corner. ‘And kinda sweet...adorable really’ she added with a dopey smile melting onto her face, hearing her heart pitter patter within her body like a ball hitting a paddle repeatedly for strive at a world record.

Her fingers curled around the edge of the corner, holding onto it tightly as she watched a passing couple and as she watched them leave, the instant image of both mousse and her walking hand in hand replaced them, making her breath hitch. “What am I thinking?” she said out loud, slapping a hand to her forehead, staring up at the sky in disbelief. “I cant… I can't seriously be thinking about that!” she cried out, walking forward. Taking another quick glance back, with a longing expression at the sight of the linked hands between the happy couple, she sighed.

In her own little world of fantasy and longing, a hard object clashed into her, making her fly back at the force in which it came at her. She fell back and landed on the floor with a grunt, feeling her butt already sore and as she looked up she realized just what had thrown her into the air.

She was met with frantic blue eyes staring down at her, wide-eyed and surprised.

‘W-What the heck?.’ she thought eyeing the dark-haired young man standing before her, already feeling the scorn of before coming back, along with the present annoyance. “Care to watch where you're going Saotome?” she asked huffing, feeling her blood boil at the sight of him. ‘ you giant dork, this is your fault!’ she inwardly screamed, wanting to strangle him right then and there.

‘If it weren't for you I wouldn't have even been thinking of Mousse like that, I'd be able to roam around happily!'

Rolling his eyes and crossing his arms stubbornly Ranma gave her a halfhearted glare in return replacing the previous look of fretfulness. “ (f/n) I could ask you the same thing, you bumped into me! ” he argued. “The ground’s down here not up there!” he barked, pointing up at the sky. “Maybe if you didn't have your head in the clouds, “ he mumbled, making her glow a bright shade of red, remembering just what had her preoccupied.

‘I was thinking about… about how cute... mousse,' she thought dumbly, unable to fight back at his remark. “W-whatever, drop it! ” she said starting to pull herself up when his hand extended out to her. He had almost shoved the hand in her face for her to take a hold of. The gesture made her stare up at him surprised, but nonetheless grateful. It had been partially his fault, but he wouldn't admit it, instead, he gave her some help, hoping that would suffice as an apology enough, and it did. To his pleasure the fallen girl gratefully took it, and he pulled her up quickly. “Thanks,” she said forcing a smile at his act of concern, blowing over the less than pleasant greeting as her own act of agreement at a middle ground.

“So whats got you running around like a madman?” she asked somewhat curious, noticing his disabled appearance.

If he had been running around carelessly enough to run into her like that, there had to be a good reason, she assumed. “It’s that damn shampoo again, “ he breathed, glowing two different shades of red afterward, looking away from her gaze. He wouldn't elaborate more on what had occurred since he was already embarrassed enough to have been there and say her name. All (f/n) knew was that whatever the girl did had been serious enough for him to look like a rugged mess.

“ ....not to mention that idiot Mousse,” he added with more aggravation in his tone, the second name tasting bitter to his tongue. She felt her breath hitch at his words, almost choking on air. “M-mousse you said?” she asked with her eyes bugging out. “He’s not anywhere here is he?!” she asked frantically looking in every direction around. Her state of alarm made him want to ask a million questions but opted to simply keep shut, not wanting any more problems than he was already burdened with. ‘Perhaps another day,’ he thought shrugging, hoping to remember to ask next time. “ it’s alright though ! I think I lost them," he said relieved, hoping to make her drop the panic in her widened (e/c) colored eyes. “Th-that good,” she said sighing, her shoulders drooping in a melting relaxation before a loud crash was heard besides them.

The side of the wall they had been hiding beside was no more than bits and pieces. Instinctively (f/n) flew up, wrapping her arms and legs around the pigtailed boy, and he did nothing more than panic as well, latching onto her like a tick with the face of utter shock and fear. Releasing a scream she looked to the clearing rubble and noticed the double bun-haired young woman Glaring in her direction like a feral beast. “ You hussy, What you think you doing with my airen! Stay back! ” shampoo cried, swinging at her with one of her custom colored Chui, and by default also aimed her strike at her supposed fiance. Pushing (f/n) away Ranma caught shampoo’s extended weapon quickly and took it from her possession in one swoop.

