#cw: also a bit of toxic work culture bullshit

[duel-king]

// HNY everyone!!! :D

Pls heed the cw tags before reading past the cut.

*dumps this monster whump on the dash and runs away* //

"...The dragon flaps its mighty wings, and then..." Seto glances over his shoulder and sees that Mokuba is sound asleep, before he could even finish the story. He smiles as he quietly folds the book shut and slowly rises from where he was sitting on the bed. He gently shuts the door behind him and heads down the hall.

"Seto!! My BOY!! C'mere!!" Gozaburo beckons him over boisterously. It's New Year's Eve and he's been entertaining and drinking with coworkers and colleagues and the like. Seto feels his mouth run dry as he gets a look at everyone in the room, red-faced and grinning stupidly at him. He greets them silently with a bow and hurries to Gozaburo's side before he has to tell him a second time.

"Yes, father?" He asks sullenly, still feeling all the eyes in the room on him.

"Why so grim, Seto? Always so serious..." He grips Seto's shoulder and practically forces him down onto the seat next to his. "Sit."

"It's almost a new year, son..." He begins, putting on a pantomime of paternal affection for his idiot drunk friends. He reaches over to grab a carafe of dark amber liquor, fills a glass about halfway and hands it to his stepson.

"...Which makes you a year closer to manhood. Cheers." Seto clenches his jaw. I'm fucking 12... he wants to say, but his mouth remains shut tight.

Gozaburo clinks his own glass to Seto's before downing it like it's water. The boy hesitantly raises his glass to his lips. The whiskey smells strong and sickly bittersweet, and his blank expression involuntarily twists into a grimace. He can hear snickering from the other men in the room.

"Oh for Christ's sake Seto, DRINK." His stepfather commands, and Seto empties the glass with a single gulp so he can hopefully retreat to his room. He shuts his eyes tightly as the alcohol burns going down his throat. It tastes as bad as it smells. A tremor runs through his body as the warmth settles in his chest, and he coughs into his free hand. He can feel his face grow hot. The snickering around him evolves into hooting and cheering.

"'Atta boy!! That'll put a little hair on your chest, eh?" Gozaburo remarks with a hearty chuckle and, without hesitation, refills Seto's glass along with his own.

"Father, I--" he begins to object hoarsely, but Gozaburo won't hear it.

"This is an expensive vintage, son. Don't waste it," he scolds. "Consider this a reward for all of your hard work this year," He says this with a smile, but there's a challenge in his eyes. "Before you know it, you'll be drinking with us after a long day of work, and you're gonna need to keep up!! As a Kaiba, you have a reputation to uphold." He continues to lecture him as he rises from his seat.

Seto obediently takes another swig of whiskey. It's slightly less unpleasant going down this time, but not much. When he finishes this glass several minutes later, he rises from his seat, preparing to excuse himself as his stepfather is distracted handing out cigars to his guests.

"Gentlemen, it was a pleasure. Happy New Year to you all, and get home safely," Seto courteously bows again and feels the blood rush to his head. He was moving a little too hastily and he barely got that farewell out without stumbling over his words.

"I didn't excuse you!!" Gozaburo shouts through the cigar clenched between his teeth. "You can AT LEAST make it til midnight. Then maybe papa will read you a bedtime story," he mocks as he strides over to Seto, carafe in hand, and pours him a third glass.

"...Apologies, father." He replies stiffly. Normally he would have snapped back at an insult like that, but he can't bear the thought of getting smacked in front of a room full of people.

"Don't apologize to me, apologize to our guests!" His stepfather chastises, prolonging Seto's embarrassment.

"...Beg your pardon, sirs. That was rude of me." The apology earns him a placated grin from his stepfather as he lights his cigar; a few of the guests merely nod in acknowledgment, and the room nearly falls silent as cigars are being lit and puffed on.

Time passes at an agonizingly slow pace--this horrible year just refuses to end. Some of Gozaburo's associates take interest in Seto and start questioning him about his studies and his ambitions as the heir to the Kaiba Corporation. The air in the room becomes thick with cigar smoke and it makes his stomach turn and head ache, but the liquor makes it easier for him to fake a smile and lie through his teeth. He just parrots the responses he knows Gozaburo and his sycophants would like to hear, and it seems to go over fairly well.

The antique grandfather clock finally tolls Midnight, and the room explodes with cheers. Gozaburo's booming voice cuts through the din as he raises his glass in the air.

