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dumdumsun · 3 years

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Forever and Never

A/N: I did it again, @moatsnow! I’m vvv sorry hun 🥺❤️

Warnings: ⚠️rape⚠️, mentions of alcohol and marijuana

Word Count: 5014

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Four: Good For Me

“So, Richard seemed to have been this… distraction. Because being around Stanley made you feel less than, but Richard admired you. You had no faults when you were with him. So, what made you end it? Did something else happen?”

“Yeah… The next day was his birthday.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He’d been texting me all morning. From the moment I opened my eyes, all throughout breakfast, as I took a shower and got dressed. Wasn’t it his birthday? Didn’t he have preparations to go through for his party that night? Of course, I wished him a happy birthday and assured him that I would attend his party. I figured I might as well buy him a present, since most people would only show up to eat food and get drunk. He probably wouldn’t have been receiving many gifts.

As I descended the stairs, I heard Pam and David rushing around the house. “We’re gonna be late, David!”

“I’m aware!”

“Where are the keys?!”

“In your hand!”

I chuckled and leaned against the railing. “What’s going on?”

David turned towards me and sighed. “It’s Jacob’s presentation today, remember? He’s doing that sort of TED Talk thing at school?”

“Oh, yeah… Well, I’m not gonna be able to go, I’d be late to Ricky’s party by the time we got back.”

��Shit, that’s right… I completely forgot about errands as well. It’s our only free day.” He ran his hands through his hair. I perked up and walked the rest of the way down.

“I can do it. I’ll already be out, buying a present for Ricky.”

“Are you sure, sweetheart?” Pam joined the conversation as she and David approached the front door. I nodded with a smile.

“Yeah, it’ll… give me something to do today.”

Pam gave me that same bittersweet smile she usually did before enveloping me in a hug. “You’re so perfect, (Y/N)...”

“Uh… thanks.” My brows furrowed as she pulled away. I looked to my uncle for any clue as to why she suddenly became so sentimental, but he avoided my gaze, muttering something about wanting me to be safe before walking out of the house. “Are you guys okay?”

“Yeah, baby, we’re fine. You be safe today. Don’t get so drunk that you can’t walk straight. And stay the night at Dina’s, if you can!” She called out as she left out the door. I only nodded my head in response, slowly closing the door after her. My phone vibrated in my pocket, so I fished it out to see yet another text.

Ricky: Do you wanna come over and spend the day with me?

I cringed and rolled my eyes. Wasn’t me coming to his party enough? Shaking my head, I replied to him.

Me: I’m actually booked until the party. Lots of errands to run for my aunt and uncle

To be truthfully honest, I just needed to go grocery shopping and stop by the bookstore to pick up Pam’s order. It would only have taken me about an hour at most to complete my tasks. Did Ricky need to know this? Not at all. Tucking my phone back into my pocket, I snatched the grocery list from the fridge and began my quest for the day.

It hadn’t actually registered in my mind that I would need a car for the day. Our list was pretty long, which left me with armfulls of paper grocery bags, my aunt’s book tucked into my jacket pocket located on the inside. I could hardly see over the tops of the bags, but navigated myself all the way towards the diner before I heard a car pull up beside me. I turned my head to see Stan, giving me a goofy grin, eyes shielded by his sunglasses. He reached over to open the passenger door from the inside. “Hey, there, lovely.”

“Good morning there, beautiful.” I chuckled, opening his back door to store my bags in his seats before climbing into the passenger seat beside him. “Thanks so much.”

“It’s my pleasure,” He tilted his head as if he just winked, but it wasn’t like I could’ve seen it. “So, you’re shopping for Aunt Pam?”

“Uh, yeah. Jake had a presentation at his school today and I… had things to do already. So, why not? Might as well do something for them,” I explained as he began driving again. Down the road, I spotted two familiar figures exiting the diner. “Oh, is that Sydney? And her brother?”

“Indeed, it is.” Stan grinned as he turned the corner. His car pulled over towards them, Sydney’s brother excitedly pointing us out. She turned to the car with pursed lips. I turned down the music as Stan reached over to roll down the window, the glass creaking at its usual agonizingly slow pace. I visibly cringed as Sydney gave a painful smile. Once it was down just enough, Stan nodded towards her. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Her smile turned a bit more genuine. Her brother, who introduced himself as Liam, greeted both Stan and I before we all shifted into an awkward silence. Thankfully, Stan broke it after a couple of beats.

“So, it’s good to see you again.”

“Yeah,” Sydney giggled, and I detected a hint of anxiety. “Yeah, you, too.”

“So, do you wanna,” Stan pushed his sunglasses to sit in his curls. “Do you wanna, like, do somethin’ later tonight or somethin’?”

Sydney opened her mouth, closed it, and opened it again, all while Stan held his glowing smile. What the hell was going on? “You know, I would, but Dina and I are going to Ricky Berry’s party.”

“No shit? I’ll be there, too.” Stan excitedly sat up.

“Oh, you will?”

“Yeah.”

“Ah. Okay, right,” She chuckled. Anyone around could tell that Sydney was clearly uncomfortable, except for Stan. He was on top of the world, it seemed. “So, I guess I’ll see you there. And we gotta go. Right now.” She quickly ushered her brother down the road. I leaned towards my window and giggled into my hand. Stan slowly slipped his sunglasses back on, muttering a ‘cool’, which only caused me to laugh harder.

“Okay, what the hell is going on between you two?”

Stan gave me a look, or what I assumed was a look, as he continued towards our houses. “What? What are you talking about?”

“What’s going on with you and Syd? And don’t say nothing. You’re literally glowing right now.”

“Okay, okay,” He cleared his throat. “So, last night… we, um… Well, we may or may not have had sex.”

I hoped he hadn’t noticed me hesitate. My brain short circuited and my throat constricted. “O-Oh, really? Like, last night-last night?”

“Yeah, last night-last night.”

“Gross.” I lightly joked and Stan rolled his head towards me with a sly smirk. Chuckling, he looked back towards the road.

“Anyway, I assume you’re going to the party, too? Since you’re Ricky’s little homecoming date now.”

My eyes widened. “You saw it, too?!”

“Everyone saw it, Nugget. ‘The Power Couple’ or whatever they said.” He shook his head.

“Ugh, we are not a couple and I do not want to go to homecoming with him!”

“Then why’d you say yes?!”

“Because everyone was there! They planned the whole thing and my brain just thought to say yes!” I buried my head in my hands. I heard Stan coo from beside me with a small tut.

“My poor little Nugget. I should’ve asked you out before Ricky could.”

I peeked up at him with a warm smile. “Nah, it’s okay. It’s just homecoming, I’m not marrying him. Besides you should ask out Sydney, anyway.”

“Oh, that is the plan.” He grinned.

When we arrived at my house, I got out to carry in the bags, but I heard Stan turn off the car and exit as well. He joined me in retrieving the bags from the seats and waited patiently for me to unlock the front door. Once we were inside, we headed straight for the kitchen and set the bags on the table.

“It’s been awhile since I’ve been inside here,” He commented, looking around the house with a soft smile. I hummed in agreement before our gazes met. “Does your bedroom still look the same?”

The feeling that swept through my soul as I watched Stan excitedly explore my bedroom was a feeling I’d never felt before, but never wanted to leave. He marveled at all of the little trinkets displayed on my shelves, my organized bookshelf, the board above my desk filled with every pin I’ve ever collected. But what had him giddy and pumping his fist in the air was the Bloodwitch poster on my door. “Ah, I knew it! You knew all of the words to Hey Little Girl! You used to hate that song!”

“I don’t have to like the song to know all the words, all you play is Bloodwitch!” I laughed. He pointed towards me as if to say ‘don’t deny it’. I deflated. “Okay, yeah, I finally got into Bloodwitch. I guess it was… just something to remind me of you.”

I nervously stuffed my hands into the pockets of my jeans as Stan slowly lowered his arm, his expression softening. His stance stuttered, like he had stopped himself from doing or saying something instinctive, before scoffing.

“Yeah, well, the school’s horrible plays are what reminded me of you.” He rolled his eyes, receiving a light slap to the arm from me. Once Stan left for his own home, I returned to the kitchen to put the food away in their respective places. I made sure to put David’s cookies in his ‘secret’ compartment within the pantry. I knew he’d appreciate it since Jacob always found them if they weren’t stored correctly. I quietly giggled to myself, thinking back to a time when Jacob swore up and down that he hadn’t eaten the cookies. In fact, I remember correctly that we both had eaten them and he was just trying to cover for the both of us. We were caught the next day and forced to sit through a fifteen minute lecture on respecting our elders and the importance of privacy.

I nearly forgot about Pam’s book, but I remembered as I passed her bedroom door. Slipping it out of my pocket, I entered her room. There were shoes scattered across the floor and the bed was unmade, no doubt from her rushing around earlier. Knowing that she’d check her dresser, I set her book just there. However, I noticed a small, rectangular beige box already sitting there. I would have left it alone until I saw my name written on it. My hand reached out to pick up the box, but I stopped. It’s probably a present, I thought. I shouldn’t open it until it’s given to me. So, with a small hum of uncertainty, I left the bedroom.

Contrary to popular belief, I actually have a pretty simplistic fashion sense. It was nowhere near as bold as Stan’s, and I suppose that’s why we were seen as an odd pair, but I had just a bit more flare than my fellow peers. Everyone was just a copy-and-paste version of each other. They wore the same skinny jeans, the same fitted shirts, the same sneakers. While I never wore bright yellows and greens, I still hadn’t conformed to the everyday go-to fashion line that was their “hot” or “cute”. Besides, Brownsville was so boring, everything and everyone there was so one-dimensional. It only made sense that their choice in clothing was the same. What I’m trying to say is that people thought I had a bold fashion sense because I simply dressed differently, but it was simply how we dressed in my hometown in Kansas. I think Stan would have fit in at home.

I was a back-and-forth routine from my dresser to my bed, texting Dina as I readied myself for Ricky’s party that night. Apparently, she had Sydney over at her house, the two getting ready together. I didn’t have a problem with it, as long as Dina was still picking me up. She informed me that she had just gotten Syd into a cute top that would show more skin than she usually did. Despite not really being her friend, knowing that Sydney was leaving her comfort zone, as small of a step as it was, had me smiling at my phone, However, that smile dropped at the next text Dina sent.

Dina: Omg you HAVE to look cute for Ricky tonight

I rolled my eyes so hard it hurt.

Me: I don’t get dressed up for boys anymore. I do it for myself

And it was true. When Ricky and I dated, I felt as though I had to look the part of the trophy he presented to everyone. I wore clothes I normally didn’t, I wore more makeup, smiled more. Even if they were faked. I didn’t like it. I didn’t like pretending, but Ricky didn’t seem to mind. He’d simply point out that he “liked the new look”. Well, I’ve changed. My half year solitude in Kansas taught me self-awareness, and I became aware that I am fucking hot. So, I did look cute that night, but not for Ricky. I did it for my own pleasure. And I hoped they all liked the new look.

Of course, my go-to bottoms were black high-waisted jeans that stopped just above my navel, paired with a red long-sleeved crop top. To match, I added in little black and red clips in my hair and dusted black eyeshadow on my lids. Afterwards, I stepped in front of my mirror to admire my work. I remember my mom telling me when I was young that looking in the mirror will tell you everything you hope to see in yourself, and I agree with that to some extent. But looking at myself in that moment told me that, despite how shitty I felt on a daily basis, I was more than deserving of reveling in my new adaptation. I wasn’t at my happiest, and lord knows I’m still screwed up, but at least I knew who I was. I wasn’t some angry, emotional ball of anxiety, deprived of parental love. Yes, I was turned away from my father more than ever at that point, but I had realized where all the love for me resided. I was someone’s daughter, someone’s sister, someone’s best friend.

Someone’s girlfriend.

Or whatever the hell we were supposed to be.

Hearing my phone ping, I picked it up and read the text from Dina.

Dina: We’re here

Tucking my phone into my pocket, I slipped on some white sneakers and grabbed Ricky’s present off my vanity before dashing downstairs. I opened the door to find Dina and Sydney standing together on my doorstep. Upon seeing me, their jaws dropped. “Whoa, you look… hot.” Syd raised her brows, and I couldn’t help but smile at her approval. Dina chuckled and nodded.

“Yeah, (Y/N), you always seem to surprise us…”

“I try my best.” I stepped out of the house and locked the front door before facing the two. “Let’s party, shall we?”

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

Music thumped from the inside of the house as we approached the driveway, some party goers trickling inside. Sydney, Dina and I all stopped in the middle of the driveway, staring up at Ricky’s house. The two seemed excitedly anxious, but I felt as if I was going to hurl my guts up. The last time I had been in that house wasn’t the most pleasurable experience.

He can’t and won’t do that to you again, (Y/N).

What I would give to go back in time to warn her.

“Shit…” Sydney breathed.

“Okay, I’m scared, but fun scared,” Dina nodded, glancing between me and Syd. “Like we’re about to skydive for the first time or something.”

“Well, I’m not fun scared.” Syd turned her gaze back to the house.

“Me neither…” My voice was just above a whisper.

“Feels like we’re about to be eaten by wolves, like… really drunk, judgemental wolves.”

A moment of silence for all confidence lost.

“We’re gonna be fine,” Dina decided. “I just wish I could inject vodka directly into my veins first.”

“I do have this.” Syd smiled and pulled out a flask. Dina and I grinned before the former took it from her best friend. She took a hearty gulp from the flask before handing it over to me. Not wanting to get too drunk just yet, I took a few sips and handed the flask back to its owner. Once we were fueled up, we headed inside. I’d spent so many hours in Ricky’s house, but so few of those hours were spent partying. The most people I’d seen in his home were about six, including me. That was when he brought me over for dinner the first time and both his older brothers attended. What a waste that dinner was. I led the two up the stairs, kindly waving at my peers who called out to me. Most of them complimented my outfit, to which I quietly thanked. As we entered the main room, the volume of the music and the voices increased so that I was swimming in my surroundings.

“Dina!” I heard Ricky call out. The three of us turned to the birthday boy as he approached us. “Welcome to the madness!”

“Hey.” Dina smiled. His eyes then slid over to me, his own smile brightening.

“And Zip… God, you look great. Really great.”

“Thanks, Ricky. Happy birthday.” I nodded before letting him pull me into his side. I placed a hand on his chest to steady myself as his head turned to Sydney, as if she’d just walked in and didn’t appear with us.

“Hey. Hey. Oh, gosh, don’t tell me. I know it. I know this one.” He acted as if he were trying so hard to remember his own classmate’s name. I rolled my eyes and removed my hand from his chest. Sydney slowly nodded her head, giving him just a bit more time to “think” before answering.

“Sydney.”

“Right! I thought it started with an S, yeah. Well, you guys go enjoy, alright? Zip, why don’t you come and party with me?”

“Oh, well, um…,” My gaze shifted from Ricky’s smile to Dina’s slight frown. Sighing, I gestured for the two to go. “I’ll find you guys later. Have fun.”

“You, too.” They replied simultaneously before Ricky pulled me away to a group of friends. As we walked, I handed the little box over to him.

“Got you something.”

“Awe, babe, you shouldn’t have.” He lightly laughed and took the box into his hands. His eyes widened when he opened it to reveal a gold watch he’d been talking about for awhile. He claimed his father wouldn’t let him buy it because Ricky needed to stop spending so much money on himself. It wasn’t very expensive, so I thought it’d be as good a present as any. With child-like giddiness, he slapped the watch onto his wrist before kissing my cheek. “(Y/N), you are the most thoughtful girl in this world.”

Why did my heart skip a beat? “It was nothing, Ricky… You always go all-out for me, so…” There was no part of me that actually liked Ricky. Remember that. I think the liquor from earlier had just gotten to me. With a soft sigh, he hugged me from behind and walked me to a nearby table where boxes of pizza were displayed.

“You hungry?”

“I am, actually…”

My time spent at Ricky’s party felt as if I were on a mission. Mission Ignore Ricky. He was attached to me the whole time, arm around the bare of my waist, around my shoulders. It was like he needed to be certain that I was still there. That he could still look at me. Everytime I tried to go and find Syd and Dina, he pulled me right back into his side. My only solution was to drink heavily. Whenever someone offered to refill my cup, I accepted. If someone handed over a can of beer, I took it. A shot? Hell yes, count me in! Anything to drown out the sound of his voice in my ears. I’m not a lightweight, so it takes awhile for my haze to kick in. When it did, I was a smiling mess, nodding along to everything everyone said. In my underwater state, I could faintly make out Ricky referring to me as his girlfriend in conversations with his friends. With a grunt, I lazily slapped his shoulder, eliciting laughter amongst them. Within ten minutes, a Rick Springfield song that everyone collectively liked started up in the speakers. We all cheered and began dancing. I happily laughed as Ricky rested his hands on my hips, the two of us grooving to the music. He shook his head as he marveled at my drunken state.

“I’ve missed this…”

“Getting drunk?”

“No. Your smile. Your laugh,” He leaned forward. “I’ve missed you.”

“That’s so… poetic.” I whispered, causing a quiet laugh to escape his throat. My eyes slid to the right to find Stan. My breathing quickened at the sight of him in a baby blue suit, sitting alone on a couch with Dina and Syd dancing together in front of him. How I wished to be over there… Especially when he looked up and locked eyes with mine. All of the air in my lungs was kicked out at the relieved smile he gave me, and I breathed out in the same emotion. He’s here…

Ricky suddenly looked up over my head, an even wider smile stretching across his face. “Bra-a-ad! You made it!” He exclaimed and walked the both of us over to his best friend. The two high-fived as I blinked rapidly, as if I’d sober up from it.

“Dude, I had to come,” Brad smiled before his attention moved to me. “Zip, hey!”

“Hey.”

“Did you come here with Dina?”

“Yeah, yeah, she’s… um, dancing or something.” I giggled. Brad nodded with a raised brow.

“Someone’s been havin’ fun, huh?” He chuckled before I felt Ricky turn away.

“Hey, everyone! Bradley Lewis in the house!” He announced, cheers erupting from the party participants. They all cheered for a speech, which I found unnecessary, but leaned my head on Ricky’s shoulder as I listened to Brad quiet everyone.

“Eighteen years and nine months ago today, George Reginald Berry and his sweet wife Carol-”

“That’s not their names.” Ricky shook his head in amusement, everyone quietly laughing with him.

“They were drinkin’ a little bit of pinot grig’, and they were blastin’ some Neil Diamond. And then nine months later, Richard “Dickwad” Berry was born. And thank god for that because the Berrys’ birthday parties are the fucking best! To Ricky, everybody!”