Keeping One away from her he felt more confident facing the fiery, angered woman.

“Chill shampoo!” he cried almost pleading, putting on a gentler facade to make her drop her defenses. “ I no chill when shampoo’s Airen huddle up to other girl! Why Ranma look for other lover?” she said desperately, aiming her other melee weapon at Ranma in retaliation, but missing when he ducked. “ First Akane, then that kodachi girl! That Ukyo, and now this girl! Ranma’s love is only for shampoo!” she cried desperately, feeling scorned, believing he had run off just to meet up with another lover. Her red irises then left Saotome to flew towards her new enemy and glared harshly. “And you!” she said aiming an accusing finger at (f/n) “ You dare steal my Ranma!” she cried out, sounding betrayed. ( f/n) stood baffled, astonished at the little time it took for hell to break loose. 'All cause I ran into that butt over there,’ she thought, throwing a glare towards Ranma who in turn grimaced at her.

‘I should be avoiding him instead of mousse now that I think about it,’ she added gritting her teeth. ‘This is a strike two for you Saotome!’ she thought maliciously. “ Your eyes swallow up my Ranma like greedy pig!” shampoo stormed, making (f/n)’s attention fly back to her. “shampoo, I don't want Ranma!” she said anxiously, paying her attention back to the threat before her. “You lie!” shampoo said aiming all her anger at the other woman, forgetting she had even held a bit of malice for the dark-haired boy, which to (f/n) was totally unfair.

“It's true !" (f/n) said dodging a heavy kick. She darted her eyes left and right, noticing Ranma gone, leaving nothing but rubble and mess behind.

He had left the second both girls looked away from him, finding his ticket out. By that point, he was only a red, tiny speck in her eyes as he retreated far in the distance.

‘That bastard!’ (f/n) inwardly cried, ‘ STRIKE THREE YOU JERK! I’M TEARING YOU A NEW ONE NEXT TIME I SEE YOU! !’ she thought, gritting her teeth, deciding if she made it out alive, she’d pay him back with a boot to his sneaky butt.

The idea of vengeance left her as her mind went blank when saw six rounded edges rimmed with soft yellow and teal approach her face with vigorous speed. She panicked already knowing that she would end up with a broken nose, or much worse a broken face entirely and In the heat of the moment, she could only cry out.

But rather than a scream, words flew out like water out a broken dam,

“ I HAVE A FIANCE!”

She screamed at the top of her lungs making the violet-haired girl’s attack stop. The weapon in the Chinese girl’s hand retracted just as it barely grazed the other’s nose. (f/n) only felt the cold tip ever so softly press against the point of her nose and she would admit that She had never been so relieved in her entire life, so grateful to breathe air through her nostrils.

Shampoo and her trusty weapon would have destroyed the thing and given her a new face.

‘Thank god,’ she wheezed feeling her heart on the verge of escaping through her open mouth. However, her words soon caught up to her as her own jaw slacked open further. “fiance?” shampoo said raising an eyebrow, sounding unconvinced at the revelation. “ who is this fiance, girl?” she said poking( f/n)’s chest in disbelief and with a very noticeable snarky tone.

She didn't believe a lick of the so-called confession. ‘I can't believe I just said that.’ (f/n) thought to herself, wanting to go hide away for the rest of her life.

‘Great…’

she looked up to shampoo and swallowed hard, finding a way to say the words and fess up. “My fiance…” she started shakily, feeling pressured under shampoo’s dangerously shining ruby eyes. The rummaging in her chest didn't help either.

She struggled to say it, feeling her face glow red, and her tongue get tied.

“My fiance is… is....”

“Me shampoo, I'm her fiance,” interrupted a new, more masculine voice.

Both girls turned to see the Chinese, amazonian male step forward, looking sternly at both women. (f/n) let a little sigh of relief leave her, feeling safe, spared from speaking the words herself.