"A toast-- to Seto and the future of KaibaCorp!!" His toast is returned with an enthusiastic, collective "Hear! Hear!" and everyone raises their glass to join Gozaburo's before drinking again. No sooner than Seto taking that last sip does his gut churn, deciding that everything must go. He immediately turns and makes a bee-line for the door, setting his glass on the nearest surface and covering his mouth with one hand.

But it's too late. His body forces the whiskey out, violently. The room erupts into raucous laughter as Seto is keeled over, heaving and retching. Gozaburo, the loudest of them all, makes his way past his guests and over to his inebriated stepson.

"What did I tell you about wasting this booze?!" He slaps Seto on the back so hard that he falls over face-first into his own vomit.

"Mhahahaha!! Better luck next year, son!!" Gozaburo is the only one left laughing. Seto lays motionless on the floor for a moment, stupefied and completely humiliated. His eyes well up with tears.

No. no no no no nonononono...!! He scolds himself. He's able to pull himself up to his hands and knees, but seeing his mess on the floor and all over his clothes makes him ill all over again. Gozaburo shouts for one of the maids, and two come running.

"Get the boy cleaned up and put to bed." He orders with a sneer. One of the maids hurries to the nearby linen closet to find something to wipe up the floor while the other gingerly helps Seto to his feet and walks him down the hall, slowly but surely. "It's alright, Master Seto..." she coos once they're out of earshot. What little energy he has left is spent focusing on keeping one foot in front of the other and he just stares blankly ahead, saying nothing.

A while later, Seto is still kneeled over the toilet in his bathroom, his breath ragged and hair stuck to his face with sweat. He hears his bedroom door creak open, but doesn't look up.

"Big brother? ...Are you okay?" Mokuba whispers fretfully as he approaches.

"...'m fine, Moki... Jus sick..." He rasps. "Sorry for waking you..." He whimpers and his shoulders rack with silent sobs, but he's so dehydrated he can't cry even if he wanted to. He looks awful, Mokuba worries. He's pale and sweaty, breathing heavily, slurring his words. His eyes are bloodshot from all the strain of dry heaving for god knows how long.

"Don't be sorry!!" Mokuba kneels down by his brother's side and pats and rubs his back, like Seto does for him when his tummy hurts. His hair isn't long enough for Mokuba to need to hold it back for him, though. He's not quite sure what to do. Then, the little one has an idea. "I'll be right back!"

A few minutes later, Mokuba returns with a glass of iced water and a pack of crackers.

"Hope this helps," Mokuba says, doing his best to smile reassuringly. Seto smiles back lazily, gratefully accepting the help and taking the glass of water in hand. Mokuba unwraps the crackers and hands them to him as he eagerly gulps the water down.

"...Thanks Moki.... you're... the best."

*

*

*

*

// 2023 has been an absolute shitshow for me, ngl lol. So, to relieve myself of all this angst, I give you... this. Hope you... uhh... enjoyed...??

May 2024 bring us all better days. <3 //

[coffeeandcalligraphy]

Holy Hands | Houses With Teeth Update #2

HOLLA guess who’s back for another writing update!

If the title of this update seems unfamiliar--Houses With Teeth, what? who? when? why?--that’s because the last time I talked about this project on here was the first time, back in July! For a refresher, check out THIS very rambly post where I “intro” the project (very minimally as I had no idea what I was doing).

I still don’t know what I’m doing *exactly* but have made a semi-break through with this project and felt inclined to share. The last I spoke about HOUSES WITH TEETH at length was to vaguely describe what the project was. This book for those who don’t want to read the previous post, is the seventh book in my (very ongoing) series, Fostered. This book comes along five years after writing the first book in the series, after a major writing revolution.

I haven’t shared much about this on this blog because I wasn’t sure how to, but I really struggled with this project. HWT comes as the book after Rewired (book 6), which I finished drafting in March-ish of 2019. From then, until two days ago, I had no idea what I was doing with the series--if I could even continue it, and how I would continue it with all the changes my writing evolution presented. I chose to distract myself/keep busy with Moth Work, a spinoff of this series and my current novel, however, HWT sort of nagged in the back of my mind for many months. 

HWT is actually one of the reasons I ended book 6 so hastily! After getting a few ideas for new scenes, I fell in love with the idea of writing my protagonist Reeve in a city by herself, with new people we’d never met before. These rose-coloured glasses worked to my detriment, as the premature idea took over my decision-making process before I could properly understand what I wanted from it. 