With the cheers that followed, I found it to be my perfect time for escape. I slipped away from Ricky and squeezed through countless bodies to reach the back door. Stumbling outside, I caught myself on the railing towards the stairs that led off the deck. With difficulty, my wobbly legs took me down to the side of the house, where my hero was leaning against, readying a joint. There was no doubt my ceaseless giggling was what attracted his attention. He chuckled and watched as I stumbled towards him, falling into his side. Stan wrapped an arm around me as I laughed.

“Hey, there, lovely.”

“Hi, beautiful.” I grinned up at him, eyes half lidded. His brows drew down for a moment before he remembered his occupied hand. Removing his arm from around me, he took out his lighter, setting a flame to the end of his joint. I watched in fascination as he inhaled the smoke with closed eyes. His curls sat on his forehead, his lips pursed around the joint, his other arm made its way around my shoulders again. I rested my chin on his shoulder before he passed the smoke to me. I happily took a hit and let the peaceful silence fall between us for the five seconds that it lasted.

“So, you and Ricky… How’s that going?”

“How’s what going?” I mumbled.

“You know, you guys dating. It’s what he’s telling everyone.”

“Oh, my god, I knew he was telling everyone!” I groaned and ran a hand over my face. “I’m so sick of that. He can’t just... f-fucking, um… fucking lie to everyone like that! We are not dating, we’ve never even talked about it! What the hell, dude… I don’t even get why he’s so in love with me, Stan…”

He didn’t reply at first, but when I looked up, I realized it was because he was smoking. When he pulled the joint from his lips, he stared forward. “I mean, he’s got someone amazing, if you guys were actually dating. Believe it or not, (Y/N), you’re the coolest person I’ve ever met. And you’re fun and humorous and so driven. You’ve got these huge dreams and you’ll follow every single one of them… I’d be pretty proud if you were my girlfriend,” The second he looked down at me, I giggled loudly. He blushed and moved his eyes to the side. “I-I’m- I’m serious!”

Elevating myself with my toes, I closed the gap between us in a sloppy kiss. I could taste the alcohol on his lips and I was sure he could taste the same on mine. My hands reached up and placed themselves on his cheeks. I felt him lean more into the kiss for a second before he quickly ripped himself away, as if he were just burned. He blinked over and over as I tried to settle my blurry vision on him. Shaking his head, he sighed.

“(Y/N), you’re drunk.”

“I’m drunk.”

“Yeah, we can’t do this.” He seemed to be telling himself more than to me. I pouted and loosely wrapped my arms around him.

“I love you, Stan…”

“I love you, too, but I think you should get inside and find Dina.” He ushered me to the stairs and watched as I carefully planted my foot on the first step.

“Okay… I’m sorry, Stan.”

“You’re fine, I promise.”

“Okay. I’m gonna go inside, okay? You’re gonna be okay out here by yourself, okay? Okay?” I widened my eyes when he didn’t immediately answer. He let out a short laugh and turned me around again.

“Alright, go inside and find Dina.”

“‘Kay. I love you, Stan.”

“I love you, too. I’m gonna stand here and watch you go.”

“Have fun.” I sang and ungracefully made my way up the stairs and back inside the house.

Apologizing to the many people I bumped into, I found myself in the hallway, in between the bedrooms. My head felt like it weighed tons, my eyes wanted to close so badly. I felt a hand on my shoulder and leaned into the body behind me.

“There you are. I’ve been looking for you.”

My head whirled around to find Ricky behind me. I felt myself deflate in disappointment. “Hey, Ricky…”

“Where’ve you been, babe?”

“Oh, I was talking to my friend outside.” I grinned at the thought of Stan. Ricky raised a brow in amusement and I quickly covered my mouth as to not let the moment between Stan and I slip out. His dark brown orbs flickered between me and the door behind me before he gently took hold of my arm.

“Let’s go somewhere private, okay?”

“Okay.” I whispered, allowing him to guide me wherever. Before I knew it, we were in a room. I heard the click of a lock from behind before Ricky was suddenly in front of me. My head swam as I surveyed my surroundings, quickly realizing we were in his bedroom. “Oh, what are we doing?”

“Shh, shh, don’t worry about it.” He whispered. I hummed a little tune as I felt his hands move to my exposed skin, tracing little shapes. He littered my jaw in small kisses as he discarded my top. I shivered and wrapped my arms around my torso for warmth.

“Ricky, what are we doing?” I repeated as he popped the button of my jeans loose. Gasping, I moved his hands away. “No, no… I don’t want to…” I weakly protested.

“No, it’s okay, babe, it’s okay.” He shushed me. I felt myself fall back into his cool bed sheets. I blinked slowly. Once, his ceiling. Twice, his ceiling. Thrice, him. He was on top of me, my pants were gone, and his hands were travelling places I never wanted them to be. I let out a whine of protest, but he clearly took it as pleasure.

“Ricky…” I sighed out as his finger hooked under my bra strap. “Don’t… Stop…” I squirmed under him, both my stupor and high clouding my consciousness.

I don’t remember it. I don’t remember how it felt. I just didn’t like it. I didn’t like Ricky.

Sunlight pierced my eyelids as I felt warm lips on my forehead. I opened my eyes to find Ricky, fully dressed in different clothing than I last saw him in. He was holding out a glass of water and a couple pills. “For your head.”

“My head?” I whined, but hissed right when a splitting headache spread across my skull. I sat up, holding my head. My body was suddenly freezing cold and when I went to wrap my arms around myself, I saw that I was bare. Gasping, I clutched Ricky’s covers over me. “Oh, my god…”

“Yeah,” Ricky chuckled and set the medicine down. “We were so drunk last night… Anyway, I wanna take you out for brunch, so you should start getting ready. You can wear my clothes, babe.” He spoke as he headed out of the room, closing the door behind him. My eyes travelled to my undergarments on the floor not too far from the bed.

Fuck.

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Taglist: @melinda-hargreeves @sapphicsyn @stqnley @lonely-kermit @juliet-does-not-give-a-fuck @moatsnow

#i am not okay with this #ianowt #ianowt x reader #stanley barber #stanley barber x reader #wyatt oleff #wyatt oleff x reader #i am not okay with this x reader #ianowt fanfic #ianowt stanley barber #forever and never

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00gangfriend00 · 3 years

Text

I was tagged by @jade-marie and @bourbon-ontherocks to list my top 10 books fics I read in 2020.

and lemme tell you..

i’ve been WAITIN’ for this one!!

This IS a bit tricky because I spent most of 2020 just lurking on AO3, no acccount, no commenting, no kudos. so there are just so so so many fics that I remember pieces of, and have little headcanons that LIVE with me but I have no idea who the author is or what the fic is called.

so.. that being said, the top 10 is ever changing and could never be fully complete. I just love every author and every fic, you are all so wildly talented.

❤ a song inside the halls of the dark - ms_scarlet (@mego42 )

This fic has everything!! a sexy ex-lover rival gang leader, relaxed rio, angry rio, angsty kitchen sex rio. LOFT rio. AND it’s my favourite post-S2 reckoning of all time. There are moments in this fic that I just want to SPAM the gg writing room with. like scrap ur plans. DO. THIS. Overall, this is such a creative and well-written series. The characterization is superb, the smut has.... so many feelings, and the angst is AMAZING. There are a couple chapters (I wont give spoilers) that involves Beth in a hotel in Canada that I legit could not stop reading. it’s just all... so damn GOOD. favourite line: You thought I could be something, right? Well, this is that something. The bitch you trained bit back.

❤ we’re living in a powder keg and giving off sparks - BourbonOnTheRocks (@bourbon-ontherocks)

Whew! this fic has EVERYTHING. safe house brio. KARMA. brio ignoring each other. snippy, cranky brio. baking shows. mick overhearing loud shower sex. zero communication. brio getting high and giggling! all the feelings. I looooove this fic. like I LOVE it. it's so creative and it feels so real!! I can play it like a movie in my head. There is so much fun smutty build up, so much tension, anxiety and a very, very, good Thaw Of Feelings which is my fav. I will forever have a soft spot for safe house fics, but this one hilariously twists the trope by doubling down on their idiot stubbornness. genius. favourite line: He's using her and she's using him. Maybe it's the only thing they're truly equal at.

❤ my girl - elizabethmarks (not on tumblr?)

This fic has everything!!!!!!! (but TW that everything is not for everyone, as the plot primarily revoles around a rape scene.) This fic sets up some of the most soft, emotional, protective brio moments. I also adore how this author handles the delicate subject matter. I work from time to time as a crisis advcate for women and ...... this fic is so accurate and well written. All the emotions beth feels, the way rio reacts to her. everything. I have read this SO many times. It also inludes a Mick POV that will TUG at your HEART. favourite line: *When on route to Rio’s loft* Rio nods, with that gentle look he has. "Alright, mama. Let's get you home." There's a beat, they both catch it, but neither of them make the correction.

❤ working on things - odenkirk (not on tumblr?)

THIS fic, now this fic has everything!!!!!!!!! masturbation! sexting! weed-smokin horny rio! DEAN?!??! in a way that didnt repulse me???? SEX. kinda threesome??? a heck of a lot of things that I didnt think id be into but then read it and was like HUH, guess i AM. and last but not least, deliciously perfect characterization. This is a fic I ask you to take a risk on. It will pay off. Its fun and oooh soooooooo sexy. Yes, dean goes to pound town too, but I promise- odenkirk makes it WORK. Blush meter: off the charts. I had to put my phone down and reckon with Jesus. favourite line: Rio: Don't get precious, sweetheart. It's you cuz it's you. AHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!

❤ miles before you sleep - FakePlastikTrees (@nakedmonkey)

THIS AUTHOR has EVERYTHING! FakePlastikTrees is one of those authors where... I read one fic - then buckled my seatbelt and clicked on her account so I could systematically read through every. single. fic. They are often short scenes that feel so true. Her Rio characterization makes me green with (benevolent) envy. and her smut?? oof. top notch. This fic in particular lives in my heart because it really truly feels like a missing GG scene between Beth and our favourite tattooed babysitter. The atmosphere is tangible and the author slows time down for these two, it stretches out like you are smokin in the suburbs with them. I love a MickFic and this one is top tier.

favourite line: “Oh come on. He’s a little unhinged.” “Takes one to know one.”

❤ people can be so cold - s_t_c_s (@sothischickshe)

ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh this fic has EVERYTHING. scrabble competitiveness! annie speaking truths! christmas beth! christmas rio?!?! delicious bickering! CABIN isolation! gift giving perfection! I could go on and on and on. This fic just pulls you straight in. stcs crafts the timeline so effortlessly, and weaves it with so many endearing and authentic feeling details (beth has her own ‘guys’ now, and we know this bc she gives them sweets and food. OF COURSE) The longing between her and rio is so RICH. if you want your heart to swell a million sizes - this is the fic for you. favourite line: They hadn’t – been intimate yet, back when she got him arrested, or the first few times he’d shoved a gun in her face. And the sexual part had been all done and dusted prior to their, god, kidnapping and shooting fiasco. But that doesn’t mean it wasn’t present throughout – a hovering spectre, forming a treacherous spine through all their endeavours.

❤ listening through the air shaft - ms_scarlet (@mego42)

now this fic. actually for real, has everything. because its every POV you never knew you NEEDED. and mego42 absolutely nails each and every one. especially Dean. Its a complicated look into his blubbering sexist mind, and misguided fixations that is really well-written. The way in which brio has their own arc throughout the chapters, but told through the eyes of those around them - is amazing. this fic just makes you love every character even MORE. favourite line: well.. annie, mick and ruby have a group chat and thats all you need to know. anytime that comes up = favourite line.

❤ instigator - nomind (@inyoursheets)

be still my bisexual heart. this fic has everyONE! Yes, this fic dissolves into perfect threesome smut BUT before you get there, you get this awesome set up of a dangerous-feeling connection between Rhea and Beth. They are honest, open and fully acknowledging the fuckedupness of their desire. For how small a part Rhea has in the show - this author NAILS her voice, it’s uncanny. Both of them talking about rio? sign me up. Rio coming home to it? sign me UP. favourite line: “Jesus,” she hears behind her. “What am I looking at right now?” Rhea smiles down on her, ignoring him, running her fingers through Beth’s hair.

** shout out to another be-still-my-bi-heart fic : @sothischickshe’s “its a dirty, dirty, game”

❤ do not pass go - linzackles @mrslackles

this. fic. has. every. thing. I am currently putting every single important thing in my life on hold to PLOUGH through this series. like full speed ahead. UGH. marcus!!! beth and rio at an event! a fancy one! big bad business dudes! betrayal! beth making bad choices! rio unable to fully communicate the weight of his desire for her! angst! just excellent, excellent, excellent plots. i like everything!!!!! favourite line: truly impossible. they are all art. but this one made me cackle. Shrugging, she responds. In the bathroom, eating nuts.Annie’s reply comes through instantly. Rio’s???????

❤ meet me under the mistletoe - sdktrs12 (@sdktrs12)

this fic.... has.... everything. I want to include this not only because I loooOoOOOved it, but also because this author just has a talent for creating holiday themed brio fics that are not in the slightest cheesy, or forced. which is... hard! to! do! I read her halloween series while in quarantine, and it became apart of my little daily routine. each fic containing at least one moment that made me go AHHH these two!!!!! so in short - thanks for infusing all my holidays with stellar brio. then christmas comes around and she nails it again! beth and rio begrudgingly working late? YES. they migh each have a date but they dont DARE talk abut their jealously? YES. Bourbon as a third character? haha YES! Beth looking smokin hot? YES. favourite line: “Is that your move? Meet me under the mistletoe?” “Oh baby, you know my moves.”

and PHEW. there ya go!

Thank you amazing fanfic authors for making my year 10000000% better.

I TAG @whiskeyjack @purplemagic @sdktrs12 @joeyjoeylee @ama-ssiempre @roxy206

#favfics #nbc goodgirls #good girls fic #good girls fandom #top10fics

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aros001 · 3 years

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Read through light novel vol. 11. Random thoughts.

Okay, right off the bat, this

is my favorite art in the books yet just because of how annoyed Naofumi looks.

It's always been a thing but I've been seeing it more in these last couple of books, especially in contrast to Sadeena and Alta, but I really like that Naofumi likes that Raphtalia will push back against him when she doesn't like something, be it his attitude, his action, or his ideas. He doesn't want a yes-man or someone who'll worship and never question him. Child Raphtalia was kind of his sidekick but adult Raphtalia is definitely his partner. They trust each other completely and they never have to worry about holding back their honest thoughts. This is especially important if there is to ever be a romantic relationship between the two of them. Romance is not supposed to be just the guy and his prize. Naofumi and Raphtalia I can see working as a couple because they genuinely see each other as equals.

So, as has been revealed so far, Trash's family, save for himself and his younger blind sister, were murdered by the hakuko. He hated Siltvelt because it's where the hakuko came from and his own kingdom for taking no action against them for those murders. Then later his sister was attacked by a hakuko and presumably murdered and possibly raped but the body was never found, thus pushing him to overthrow the king of Siltvelt because he was a hakuko.

And he hates the Devil of the Shield because...! ...A previous Shield Hero helped to found Siltvelt? I get that Siltvelt is a demi-human supremacist country and that it worships the Shield Hero but I feel like there's a little bit of a disconnect in Trash's hatred. I suppose his hatred for Naofumi didn't blow up until he thought he tried to force himself on Malty and before that he just treated him dismissively, but I can't help but feel like I'm missing something here. Also, didn't the previous Shield Hero die in Siltvelt a month into him being summoned? I get that hatred and the desire for revenge are not always very rational, especially when religion is thrown into the mix, but I feel like it's odd he's placed so much of it on Naofumi and the Shield Hero as a whole.

So Fohl and Alta are possibly the nephew and niece of Trash through his sister and the grandchildren of the hakuko king of Siltvelt whom he killed. Obviously I'm hoping Trash's sister wasn't raped to conceive them and that it was just a forbidden love like was one of Naofumi's theories, but I guess I'll find that out in a later book.

Also, poor Naofumi and poor Raphtalia. Either Alta wants to be with Naofumi (romantically or...) or she's on her way to becoming the new pope of the Church of the Shield Hero. She was reminding me a little bit of Neia from Overlord and her devotion to Ainz in the latter regard.

“Apparently there’s a new bandit chief that’s risen to power lately, and we’ll be wasting our time unless we capture him.” ... “That’s the thing. I don’t know all the details, but apparently the boss is really distrustful and rarely makes appearances. But he’s also supposed to be strong enough to pick off even the toughest of adventurers one by one without a problem.”

This is going exactly where I think it's going, isn't it?

[Five minutes later]

Yep.

Reading this book and I realized my main issue with Ren, beyond the issues he shares with the other two heroes, was how unbelievably condescending he'd been to Eclair, someone who knew her way with a sword WAY better than he did, just to protect his own ego after he would have lost if he hadn't cheated in their duel. That left a really bad taste in my mouth but it's still not as bad as what I dislike about Motoyasu and especially Itsuki. He hasn't yet specifically apologized for that but he is showing her a lot more respect and being clearly remorseful over his actions. Even him blaming his loss against the Spirit Tortoise on his party's weakness and not his own I could swallow fine because there was the implication that he was unable to deal with the guilt of it being his fault that they were all dead, which, while bad, is a very human thing to feel. As long as he takes his training seriously from this point on and doesn't regress back, I can look forward to his progress and his interactions with Naofumi.

I actually was slightly spoiled before I started reading the light novels that the other heroes were going to unlock their own curse series as well. It was minor because I didn't hear any specifics beyond that but the person I was reading I remember being really unhappy about it. Personally, I'm fine with it. The Holy Weapons are meant to be equal to each other so it makes sense they'd have similar unlockable abilities (relative to what each weapon is, of course). The reason Naofumi is so much stronger is supposed to be because he actually bothered to learn how to use his weapon and because he took how he was told to power it up seriously. If he had an ability the others had no equivalent of it would basically be cheating. Part of the criticism too was that Naofumi had been through so much worse than the others to unlock his curse series, but everyone has different levels of stress they can take and it definitely helps that, thus far, each curse series embodies a different sin and thus has different effects. Motoyasu is clearly being effected differently by his Spear of (I'm assuming) Lust than Naofumi is by the Shield of Wrath or Ren by the Sword of Greed.

Speaking of which, I'm not the only one who felt a big red flag over Motoyasu's Temptation ability, right? I'm not saying he would abuse such a thing but powers that force attraction on people always makes me feel very uncomfortable. Just the fact that it worked on Naofumi whom is both straight and can't stand Motoyasu shows it can work on pretty much anyone who doesn't have specific resistances. It's a scary thing, your romantic and sexual preferences being altered by an outside force. Like a date rape drug weaponized.