Looking to the side and away from both people, she averted her gaze unable to face Mousse any longer, finding it increasingly harder when she felt a tiny spark hit her as he directed himself to her, staring at her with expectancy. “ yeah...it’s mousse,” (f/n) confirmed, not daring to look straight at the teal eyed young man, or the ruby-eyed female before her. With her legs feeling wobbly, she couldn't face anyone or stand well, let alone in the presence of the man that was causing her heart to bounce rigorously. “Mousse?” Shampoo asked cocking her head to the side, visualizing both of the people together, never having thought about it. However, the idea settled into her quickly as her face lit up with joy.

It meant a free path for her and her Ranma from now on and She couldn't be happier, not feeling any bit saddened at losing the young man ’s interest. It was actually a blessing to her. “Mousse no want to marry shampoo then? Then Mousse no longer get in the way of Ranma and her!” she said looking elated, clapping both hands together joyously. “Is happy day for me, and for Mousse…. You too bride of mousse!” She said graciously.

Her expression had changed into a sweet cherub, beaming with joy, erasing any trace of hostility once bubbling in her blood.

Turning to (f/n) fully she smiled, expressing herself like an old-time chum, even after the horrific encounter. “ shampoo sorry, (f/n)” she said modestly bowing, all the while smiling to herself and before leaving with a bubbly step to her heels. She didn't pay heed to the still standing amazonian male, not even enough to take a side glance back at him. her mind was giddy with joy at having an easier path to her ‘Airen’. With that, Both mousse and (f/n) were left alone, awkwardly glancing at each other, and taking turns doing so.

Her eyes wandered to him stubbornly, trying to get a read off him, but failing as she cowered too quickly to do so. “Thanks,” she muttered, feeling her cheeks so heated she could probably roast a marshmallow on them. She was certain they were firetruck red since he showed up. Finally finding some backbone she looked towards him in expectancy, waiting for something to come… but he didn't give anything back.

He looked like he wanted to say something, but instead swallowed his words and walked away. He didn't seem his usual self, still somber but not in a depressing manner like she had seen him before the mess that had occurred… like when he had told her about the Amazonian Law and their marriage.

He acted like a completely different person... and it scared her to a degree. “What's wrong with him now?” she whispered, concerned about his behavior.

He was empty, not giving her indications of resentment or hate, nor joy and relief and she missed his open expressions. She liked him better that way, when she could read him like an open book and before she knew it her legs moved and she trailed behind him, nervously playing with her hands as she inched closer.

He walked with his face aimed at the world and straightforward, a tall stride.

She hadn't noticed how well built he actually was, but as his bare back faced her, giving her a nice sight she took notice. Perhaps it might have been that he always wore such baggy clothing, never indicating he had something so good to hide.

As his hair flowed smoothly with the breeze, she could see him perfectly well, nice shadows and lines she knew only came with hard work. And of course that was the case, he was a martial artist. ‘He's got a really nice body...’ she said observing him shamelessly. The muscles were obviously tensed, and she held the will to touch them beneath her trembling hands.

She couldn't decide which seemed like a better choice, his silky locks or his beautifully shaped body all inches from her. Everything about him had started having its effect on her, making her feel weaker and weaker. Her working legs began to fail her and feel like jiggly jello once again.

Having been focused on the beautiful contours of his body, she hadn't noticed he stopped dead in his tracks and he inhaled a large breath before speaking, probably what he’d been holding in since they saw each other again.

“You're saving yourself for me,” he commented, making her face twist into confusion.

It wasn't a question, but a statement that he voiced. “you're taking it seriously,” he added, referring to the supposed union between them. It made her wonder if he Was bothered she had brought it up, but to her defense, she had only used it as a defense tactic, blurting it out in desperation, not like she meant to scream it out to the world like a proud proclamation. But even if that had been the case… he came to her first…

She felt so stupid knowing he didn't want anything to do with her and she knew this fully well from the start, that his heart lied somewhere else.

Her heart was bouncing heavily for him, and she held undeniable attraction and feelings for him. Those were undeniable facts that weren't cause of some stupid law. They came from within her, nested deep inside the safety of her heart.

‘Stupid mousse… stupid… stupid Mousse… if you had never said anything…’ she thought bitterly, biting her tongue. She hadn't considered the idea of being an item with him, or even of sharing the same sentence in any form of affectionate way, only until he had given her the stupid idea of them being together. She had suppressed all those feelings beforehand, fully knowing the painful consequences of pursuing him.