After the end of Rewired, I thought everything was all fine and dandy! I had a new novel idea set up, ready to be written whenever I wanted. But something unplanned happened--I didn’t end up returning to the project. This is mostly because my desires for the book--whether to write it as a “real” book, or continue it as a semi-disjointed Fostered book (which isn’t shade to my past books, just the tea loool)--started to conflict. Though I started many openings (about 3k words of first scenes), nothing was sticking. I felt like I was misjudging my main character Reeve and making her more of a caricature than she really was. I feared I forgot who she was, and that her story was ending (scary!). 

This is where I (recently) found the root of the problem. My mischaracterization of Reeve worked against me, as I’d done exactly what I’d feared doing--misjudging who she was. It had been a long time since I’d written with Reeve, a character I’ve written with since I was thirteen, and though I felt I knew her, I also felt like I’d lost her in translation. While I was back home a few weeks ago, I began re-reading a few passages of book six to get a feel for a character, which helped, but didn’t cause any revelations. 

It was only a few days ago, when I helped @sarahkelsiwrites crack the plot of her novel that I felt an itch to try to crack mine as well. I first did this by paging through my (very minimal) notes for the book. This notes document consists basically of only two scene ideas I had that were a few thousand words long. Somehow, re-reading them helped me realize Reeve’s priorities, but most importantly, how much this book focuses on her vulnerabilities. It made me realize the root of her flamboyance toward the end of book six, and where her genuine side resided. 

So this leads to the actual update! 

Let’s first chat setting, y’all. This was a hard call to make, because I’d initially determined Reeve was going to be in NYC at the start of the book. The problem is, I’m *very bad* at writing real places, especially places I don’t personally know well. The thought of having to engage a five character cast (which seems small, but in a big city where they could be doing other things, feels big), and also have to write in this city accurately made the realism of this book too much for me to handle. I’m all for realism! But I wasn’t prepared for the culture shock that was “welp these books used to take place in an unknown unlocated subway station” to “so this book takes place in a real city”. It made too many things too real for me, the time period included (which is another crisis)! Setting this whole book in NYC overwhelmed me and I knew I wouldn’t do it justice. 

The problem is, I’d planned this entire book around NYC. At the start of my initial plan of HWT, Reeve is supposed to live in an apartment above a bakery with two housemates who I’d already sort of gotten to know! I couldn’t just throw all of this away, especially since I’d set Moth Work in a direction toward NYC so everyone could meet up easily. So what did I do? After reading those initial notes I mentioned above, I made it all backstory. ;) And boy! Did this also crack the book open. 

This was the first revelation I had with HWT 2.0. Allowing myself to move the book out of this setting, but still have the important parts got me to ask myself why Reeve would move to a big city with a new identity, and oh, did the pot start stirring ITSELF. I then decided to create a smaller town just outside of NYC where I can run amuck, lol. The town’s name is Wicker (for now) which I don’t dislike, though it hasn’t grown on me. I’m very bad at making up town names, and after many attempts, I settled for a very real word?? Lol.

This post is getting long, so I won’t explain the story unless y’all want to know, but I came to the decision that in this town, our fave soft boi Foster would have a nice house and his ideal cottagecore life, and all would be SWELL. Until!! This leads to our very hasty summary:

After escaping a toxic relationship, twenty-year-old Reeve disappears for the second time in one summer. She’s drawn to Wicker, a mealy town outside New York City, whose disappearances of affluent girls has caught her attention. The day she arrives, a sinkhole buries one of them in the front yard of her new home, a fixer-upper she shares with estranged friend, Foster. Quickly she falls prey to speculation by herself and others, who try to connect her to the tragedy. And even stranger, false recognitions as the girl in the ground, and the many other missing Wicker girls make her feel more and more like one of them--these alluring unknown women. 

(A huge thanks to @sarahkelsiwrites​ for literally cracking this book open for me, and for all the conversations we’ve had regarding this project! Literally this book wouldn’t exist without Sarah!)

Now let’s get into the first thing I wrote for HWT 2.0!

Holy Hands is the prologue of Houses With Teeth, and marks a milestone for the first prologue I’ve written! 

This prologue was a very impromptu thing. I drafted this a few days ago, and immediately felt something I’ve never felt writing any of the other (many) openings I’ve tested for HWT. It felt very right, but most importantly, I felt like I had Reeve back. It’s very possible for your own characters to hide from you (which is how I felt with Reeve), and though it’s taken very many months for her to really reveal herself to me, I’m so happy I’ve waited because I’ve never been so stoked to write her. 