The whole controversy over RoTSH's first episode holds less and less weight the further into the series I go. Naofumi vs. Motoyasu I'd argue has several great examples of feminism vs. sexism throughout the story. Naofumi was horribly betrayed by Malty but he doesn't hate women or use what she did as an excuse to. He's simply distrustful of anyone who can potentially betray him and is put off by the idea of any romantic or sexual relationships. Motoyasu gets betrayed by Malty (and his two other party members) and now sees all women as pigs, save for Filo, whom he's now obsessed with. The stupid criticism of RoTSH was that the series had Malty representing all women; that all women lie about being sexually assaulted and that all women are horrible bitches. That is the mentality Motoyasu now has, judging all women by the actions of one.

“Mr. Ren . . . I’m sure you’ve felt just terrible this whole time after losing your companions. It’s okay to cry now. Don’t worry. Even if the whole world insists you’re a criminal, I still believe in you, Mr. Ren. I believe you were fighting for the sake of the world.”

I love how, even after everything else she's done, the thing that makes me hate Bitch almost as much, if not more, as when she made the false rape accusation was her plagiarizing the words Raphtalia had said to finally reach Naofumi's heart and earn his trust. It just felt like such a violation, sullying that moment so much that you just want Bitch to die almost as much as Naofumi does.

Though I suppose it's Witch now, huh? Doesn't have quite the same punch as Bitch but I don't want to call her the Witch Bitch because that's my nickname for Satella in Re:Zero and that's more a term of endearment ironically enough. I don't want to sully her by putting her in any kind of association with Malty.

Original Reddit post: https://www.reddit.com/r/shieldbro/comments/fh9syh/read_through_light_novel_vol_11_random_thoughts/

#rising of the shield hero #random thoughts #reddit repost

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surveys-at-your-service · 3 years

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Survey #384

“watch your tongue or have it cut from your head”

Do you post to say happy birthday on other people’s walls? Sometimes. Depends on my mood and the person. When was the last time you saw a rainbow? Idr. What’s your favorite television commercial? I don't watch TV enough at all to have one. And who has a favorite commercial, anyway? Do you trip a lot? I don't really trip a lot, but kinda fumble over my footing and stray a bit. I'm horrible at walking straight, and it's gotten worse as my legs have. How old is your television? The one in the living room is god knows how old. My parents were still together when they bought it. When did you last talk on the phone with someone? A couple days ago for my appointment with my psychiatrist. Are you currently sleepy? I'm quite convinced I'm permanently tired. Are you hot or cold natured? I am ALWAYS fucking hot, ugh. Do you take any advanced classes? I took mostly Honors classes in school. Do you have weak upper body strength? My body is just weak as a whole. What is the worst insult someone can call you? Emotionally weak. Are you good at sketching? If we're talking meerkats, haha. They're the only complex thing that I can freehand no problem without needing a reference, honestly. Ever play Angry Birds? Nah. I thought the movie was cute, though. Have you ever been to the zoo before? Yeah. Has anyone ever been weirdly obsessed with you? No. Are you afraid someone might steal your identity someday? It's not something I actively worry about at all. Like, you don't want my identity, I promise. Do you have any talents that come naturally? Growing up, adults always told me I was a "gifted" artist and writer. Also that I seem to have an unnaturally strong connection with animals. I've always been that person where a pet's owner is like "omg ____ never lets people do that" and whatnot. Have you ever had plastic surgery before? I haven't. It's funny though, how opposed to it I used to be... Like goddamn, I was such a fucking stupid and honestly judgmental teenager, regarding many things. I look back on her and cringe. Like damn dude, if you have a safe surgical procedure to help you enjoy the body you're stuck with the rest of your life, you go for it, boo. Are you afraid of airplane rides? Not really. What’s the best Valentine’s Day gift you’ve gotten? There was this one year where Jason had to go to work on Valentine's Day and I was super bummed, yet he still surprised me with a heart-shaped box of chocolates, roses, and a game I really wanted, Heavy Rain. I thought it was the sweetest. What is something you lose often? My phone. ;-; Do you enter a lot of sweepstakes? I don't enter any. Do you consider yourself physically active? *chuckles nervously* Do you have Netflix? Yeah. Favorite salad dressing? That Olive Garden replica you can buy at the store. Do you enjoy dancing? Once upon a time I did. My body could never handle it now. Have you ever considered writing a novel? Many times. Snow or sand? Snow, by twenty thousand miles. It is VERY hard for me to walk through sand, and I also hate hate hate hate HATE the sensation. Do you like sour candy? Heeeeeell yeah man. Have you gotten any injuries lately? If so, what & how? Nothing notable. Are you a clumsy person? Like you would not fucking believe. Last male you talked to in person? I think my primary physician's nurse. Are you thinking about asking anyone out? No. Pink lemonade or regular lemonade? Pink lemonade, for sure. But I love both. Chocolate or strawberry milk? CHOCOLATE. Strawberry milk is disgusting. Have you ever won a contest on the radio?No. Is there a song that reminds you of your best friend? There's quite a few. Has a book ever made you cry? Yes. Do you automatically check your phone when you wake up? Yes, for the time. Do you know anyone who has a pet bunny? Not that I'm aware. What store or website would you most like a gift card for? Rebel's Market. How do you feel about wolves? I adore wolves. Beautiful, majestic creatures with very interesting social dynamics. Name your top 3 favorite musical instruments. Electric guitar, violin, piano. What was the last book(s) you bought at a bookstore? At an actual bookstore, I think it was The Fault In Our Stars, which I never actually read. Do you use Pinterest? Yes. Do you know any sign language? No. Do you have a favorite poem? No. Do you have a dog? No. The one we were pretty much stuck with has a home now. Have you ever read The Little House on the Prairie series? I haven't. Have you ever gone on a service trip to an underprivileged country? No. Have you ever performed in front of more than 100 people? Yes, for dance. When (if ever) was the last time you went to church? Forever ago, I don't even remember the last time. What's a quote you think is really powerful? There's a whole lot. The first one that came to mind was, "An eye for an eye will leave the world blind," which I do believe has great depth in it. Have you ever had to do your laundry at a laundromat? Yes. Are you the oldest person who lives in your household? No. My mom is turning 60 (... I think?) this year. If you have tattoos, how long have you had them? I got my first the day I turned 18. Do you and your dad have similar personalities? We're alike in some ways, imo most notably in that we have NO fucking common sense, embarrassing as that is to admit. We're both kinda slow at understanding things, too. What were the last three things you had to drink? Mountain Lightning, milk, and water. What did your family usually do for Easter when you were a kid? Us three kids all got Easter baskets full of stuff, and we'd go egg-hunting when we were all awake. My little sister Nicole would always wake our parents up in excitement, haha. My parents hid plenty throughout the house, and there was always this one "special" egg that was actually from Mom's childhood and was extremely intricate and beautiful. You basically "won" the hunt if you found it, and it was extremely well-hidden. When you have house guests over, where do they sleep? Historically since living here, my two half-sisters and their spouses (the only people who've stayed over) slept in what is *technically* Mom's room, but for whatever reason this woman still insists on sleeping on the couch in the living room, I guess because she's used to it after all the years she didn't have her own room and bed. Are you emotionally stable? LOLOOLOLOOLLOLOOLOOLOLLOOLOLLLLLLLLLLL Do you still talk to the very first person you had sex with? No. Are you an atheist? No. I don't quite know how to define what I am, but since I believe there's SOME higher power, I don't think it's fitting to call me an atheist. What’s the largest bug you’ve ever found in your house? Hm... I'm unsure. Probably a male mosquito, 'cuz them bitches are big'ins. Would it annoy you if a stranger called you "sweetie?" If it was a man, I'd be creeped out. Are you into fashion design? Not really. What’s the worst thing you’ve gone through in the past year? My leg muscles continuing to degrade, honestly. I have to do something about this shit. How did you get your last bruise? I fell when stepping over the stupid dog gate. Have your parents ever forgotten your birthday? Yikes, no. Would you rather have some bacon or beef jerky? Bacon. Do you like your orange juice with lots or no pulp? NONE. Do you wear skinny jeans? Back when I wore jeans, they were the only kind I wore. What projects are you doing now for school? I'm outta school. What’s the most number of comments you have on a Facebook picture? What is the picture of? I have no idea. Do you like coconut flavored things? No. Have you ever met a famous author before? No. Do you know anybody who has been raped before? No, thank god. I know someone who might've almost been, though. I don't know what the fucking pig was going to do to her if my sister and I weren't there. Have you ever wished for bigger boobs? No. Being overweight, I just want smaller ones now, haha. Have you ever gone a full day without interacting with another person? I've gone many days without it. How many relationships have you been in that lasted less than a year? Four, if you're counting everyone that had the "boyfriend" title. Where were you going the last time you were on a plane? Home from Illinois. Where were you going the last time you were on a train? I've never been on one. Have you ever been significantly more physically fit than you are now? Holy fuck, yes. You would never guess now that I was perfectly healthy in high school especially, yet I still thought I was kinda fat. It hurts so much to look back on. When growing up, did you parents keep the house very tidy? I mean not excessively, but Mom was pretty dedicated to keeping the house in decent condition. With three kids though, of course the house was somewhat messy with toys and all. When you shop at IKEA, do you always stop to eat a snack/meal in the cafeteria? ... There's a fucking cafeteria in a furniture store? o_o I've never been there before. How many watches do you own? None, save for one in my "treasure box" from when I was a kid. I was SO SO SO obsessed with Finding Nemo that I kept my broken one. I did the same with my horribly aged sneakers, like the soles were coming off and Mom finally made me stop wearing them, ha. Are there any ways in which you greatly differ from everyone else in your family? I do fucking nothing and am useless to society. Should teenagers be allowed to have their cell phones with them in class? Yes, because emergencies happen. I personally think it's best to maybe have your cell phone flipped over on the corner of your desk or something and on vibrate, that way the noise isn't too disruptive and the teacher can see you're not just using it for other purposes. Do you have any gay relatives? Yes. Have you ever had to have a pet put down? Sigh, multiple. Have you unfollowed, deleted, or blocked anyone on social media recently? If so, what was the reason? Not recently. How many cups of coffee do you typically drink per day? None. Do you know what your vocal range is? No, but it's not very broad. What’s the biggest financial mistake you’ve ever made? I haven't been in this position before. Have you ever been in a relationship where there was a large difference in maturity levels? No. What’s the longest you’ve ever stayed as a guest at someone’s house? I wanna say over a month while we were technically homeless. How bad was your acne when you were a teenager? Oh dear, it was rough. Like there were people who had it worse than me, but ya girl was lookin preeeetty rough lmao.

#survey #surveys #questions #lyrics: ''hail to the king'' by avenged sevenfold

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dreaminginthedeepsouth · 4 years

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LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

The fallout from the story of Trump calling soldiers “suckers” and “losers” continues. Yesterday, Trump told reporters that military leaders don’t like him because they want to funnel work to defense contractors. “The top people in the Pentagon… want to do nothing but fight wars so all of those wonderful companies that make the bombs and make the planes and make everything else stay happy,” he said. White House chief of staff Mark Meadows tried to spin this as Trump’s attempt to protect soldiers from “the military industrial complex,” a phrase Republican President Dwight Eisenhower used to warn against funneling tax dollars into military contracts. Trump then retweeted posts comparing himself to Eisenhower.

In fact, Trump has made military build-up and selling U.S. weapons abroad key to his foreign policy. His Defense Secretary, Mark T. Esper, is a former top lobbyist for the defense contractor Raytheon, and last year, Secretary of State Mike Pompeo declared an emergency to push through $8.1 billion in arms sales to Saudi Arabia and the United Arab Emirates after lawmakers of both parties objected to the sale.

Trump’s about-face from boasting how he has built up the military to saying he opposes military build-up seems most likely to be simply another angle of attack against a story that is not dying. Yesterday, in The Atlantic, conservative columnist David Frum published a story titled “Everyone Knows It’s True.” Frum noted that while the First Lady, Cabinet secretaries, and Fox News Channel personalities have all insisted the story is false, the people who worked closely with Trump on military matters have remained resolutely silent.

Frum wrote, “Where are the senior officers of the United States armed forces, serving and retired—the men and women who worked most closely on military affairs with President Trump? Has any one of them stepped forward to say, ‘That’s not the man I know’? How many wounded warriors have stepped forward to attest to Trump’s care and concern for them? How many Gold Star families have stepped forward on Trump’s behalf? How many service families? The silence is resounding.”

Today, Trump’s former fixer Michael Cohen released his new book. It, too, spoke of a disconnect between Trump’s public words and his private attitudes. “The cosmic joke was that Trump convinced a vast swath of working-class white folks in the Midwest that he cared about their well-being,” Cohen wrote. “The truth was that he couldn’t care less.” “Everyone other than the ruling class on earth was like an ant, to his way of thinking, their lives meaningless and always subject to the whims of the true rulers of the world,” he said.

Trump’s apparent tendency to treat women as subject to the whims of others was in the news today as his attempt to get rid of E. Jean Carroll’s defamation lawsuit is threatening the rule of law. In 2019, Trump denied he had raped Carroll, a journalist, more than 20 years ago, saying he had never met her and suggesting she was making up the story for publicity to sell a forthcoming book “or carry out a political agenda.” In November 2019, she sued him in New York for defamation.

Trump tried to stall Carroll’s lawsuit, arguing that a president was immune from civil lawsuits in state court, but in August, a federal judge rejected his bid and allowed the case to proceed. Carroll’s lawyers have asked for a DNA sample to match against material on clothing she was wearing when she says he assaulted her.

Today, lawyers from the Department of Justice asked to take over the case, arguing that Trump was acting in his official capacity as president when he denied knowing Carroll and thus should be defended by the DOJ, which is funded by taxpayer dollars. CNN legal analyst Elie Honig called this “a wild stretch by DOJ.... I can’t remotely conceive how DOJ can argue with a straight face that it is somehow within the official duties of the President to deny a claim that he committed sexual assault years before he took office.” He continued: "This is very much consistent with Barr's well-established pattern of distorting fact and law to protect Trump and his allies.”

According to University of Texas Law Professor Steve Vladeck, the argument that Trump was acting “within the scope of his employment” when he defamed E. Jean Carroll is an attempt to get the suit dismissed altogether, because the government itself cannot be sued for defamation. Slate’s legal writer Mark Joseph Stern called the move “shocking and profoundly disgusting… and appalling and irredeemable debasement of the Justice Department, a direct threat to the very legitimacy of an agency that is responsible for enforcing federal law.”

The corruption of the DOJ was in the news in another way today, too, as White House chief of staff Mark Meadows told Fox News Channel personality Maria Bartiromo that he has seen “additional” documents from John Durham’s investigation that spell “trouble” for former FBI officials who began the inquiry into the ties between Trump’s 2016 campaign and Russia. Attorney General William Barr appointed Durham to investigate the FBI after the agency’s independent inspector general reported that the Russia investigation was begun legitimately (the Republican-led Senate Intelligence Committee agreed). "Additional documents that I’ve been able to review say that a number of the players, the Peter Strzoks, the Andy McCabes, the James Comeys, and even others in the administration previously are in real trouble because of their willingness to participate in an unlawful act and I use the word unlawful at best, it broke all kinds of protocols and at worst people should go to jail as I mentioned previously," Meadows said.

But observers were quick to note that the White House chief of staff should not have seen any documents in a pending DOJ criminal investigation. Meadows might be making up the story that he has seen such documents. He has been in the news before for a loose relationship with facts: he represented that he earned a four-year college degree when, in fact, he earned a degree equivalent to two years at a community college. Or his comments might mean the DOJ is coordinating with the White House. Neither is good news.

Three drafts of a report from the Department of Homeland Security reviewed by Politico today give some insight into the upcoming election. They warn that Russia is trying to spread disinformation in the U.S., saying that “Moscow’s primary aim is to weaken the United States through discord, division, and distraction in hopes of making America less able to challenge Russia’s strategic objectives. Some influence activity might spill over into the physical world and motivate domestic actors to violence.” The report predicts foreign cyberattacks on the 2020 election, focusing on the personal information of voters, municipal and state networks, and state election officials. It notes that “Russia already is using online influence operations in an attempt to sway US voter perceptions” and to drive down minority participation in the election.

Even more striking, though, under “terrorism,” the first draft of the report says “Lone offenders and small cells of individuals motivated by a diverse array of social, ideological, and personal factors will pose the primary terrorist threat to the United States. Among these groups, we assess that white supremacist extremists—who increasingly are networking with likeminded persons abroad—will post the most persistent and lethal threat” throughout 2021. They will use “simple tactics—such as vehicle ramming, small arms, edged weapons, arson, and rudimentary improvised explosive devices” to encourage violence within the United States.” The report warns that they might well target campaign activities and election events.

According to the first draft report, white supremacists are more dangerous than foreign terrorist groups, which are “constrained.” The next two drafts watered down the words “white supremacist extremists,” calling them “domestic violent extremists.” But all three drafts note that white supremacists have killed 39 of the 48 people judged to have died from terrorism in the U.S. between 2018 and 2019.

None of the three reports refers to any threat from “Antifa,” the loose group of anti-fascist activists the Trump administration often describes as the instigators of recent unrest. Instead, two of the drafts say that rightwing extremists are trying to escalate lawful protests into violence.

The documents were leaked to Ben Wittes, the editor in chief of the national security website Lawfare, a leak that suggests someone at DHS is concerned about the administration’s apparent encouragement of rightwing extremists. (The citation for the first draft of the report is in tonight's notes. It’s worth reading.)

Finally, on Rachel Maddow’s television show tonight, former Trump fixer Michael Cohen confirmed something that many of us have suspected all along. "Trump never thought he was going to win this election, he actually did not want to win this election,” Cohen said. “This was a branding deal. That's all that the presidential campaign started out as, this was a branding opportunity in order to expand worldwide."

Heather Cox Richardson

Notes From An American

#quotes #newsletter #politics #political #election 2020 #Heather Cox Richardson #Notes From An American

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wendyblanquelg-writes · 3 years

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Women as priests? Not I.

The first time I went to church was when I was baptized, but I don’t really remember attending mass for the first few years. As toddlers, we may remember glimpses of our babyhood yet not until the age of about five or six is when we start to retain all of our memories. My earliest memory is waking up at the crack of dawn on the queen sized bed I shared with my mom and seeing she wasn’t next to me. I might’ve been about five or so, and the sky outside was a bit cloudy; I now assume it must’ve been near the end of summer and the beginning of fall when tiny me saw the world through a new lens. I had climbed out of the covers, jumped to the floor, and ran to my grandma’s room in fear of being alone and in almost utter darkness by myself. That’s all I remember about that day.