Her morality was in a clash with her growing affections, waging a nasty war. On one side she could have him, she could truly enjoy him to herself and be his, But then... At the end of the day, he was being forced, thinking of someone else all along. When she’d face him dressed in white, looking at nothing but him, he'd look past or much more heart wrenching, stare directly at her but imagine everything but her. He’d imagine his true love there, holding the bouquet, dressed as a princess on her special day… He’d imagine Shampoo instead...

(f/n) couldn't live like that. She wanted to push him away before she fell in deeper.

When he looks at her with his lovely teal eyes, sparkling with joy, it makes her heart swell with a sweet fulfillment, and when he tears up, glossing those lovely gems with fresh tears it makes her want to run to him and hold him, comfort him with every ounce of affection she can muster.

She wanted him to think of her upon dreaming, wanting her just as much as she did him... but that wasn't something she couldn't ever get. she knew it.

‘ I think I love him…’ She thought sadly, shutting her eyes tightly, already feeling them become wet with tears.

‘ i just wish you'd never said anything…’ she added clutching the fabric of her skirt in her hands. As she opened her eyes again she watched him turn to her suddenly, whipping around and making her jump, scaring her at the suddenness of his movements.

With both his hands crushing her shoulders in his hands, he aligned his gaze to hers and though she couldn't see his eyes behind the heavy set lenses, she still felt a growing insecurity...

Could he see past her? Could he tell she was actually yearning for him…?

Her heart nearly stopped when he spoke again.

“I should do the same!” he cried out, making her almost faint and topple over. “You pushed aside Saotome for me, and cried out with such pride about our marriage (f/n),” he said with admirance, his lenses gleamed with reflecting sunlight, almost blinding her.

She wanted to turn into a puddle and slip down the drains now. She didn't expect it at all and was far less certain which she would have preferred, this or the actual confrontation about her big mouth. At least with the harsher scenario he would have made it easier to distance herself… to hate him if he was a jerk… but he wasn't doing such. “ i... I actually… mousse, no.” she said escaping his hold and backing off, watching his face fall as regret settled into her for her actions.

There was a vice grip capturing her heart and squeezing it bloody, but she had no choice...

‘This isn't right,’ she said to herself, convincing her heart that this wasn't the way. She wanted him willingly.

“You don't have to commit to anything!” she assured him. “Your free to do what you want!” she said quickly, feeling a pang in her chest at the words.

‘Even if it is pursuing someone else…someone who might never love you as much as I know I do.’

Something inside her was slowly breaking as she spoke but knew she couldn't tie him down like some caged animal, against his will.

He was doing it out of force, not free will and love.

“You can keep going after shampoo,” she said sounding shakier than she intended. she no longer wanted to look at him and instead found occupation at glancing at the building beside her. “So just leave me alone,” she said tightening her fists.

‘ if I don't see you again, maybe this will go away…’

He was silent, only looking at her wordlessly, watching her break down, “I just want you to be happy,” she said sniffling, feeling tears already bubbling at the corners of her eyes.

‘This is so hard…’ she thought wiping away what stray tears moved down her cheeks.

'why is this so hard to do?' She couldn’t pinpoint when it happened...

Perhaps It was when she met him, a year ago in that cafe. He had waited on her, giving her a cute smile, swooning her with the small gesture. He had almost spilled her drink all over her blouse, as well as her order and she never before had been so giddy about receiving such horrible service.

Before she left he waved at her, asking her to come back again, a courtesy and probably part of his job, but it didn't help her from feeling herself attracted to him. She asked herself constantly ;

‘why him?’

Why someone so clumsy, so silly and blind both literally and metaphorically. Figuratively for not realizing his chase was fruitless, or in literal terms when he could barely see someone standing an inch from him without those large lenses. She concluded that maybe she just liked dorky guys. Dorky, sweet, determined guys.

She felt crestfallen when she quickly realized he was yearning for someone else. The guy she had so carelessly fallen for already had someone in mind and there was no space in a heart that already had a reserved spot for another.