As y’all know, Reeve is a bit of a no-bullshit kinda gal. The last chapter you would’ve seen her in, she was lounging in a motel bathroom drinking margaritas on her own and you know? We love that for her! Except, after that chapter, I couldn't figure out who she wanted to be--the ‘no fucks given’ woman in the bathtub, or the vulnerable, porous person she often was in earlier books. I love no fucks given Reeve, however, I think I got caught up in her no-fucks-givenness that I missed the time she does give fucks (which is! often!). This prologue really opened me up to her, and I feel a closeness to her that I haven’t felt in a long time. 

The prologue itself is rather short. It’s about 1300 words pre-edits, and I wrote it in! one! sitting! A phenomenon! We begin as Reeve is getting out of a taxi to enter her new home, AKA her old pal Foster’s house. She invites herself after a horrific encounter that scares her out of NYC and closer to her old pals (who she’s estranged herself from). Reeve outlines first, the disappearances of these affluent girls, and then fixates on Irene, her future housemate, whom Foster describes as many things that summer. Reeve is semi shook by Irene because she’s startlingly pretty and also startlingly looks like?? her?? (Reeve is just into herself? Who knew?)

Excerpts:

Here are a few excerpts from the prologue that I kinda dig! Here is the first paragraph:

Four girls went missing the summer the ground opened up. I was the unofficial fifth. They were girls I knew, in some iteration at least. Girls who wore their hair down, collars up. Anklets from their football boyfriends, like voguish ball-and-chains, pretty lingerie no one would see for at least another decade. Things I’d never worn, but wanted to wear. They were wealthy girls with the kinds of parents who dressed them in tights and midi-skirts, sent them to boarding schools, paid for piano lessons just to display a trophy. Girls with parents who wanted synthetic children. Girls who lusted over the romance of marriage—the ultimate form of female liberation. Girls who cast spells with each other and chose their friends based on zodiac signs, the amounts of vowels in their names. Girls who kissed each other in secret and stayed missing until they wanted to be found. None of them knew me.

This is a description of Wicker (CW: a bit of a gory descriptor):

That summer was pallid and bitter. Wicker sat in a valley an hour outside of New York City, and rarely caught sunshine. The locals explained it had always been like this—anemic, unexciting. Women came here to raise quieter children, and those quiet children threw stones at each other’s eyes to see who’d go blind first. The first one who did was found floating face-down in the creek behind the church and the women and children left hastily. It worked in waves like this: people coming, people going. Wicker was empty and both full—of the dead, and alive. I’d chosen it for this reason. 

Here’s an excerpt that comes right after the previous (all of these actually make up the first three paragraphs lol, TW: eating disorders):

The cabbie I’d given the last of my savings to took my bag out of his car trunk and walked it up to the house. It was one of the few nice days in Wicker, one of the last while I was there. Sunshine slit my face in two as I watched myself in the cab’s reflection. I reached for my cigarettes and realized too late that I’d left them back at the apartment. That summer, I was the thinnest I’d been. The hollow ache of me more of a victory than a loss. I know why I stopped eating in those first two weeks, why every meal Foster would later serve me in that house felt cryptic, and it had something to do with the body they never fully recovered. I wasn’t hungry when I’d gotten to Wicker; I wasn’t hungry for a long time after.

Some Foster gentleness (I missed him!):

Chickadees chattered in the birdfeeder Foster had set up a week earlier. Though I hadn’t been on the road long, the drive had exhausted me. The midafternoon clouds pilled, hardly overcast, something I’d come to miss when the sun stopped coming. He hadn’t invited me to live with him, but didn’t object when I called to say I’d be coming up. It was the first I’d spoken to anyone who knew me as Reeve and not Evie in half a year. That day, he greeted me from the porch and took my single carry-on from the cabbie with a boyish thank you. It was one of the last times I’d see him wear it—his bashful gentleness, like he always felt the need to apologize even when everything was brilliant. 

Here’s an intro of Irene, where the chapter title comes from:

Irene sat at the kitchen table inside the house. I caught her in glances through the doorway. The first thing I thought was that she’d look better as a blonde. A small thing who held her mug like she was holding a holy object. I’d later be haunted by those hands when I remembered how they looked by the time she was partly pulled up. Foster described her as many things to him over the course of that summer: a housemate, a partner, a friend, sometimes just a person he knew. She was reading something, something French—I could hear her reciting parts of it, at times loudly, like she knew she had an audience, at times at just a whisper, the most personal parts, I later found. I’d translate the line I’d heard most prominently later: Don’t let the house consume you. 