I’ll never forget the first time my mom took me to church with the intention of having me fall in love to committing to God. Oh, did I become enamored with the beautiful architecture, stained glass windows, gold chalices, chronologically placed images of Jesus being crucified, angelic ceiling paintings, the twinkling lights that scream Christmas, and the smiling people who made me feel welcomed and appreciated. My mom’s only wish was complete: God had me in his hand—hypnotized in the idea of having someone love and care for me unconditionally my whole life.

Before mass, my mom had been telling me for days about taking me to church where we can pray with others and not just each other before bed. She went on about who God is, Jesus being his son, and I, his new follower. Never was I told off the bat that sinning was a grand deal to God or the church, probably because I was innocent at the time. Going to mass sounded like the dream, a second home that wasn’t Mexico, a new part of my life that I was ready to venture on like so many Disney characters did in their heroic plots.

That Sunday morning I woke up at 7am ready to get changed. Our church is a block over from us so we walked down to the alley and took the broken gravel road straight to the golden doors which were slightly cracked, being held open by an older man. My mom’s hand held mine tightly as we entered and she reached over to the wall where water was held. She dipped her finger in it, signed the cross on her forehead then did the same to me. It smelled funny but homely, I loved it. Every person I seemed to look at would look back at me happily as if they’d been expecting me my whole life. The lights dazzled me, the recurring kneeling, standing, and sitting movements wowed me, the united dialogue made everyone sound interconnected, and my first la paz, “peace be with you,” was my welcome home. After people shook my hand I couldn’t stop looking at it and felt the pain and love from everyone I had ever touched—truly magical. I was home.

You can expect my mom’s happiness over the years of my love for mass, learning my prayers, excelling in catechism school, and my good behavior from knowing I’d be punished by God if I were a bad child. By the age of 8, I knew what I wanted to be in life: a priest. In my heart I felt like God’s favorite, his teaching being my calling, his followers being my new family, our love being one.

I was devoted, yet when I told my mom my dream, she smiled and said,

“That’s great, but there are only male priests.”

“But why?”

“That’s how it is,” was all she said. I was so confused.

I later brought it up to my grandpa and he said in Spanish,

“That’s outrageous, that’s crazy, you can’t be a priest. Priests are and SHOULD only be men.”

How is it that after my long three to four years of devotion and love to God was not enough for me to be a priest? I once asked a priest if I could one day hold his position. He looked uncomfortable with a tinge of anger when he said no, but that I could work in other parts of the church to help. I was unsatisfied with everyones answer and God especially, for not letting me be what I wanted to be. I didn’t fight them on their answers nor stopped loving church for a few years either. I still wanted to be the person everyone came to for confession, to alleviate them from their stress and sins, to read and lecture people on the word of God, to host fundraisers and events to help the poor, to continue studying until I was close to God himself. There simply wasn’t a door for me to enter into priesthood. Even the word ‘priest’ sounded specifically male to me after a while, like the sound of each syllable denied a woman to take hold of its title. The word became bitter in my mouth.

I started reading Dan Brown’s The DaVinci Code, Angels & Demons, and many other books that questioned religion. Did Jesus actually marry Mary Magdalene and have a secret child? Were the scripts lying and the men in the priesthood hiding the truth of our famously loved icons? Is God real? Are there really non-believers who do not go to Hell? I thought everyone believed in Him, was I his favorite who was supposed to question his authority and change the church’s establishment? No, instead, I started detaching myself from my second home after not being fully welcomed after all. I didn’t want to be a nun, or a receptionist, or the woman who went around during mass with a clipboard taking attendance; I wanted to be more, to help more. I tried to stop loving Him.

Throughout high school and college I’ve gained an interest in learning about Catholicism, I wasn’t sure why. From what I learned my sophomore year in a theology class, only men are ordained as priests because Jesus only chose men as his apostles. When I read that, it made sense to me only because at that time women were not allowed to hold any position of power. Women were still handed over to their husbands by their families, much less would society had taken them, or Jesus, seriously because gender equality was an outrageous concept to them. Was it possible that Jesus did not want to risk women being mistreated more than they already were, by being made an apostle? Men might’ve shrugged off Jesus’ teachings if they saw something out of the norm being used: women. We might never know. What I came to find, was that through all my research I only wanted to find the flaws in God’s word and written history, to find an answer that said, “I’m right, God’s right, but the church’s institution is wrong.” I became angry at being denied by humans who thought they could tell me I couldn’t help God, not God himself.

In an article by the National Catholic Reporter, Polish Roman Catholic priest and Theologian of the Papal Household, Wojciech Giertych, was asked why women cannot be priests. He said that no one can say why Jesus chose who he did to share his teachings, and that “The son of God became flesh, but became flesh not as sexless humanity but as a male,” and that since priests are to be the image of Christ, “[priests’] maleness is essential to that role.” He later says that some parts of being with the church call for having and loving the church in a “male way,” where men apparently “show concern about structures, about the buildings of the church, about the roof of the church which is leaking, about the bishops’ conference, about the concordat between the church and the state.” Anyone, really anyone, can admire the archaic structures of holy houses, just like I did. I fell in love with the church also because of the Roman Catholic church architecture, so it mustn’t be a “male way,” but a “in-tune with the world and details way” where one doesn’t just go into a building with no attention to what’s around, but takes in everything. That isn’t male, it’s human.

The theologian does mention that women’s mission in the church is “beautiful” nonetheless because they touch God and Jesus’s heart differently. They encounter Jesus with faith, charity, approaching, touching, and kissing Jesus’ feet. Luckily, Giertych did acknowledge that “a Catholic woman might sincerely believe she is called to the priesthood, said such a “subjective” belief does not indicate the objective existence of a vocation,” I suppose that’s me? I, who felt entitled and deserving of being a priest is a, I guess you can call, reasonable idea or thought, but simply can’t be because the position doesn’t exist. I see now.

Vogue published a piece in 2018 about seven women being ordained Catholic priests by two bishops on June 29, 2002. This act was looked down upon by the Church and the women, the “Danube Seven,” were excommunicated from the church after refusing to nullify their ordination. Many priests were upset, some of the women’s priest superiors told them “that their sin in being ordained was equal to a clergy member sexually abusing a child.” Despite these comments, many of the women claimed that they felt spiritually awakened and called to the church—just how I was many years ago—and continue their religious path with pride.

Now there is an emerging movement and group that advocates, supports, and ordains women as Roman Catholic priests: the Roman Catholic Women Priests (RCWP). Their movement supporting women has gone international, reaching and ministering women in over 34 states, Canada, Europe, South & Central America, South Africa, the Philippines and Taiwan. Many men are also part of the movement to grow this new chapter in Catholic history. The first women ordained initiated this movement: Iris Müller, Ida Raming, Pia Bruner, Dagmar Celeste, Adeline Roitlinger, Gisela Forster and Christine Mayr-Lumetxberger; creating an opportunity for more women to partake in the Lord’s work.

Although I would not become a priest today, or in a few years when women priests are officially accepted by the church, I’m glad that the door has opened for others. I no longer am a strong believer in the church, if even a believer, after so many cases of rape behind sacred doors, abuse, and the neglect of women holding power. The fight for equality continues and may not cease, ever, and it is everyones job to ensure that doors we’ve known to be closed to our fellow women start cracking open—even if dust is thrown and moths come bugging. I might have lost my inspiration and dream, but I’m better off where I am now. Other young girls who also feel the need and love to share God’s teachings like I once did, now have a better chance and warm embrace of following their calling; may God be with them.

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alayne-stonecoldfox · 5 years

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Sansa and Songs

Sansa’s love of songs is shown early on in the books, and is a an important part of her character as well as her narrative.

Once, when she was just a little girl, a wandering singer had stayed with them at Winterfell for half a year. An old man he was, with white hair and windburnt cheeks, but he sang of knights and quests and ladies fair, and Sansa had cried bitter tears when he left them, and begged her father not to let him go. "The man has played us every song he knows thrice over," Lord Eddard told her gently. "I cannot keep him here against his will. You need not weep, though. I promise you, other singers will come."They hadn't, though, not for a year or more. Sansa had prayed to the Seven in their sept and old gods of the heart tree, asking them to bring the old man back, or better still to send another singer, young and handsome. But the gods never answered, and the halls of Winterfell stayed silent.

Many different characters comment on it

Lady Catelyn had said that Sansa was a gentle soul who loved lemon cakes, silken gowns, and songs of chivalry - Brienne

So the singer played for her, so soft and sad that Arya only heard snatches of the words, though the tune was half-familiar. Sansa would know it, I bet. Her sister had known all the songs, and she could even play a little, and sing so sweetly.- Arya

Sansa Stark, he mused. Soft-spoken sweet-smelling Sansa, who loved silks, songs, chivalry and tall gallant knights with handsome faces.- Tyrion

Her love of songs is at first tied to the way she wishes to see the world, her innocence, her dreams and her naivety. She has lived a happy and sheltered life, she is the beautiful daughter of a noble house, and has no reason to think her life would not be like the heroines of the songs she loves. This is her romanticised view of the world.

All she wanted was for things to be nice and pretty, the way they were in the songs.

Be brave, she told herself. Be brave, like a lady in a song.

"It is better than the songs," she whispered when they found the places that her father had promised her, among the high lords and ladies. Sansa was dressed beautifully that day, in a green gown that brought out the auburn of her hair, and she knew they were looking at her and smiling.

Sansa insisted. "I don't want someone brave and gentle, I want him. We'll be ever so happy, just like in the songs, you'll see. I'll give him a son with golden hair, and one day he'll be the king of all the realm, the greatest king that ever was, as brave as the wolf and as proud as the lion."

This quote below is one of the first times Sansa instead associates songs with a negative connotation, but in an interesting way.

The young knight in the blue cloak was nothing to her, some stranger from the Vale of Arryn whose name she had forgotten as soon as she heard it. And now the world would forget his name too, Sansa realized; there would be no songs sung for him. That was sad.

She has just witnessed a young Vale knight die in the joust. It is described as :

“the most terrifying moment of the day came during Ser Gregor's second joust, when his lance rode up and struck a young knight from the Vale under the gorget with such force that it drove through his throat, killing him instantly. The youth fell not ten feet from where Sansa was seated.”

Sansa’s reaction is recorded alongside her friend Jeyne’s

Jeyne Poole wept so hysterically that Septa Mordane finally took her off to regain her composure, but Sansa sat with her hands folded in her lap, watching with a strange fascination. She had never seen a man die before. She ought to be crying too, she thought, but the tears would not come.

I love this part of the book. It’s Sansa’s first, very blunt, encounter with death, though it takes place in such a wonderful colourful atmosphere, a court joust, where she’s been having the time of her life and has always dreamed of being part of. It is even quoted by her as being ‘a song come to life’. The way it’s written seems like she can’t quite process what she’s just seen. The reality of the death. The only thing that registers with her truly in that moment is that he won’t be the one the songs are sung for, and that’s what she finds most tragic. It is a shallow take on it. She is still a young girl caught up in songs and not reality.

This passage happens in Sansa’s third chapter, when Ned has decided Ser Gregor is to be brought before the Kings Justice, and Loras volunteers to bring him in but Ned refuses to send him. Sansa doesn’t understand why, and says this to her Septa, and Petyr Baelish overhears

Her father's decision still bewildered her. When the Knight of Flowers had spoken up, she'd been sure she was about to see one of Old Nan's stories come to life. Ser Gregor was the monster and Ser Loras the true hero who would slay him. He even looked a true hero, so slim and beautiful, with golden roses around his slender waist and his rich brown hair tumbling down into his eyes.

Lord Baelish stroked his little pointed beard and said, "Nothing? Tell me, child, why would you have sent Ser Loras?"Sansa had no choice but to explain about heroes and monsters. The king's councillor smiled. "Well, those are not the reasons I'd have given, but …" He had touched her cheek, his thumb lightly tracing the line of a cheekbone. "Life is not a song, sweetling. You may learn that one day to your sorrow."

Again, a moment highlighted Sansa’s naivety and how she truly believes life would be like the songs, Ser Loras defeating Gregor because he is the handsome young knight and Gregor the monster. It is also the first introduction of the line “life is not a song sweetling” which will be echoed throughout Sansa’s chapters from this point on, as her innocent world view is shattered and her naivety chipped away. The line is impactful coming from Petyr Baelish of all people, as he was once also a young boy who’s world vision was crafted from songs.

"There's a song," he remembered. "'Jenny of Oldstones, with the flowers in her hair.'""We're all just songs in the end. If we are lucky." She had played at being Jenny that day, had even wound flowers in her hair. And Petyr had pretended to be her Prince of Dragonflies. Catelyn could not have been more than twelve, Petyr just a boy.

Did you come with Lord Bracken and Lord Blackwood, the time they visited to lay their feud before my father? Lord Bracken’s singer played for us, and Catelyn danced six dances with Petyr that night, six, I counted.

He believed Catelyn Stark was being married against her will in an arranged marriage to Brandon Stark, falsely believing Cat loved him and he had taken her maiden head (he hadn’t, he was drunk and it was Lysa) and they were going to be together despite his lower birth, and he could fight for her hand, because that was how it happened in the songs where the gallant young hero’s always won. But that’s not what happened, and Petyr lost everything in that duel, his home at Riverrun, his ties with House Tully and what he thought was his true love, and from that point onwards he descended into bitterness, becoming a man of ruthless practicality. He recognises the same innocence in Sansa with a knowingness that it will not last.

Another key figure in Sansa’s narrative relating to songs is The Hound. From the beginning of her chapters he derisively refers to Sansa as a little bird who sings songs.

Some septa trained you well. You're like one of those birds from the Summer Isles, aren't you? A pretty little talking bird, repeating all the pretty little words they taught you to recite."

Tell me, little bird, what kind of god makes a monster like the Imp, or a halfwit like Lady Tanda's daughter? If there are gods, they made sheep so wolves could eat mutton, and they made the weak for the strong to play with."

A hound will die for you, but never lie to you. And he'll look you straight in the face." He cupped her under the jaw, raising her chin, his fingers pinching her painfully. "And that's more than little birds can do, isn't it? I never got my song.""I . . . I know a song about Florian and Jonquil.”"Florian and Jonquil? A fool and his cunt. Spare me. But one day I'll have a song from you, whether you will it or no."

The Hound seems to resent Sansa’s innocence. He is a character that certainly knows how harsh the world is, and he see’s Sansa’s world views as foolish, and every chance he gets he seems to want to wake her up to the real world, whilst also acting as a protector. She brings out a lot of conflicting feelings within him, as he does in Sansa, as he does not fit her idea at all of what a knight was meant to be. His harsh demeanour is very confronting to her throughout her early chapters, culminating in a scene in her room where he seemingly planned on raping her, but could bring himself to do it, because as much as he hated her innocence, it touches him as well. He settles on wanting a song.

"Think I'm so drunk that I'd believe that?" He let go his grip on her arm, swaying slightly as he stood, stripes of light and darkness falling across his terrible burnt face. "You look almost a woman . . . face, teats, and you're taller too, almost . . . ah, you're still a stupid little bird, aren't you? Singing all the songs they taught you . . . sing me a song, why don't you? Go on. Sing to me. Some song about knights and fair maids. You like knights, don't you?"He was scaring her. "T-true knights, my lord."

I could keep you safe," he rasped. "They're all afraid of me. No one would hurt you again, or I'd kill them." He yanked her closer, and for a moment she thought he meant to kiss her. He was too strong to fight. She closed her eyes, wanting it to be over, but nothing happened. "Still can't bear to look, can you?" she heard him say. He gave her arm a hard wrench, pulling her around and shoving her down onto the bed. "I'll have that song. Florian and Jonquil, you said." His dagger was out, poised at her throat. "Sing, little bird. Sing for your little life."Her throat was dry and tight with fear, and every song she had ever known had fled from her mind. Please don't kill me, she wanted to scream, please don't. She could feel him twisting the point, pushing it into her throat, and she almost closed her eyes again, but then she remembered. It was not the song of Florian and Jonquil, but it was a song. Her voice sounded small and thin and tremulous in her ears.

This scene, as well as the entirety of the chapters that come after Ned’s death and covering the battle of the blackwater, references songs in a new dark way in Sansa’s chapters.

Perhaps I will die too, she told herself, and the thought did not seem so terrible to her. If she flung herself from the window, she could put an end to her suffering, and in the years to come the singers would write songs of her grief.

She called for the heroes from the songs, for Florian and Ser Ryam Redwyne and Prince Aemon the Dragonknight, but no one heard. Women swarmed over her like weasels, pinching her legs and kicking her in the belly, and someone hit her in the face and she felt her teeth shatter. Then she saw the bright glimmer of steel. The knife plunged into her belly and tore and tore and tore, until there was nothing left of her down there but shiny wet ribbons.

She heard it as she had never heard it before, and there were other sounds as well, grunts of pain, angry curses, shouts for help, and the moans of wounded and dying men. In the songs, the knights never screamed nor begged for mercy.

The deep moan of warhorns, the creak and thud of catapults flinging stones, the splashes and splinterings, the crackle of burning pitch and thrum of scorpions loosing their yard-long iron-headed shafts . . . and beneath it all, the cries of dying men.It was another sort of song, a terrible song.

They are children, Sansa thought. They are silly little girls, even Elinor. They've never seen a battle, they've never seen a man die, they know nothing. Their dreams were full of songs and stories, the way hers had been before Joffrey cut her father's head off. Sansa pitied them. Sansa envied them.

Do you have any notion what happens when a city is sacked, Sansa? No, you wouldn't, would you? All you know of life you learned from singers, and there's such a dearth of good sacking songs.""True knights would never harm women and children." The words rang hollow in her ears even as she said them.

For those who remained, a singer was brought forth to fill the hall with the sweet music of the high harp. He sang of Jonquil and Florian, of Prince Aemon the Dragonknight and his love for his brother's queen, of Nymeria's ten thousand ships. They were beautiful songs, but terribly sad. Several of the women began to weep, and Sansa felt her own eyes growing moist."Very good, dear." The queen leaned close. "You want to practice those tears. You'll need them for King Stannis."

But a voice inside her whispered, There are no heroes, and she remembered what Lord Petyr had said to her, here in this very hall. "Life is not a song, sweetling," he'd told her. "You may learn that one day to your sorrow."

Sansa’s world view has begun to change as she is no longer naive and has suffered tragedy, and nothing is happening as she thought it would. She still seems to love songs, but now there’s a lot of melancholy attached to them.