From his pursuit of the other girl, she could see his need to be loved and cherished. Essentially everything he did was inspired by love and admiration and she found him even more alluring. (f/n) attempted to make herself to understand that he was already interested in someone else, to get it through her head that he was after another. For good measure she made sure to watch as he chased Shampoo, to watch how passionately he yearned for her, but it backfired and made things worse.

It made her feel admirance for him. It made her feel desperate to comfort him, to be the one to correspond to him unanswered calls for affection. She found her own love being fed by small scraps, and so stupidly allowed it to fester more, to become stronger than she could contain.

Despite the craziness of his proposal, a small part of her became lively and elated, realizing that he could be hers. However, the thing such as morality stopped her, pulling her back from taking the chance.

“ (f/n) ” Mousse said softly, unsure of how to comfort her, not certain why she was tearing up either, but he knew for a fact it did hurt him. It was like a gnawing feeling deep within the pit of his stomach, begging him to touch her, to give her at least one small comfort.

She had always been so kind to him, assuring him he’d one day find the way to beat Ranma, winning the heart of his beloved and having his happily ever after. Lifting him up carefully whenever she was around, smiling at him with sympathy and wholehearted kindness. His eyes had never strayed away from shampoo... or at least in the past. When he first came from China, all he had was her in mind. It was years of relentless chase and rejection and he was always sure he’d find a way to get her...And then Ranma Saotome showed up.

He easily swooped her away without trying, without wanting it. The obvious joy shampoo showed knowing he wouldn't ever bother her anymore pained him, furthering the belief that she never would feel anything for him. And then there was (f/n). Always concerned about him, always wondering what troubled him. He had also noticed that She always ordered the same meal, and smiled all the same when he delivered it or served it to her.

He would stumble towards her, but not always because he couldn't see well or because he was just that clumsy, but simply because when he actually adjusted his sight on her, he felt a weird tingling feeling knotting his stomach. She made him nervous with a look from her pretty (e/c) colored eyes. he felt shaken by that glance. At the start, he was almost certain it couldn't have been real.

To feel something strange for another girl, when he was fighting for the love of another... Another who had been his dream since childhood. To him, it had been impossible for some girl to just come along and make him stray off from a romance he’s been chasing for more than the single year he knew (f/n).

He loved Shampoo and only shampoo….He HAD been certain of it. ‘ but why,’ he thought gazing at (f/n), watching her crumble before him…

‘ why am I here…. Why have I been thinking about her so much….? Why even when my Shampoo is there, besides me do I think of (f/n)…?’

… and more importantly,

‘ Why haven't I gone after shampoo yet?’ he asked himself

There were so many thoughts running his head that when (f/n) ran off, he just watched her get smaller and smaller, at least the tiny blur did… until it was nothing more. The two girls had gone separate directions, making him stand in between the two paths, looking at each side with uncertainty.

‘My shampoo… ' he thought sadly, breathing in a heavy breath. ‘ you were never mine… you even never cared to be...’

With a harsh swallow, he looked back to where his new ‘fiance’ went to. Something drove him to take a path there, to take that risk and make it to her. To at least make sure she was ok.

‘ (f/n), I don't want you to cry again... I want you to come in like every other day... I want you to order the same thing… I want you to smile at me when I come back.’

He took a shaky heave, feeling a strain in his chest.

‘I like it when you ask if I'm there… Please pick me up again, please tell me I'm enough. Tell me again how there's a place for me, but this time instead tell me it’s with you...’

With slow steps, he walked to where he saw the (h/c) haired girl run away.

“(f/n)” he said softly, counting each step towards her home. Every inch separating the two.

“I think… I think I might be in love with you…”

To him it wasn't a realization, it was more of a confirmation, finally coming to terms with what had happened. Finally taking notice that what he’d been feeling all along was attraction.

An attraction that grew into much more than feelings of friendship and appreciation. In his chest a feeling of love blossomed, growing more with each day and finally snapping and breaking loose from the lockup his denial had put it in. He headed straight towards her, not willing to back down or let her slip from within the spaces between his fingers.