“Cigarettes?” I said to the cab driver as he was nestling back into his car. When he didn’t hear me, I knocked on his window. The sound of it made Irene’s head bob to attention, though only for a moment. “Cigarettes?” I mimed smoking one when he only blinked at me. We spoke minimally on the drive up, though I learned more about him just by looking. Two daughters, their pictures pasted neatly on the dash. Candy coloured flyers for take-out restaurants jittering against the AC’s shutter. In all that time, I hadn’t learned his name.

When he rolled up the window, I had to jump back so my nose didn’t get clipped. The sun shifted through the glass in wisps, like cobwebs, and my face disintegrating from the surface of the glass was the last thing I saw before he zipped away.

I was surprised to see Irene standing on the porch next to Foster when I looked up. My cheeks warmed. The cabbie’s drive-off had embarrassed me, and I realized how I looked to her, a woman I didn’t know, that I already wanted to know. A bit pathetic. Frazzled. A city person who couldn’t navigate a city. A weak woman—already needing a fix on her first day of a new life.

“I’m quitting,” I said, even though she hadn’t said anything. In the sunshine, she was prettier than I wanted her to be. Her hair hip-length, a length I’d always been too impatient to achieve. Wearing a camisole and a midi-skirt. Pearls in her ears, like the others wore. In New York City, she would’ve been plain to me. The kind of girl I would’ve marked up with a pen in a magazine. Outlining her hips as to say they weren’t good enough, squiggling over her eyebrows because her face was too pretty for a body so average. It wasn’t long after she was gone that I became mistaken for her.

And here’s a bit from the very end of the chapter:

The ground opened like a cracked egg, so slow at first, I didn’t notice. Some say she pushed me. Others say it was the other way around. It melted under us, and one minute I was thinking about how embarrassing I was, how crude it was to still be addicted to cigarettes, and the next, there was a belly in the ground and Irene was somewhere in it. Her dark hair wisping around her, like a tornado. How I thought she’d look better as a blonde. Holy hands, camisole, midi-skirt, pearls in her ears. This was all I’d ever know of Irene. A body was found the summer the ground opened up. I still don’t know exactly who she was.

So that’s it for now y’all! Obviously lots of stuff is subject to change, but I’m finally feeling confident with this path (if I scrap all of this you will know lol)! I’m very excited for this book, and hope to take some more notes on it soon to see where it will go. For now, I’ve got an idea for the first chapter I can play around with, but I hope y’all enjoyed this little piece so far!

--Rachel

[giveamadeuschohisownmovie]

What I want to see in Iron Fist season two (version 2.0):

1) The most obvious storyline to continue would be Davos becoming Danny’s nemesis. That would mean a move away from the Rand Corporation corporate politics and more focus on the aftermath of K’un L’un’s destruction and the war with the Hand. I don’t think the Hand storyline will necessarily continue since they were soundly defeated in “The Defenders” but it would be interesting to see Davos try to build something from the remains. Like maybe he gathers the remaining Hand ninja who escaped the final battle. 

That being said, the show should still find a way to balance the Davos storyline and the Rand Corporation storyline, which leads to my next point. 

2) This may be difficult to pull off but in order for Iron Fist to truly fit with its Defender sister shows, I’d like for the show to actually delve into some social issues. To recap: 

* Daredevil season one dealt with gentrification while season two dealt with the concept of vigilantism/faults in the justice system

* Jessica Jones dealt with rape culture/toxic masculinity

* Luke Cage dealt with racial and class issues/inner city problems 

Because of who Danny Rand is, Iron Fist could really dive into the lifestyle of the 1% and show their effects on society. Have Danny Rand learn what his company and other corporations are doing and use his team-up with Ward Meachum in order to show what it’s really like being part of the 1%.

I know that sounds very different from the street-level focus of the other shows but that’s not necessarily a bad thing. There’s a lot of good drama that can come from this, such as Danny being repulsed by the upper class’ excessive lifestyle, learning that other companies like Roxxon are getting away with major natural disasters caused by their actions, being inspired by Tony Stark shutting down the weapons division of his company despite taking a massive hit in his stocks, getting tempted by wealth and trying to impress Colleen with his wealth (before she tells him she doesn’t care for his money, you know, the usual), truly learning the extent of his privileges, and so on.