The third key figure in Sansa’s narrative associated with songs, after Petyr Baelish and the hound, is Marillion. Her Aunt Lysa’s favourite singer who she encounters first at the Fingers during Petyr and Lysa’s marriage, where he attempts to sing to her and rape her.

"Marillion?" she said, uncertain. "You are . . . kind to think of me, but . . . pray forgive me. I am very tired.""And very beautiful. All night I have been making songs for you in my head. A lay for your eyes, a ballad for your lips, a duet to your breasts. I will not sing them, though. They were poor things, unworthy of such beauty." He sat on her bed and put his hand on her leg. "Let me sing to you with my body instead." She caught a whiff of his breath. "You're drunk.""I never get drunk. Mead only makes me merry. I am on fire." His hand slipped up to her thigh. "And you as well."

Luckily, he is scared off by Lothor Brune, who is asked by Petyr Baelish to watch over her that night. But Marillion and his singing factor again into one of the biggest moments of Sansa and Baelish’s story so far, as he plays his harp and sings to cover the sounds of Lysa’s attempt at killing Sansa by throwing her through the moon door.

“No." Sansa planted her feet and tried to squirm backward, but her aunt did not budge. "Not this way. Please . . ." She put a hand up, her fingers scrabbling at the doorframe, but she could not get a grip, and her feet were sliding on the wet marble floor. Lady Lysa pressed her forward inexorably. Her aunt outweighed her by three stone. "The lady lay a-kissing, upon a mound of hay," Marillion was singing. Sansa twisted sideways, hysterical with fear, and one foot slipped out over the void. She screamed. "Hey-nonny, hey-nonny, hey-nonny-hey." The wind flapped her skirts up and bit at her bare legs with cold teeth. She could feel snowflakes melting on her cheeks. Sansa flailed, found Lysa's thick auburn braid, and clutched it tight. "My hair!" her aunt shrieked. "Let go of my hair!" She was shaking, sobbing. They teetered on the edge. Far off, she heard the guards pounding on the door with their spears, demanding to be let in. Marillion broke off his song."Lysa! What's the meaning of this?" The shout cut through the sobs and heavy breathing. Footsteps echoed down the High Hall. "Get back from there! Lysa, what are you doing?" The guards were still beating at the door; Littlefinger had come in the back way, through the lords' entrance behind the dais.

Petyr comes in time to stop it. Of course, we know this is when he kills Lysa himself. Marillion is witness to all of this. Petyr decides to keep him alive for his own ends, sending him to the dungeons to be tortured into now defending their innocence.

"We have come to an agreement, Marillion and I. Mord can be most persuasive. And if our singer disappoints us and sings a song we do not care to hear, why, you and I need only say he lies. Whom do you imagine Lord Nestor will believe?""Us?" Sansa wished she could be certain.

"Lord Petyr has been kind enough to let me keep my harp," the blind singer said. "My harp and . . . my tongue . . . so I may sing my songs. Lady Lysa dearly loved my singing . . ."

Sansa most traumatic moment, the moment she almost died, was serenaded with a song. Now she and Petyr use that singer to cover the crime of Lysa’s death with Sansa being able to hear him from down in the dungeons where he sings at night.

The singer's voice was strong and sweet. Sansa thought he sounded better than he ever had before, his voice richer somehow, full of pain and fear and longing. She did not understand why the gods would have given such a voice to such a wicked man.

He would have taken me by force on the Fingers if Petyr had not set Ser Lothor to watch over me, she had to remind herself. And he played to drown out my cries when Aunt Lysa tried to kill me.That did not make the songs any easier to hear.

"Please," she begged Lord Petyr, "can't you make him stop?""I gave the man my word, sweetling." Petyr Baelish, Lord of Harrenhal, Lord Paramount of the Trident, and Lord Protector of the Eyrie and the Vale of Arryn, looked up from the letter he was writing. He had written a hundred letters since Lady Lysa's fall. Sansa had seen the ravens coming and going from the rookery. "I'd sooner suffer his singing than listen to his sobbing."

That night the dead man sang "The Day They Hanged Black Robin," "The Mother's Tears," and "The Rains of Castamere." Then he stopped for a while, but just as Sansa began to drift off he started to play again. He sang "Six Sorrows," "Fallen Leaves," and "Alysanne." Such sad songs, she thought. When she closed her eyes she could see him in his sky cell, huddled in a corner away from the cold black sky, crouched beneath a fur with his woodharp cradled against his chest. I must not pity him, she told herself. He was vain and cruel, and soon he will be dead. She could not save him. And why should she want to? Marillion tried to rape her, and Petyr had saved her life not once but twice. Some lies you have to tell. Lies had been all that kept her alive in King's Landing.

Marillion in his entirety really opens up a more troubling world view for Sansa to start to digest. He was beautiful and young and a singer, but he tried to rape her. He tried to aid in her murder. He was tortured into defending her and Baelish. She knows he will be killed. Sansa is conflicted by all of this, feeling haunted by his sad songs as she tried to sleep but can’t. He has given her a lot to think about regarding her survival but also her morality.

"My lady was too trusting for this world." Petyr spoke so tenderly that Sansa would have believed he'd loved his wife. "Lysa could not see the evil in men, only the good. Marillion sang sweet songs, and she mistook that for his nature."

Songs have been weaved throughout Sansa’s narrative consistently, alongside three men who enforce these links even more. The Hound who wanted a song, Lord Baelish who was once a lover of songs himself, and Marillion, the singer. I believe that songs will continue to play a thematic role in Sansa’s chapters, but i would say the dreams and innocence once associated with them in her mind is long gone.

The moment came back to her vividly. "You told me that life was not a song. That I would learn that one day, to my sorrow." She felt tears in her eyes, but whether she wept for Ser Dontos Hollard, for Joff, for Tyrion, or for herself, Sansa could not say.

As the boy's lips touched her own she found herself thinking of another kiss. She could still remember how it felt, when his cruel mouth pressed down on her own. He had come to Sansa in the darkness as green fire filled the sky. He took a song and a kiss, and left me nothing but a bloody cloak.It made no matter. That day was done, and so was Sansa.

That day was done, and so was Sansa.

#sansa stark #petyr baelish #sandor clegane #asoiaf #got #long post #SORRY IT'S SO LONG #i just...LOVE. BOOK. QUOTES

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mediaeval-muse · 4 years

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Book Review

Cruel Beauty by Rosamund Hodge. Balzer and Bray. 2014.

Rating: 3/5 stars

Genre: YA fantasy

Part of a Series? Yes. Fairy Tales #1 of 3 (so far). But it doesn’t seem like the series is one narrative.

Summary: Since birth, Nyx has been betrothed to the evil ruler of her kingdom-all because of a foolish bargain struck by her father. And since birth, she has been in training to kill him. With no choice but to fulfill her duty, Nyx resents her family for never trying to save her and hates herself for wanting to escape her fate. Still, on her seventeenth birthday, Nyx abandons everything she's ever known to marry the all-powerful, immortal Ignifex. Her plan? Seduce him, destroy his enchanted castle, and break the nine-hundred-year-old curse he put on her people. But Ignifex is not at all what Nyx expected. The strangely charming lord beguiles her, and his castle—a shifting maze of magical rooms—enthralls her. As Nyx searches for a way to free her homeland by uncovering Ignifex's secrets, she finds herself unwillingly drawn to him. Even if she could bring herself to love her sworn enemy, how can she refuse her duty to kill him? With time running out, Nyx must decide what is more important: the future of her kingdom, or the man she was never supposed to love.

***Full review under the cut.***

Trigger Warnings: forced marriage, child neglect, violence, madness; allusions to: tyranny, rape, murder

Overview: To be honest, this book came somewhat of a surprise to me. I wouldn’t have picked it up if a friend hadn’t recommended it, since the summary makes it look like a run-of-the-mill YA fantasy. In some ways, it does make use of tropes that are somewhat cliche by now; however, I think it also deals with ideas that are more interesting than the summary or many of the reviews give it credit for. Though there were some things that irritated me, such as the main character’s inner voice, the worldbuilding intrigued me enough to want to keep reading, and the focus on allowing the main character to embrace her anger was refreshing. Overall, I do think it made use of interesting ideas and had potential to be so much more, which is why I’m rating it 3 stars.

Writing: This book uses a first person point of view, which isn’t my cup of tea. Personal preference aside, I think Hodge did a good job balancing descriptions of her fantasy world and the main character’s inner voice, inserting some nice imagery here and there that really made for some vivid scenery and dark fantasy mood. Sometimes, the prose could border on the dramatic, especially when describing the main character’s inner thoughts or emotions, but it worked out well and fit with the overall mood and circumstances of the narrative.

Plot: This book is a "Beauty and the Beast” retelling that mainly follows Nyx, a 17 year old girl who has been betrothed to a demon lord named Ignifex in the hopes that she can destroy him and thus free her kingdom from his tyranny. It’s pretty straight-forward. I wasn’t very enthralled by this plotline, especially since the buildup consisted of exploring a house and Nyx kind of just reacting to what she found. I wish a little more purpose had gone into the rooms, so that they fit together to explore Nyx’s psyche or comment upon the major themes of the book - anger and hatred as part of a person, the role of duty, or the connection to one’s family.

I did, however, like the ending and thought it was quite clever. Without spoiling anything, I will say that it was a neat exploration of the darkness within a person, and I think the setup could have really brought out this consideration of human nature.

Characters: The main characters in this book include Nyx, Ignifex, and a shadow creature called Shade (who is something of a servant to Ignifex). Nyx, our narrator, is sympathetic in that she has been married against her will, but after a few chapters, I disliked being stuck in her head. She seemed to have no joy whatsoever in her life and was incredibly self-loathing, which, though understandable, was also quite irritating. I also didn’t quite think there was enough to her character to warrant her being especially equipped to take on this challenge. Nyx has very little agency (she never finds a single heart room - the things she needs to enact her plan - by herself) and I couldn’t quite believe that she was the first girl in 900 years to survive looking at demons (why? she just does) or think of stealing keys. I did like, however, that her arc seemed to be about embracing her anger; too often, women are told not to be angry, and giving her the space to feel her feeling was well-done. If the rooms had been more about developing that idea, I think I could have seen her as more of a heroine.

Ignifex, a demon lord, was less interesting to me because he seemed to fit the mold of that arrogant-hot-guy-who-is-actually-a-misunderstood-monster archetype. He’s strict without being a complete asshole (he doesn’t force Nyx to have sex with him, and gives her a lot of freedom to explore his “castle”), so I was inwardly groaning every time he appeared because he was another “beast” who is really just a conventionally attractive guy with a tragic past.

Shade, a “servant” made of shadow, was immediately likable because he was kind. I love characters who are low on the social ladder but intent on sticking it to the man and doing the right thing at great risk to themselves. Initially, his relationship with Nyx was rather sweet, and I very much enjoyed the interactions between the two.

The supporting characters are not very involved throughout most of the story, appearing mainly at the beginning and the end. Nyx’s family seemed altogether horrid, favoring her twin sister over her because Nyx was chosen to be the offering to the demon lord. I could understand her resentment, but I do wish there was more complexity in how she thought of them.

Nyx’s twin sister, Astraia, was naive but sweet, and although I was irritated that Nyx was so cold to her at first, I ended up enjoying that Astraia became central to Nyx’s motivations and emotional development throughout the book. I think sisters are positioned to hate each other in many fairy tales and their retellings, so seeing them connect was wonderful.

Other: Maybe this is personal preference, but I find marriage plots involving teens or young adults a bit off-putting, especially when the marriage is between a teenage girl and an immortal creature. I think I could have dealt with it fine if the marriage was just about fulfilling a bargain, but there were some scenes where Nyx was instructed to please her husband sexually, where she talks about her breasts and what revealing outfit she was wearing, how she might seduce the demon lord, where the fear of being raped is vocalized, etc. I understand that sexuality is a part of teenagers’ lives, and I’m not against depicting it in books. In this context, however, it didn’t quite sit right with me.

Speaking of the romance, I did enjoy the banter between Nyx and Ingifex, but I hated that there was a kind of love triangle with Shade. Nyx bounces back and forth between the two, and though it makes sense by the end, I loathed the moments when Nyx was basically like “Ignifex killed a bunch of people and ruined my life but he’s so hot and it’s arousing when I kiss him, so I think I like him.” This happens a lot in YA/New Adult, and I’ve never understood it. I did like, however, that the two love interests seemed to like different aspects of her. Shade treated Nyx as a hero who would save everyone, giving her confidence in herself; Ignifex allowed her to be herself and liked the darkest parts of her, which was liberating. So, in that regard, there was something interesting going on, but I’m just personally fed up with love triangles.

The major redeeming aspect of this book for me was the worldbuilding. The novel takes place in something of an alternate universe in which Greco-Roman culture and religion has continued for a few hundred more years, the gods and all immortal creatures are real, and magic is practiced and studied like a science. I loved the allusions to classical mythology, poetry, and philosophy, as well as the imaginative work that went into thinking about how a world might look if Greco-Roman society continued.

Recommendations: I would recommend this book if you’re interested in fairy tale retellings (especially Beauty and the Beast), Greco-Roman mythology and culture, demons, curses, trickster gods and bargaining, and supernatural houses/castles.

#book reviews

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yeniayofnymeria · 4 years

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SanSan “The Beauty and The Beast”

Hello!

Yes, I’m a Jonarya shipper but i could not resist to share this theory. :)

Personally, at first I looked cold but warmed up over time; Sansa and Sandor relationship. I've done a few researches on the subject, and frankly, I haven't found a satisfactory level of theory. But I used the excerpts from the video of asoiaf-theories and bridgte4 (youtube).

For those who do not know, Sansan is a Sandor and Sansa love theory.

GRRM is someone who leaves a lot of hints on his books. Like the detective, we can trace these traces and see what can happen. While I was reading Sansa's POVs - I didn't even pay particular attention - I saw a lot of signs about these two.

PROBABILITIES

Firstly, Sandor and Arya decided to go to the Valley, but for various reasons they could not. If he comes back, he may have to go to the Valley for his own reasons and may find her there. Since there is apparently no reason to go back to the south, it may be the direction of the Valley, where he has tried to go before. Although the North seems to be a possibility in the future, we understand from the conversation with Arya that he has nothing to do with the cold north. As a matter of fact, Sansa is currently in the Valley and may not turn north until the 7th book.

When we think that Sandor is in love with Sansa, it's normal for him to want to protect her. Especially when he see that Sansa was trapped by LF... Of course he knows that LF is the one responsible for Ned's death, this would be a second reason to push him to make that decision.

Throughout the scenes in KL, Sandor occasionally protected Sansa in some respects (as much as he could); Supporting the lie made to prevent Dantos from being killed; He blocked it when Sansa decided to push Joff to kill him (otherwise she would die), and saved her from rape in the city. If you pay attention, he often walks around Sansa.

If we look at the last point Sansa has come to, we can conclude that Sansa is no longer afraid of Sandor. Thus, when they spend time together, she can make the bad-tempered warrior, who has a bad mouth, harsh and threatening, see something good in him. As a matter of fact, when he heard the story that his face burned, she felt sorry for him. When they spoke badly about him, she defended Sandor from within and said that he was only afraid of fire.

While Sansa is a young girl who dreams of a handsome and heroic knight, Sandor is an anti-hero who is exactly the opposite of the knights in these dreams, hating knights. If we consider the irony logic of GRRM, there may be a story Beauty and the Beast we will read with pleasure. (GRRM already has a TV show with this name for 3 seasons. So he likes this story.)

The fact that the first three letters of Sansa and Sandor are in harmony is a nice detail, but of course probably this is just coincidence.

Sandor is a 30-year-old young man, so he's not that old. As a matter of fact, we cannot say that there is a very incompatible age among them.

SANSAN FORESHADOWINGS

Septa Mordane sniffed in disapproval. "A noble lady does not feed dogs at her table," she said, breaking off another piece of comb and letting the honey drip down onto her bread.

"She's not a dog, she's a direwolf," Sansa pointed out as Lady licked her fingers with a rough tongue

...

The king was in no mood for more argument. "Enough, Ned, I will hear no more. A direwolf is a savage beast. Sooner or later it would have turned on your girl the same way the other did on my son. Get her a dog, she'll be happier for it."

After the Lady's death warrant, the king said, "get her a dog." says. Some readers think it's a FS for Sandor.(.Remember, Sandor is Joff's dog, later he can be Sansa's dog)

The rasping voice trailed off. He squatted silently before her, a hulking black shape shrouded in the night, hidden from her eyes. Sansa could hear his ragged breathing. She was sad for him, she realized. Somehow, the fear had gone away.

The silence went on and on, so long that she began to grow afraid once more, but she was afraid for him now, not for herself. She found his massive shoulder with her hand. "He was no true knight," she whispered to him.

I mentioned above; She's seeing the wound inside Sandor and she approach to it with a sense of sympathy / empathy. I can tell you that women have a weakness for wounded men. As a matter of fact, when Cersei first saw Rhaegar, she looked deeply into his sad eyes and wanted to heal his wounds.

"I like dogs better than knights... A hound will die for you, but never lie to you. And he'll look you straight in the face."

In this scene, Sandor protected Sansa from the King Guard. And the knights never protected Sansa, but the dog did. There may be a sign that Sandor will always be honest with Sansa and die to protect her. Actually, I think there might be a moment when he has to protect her against the Mountain, but I don't know how these three will come together. (Remember Bran's coma dream "shadows of Mountain, Jaime and Hound" around her and yes, Arya)

In first book, Loras gave Sansa a red rose and she took a sweet smell (Remember, sweet word and dead symbolism: https://www.reddit.com/r/pureasoiaf/comments/cr8snv/a_death_mark_in_asoiaf_sweet_spoiler_main/ ). Red one is symbolism for love and "sweet" is dead or almost die (Like Bran and Tyrion).

Also there is this https://www.reddit.com/r/asoiaf/comments/am3xzt/spoilers_extended_the_serpentine_steps_of_doom/

When i read it, i noticed this scene...

She was racing headlong down the serpentine steps when a man lurched out of a hidden doorway. Sansa caromed into him and lost her balance. Iron fingers caught her by the wrist before she could fall, and a deep voice rasped at her. "It's a long roll down the serpentine, little bird. Want to kill us both?" His laughter was rough as a saw on stone. "Maybe you do."

Of course it could be nothing but caught my attention.

"Enough," she heard the Hound rasp.

"No it isn't," the king replied. "Boros, make her naked."

...

"Someone give the girl something to cover herself with," the Imp said. Sandor Clegane unfastened his cloak and tossed it at her. Sansa clutched it against her chest, fists bunched hard in the white wool. The coarse weave was scratchy against her skin, but no velvet had ever felt so fine.