‘

……………………………………………………………………………........... “Mousse?” she said confused, not having expected him to be the one standing at her doorstep. He was standing in her doorway holding a bouquet of fresh red roses in his hands, looking down at her with sparkling teal eyes, his cheeks blazed red as he clutched the roses towards his chest, tightly, nearly crushing them. “Roses?” She uttered confused. “ is this about us getting married? “ she asked pursing her lips, averting her eyes from the rather sweet image of him there with a bouquet of flowers for her.

It was so cliche, and yet here she was, feeling romanticized by such a thing.

“ I told you, you don't have to do that, I'm letting you go free, it wasn't even a real fight,” she argued, trying to put out every excuse to make him leave. She couldn’t have him there.

She couldn't risk looking stupid again or risk doing something of greater idiocy, like accepting him with such conditions. “ n- no, “ he stuttered, interrupting her with a high pitch to his voice, being almost incapable of controlling it.

His legs shook and he felt a blooming feeling in his heart. The only hesitance in him was of fear, fear of being pushed away by her.

He didn't have a doubt anymore. He wasn't wavering or unsure. His heart raced as he stepped forward, lessening the small space distancing them. “ this isn't about Amazonian law.” he insisted. Walking up to her with a nervous smile playing at his lips he swallowed a large breath and pushed the flowers towards her.

The scent of sweet roses filled her nose and she peered over at him flustered. “Then what is it?” she asked matching the flower’s color, beginning to grow more anxious as the seconds passed. Her hands tightly clutched the de-thorned stems as she stared up at him with shining (e/c) gems. “If you allow me, I will court you from now on, I promise to bring you flowers!” he said rushed, saying it in a single breath. “Flowers of any kind actually, even if they are on the other side of the world I'll find them just for you!” He promised. “ which are your most preferred?” he questioned her, looking enthusiastic, having a new light brighten his vibrantly colored eyes. “No, wait, You don't have to tell me your favorite… I'll devote myself to get you every color and every kind until you're satisfied... If that pleases you.” he said twiddling with his fingers and mumbling the last bit rather cutely. “ anything you want!” he declared tightening his shaky hands into fists, looking every bit as determined as he sounded, swallowing down his nervousness.

There was something in his eyes that made her melt. He was so hopeful, so full of devotion and love that desperately wanted to be taken in and nurtured. She felt like a sucker, easily mellowing at that vulnerability, feeling it all so different from before. She felt like the only woman on earth, being looked on by him with such affection, one that couldn't be swept from beneath her. “ Mousse, “ she said gently, feeling her heart skyrocket... Looking up at him she gave him a melted gaze, looking vulnerable and sweet. “I want what you want.” She assured, holding onto the bouquet with trembling hands. “What I want?” He asked, elated, raising both eyebrows growing excited by the minute. Nodding, she stepped closer to him daringly, swallowing down heavily. Her breaths came out heavy and shaky as she was before him. “I want to be with you,” he insisted again sounding certain and decisive, no trace of future regret or turning back.

She Couldn't believe it.

She couldn't believe he was there, holding flowers just for her, standing there and looking at her with such pleading. “ A-Are you sure? “ she asked, “ what about shampoo?” she said softly.

At the mention of the name, he smiled faintly, looking at her with sincerity, and speaking with the same tone, not one bit saddened.

“ (f/n)... I love you…

I was too afraid and stubborn to admit it, that I had put my eyes on someone other than her. It felt like I was giving up. I don't know what you did to me, but I feel like nothing can hurt me with you by me. During that time when you didn't show up to the cafe… When you were gone, I felt alone. I felt like something was missing from my life. I didn't think about chasing shampoo down. Instead, I was worried about you. Worried about what made you cry, about what I could do to make you smile again. Anxious to know if you never wanted to see me again." Something in her just snapped, and unable to hold herself back, she wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing herself to him tightly in an intimate hold. The roses that had been in her hand slipped from her hands, falling to the ground in a mess, but none of them paid mind to them.

Slowly his arms wrapped around her, enveloping her in warmth. The way he pressed her to him was almost bone-crushing as he found letting her go not to be an option. With a quick peck to her forehead, he coddled her like it was the only time he’d get the chance and she felt just right being there, not a question in mind, no reason to peel herself away and suddenly the idea of getting married seemed less insane than the first time he had proposed it.

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