Like how Luke Cage immersed its audience with life in Harlem, Iron Fist can do the same but with the focus on the rich and powerful. 

Now how can the Davos storyline connect with the 1% storyline? Well, remember in Daredevil season one where Madame Gao was selling “Steel Serpent” heroin? There you go, Davos is the mastermind behind the heroin trade (along with other drugs) that’s seeping into all parts of the city, including the 1%. 

3) Danny Rand lightens up a bit. Come on Netflix, the guy’s more likable when he’s funny or at least not trying to hammer in his “I am the Iron Fist” message down everyone’s throats. I also say this because we really do need a “jokester” Defender among the four.

Matt is all about his Catholic guilt and pessimism, Luke is a nice, lovable guy but not the comedic-type, and Jessica is just pure sarcasm. It’d be nice to have Danny be the funny one of the group, especially since the Hand is defeated (for now). He can chill for a bit. Plus, this would give Danny a lot more personality, which would benefit Finn Jones since his performance so far has primarily been repeating that he’s the Iron Fist and that he protects K’un L’un. 

4) Danny Rand x Misty Knight may be a thing in the comics but for season two...I don’t know. Honestly, I think it’d be a bit forced to have Danny leave Colleen and go with Misty this early. If (and this is a big if) Marvel decides they still want Danny and Misty to still be a thing, here’s how I think they should go about it.

First off, break up Danny and Colleen in the best way that they can. And I don’t mean throw in some bullshit like what Agents of SHIELD / The CW does. Have it be a natural break-up. Now that they’re past the honeymoon stage, they start to realize that they aren’t really compatible with each other. It doesn’t have to be anything big, it could be the small stuff, like they disagree on simple topics and they hate each others’ hobbies. Then, when they realize things aren’t working out, have Colleen end the relationship, with Danny agreeing that this is for the best.

(Colleen should end it since she’s the more emotionally mature one in the relationship)

That’s when you start teasing Danny and Misty. Definitely have them become close friends throughout season two and then near the end of the season, start giving hints that Misty and Danny may have feelings for each other. Like maybe throw in some subtle (or not so subtle) stares in the final episode. Save their romance for season three. 

You can actually treat this like a balancing beam. As Danny and Colleen approach the end of the season, they start to grow apart while Danny and Misty grow closer together. Of course, this would be done right if the show had a good writer who can handle the relationship dynamics. Here’s hoping that they do have one.

Once again, this point is all based on the possibility that Marvel wants to go for the Danny and Misty route. For all we know, they could remain rooted to Danny and Colleen. So take this point with a grain of salt.  

4.5) As a supplemental to this point, don’t make Misty and Colleen enemies. We still need the Daughters of the Dragon spin-off. Have the break-up be clean with no bullshit jealousy and petty rivalries. 

5) Introduce Shang-Chi! He’s basically Marvel’s version of Bruce Lee and seeing as how Iron Fist was created during the martial arts craze in the 1970s, it would be nice if they introduced the other major Marvel hero that cashed in on the fad. Shang-Chi needs more love from Marvel anyways and Iron Fist would be a great spot to introduce him.

In fact, more Asian heroes would be welcome. Blindspot is another one that comes to mind, as well as the other Hand characters that haven’t been introduced yet (like Kirigi, Master Izo and the Gorgon)

6) Don’t do what Scott Buck did in season one. Fix the pacing, focus on strong characterization, and don’t stall the story early in the season. We don’t need a repeat of the mental hospital arc. 

7) I don’t really have an opinion on the Meachum family but it would be great if their writing was more...nuanced? I don’t know if that makes sense but from where season one left off, it looks like Joy’s going down the villain path while Ward is on the redemption path. Hopefully, the writers give these characters some solid development.

Someone else can write meta on Ward but for Joy, the writers should use Cottonmouth as an example of how to write her descent into darkness. Cornell didn’t WANT to be a gangster but he fell into the role, like what’s happening to Joy. I just don’t want her to be written as outright evil since that’s just boring. 

EDIT 8) Fix the damn fight choreography. Ask the Daredevil team if they could borrow their choreography team for a bit. 

Now that the Defenders is done, they have NO excuse for poor fight choreography. They have the time to focus on improving the fights. I don’t even wanna hear that the producers have to rush the fight scenes again since the big crossover event is finished.