It is remarkable that Sansa clings to Sandor's cloak and feels safe. A similar cloak issue will repeat one or two more times in the future. It's all about Sandor's cloak. The cloak represents “protection..

She even sang for Tyrion the Imp and for the Hound. He is no true knight but he saved me all the same, she told the Mother. Save him if you can, and gentle the rage inside him.

Here we see that she slowly began to care for the Hound, and of course she was grateful for saving her, which she will remember again in the future and will say to LF(inside her); "hound saved me, not you."

If the theories are true, the anger within Sandor may be a bit diminished.

"I could keep you safe," he rasped. "They're all afraid of me. No one would hurt you again, or I'd kill them." He yanked her closer, and for a moment she thought he meant to kiss her. He was too strong to fight. She closed her eyes, wanting it to be over, but nothing happened. "Still can't bear to look, can you?" she heard him say. He gave her arm a hard wrench, pulling her around and shoving her down onto the bed. "I'll have that song. Florian and Jonquil, you said." His dagger was out, poised at her throat. "Sing, little bird. Sing for your little life."

...

Some instinct made her lift her hand and cup his cheek with her fingers. The room was too dark for her to see him, but she could feel the stickiness of the blood, and a wetness that was not blood. "Little bird," he said once more, his voice raw and harsh as steel on stone. Then he rose from the bed. Sansa heard cloth ripping, followed by the softer sound of retreating footsteps.

When she crawled out of bed, long moments later, she was alone. She found his cloak on the floor, twisted up tight, the white wool stained by blood and fire. The sky outside was darker by then, with only a few pale green ghosts dancing against the stars. A chill wind was blowing, banging the shutters. Sansa was cold. She shook out the torn cloak and huddled beneath it on the floor, shivering.

One of my favorite quotes shows how much Sandor really is in love. Then Sandor throws his cape and she takes it, and Sansa clings to Sandor's cape again, to get out of the cold. We know that she keeps hiding his cape and he doesn't even know why she's doing it. It is also a remarkable detail that the desire to touch his face with a moment of strange emotion occurs.

Ashford Tournament and King's Hand Tournament

Jonsa fans use the Ashford incident for Jonsa, but this is a Sansan theory.

"Is the Hound the champion now?" Sansa asked Ned.

"No," he told her. "There will be one final joust, between the Hound and the Knight of Flowers."

But Sansa had the right of it after all. A few moments later Ser Loras Tyrell walked back onto the field in a simple linen doublet and said to Sandor Clegane, "I owe you my life. The day is yours, ser."

In both the King's Hand and the Ashford, the Lady's champions were another, and the champion was completely unexpected. The unexpected champion in Sansa's tournament was Sandor.

Dunk stood up against to a tyrant. Sandor did the same thing (against his big brother). And Dunk was probably not even a knight. Sandor is not a knight either.

Imaginary Kiss

The most emphasized issue in SanSan theory is Sandor's kiss. Sandor never did that, but Sansa remembered twice that Sandor kissed him.

Readers comment that Sansa had romantic feelings for Sandor. This why she remember this way.

Megga couldn't sing, but she was mad to be kissed. She and Alla played a kissing game sometimes, she confessed, but it wasn't the same as kissing a man, much less a king. Sansa wondered what Megga would think about kissing the Hound, as she had. He'd come to her the night of the battle stinking of wine and blood. He kissed me and threatened to kill me, and made me sing him a song.

...

Sweetrobin threw his skinny arms around her and kissed her. It was a little boy's kiss, and clumsy. Everything Robert Arryn did was clumsy. If I close my eyes I can pretend he is the Knight of Flowers. Ser Loras had given Sansa Stark a red rose once, but he had never kissed her . . . and no Tyrell would ever kiss Alayne Stone. Pretty as she was, she had been born on the wrong side of the blanket.

She thought of dreaming of the Knight of Flowers when Robin kissed her, but suddenly she found herself thinking of the hound. And she says this. "He left me with nothing but a bloody cloak."

Another detail that attracts my attention. It feels like a lover talking about her lover, what did she expect? What he should left behind him for her?

GRRM interviews about imaginary kisses.

You will see, in A Storm of Swords and later volumes, that Sansa remembers the Hound kissing her the night he came to her bedroom… but if you look at the scene, he never does. That will eventually mean something, but just now it’s a subtle touch, something most of the readers may not even pick up on,

And there is this video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cLynybVOi2I

Thank you for read.

#asoiaf #sansan #sandor the hound clegane #sansa stark

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kallypsowrites · 5 years

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Are Adapted Characters Seperate from their Original Counterparts?

So here’s a post that has been on my mind for quite some time, partially because, after being in the Game of Thrones fandom pretty regularly, I see people compare the book and show characters a lot. This is understandable as changes through adaptation are inevitable and sometimes a character can be changed for the worse or for the better, depending on your preference. But today I want to address the question: should adapted characters be viewed as an EXTENSION of their book character or should they be able to stand on their own?

Before I get into the weeds of this argument, imagine you are me. I’m a seventeen year old high school student and my brother has decided to show me this rad new show which has already aired two seasons and is several months off of airing the third season. Game of Thrones. Naturally, I am excited and I dive right into watching with him. And of course I love it. I’m a fantasy nut and there’s magic and dragons but also POLITICS and really intriguing character dynamics and dialogue and moral grey areas. All the stuff I like! I know there are books of course, but I want to experience the show and be surprised as it comes out, so I hold off reading the books. In fact, I hold off reading the series all the way through until after season seven airs (in an effort to make the long wait for season 8 less painful. It didn’t work. I read too fast).

What’s important here is that for several years, the show was my ONLY CONCEPT of all of these characters. The book versions, to me, didn’t exist. All I had access to was the characters on the screen. And that’s all many of the GA has access too. Let’s face it, the books are bricks and, for that matter, dense. A lot of people aren’t going to take the time to read them, especially the strangely paced and structured book four and five. So what does that mean? The characters on the screen have to stand on their own. And therefore, you can easily argue that the onscreen characters are seperate entities.

There’s been a lot of talk in the fandom about the show creators white washing male characters and ‘greying’ female characters. That is certainly an issue worth talking about and I’m not trying to discourage that conversation, nor am I trying to say that we shouldn’t talk about adaptation changes and focus on the books and tv show as different entities. They are in conversation with each other. But I do want to address the fact that just because something is present in the book does not mean that watchers of the tv show have to acknowledge it as ‘canon’...especially if the show never mentions it. They are, in many ways, seperate, particularly since the TV show has moved ahead of the books.

Conversely, this means the TV show can’t rely on the books as part of their ‘canon’ to take short cuts. Because if it isn’t made clear in the show and can only be understood by a book reader, then the show has failed in some way. The TV show has, in fact, dropped the ball on a couple of prophesies in this way. The fact that they did not include the ‘valonqar’ section of Cersei’s prophesy takes away from her reasons for hating Tyrion and, for that matter, doesn’t guaruntee either of her brothers will be her killer. It wasn’t in the prophesy in the show, so it really doesn’t matter if it was in the books. Its not part of show canon.

Even more egregious is Mirri Maz Dur’s prophesy to Daenerys. In the books, she says that Daenerys will never bare a living child again. In the show, she does not say anything of the sort. And yet Dany says to Jon that ‘the witch who murdered her husband’ said she would never bare a child again. That’s the show straight up making something up for cheap forshadowing and if the casual watcher went back to view the first season they might be understandably confused. Even if it happens in the book IT MUST BE PRESENT IN THE SHOW in order to effect the show.

This applies to character interpretation as well. And as an example, let’s talk about Tyrion.

The Moral White Washing of Tyrion Lannister

Tyrion Lannister is one of the most commonly cited characters in the conversation about moral white washing, and with good reason. Tyrion is never the best person, but he’s certainly not the worst. Being born a dwarf, he is an underdog who has been ridiculed all his life. But he’s also his father’s son and spends much of the series manipulating people in order to gain power in King’s Landing or elsewhere. It just happens that he is a better person than a lot of the other characters surrounding him. It’s not that he’s not sympathetic, but he’s not an angel.

He, however, has a much darker character arc following the death of his father and his Essos stuff, in particular, really delves into the dark corners of his mind. His father’s cruelty shows itself more than ever and being in his head is almost difficult. In the show, this Essos arc is effectively deleted. Tyrion never meets Young Griff, never meets Illyrio, spends much less time wallowing in the darkness, and actually meets Daenerys pretty dang quickly. And, considering the fact that we’re not in his head, we’re not really exposed to any of his thoughts. It’s left to us to decide how he feels about the situation based on Peter Dinklage’s acting.

But the most contested aspect of Tyrion’s character is his relationship with Sansa and how he treats her throughout the books vs the show. In the books, Tyrion thinks often about how he is attracted to her. Honestly, it’s uncomfortable at many points, considering that Sansa is like...twelve. And he straight up molests her. He doesn’t rape her on their wedding night, but I don’t think we would call him person of the year for that. He sees an opportunity in being married to her and he’s not completely repulsed by the idea.

In the show, it’s a very different story. Tyrion protects Sansa from Joffrey before their engagement (and even from the Hound in a deleted scene), and his kindness to her does not seem to be motivated in any way by attraction. When he is engaged to her, he is very clearly repulsed, and it is painted much more like him being forced into it. He does not make any physical advances on her and in his scenes with Shae, he makes clear that he sees her as a child and is therefore not interested. Again, because we are not in his head, he are able to interpret this at face value if we prefer. That he isn’t attracted to her and is only doing this to satisfy his father.

At the wedding, he prevents the bedding and, while making a few very crude comments in order to play off threatening the king, does not touch Sansa. Does not even let her undress all the way before he says that they don’t have to do this. And he really doesn’t seem all that bitter about it. Because we don’t have access to his thoughts, we never hear him lamenting that his child bride will never want him.

All of Tyrion’s interactions with Sansa on the show, especially after their marriage, are that of someone trying to make a girl’s life slightly more tolerable even though she is a prisoner. He sympathizes with her and is genuinely horrified by her situation. And he never makes a move even once or complains about it. Because she’s a child. It’s easy for show only watchers to come out of watching this relationship with the opinion of: yeah. Tyrion’s a decent guy. Even though it would be expected and accepted in this society for him to press Sansa, he doesn’t, and that’s cool of him. I’m in NO WAY saying that this means Sansa owes him anything. He’s a Lannister and the Lannisters destroyed her family and if she doesn’t want him, she doesn’t want him. End of story. But Tyrion is, overall, a more sympathetic and better person for how he is portrayed in the show. And you can’t blame show only watchers for seeing him in that way.

Of course this is a double edged sword. In the books, it seems that Tyrion is headed toward some sort of dark/tragic end, and his darker personality earns this. But if the show wants to give him the same ending it might seem very jarring. Because the show has not earned making Tyrion a villain. It has not given him an arc that makes that narratively satisfying because of the white washing. Now maybe Tyrion will get a perfectly find ending or at least remain as a hero. It’s possible that he could have some sort of redemption in the books as well. But we’ll have to wait until season 8 to see how that ends up.

There are a lot of characters that have diverged from their show counterparts. Lena Heady has imbued Cersei Lannister with some very genuinely sympathetic moments and the pathos she brings to her role has moved me on multiple occasions. She also plays Cersei as more in control than she seems in the books, very much her father’s daughter. The book, again, has Cersei’s thoughts and we get a view into her increasingly unstable and paranoid brain. The two characters feel very seperate from each other so conversations and interpretations may vary depend on the version.

The whole ‘lack of thoughts’ thing also makes Jaime easier to stomach in the show. Many of his thoughts are shocking and kind of vile in the books. Nikolaj gives Jaime more pathos and softens him. Again, maybe it’s moral white washing, but you cannot blame a show only watcher for that (like me, who fell in love with Jaime long before I even touched the books). I know people like that Jaime got away from Cersei in the books but that was much more motivated by his own jealousy as opposed to any moral problems he has with her actions, and abandoning her to suffer at the hands of the high sparrow always left a sort of sour taste in my mouth. And I say this as a JaimexBrienne shipper, which I’ll talk about later on. But first--

The Greying of Daenerys

@rainhadaenerys made a pretty extensive post on the differences between show and book Dany which I’ll link here . It’s highly show critical so bear that in mind, but one of the things she mentions is that Daenerys is consistently made more impulsive, less competent and ‘greyer’ as a character. There is a more of a sense, especially in season seven, that she must be ‘controlled’ by her advisors and she rarely makes plans of her own but rather listens to other make plans and decides based off of that. Lots of valid points made in this post.

But if we were to interpret the show only and look at Daenerys as a character seperate from her very different book counterpart, it begins to make sense why the dark dany theory became so popular, especially after season seven. I’m not going to argue my stance on that theory here, but suffice it to say there are a lot of show!dany characteristics that COULD potentially lend themselves to a tragic fall from grace. Though you could make the argument that this is just a writing error on D&D’s, that does not make the interpretation invalid. One could just as easily argue that yes, the transistion is clumsy but that George will write an even better and more believable fall from grace. Again, not saying it will happen. I know a lot of people on all sides of the debate following. I’m just saying that you can’t blame people for differing interpretations based on the show alone.

Posts like the one linked above are great for thinking about the show in context of what it is adapted from. But in a New Critical reading (which focuses on the text itself), we could analyze the show only to extrapolate that perhaps Daenerys is not going to be the hero everyone expects. It’s equally possible to extrapolate that she will be the hero and I’ve written a post here on the various interpretations of Dany so I won’t go too in to detail on this post. But it’s just another example of a show character needing to stand on their own seperate from the books.

The Inconsistency of Arya

Sometimes an adapted character is different from their book counterpart. And sometimes they are inconsistent in their own adaptation. Such is the case of Arya Stark. She’s one of my favorite characters and despite the butchering of her Braavos arc, I still took a lot out of her stuff there when I first watched it. Watching Arya struggle to hold onto her name and her very identity is quite emotional. For the most part, show! Arya might be a bit different but she’s consistent with herself.

Except for fucking season seven? Arya’s arc with Sansa featured some truly trash dialogue (from both characters but especially Arya). And I have nothing against these characters clashing. Far from it. It makes sense for their to be tension. But it was very bad tension and Arya literally threatening to murder her sister and steal her face was one of the more ‘what’ moments of the show.

I bring this up to say that while it is valid to interpret a character based only on their show version, sometimes there is still bad writing within that version that one has to...deal with. And it’s important for a character to be consistent within it’s story.

There are other examples of this besides Arya’s season seven stuff. The Dorne bullshit, for instance, is the canon show Dorne stuff and all of the intriguing Dorne stuff in the book is irrelevant to a show interpretation.

And then there was that trashy season four scene where the directors UNKNOWINGLY filmed Jaime raping Cersei?? That was especially out of character for show Jaime and apparently the show runners thought so too because they didn’t even think they were filming a rape scene. Because they’re dumb sometimes.

Anyway, this is just in here to assure you that I’m not forbidding ‘the show has bad writing’ criticisms because it super does. But sometimes you don’t even need to compare it to the book to see that.

In Conclusion

We are ALL going to view media in different way. There is no right way to consume it. And certainly if you want to evaluate the show based on what happened in the books go right ahead. I’m not here to force anyone to read the show or the books in a certain way.

On the other hand, in some way, the show and books are seperate entities that must function on their own. And because they are so different in some ways, that makes for more differing opinions. Some people really like Tyrion because of his show verse self. Some people wonder if Daenerys will go dark based on her show self.

Me personally, I’m a big Jaime and Brienne shipper. The other day I saw someone who didn’t like their ship mention the power imbalance and age gap in the book--something I of course didn’t notice during the show because the two characters seemed close in age and on pretty equal footing with each other most of the time. And that person’s opinion is totally valid! We’re just both viewing the pairing through a different medium.

This got a little long and rambly, so I just want to throw out there that this not anti any particular character. Just another one of those, it’s okay to have differing opinions and biases and stuff. Enjoy your Game of Thrones, nerds! I’ll be right there along with you!

#game of thrones #game of thrones meta #a song of ice and fire #tyrion lannister #daenerys targaryen #Arya stark #Jaime lannister #Cersei Lannister

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nebris · 5 years

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Hating Valerie Solanas (And Loving Violent Men)

by Chavisa Woods

My fourth book, and first full-length work of nonfiction will be released by Seven Stories Press in June. 100 Times (A Memoir of Sexism) is a 240-page memoir, written as in-scene vignettes, telling the stories of one hundred experiences of sexist discrimination, sexual harassment, and sexual violence I have personally experienced and witnessed, beginning at age five, through the present day.

I recently shared an excerpt of this book on social media, and immediately an old friend who I’d long ago lost touch with, a man from the Midwest, began arguing with me, and compared me to Valerie Solanas. I could tell from the tone of his comment, he expected me to recoil at the mention of that name — Valerie Solanas — the direst of insults; queer female hysterical violent “femi-nazi” insanity personified. This name was meant to summon shame in me, like invoking some Goetic demon to bate and restrain my crazed feminism.

He’s not the only one who sees her that way. When so many people think Valerie Solanas, they think, “bat-shit crazy, violent, murderous, ridiculous, woman.”

In a recent season of the popular television show, American Horror Story, for instance, Solanas was depicted by Lena Dunham as a demented serial killer who led a cult of murderous feminists to kill heterosexual couples — kids hooking up in cars, happy newlyweds and such — in a bloody, nationwide feminist murder spree. This, of course, is a completely fictional narrative, and for the purposes of this show, Solanas’s epitomal work, The Scum Manifesto, was interpreted as a literal, earnest text. Dunham portrayed Solanas as a frumpy, grumpy, clownish homicidal lesbian.

In the mainstream media and collective consciousness, Solonas has been written off as a worthless artist, and remembered only for her violent act against Andy Warhol.

All of this got me thinking about unconscious bias, and what it takes for us to denounce a female artist’s historical worth, versus what it does for a man.

William Burroughs shot and killed his wife while drunk and high, playing a game they called “William Tell,” wherein his wife placed an apple on her head, and he shot it off. He missed, killed her, and later wrote about it, implying it was possible he subconsciously wanted to kill her, because he was gay and resented having a wife. He served only two weeks in jail for this slaughter. Because the homicide occurred in Mexico, and through a combination of bribery and fleeing the country, he avoided serving any prison sentence.

Burroughs, of course, is still widely celebrated as a great author. I, in fact, had a poem published in a literary magazine a few years ago, the cover adorned with a photograph of him holding a rifle. This image was considered darkly humorous.

Almost every other author I’ve spoken with about the ethics of celebrating Burroughs and his art points me in the direction of compassion; he had a drug problem, he and his wife were “in it together.”

After the murder of his wife, he served as a member of the prestigious American Academy of Arts and Letters. His body of work still remains relevant, is widely taught in English and Writing curriculum in colleges, and is written about reverently in current scholarly articles and in major media outlets worldwide. He is generally thought of as good man. In his bio on Wikipedia, the slaughter of his wife doesn’t even come in until the sixth paragraph. (I am citing Wikipedia, because it represents the most current, popular, collective opinions of the general public, not as a scholarly reference.)

Valerie Solanas, on the other hand, shot Andy Warhol, not killing him, but severely injuring him. He died twenty years later from health complications possibly exacerbated by the injury, as well as a speed addiction.

Solanas and Warhol had a documented horrible working/personal relationship, rife with insult. She saw Warhol as constantly demeaning her privately and publicly, even after featuring her in one of his films.

Warhol agreed to look at a play she’d written, possibly to produce it. She gave him the only manuscript to read, and he (claimed he) lost it, though she believed he threw it away to spite her. This was the catalyst for the shooting.

Pablo Neruda raped a servant while he was visiting her country as a diplomat. He wrote about it quite matter-of-factly and unapologetically in his memoirs (I Confess that I have Lived, first published in 1974, in English in 1977):

One morning, I woke earlier than is my custom. I hid in the shadows to watch who passed by. From the back of the house, like a dark statue that walked, the most beautiful woman that I had ever seen in Ceylon entered, Tamil race, Pariah caste. She wore a red and gold sari of the cheapest cloth. On her unshod feet were heavy anklets. On each side of her nose shone two tiny red points. They were probably glass, but on her they looked like rubies.

She solemnly approached the toilet without giving me the slightest look, without acknowledging my existence, and disappeared with the sordid receptacle on her head, retreating with her goddess steps. She was so beautiful that despite her humble job, she left me disturbed. As if a wild animal had come out from the jungle, belonging to another existence, a separate world. I called to her with no result.

I then would leave some gift on her path, some silk or fruit. She would pass by without hearing or looking. Her dark beauty turned that miserable trip into the obligatory ceremony of an indifferent queen.

One morning, I decided to go for all, and grabbed her by the wrist and looked her in the face. There was no language I could speak to her. She allowed herself to be led by me smilelessly and soon was naked upon my bed. Her extremely slender waist, full hips, the overflowing cups of her breasts, made her exactly like the thousands year old sculptures in the south of India. The encounter was like that of a man and a statue. She kept her eyes open throughout, unmoved. She was right to regard me with contempt. The experience was not repeated.

No one remembers him for this.

Charles Bukowski is on video kicking and punching his girlfriend during an interview about his writing, and was said to have been physically abusive to multiple female partners. He is still celebrated worldwide as a great poet.

Louis Althusser strangled his wife to death in an act of cold-blooded murder. In his Wikipedia bio, he’s described as, “A French Marxist philosopher, whose arguments and theses were set against the threats that he saw attacking the theoretical foundations of Marxism.”

As I write this, the murder of his wife doesn’t receive mention until the last paragraph, and then it simply says, “Althusser’s life was marked by periods of intense mental illness. In 1980, he killed his wife, the sociologist Hélène Rytmann, by strangling her.”

He is widely celebrated. The murder of his wife is mentioned only in the context of his mental illness.

Valerie Solanas suffered from Schizophrenia. She was also a victim of childhood incest. Her father repeatedly raped her, and then she was sent to live with her grandparents as a teenager, and then her grandfather raped her, and then she ran away from home and became a sex worker.

The shooting of Andy Warhol is currently the first sentence of her Wikipedia bio. She is widely regarded and repeatedly portrayed as a worthless, angry, bat-shit crazy piece of human garbage. Where is this compassion that we are asked to have for male artists, for her?

She was a brilliant artist. The SCUM Manifesto is a masterwork of literary protest art, which is often completely misread. Much of it is actually a point-by-point re-write of multiple of Freud’s writings. It is a parody.

In his essay The Psychogenesis Of A Case Of Homosexuality In A Woman, Freud suggests that a good treatment for lesbians would be having their (most likely already hermaphroditic) ovaries, and genitals removed and replaced with grafted “real” female genitals.

Freud’s exact words:

The cases of male homosexuality which (have) been successful fulfilled the condition, which is not always present, of a very patent physical ‘hermaphroditism’. Any analogous treatment of female homosexuality is at present quite obscure. If it were to consist in removing what are probably hermaphroditic ovaries, and in grafting others, which are hoped to be of a single sex, there would be little prospect of its being applied in practice. A woman who has felt herself to be a man, and has loved in masculine fashion, will hardly let herself be forced into playing the part of a woman…

In The SCUM Manifesto, Solanas posits that a good “treatment” for straight men is to get their dicks chopped off: “When the male accepts his passivity, defines himself as a woman (males as well as females think men are women and women are men), and becomes a transvestite he loses his desire to screw (or to do anything else, for that matter; he fulfills himself as a drag queen) and gets his dick chopped off. He then achieves a continuous diffuse sexual feeling from ‘being a woman’. Screwing is, for a man, a defense against his desire to be female.”

Freud’s texts are rife with suggestions of female castration and hysterectomies as treatments for all sorts of psychological troubles suffered by women, and in response, The SCUM Manifesto is infamous for suggesting castration might improve the behavior of men.

Freud posited that heterosexual women are sexually passive, engaging in sex only because they want children. He invented the theory of “penis envy.” He claimed that because girls do not have penises, girls come to believe they have lost their penises, and eventually, seek to have male children in an attempt “to gain a penis.” He believed women, on some deep, subconscious level, viewed themselves as castrated males. In his theory of psychosexual development he posited that for women, sex (with males) may also be a subconscious attempt to gain a penis.

In his essay, The Taboo of Virginity, Freud writes: “We have learnt from the analysis of many neurotic women that they go through an early age in which they envy their brothers, their sign of masculinity and feel at a disadvantage and humiliated because of the lack of it (actually because of its diminished size) in themselves. We include this ‘envy for the penis’ in the ‘castration complex’.”

Solanas, replaces the envy of the penis, not only with envy of the vagina, but most often, with women’s emotional openness, complexity and individuality as the focus of men’s envy. She writes of men: “The female’s individuality, which he is acutely aware of, but which he doesn’t comprehend, and isn’t capable of relating to or grasping emotionally, frightens and upsets him and fills him with envy. “

At the time of the writing of The SCUM Manifesto, Freud was a celebrated figure in psychology, and his theories were being widely touted in academic and popular spheres alike. Solanas took issue with this, and wrote The SCUM Manifesto as a parody, mocking the popular, sexist, and hetero-centric thinking on gender and sexuality at the time. But the text is a reversal. In The SCUM Manifesto, Solanas directs everything Freud said with an equal amount of vigor and confidence back at men. So, instead of “female motherhood” being a primary drive, she reverses this to attack/analyze the “male sex drive” through the same line of thinking as Freud.

In his essay, Leonardo Da-Vinci and a Memory of His Childhood, Freud hypothesizes that homosexuality in men stems from their relationship with their father and mother. He proposes that homosexuality (which he assumes is a bad thing) is caused by a relationship with a mother who is too tender to her son (as in all his texts, he repeatedly states that children are naturally sexually attracted to their parents of the opposite sex), and a mother who is, at the same time, too assertive and independent in relation to her own husband (the boy’s father.) This causes the boy to see his mother figure, who’s also an object of his sexual desire in childhood, as a man, not a woman. And this makes the boy gay. He writes:

In all our male homosexual cases the subjects had had a very intense erotic attachment to a female person, as a rule their mother, during the first period of childhood, which is afterwards forgotten; this attachment was evoked or encouraged by too much tenderness on the part of the mother herself, and further reinforced by the small part played by the father during their childhood. Sadger emphasizes the fact that the mothers on his homosexual patients were frequently masculine women, women with energetic traits of character, who were able to push the father out of his proper place. I have occasionally seen the same thing, but I was more strongly impressed by cases in which the father was absent from the beginning or left the scene at an early date, so that the boy found himself left entirely under feminine influence. Indeed it almost seems as though the presence of a strong father would ensure that thee son made the correct decision in his choice of object, namely someone of the opposite sex.

In The SCUM Manifesto, Solanas takes this analysis and flips it on its head through an extreme feminist lens, where becoming a “real (straight) man” is already assumed to be a bad thing. She writes: “The effect of fatherhood on males, specifically is to make them, ‘Men,’ that is, highly defensive of all impulses to passivity, faggotry, and of desires to be female. Every boy wants to imitate his mother, be her, fuse with her. So he tells the boy, sometimes directly, sometimes indirectly, not to be a sissy, to act like a ‘Man.’ The boy, scared shitless of and respecting his father, complies, and becomes just like Daddy, that model of ‘Man’-hood, the all-American ideal — the well-behaved heterosexual dullard.”

While Freud accuses the mother of being to blame for the horrible fate of a boy becoming a homosexual, Solanas accuses the father of being to blame for the horrible fate of a boy becoming a straight man.

As you can see from the above, The SCUM Manifesto in many places is an almost line-by-line mockery of Freud’s writings on women and homosexuals, and was never meant to be read as a literal, earnest text throughout. This does not mean it is intended as a joke or to be taken lightly, though. As some may have noticed in the above text, it is not without serious, meaningful and resonant critiques of patriarchal institutions. There is a lot of truth in this parody. It is a political satire. It is simultaneously dead serious, yet written with a nod and a wink. In keeping with the protest art of the time, if you didn’t get it, she wasn’t going to explain it to you. She was happy to make cocky comments, like, “I mean every word of it,” knowing, and indeed, hoping that the “squares” who didn’t understand the sarcasm inherent to the foundation of the text, would be that much more shocked at her effrontery.

Valerie Solanas just said, in a modernized (now dated) vernacular, exactly what Freud had said about women, only about men, and everyone freaked out, because when we talk about men the same way men have talked about women for centuries, it reads as grotesque and insanely violent, un-compassionate, and shocking, which was exactly her point.

Her work is still misinterpreted as a literal text by many to this day.

After shooting Andy Warhol, Solanas turned herself in to the police. She was charged with attempted murder, assault, and illegal possession of a gun. She was diagnosed with schizophrenia, and pleaded guilty to “reckless assault with intent to harm,” serving a three-year prison sentence, including treatment in a psychiatric hospital. In a darkly ironic twist of fate she was subjected to a nonconsensual hysterectomy during her hospitalization. Shortly after her release from prison, she became homeless, and never published another work.

Michael Alig, known for being a famous party promoter and club kid in the 1980s (in the film about his life, Party Monster, he was played by Macaulay Culkin), brutally murdered his friend, Andre “Angel” Melendez, over an argument about a drug debt.

Alig cut his friend up into pieces and threw him in the Hudson River. He’s been released from prison and is currently working as a club promoter in New York City.

Since his release, he’s also appeared in an indie film with artists I know personally, called Vamp Bikers, in which Alig plays a homicidal sociopath who slowly, brutally murders his friend.

I accidentally watched this at a film screening I attended in Brooklyn years ago, having no idea what I was getting into. It made me want to throw up, seeing him happily take part in a campy fictional portrayal of a murder so similar to the one he actually committed, and being celebrated for this. Many people around me were excitedly saying they hoped that Alig might attend the screening.

His website, michaelalig.com describes him as an “artist, writer, curator.” You can hire him to produce your party, or buy one of his many pop art paintings for $500 a pop.

I think this is all abhorrent. I’ve had debates with friends over this, and have been asked, “Well, he served his time. Shouldn’t we have compassion? He was young and on a lot of drugs when he did that. Don’t you think he should get a second chance?”

Perhaps. Perhaps a chance at living as a free person again, yes, perhaps that, but definitely not a chance to be celebrated for being the famous club kid who murdered his friend. And it’s not lost on me that the person he murdered was a poor, lesser known gay man of color, and I wonder if he would have gotten out of prison so early if he’d been the one who murdered Michael.

Perhaps more shocking than this, is the life and reception of essayist and novelist Norman Mailer. When speaking about feminism and women’s liberation Norman Mailer said: “We must face the simple fact that maybe there’s a profound reservoir of cowardess in women that had them welcome this miserable, slavish life.”

In his book Advertisements for Myself, Mailer claims that a writer without “balls” is no writer at all:

I have a terrible confession to make — I have nothing to say about any of the talented women who write today. Out of what is no doubt a fault in me, I do not seem able to read them. Indeed, I doubt if there will be a really exciting woman writer until the first whore becomes a call girl and tells her tale. At the risk of making a dozen devoted enemies for life, I can only say that the sniffs I get from the ink of the women are always fey, old-hat, Quaintsy Goysy, tiny, too dykily psychotic, crippled, creepish, fashionable, frigid, outer-Baroque, maquillé in mannequin’s whimsy, or else bright and stillborn. Since I’ve never been able to read Virginia Woolf, and am sometimes willing to believe that it can conceivably be my fault, this verdict may be taken fairly as the twisted tongue of a soured taste, at least by those readers who do not share with me the ground of departure — that a good novelist can do without everything but the remnant of his balls.

I would argue that Norman Mailer spoke and wrote just as violently, grotesquely and shockingly about women as Valerie Solanas did about men. But he was not saying any of these things or writing his sexist texts as a parody or protest of his own subjugation.

Norman Mailer is still widely celebrated for both his fiction and essays, including numerous works that take a stand adamantly against feminism and women in general. In 1968 and 1980 he won the Pulitzer Prize. In 2005, he won the National Book Award for Distinguished Contribution to American Letters. In 1960, he attempted to murder his wife by stabbing her multiple times in the chest, barely missing her heart.

While his wife lay in the hospital in critical condition, a day after the stabbing, Mailer appeared in a scheduled interview on The Mike Wallace Show, where he spoke of the knife as a symbol of manhood. He was briefly arrested two days later, though his wife refused to press charges, saying that she feared for the safety of their children if she did so. She did, however divorce him once she recovered.

The parallels between Mailer and Solanas are as astonishing as their differences. The only reason I can find for the differences in how they are popularly viewed is that Mailer was a man, speaking and acting violently against women in a sexist society, and Solanas was a woman, doing the reverse in this same society.

I can’t help but conjure Solanas’s legacy when looking at the current questions that keep popping up on the subject of violence, art, and who we celebrate today. Do we forgive Louis C.K. for serially masturbating on countless women he worked with? What does forgiveness mean? Does it mean he continues to enjoy the same level of reverence and celebrity as before? Can we still enjoy Michael Jackson’s music knowing that he had ongoing sexual relationships with what seems to be an endless stream of young boys? Should we still be patronizing Woody Allen’s films? Is it alright to feel heartbroken over the loss of the Bill Cosby so many knew and loved? What of the beautiful works of so many beloved male authors I have spoken about above?

I do not have clear answers to these questions, nor do I think there is one rule of response that is correct for every situation, but I do know that the social hammer has come down hard on women who commit similar acts of violence, especially when those acts are directed at men. I do know that sexist bias has judged one of my artistic heroes much more harshly than her male counterparts.

I do not condone or celebrate Valerie Solanas’s shooting of Andy Warhol. But when people bring up Valerie Solanas as if she is a horrendous, murderous, bat-shit crazy, worthless, hysterical, violent criminal whose literary artwork is as valuable as the ramblings of a madwoman, suggesting that she should be written off as nothing more, I always think to myself, “Well, that’s exactly what she would have expected from this society.” Much less has changed since she first released the book in 1967, than I would have hoped. Those opening lines still remain eerily significant: “Life in this society being, at best, an utter bore, and no aspect of society being at all relevant to women, there remains to civic-minded, responsible, thrill-seeking females only to overthrow the government, eliminate the money system, institute complete automation, and destroy the male sex.”

http://www.full-stop.net/2019/05/21/features/chavisa-woods/solanas/

#The Sisterhood

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zeciex · 5 years

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Obsidian & Angelite Ch. 6 (M)

Oya has spend centuries bound to one single plot of land when one day a stranger with a voice of velvet and presence that can only be described as dark and outmost interesting. He comes with an offer she can’t refuse and suddenly her entire world changes, both for better and worse.

But what does Langdon need of her? And how can she use him to get what she want? Maybe they’re bound by something bigger than fate.

Warning: Dark themes, Strong Language, Rape,

A/N: Since tumblr kills everything with links, I’ll reblog this post with the links to previous chapters and archive link

When the spirit wanderers things does not go unseen

Placed on the bedside table were a thin yellow candle. It was the first thing that had been done as soon as she had settled in. The yellow candle with a matching flame were to be kept there, to be kept an eye on. It linked in with the spell she had placed on the old house so that if any supernatural being were to cross over into her land she’d know. For weeks now it had been lit.

And then it wasn't.

It left a gnawing feeling deep inside, something nagging at her to make her realise something. It was important and it was frightening.

And so she decided that a simple vision wouldn’t suffice. Visions were scattered, they were focused on snippets out of place and mostly they were left for interpretation. For simple visions like that you’d need to touch something that were there in the moment you needed to see. She had nothing.

So she began plucking herbs from her garden, crushed it in a mortar to release its juices. Mugwort for scrying, Star anise for clavoyance, Bay Leaf for its sanctity and visions all mixed together with soil from her garden, bone from a raven and ash from a burned oak. From it she derevied a small potion to be poured in a body of water and that’s exactly what she did.

The bath were filled up to a critical point, the potion mixed in long ago. In the water she drizzled Catnip, the green leafs floating at the surface, and essence of Eucalyptus for the rituality of its cleansing powers. Blossoms of blue rosemary and the stalks of it floated in the water too. It worked as purification. Whatever was on the other side, she’d rather not drag pieces of it with her, nor did she want to get lost to the inbetween.

“What are you doing?” Michael questioned leaning against the entrance of her bathroom with his arms folded over his chest. Oya remained on her knees, drawing symbols on the floor with white chalk. They looked like disfigured stick men or as if a 3 year old tried and failed to draw any form of animal.

“My place got a visitor,” she said while finishing up the last symbols. Michael had impeccable taste when it came to baths, this tub was perfect for these sort of things, standing at enough distance from everything else to make a circle around it. With the small bundles of herbs, in between the marks, were emeralds and moonstones placed. “Or visitors, I don't know yet but I intent to find out.”

“There are other ways to find out than this,” Michael commented. The way he looked at the set up told her that he had never seen or done anything like this and it made her wonder.

“This is how I learned to do it,” she brushed off her hands on her silk robes, standing up. She tied her hair up in a mess that made it look more like an unkempt bush than anything else, with stray tots falling down her neck. “Many of the herbs open up your mind and lets you wander through the inbetween, the symbols are for warding and protection as well as helping the door open and the stones helps with protecting energies. I’m sure the ritual has developed over the years but this is what I know, what I remember.”

Michael remained standing in the doorway, his face in an unreadable mask that she couldn’t quite see past. It almost seemed as if he wary of it. Maybe he had to be, walking through the inbetween weren't easy, if you were lead astray you’d remain atray. Even if you’ve done it before it could be dangerous.

The ritual she had done when she came here were one akin to this, and it left her drained and with bruises. Worse thing could happen.

But as with all other things, worse things could always happen, letting that stop you would effectively stop you from doing everything, anything.

A little thought planted itself deep in her mind, at the very outskirts. What if there were something he didn’t want her to see?

“Haven't you ever seen a ritual like this? Who taught you magic?”

“My teachers were far more focused on getting me through the seven wonders than to teach me witchcraft,” he said with a frown. Oya looked at him in surprise.

So his teachers had focused on passing the supreme tests rather than teaching ways to use his magic. Even if he were naturally gifted and incredibly clever, raw power like his could reach so much further if he had been taught the ancient crafts. Everything he knew he had taught himself, she realised. Like her.

She folded her arms over her chest like him. “Did they know?”

“That I was the antichrist? No, mostly they didn’t question my powers, they were far more occupied with making me the new supreme, the alpha,” he said with a hint of a smile on his lips that were quickly turned into a frown.

“A male supreme? Unlikely, history has shown that the only supremes that can exist is female. You’re the antichrist not a witch or a wizard or whatever they call themselves, the supremacy wouldn’t be passed to you.” There were something alarming about this mask of his, eyes forming a wild storm and by the way he withheld his tendrils of magic she knew she was on thin ice.

“It didn’t matter, I won, will win regardless.” She walked to him and caressed his cheek.

“Because you have devil juju on your side,” she teased trying to ease his demeanor. It helped, he dropped his arms and leaned into her touch. “And you also have a goddess who owes you a favor.”

Oya turned and felt his hands come to her shoulders, fingers slipping past neck and holding onto it as she stepped out of the silk, naked. He stood with her silk in hand, letting it fall over his arm for her to take when she returned from the bath.

She sunk into the warm waters, the already critical water line rising even higher. Warmth engulfed her body. Before sinking further into the water, she looked over at Michael who stood patiently outside the ritual circle and watched.

“How did you learn? Your teachers were as unlikely to teach you anything like this as mine were,” he asked.

“When you’re not the prodigy you tend to live in the shadows. I stole a whole lot of my mother's books and read them in secret. The things I remember are the rituals I now know, it’s by far everything but it is something,” she answered. Most of the rituals had ceased to work, things get forgotten over time or changed. What she knew she had worked for, she had tested her way through it and if it worked, well then it fucking worked.

Like many things throughout time pieces of magic dwindled. The gods that were had fallen and things changed. That was how time worked. Witches themselves are said to be going extinct, their blood beginning to run thin with magic.

Oppose to them, being a goddess meant you had the possibility of so much more and with that you were a threat, to be hunted and locked away.

Michael would fall into the same category, wouldn’t he? Or just maybe he had the fate of something bigger than one of the last gods on earth.

“Whatever happens do not break the circle before I resurfaces,” she warned moments before diving fully into the water.

Like before there was nothing to begin with. Then slowly she began forming in that nothingness. Everything above the waterline nibbling at her ankles were dry, her hair now free and falling over her naked body. Around her were the emptiness, the abyss. She hated this place, the thought of being trapped there for eternity send shivers down her spine. It was a perfect limbo of nothing.

Oya began to walk, invisible theaters guiding her towards where she needed to be. The soil helped with that, to keep her from going astray and focus on finding the path to her old prison.

She stopped and looked sideways. Even though there were nothing there, she felt her soul being pulled, the back of her mind hearing a whisper that so dearly wanted to be heard. It made her heart speed up in fear. The inbetween called to her and something inside wanted to follow, to see what it wanted to show, what that little part of her told her she needed to see.

Ripping her eyes from the spot of black she had been captured by, she continued to walk a straight line forward. Water became soil, still air became warm and windy, around her formed so familiar and haunting scenery that made her heart stop for a moment in fear that being released from this place had been a dream.

The fine rows of herbs had fallen victim to weed. It looked disheveled and messy, many of the plants now sporting withered parts if it had not died at all. The soil that she had always kept perfectly balanced with water were now dry. Time had really passed.

It wasn’t what she came for.

Oya looked up and observed as two hooded figures entered the premise with a wave of the hand. The spell she had placed on the house from keeping being robbed, broke, the bowl with dried old herbs breaking into. That was the moment her candle went out.

They walked silently through the garden and into her house, hoods still covering their faces. Oya followed at a distance, strangely fearful of their presence. The gnawing feeling returned as nausea, adrenalin beginning to spike in her blood as her heart began drumming. If they were who she thought they were…

One hooded figure revealed themselves. Black hair that were once kept long were now cut to the shoulder, small traces of silver shining through in the light. Her mother turned and revealed the fine turning of time had left small lines upon her face, around her mouth and eyes, and yet she looked youthful. Oya fell to her knees outside of the door, hands gripping onto the wall as a way to keep fast.

“How?” Questioned the other person, her voice soft and young. She pulled back her hood and revealed light blond hair in a braid, eyes that used to be black now a crystal blue. Her sister had much finer and friendlier features. Soft lips the color of pink and a kinder bow to her jaw.

“I don’t know,” Haesoo answered her daughter, bewildered by her other daughters disappearance. “The spell was meant to last, she shouldn’t have been able to break it.” “Maybe it wasn’t her that broke it,” Ina said and kicked at a pillow on the ground. She walked around the room, fingers trailing over everything in an attempt to bring forth a vision.

“There’s no one powerful enough for that,” Her mother voiced in frustration. Worry made her look older.

“What if there were a lot of them then? We were many when we bound her so what if it is a coven we have to look for and not an individual? Maybe the New Orleans coven were desperate enough.”

“It’s not,” Haesoo said and walked towards the cup placed on the table. His cup. She bend down and took it, eyes looking at it as if she read a book. Oya felt herself begin to shake, the tether between this place and her body getting pulled together. It wasn’t long before she had to return. “If it were a coven there’d be left a bigger imprint, of something recognizable. The residue here is… strange, dark. It’s an individual.”

“It's quite similar, isn't it?” Ina asked and came to stand beside her mother.

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” she clutched the cup and closed her eyes. “Whoever released her is darker than anything I've ever felt and far more dangerous. If they have her by their side then… We have to get her and we have to make sure she’s permanently incapable of being a threat.”

Haesoo turned and looked directly at Oya. No, not directly, through her. Nevertheless Oya felt as if the world pressed in on her, air not getting to her lungs. Scrambling back she fell off the porch in a mess of arms and legs. The ground only seemed to swallow her up just like the fear. She sank, fighting against the soil, hands grabbing onto clumps of dirt and leaves until her head was covered and everything went black.

“Why exactly is it so important to get the ginseng when it’s full moon?” Oya asked her sister that had somehow convinced her to join her on her trip up the mountains. Now they were surrounded by woods, the lights of the city gone, replaced with silver moonlight that only cast an eerie veil through the crown of the trees. She rode beside her sister, accompanied by two armed guards.

“It’s said that if you dig up the ginseng that grows on the side of a mountain in the light of a full moon it’ll improve its qualities,” Ina answered, steering her horse further up. “Mother wanted us to get it.”

“Is it because of what happened?” Oya couldn’t help but ask. Since that day things had been different and why shouldn't it? She killed an entire village. They say it was something in the water but in reality it was her. The power within her had lashed out, she had felt positively euphoric. Even she was afraid of what hid beneath her skin, the monster clawing at her insides, the darkness that wrapped around her soul.

Ina looked at her sister with strange sympathy. “She’s afraid you will lose control again, that’s why we moved.”

“I’m trying. I don’t know what more I can do. I didn’t want to kill them,” Oya pleaded and felt some sort of remorse over the lie. In truth it had scared her how indifferent she felt towards what happened, not the act it self.

“But you did,” Ina said with a cold voice that struck her. “We’re here.”

They unseated the horses and brushed the ruffles out on their skirts. Ina made the guards remain, her powers latching onto them and controlling their minds. Oya followed her sister out into the clearing, carrying the basket on her arm. She frowned, eyes looking for the plant but found nothing but a house surrounded by a stone fence.

“Wha-.” A hand wrapped around her from behind, the basket being ripped out away from her with force. Closing her eyes she searched for her powers but found them as subdued as she was, forced passed the stone fence, into an overgrown garden. In the middle were a table, one she was thrown against moments before hitting the ground. Pain broke through her head, the feeling as if it was split open, she screamed.

“Get her on to the table, we can only hold her powers so long,” a familiar voice shouted. Oya felt hands around her arms, lifting her up and onto the table. Rope were tied around her wrists and ankles but just for good measure she was held down with bruising force.

“Let go of me! Help! Ina!” She screamed for her sister, kicking with all she could against the restraints. A power forced her still, the only thing she could move was her eyes, frantically looking around through blurred tears. Her mother stood beside her, face of stone and eyes as cold as ice. Above her holding her wrists were her sister, with a worried frown on her face.

She wanted to scream her throat raw, to let her powers run through her with vengeance.

“Cut her hanbok off,” her mother ordered. All Oya could do was watch as her fine silk hanbok was cut through, the fabric torn off her body and leaving her revealed and bare to the world. Her heart stopped, the shame of being left so unprotected clutching tightly around it.

She fought the magic stilling her, fought against its restraints until her body began to tremble. Around her gathered hooded figures with lit candles in their hands. They chanted lowly, the words seemingly making the air hum just like it did before a storm would tear through the skies.

“W-what?” was all she could get past her lips. With eyes as empty and cold as staring into a skull, her mother stood above her, knife catching the light of the moon.

“Mother,” Ina said before being stilled by their mothers cold snap of her eyes.

“We were fools for thinking that we should bring back gods,” her mother said. “We were greedy and foolish for thinking we could control something like that. You are by far my biggest regret and this…” Haesoo’s hands levitated above her daughters naked body, paled by the moon as if all colour had left the once sunkissed skin. “this will make sure you can never hurt anyone again. This is our way to make things right.”

Oya finally broke free of the spell that held her still. She screamed like a wolf in the night, the sound tearing through her throat with merciless claws. The rope burned her skin, dug in and left marks that felt like they’d never go away, and in a way they didn’t.

Haesoon began to chant, her words slurring into a language Oya didn't understand. Then her sister joined, her eyes never leaving her mother's form, even when her sister begged for her to help, begged to be released.

The surroundings began to blur into shadows and fine flames, the forms lengthening and twisting to something monstrous. The trees sang a sad song, one of pain and sorrow, maybe if was for her, maybe it sang of this very moment when Oya realised that the ones who should have loved her only saw her as a monster, saw her as something to be kept locked away with betrayal and bindings. Or just maybe it sang the song of all the souls she had taken from the world.

Warm liquid fell onto her body, drawing dark lines over pale skin, smearing and sticking to her. It turned freezing. Above her were now a dead snake hanging limp in her mother's grip, its blood spilled onto her body. Blood of the serpent, symbol of the goddess Ereshkigal, of her.

“Mother, please!” She cried but found her pleas were nothing but empty words to her mother. The screaming had left her throat raw, voice almost burned out of her but her tears kept coming, the tickled down the sides of her face. They meant nothing to them.

Her mother called in someone, one of the guards, that came to stop at her feet. Never had she called so loudly on her powers, never had she screamed into the abyss and found nothing. Never would she have thought that her own flesh and blood would do something like this.

She wanted to throw up, her stomach turning when his hands trailed up her legs and parted them for him. The pain were almost as bad as the betrayal, the uselessness she felt, the utter and total embarrassment. The pain resonated within her and she felt as if she was truely trapped. Burning chains formed around her, searing themselves into her skin with fine imprints.

There were nothing but pain, feeling half of her being ripped from her body, feeling bound to something agonizingly fragile. A part of her wished her dead, wished her gone from it all.

Another part of her burned with reckoning. It cursed them all, saw all those who had anything to do with her binding and rape to die a painful and slow death. She cursed their children and their children's children. She cursed their entire bloodline. But curses from someone who was split in two, whose powers were locked away, were nothing but words.

In a still moment where time slowed down, she looked into the darkness and found a boy the same age as she, with strange clothe and even stranger features. His hair were in golden tossels around his head, golden hair she had never seen before. Maybe he was a spirit, someone who’d help. Their eyes met, obsidian orbs meeting blue angelite. They were beautiful and they were sad.

Pain surged through her once more, feeling as if she were about to explode, she screamed and attempted to kick the man off, to tear her wrists from the bindings even if it tore off her skin.

In the end she was left entirely powerless. In the end she was left entirely alone.

In the end there were nothing but the seed of hate setting root.

In the end the boy haunted her.

With a jolt Oya sat up, water that had been still now violently spilling everywhere, the candles put out and knocked over with force, the herbs washed away and symbols cleaned off. She screamed despite the lack of air, body filled with a hollow pain while her mind was scattered to the then, the inbetween and the now.

She was still being suffocated in the soil, still screaming in the inbetween and in total pain in the now.

Michael had thrown the robe and rushed to her side, his arms sinking into the water and wrapped around her to keep her from sinking in once more. He shushed her with soft words, his hands coming around to hold her face up as she jittered in pain, lips quivering violently and eyes trying to focus.

“Oya! Oya!” He said, trying to calm her. “You’re back, you’re here, I’m here!”

The words she tried so forcefully to from in her mouth came out as strange stutters with no actual words forming. With her mind shattered like this everything felt out of place. She felt out of place.

His eyes were so blue. Angelite. She couldn’t remember were she’d seen them.

It took several moments before her body stopped sizing, before she felt in control of it enough to reach out to Michael. Her hands shook when they grabbed onto his jacket that had become soaked. The pain dwindled, her mind falling into place, leaving behind the then, the inbetween to fully be in the now.

Michael lifted her out of the water and cradled her against him. Without any concern to his attire he held her, softly brushing wet hair out of her face. He felt warm as always. She could hear his heart drum in his chest and slowly she found her way back, her own heart starting to beat with his.

“They’re alive,” she croaked. “They’re alive and they know I’m not there anymore.”

“They won’t be able to find you,” Michael reassured. There were something there, something pulling at the corners of his sincerity, something that nudged the doubt that had been planted in her. There was a carefulness.

She pushed away from him, hand on his chest. “Did you know? Did you know they were alive?”

“I had my-,” he started after being quiet a moment too long. How easily he lied.

“You knew.”

“Yes,” he admitted. Oya pushed away from him entirely, her skin getting in contact with the wet floor as she pushed over it until they were not touching anymore. There were a callousness to him, like there always were. Another mask, another layer, another shield.

Fear turned to anger and anger burned. It was there to begin with, simmering in the distance and always getting closer and now she were engulfed in it. Rage pure and simple, that left no room for fear or anxieties.

She hated them enough for her to go through him if she had to.

Her powers lashed out and pressed against him until he had scootered over the floor and pressed against the frame of the door. Lights began to flicker, a strange sound filling the room as a gash began to drag over the mirror while it vibrated. The air was windy with magic.

Michael’s eyes flared up with a familiar anger, one she had seen before on him. In contrast to her burning rage his was cold and contained. It made him far more frightening.

“You knew!” She hissed at him, hands balling against the floor so much that her nails cut into the skin of her palm.

Michael simply dried off drops of water before leaning to rest against the frame. Pieces of his hair was wet, the sleeves of his black jacket was wet, his pants were wet. His eyes were cold flames. “Yes, I knew.” He scoffed with cynicy.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I knew you’d go after them without a second thought,” he answered with a cool drawl. They both stood, glaring at one another. The robe were supposed to bring her some warmth but none were to be found. It covered her up and yet the feeling of being bare lingered.

“You’re goddamn right!” She cursed at him. “You have no idea what they put me through. You couldn’t possibly understand what they did!”

“I understand betrayal, I’ve had my fair share of it,” he countered. Weather it was anger or attraction they always ended up being slowly pulled towards one another. Something about him was restrained, carefully concealed. He moved in an elegant way that no one else moved in. “Understand that it was-,”

“If you way it was for my own good I swear I’ll tear this house down with you in it,” she threatened. Weather she were able to fight Michael head on and survive would remain a mystery, the same goes for him. “Were you afraid I’d leave you?”

“No,” he said in an almost cruel way, slow and drawling, with his eyes narrowed at her. It shouldn’t have surprised her and it didn’t, but it did strike something.

“I want to watch them burn. I want to watch them suffer for what they did to me and you want to stop me,” she hissed and took a step back as he began to press her further back with his presence. It infuriated her, the way he always closed in on her as if she was prey.

“I don’t want to stop you.” His breath hit her face and tickled over her skin. “I want you to get your vengeance. You can leave whenever you want.”

Words that should seem reassuring felt quite opposite. The anger that filled her up ran down her cheeks as evidence, how weak it must seem. A goddess trembling with anger and painful tears tainting her cheeks. The pain lingered in her body and the memory of it haunted her. The shame haunted her.

“I didn’t tell you because you’d act rash. You’d let the anger consume you-,”

“And you wouldn’t let it consume you!” She yelled in frustration. Behind her spiderwebs formed as the mirror continued to vibrate, the lights flickering. The rage burned in her blood, made every breath she took feel strained and painful. It felt as if she’d lose control, even if she tried to remain as collected as Michael, the energy whirled around them.

“I’ve learned to think before I act, to take in every possibility and make plans for every outcome so that whatever that happens I’m the one in control.” He didn’t touch her but his hand followed the line of her cheekbone. “When you were in full control I’d tell you. So that you could think clearly.”

“What do you want from me, Michael?”

“I’ve told you. I want you to reach full potential,” he said with an ease unlike any other. If he lied she wouldn’t know and if he spoke the truth… It was hard to figure out if it were all part of a bigger game, of something she hadn’t yet realised or if it were something sincere. At times he were exactly what he showed her and at other time a cypher she couldn’t figure out. It was infuriating.

“And I want revenge.”

“Then take it but be clever,” he said. With carefulness he touched her cheek and dried off her tears. The fire that burned towards him burned out leaving dust and ashes behind, in the form of a hollow feeling. Pain lingered, however. The memoried burned into her mind.

“For the pain they have caused you I will make sure their stay in hell will be worse than they ever thought possible.”

Oya placed her hand over his and looked into his eyes with undoubtful determination. “In this I don’t need your help. However, I ask that you stay by my side as I take my revenge.”

“Seeing you take revenge would be my biggest pleasure.”

#michael langdon #michael langdon fic #michael langdon imagine #mine: fic #obsidian & angelite

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