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coffee-n-some-cream · 1 year ago

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girls!rasey pt. 2 - ella & leona

The next day had Ella sweat-drenched, sitting on the shiny metal bleachers as she watched Mika’s softball game. The sun turned the bleachers into a bunch of wide, flat frying pans, and Ella sighed as a trickle of sweat went down her back.

“She’s doing really well so far,” Leona said to their Dad, who didn’t understand the rules of any sports besides martial arts and spent all of Mika’s games asking questions, like “Oh! Was that good?” and “Why are they groaning? I thought that was good” and “Why is it called a softball? It looks pretty hard to me.”

“Good, good.” Dad’s smile was wide and prideful as he watched Mika standing on one of the bases, stretching her legs as the next batter stepped up.

Donna leaned toward Ella and said in a low voice, “Why are you wearing a hoodie? Aren’t you hot?”

Ella glanced at her sisters and saw that Leona was looking at them out of the corner of her eye, Donna’s question having gotten her attention. “No.”

“You sure?” Donna reached over and placed a gentle hand against Ella’s forehead. “You feel pretty hot, and you’re looking a little pink in the face…”

Ella batted her hand away. “I’m fine! I like it, okay?”

Donna gave her a very dry, very skeptical look, then shrugged and turned back to the game. “Alright. Have fun cooking yourself.”

Ella grumbled and ignored the way she could feel Leona’s eyes on her. She could dig around in her room for some spare bills and go buy some makeup from the drugstore with Casey later. She just needed to make it through this stupid game, and then through stupid lunch.

By the time the game ended she was miserable, grumpy, and the back of the hoodie was soaked with sweat. She only managed a smile for Mika as she tugged on her arm, chanting, “Did you see me, El? Did you see me? Did you see me?”

“I saw you, I saw you, you were great.”

Lunch was a celebratory summer cookout in their backyard with hotdogs, burgers, coleslaw, grilled corn, and Ella’s favorite, watermelon. She sat in a lawn chair in the shade of the house, letting the cool, pink juice dribble down her chin as she tore into her fourth slice. It was one of the only cold things on the menu, and she hated coleslaw. She watched Mika tossing a frisbee around with her softball team friends, baffled that the kid still had energy to run around in the scorching sun after playing a softball game, and sucked the last of the juice from the white flesh of the watermelon rind.

“Are you okay?”

Ella’s eyes must have gone into the back of her head with how hard she rolled them. “Yes, mom, I’m fine. Can you leave me alone?”

Leona glared down at her, hands on her hips. “What is wrong with you? I just asked if you were okay.” She glanced around at the rest of their family and guests. Donna was in her usual place at the grill, Dad was watching the kids play while crunching on a popsicle. “Also, you know I hate it when you call me that.”

Ella could see that her sister was trying to turn this into a conversation, so she got up and went over to the spigot on the side of the house, ignoring her. She turned it on, running water over her sticky hands and splashing some onto her face until the remnants of the watermelon juice were gone. When she shut the spigot off and turned, Leona was right in front of her, arms crossed and looking miffed.

“Ella.” She was using her serious voice.

“Leona,” Ella said back, mocking. “Go eat a hotdog and get off my case for once in your life, huh?” She pushed past her and walked into the house through the back door, letting it slam shut behind her. She heard the door open again a second later and groaned.

“Hang on,” Leona called after her, her footsteps following Ella at a march. When she caught up to her, she grabbed her arm and pulled her back.

“Get off!” Ella yanked her arm out of her sister’s grasp.

“You’re freaking me out!” Leona put her hands in the air, at a loss. “You’ve been sweating through that stupid hoodie all day even though it’s making you overheated and grumpy, and it just seems like you’re hiding something. And…” She examined the hoodie for a moment. “That’s not even yours. Is that Casey’s?”

Ella chose to believe that a blush did not bloom across her face at the mention of Casey’s name. “Leona, I cannot stress this enough. I’m fine. And the reason I’m wearing the stupid hoodie is, get this,” she moved a hand horizontally through the air, as if presenting something, “none of your business.”

She turned around to walk into her room so that she could slam the door in her sister’s face and wait out the rest of the cookout in sullen solitude. But Leona’s hand shot out the moment her back was turned and yanked the hood off her head.

Ella’s gut turned to ice. She whipped back around and gave her sister a ferocious look, so indignant at the fucking audacity of her that she forgot to put a hand over her neck. “Leona! What the fuck?”

Leona’s eyes looked over Ella’s face and head before pausing on the side of her neck. Ella slapped a hand over the hickey. Leona’s eyebrows rose.

“Is that–?”

“No.”

“Ella, have you been covering up a hickey all day?” Leona’s voice was pitched high with disbelief, and Ella shushed her desperately, glancing around to make sure no one else had wandered into the house.

“Will you shut up?” She paused and looked her sister in the eye, apprehensive and feeling a little bit sick. “Don’t you dare tell Dad.”

Leona frowned at her, face soft and thoughtful. “Did Casey do that?”

Ella looked away, breaths suddenly shallow. “‘Course not. I’m not…” She trailed off.

The silence between them sat undisturbed for a few moments. Leona watched her sister, and Ella watched a piece of lint that was clinging to the bathroom doorway.

Leona’s hand reached out and grasped her wrist. Ella glanced up to see Leona smiling at her gently. “C’mon.” She turned and started walking toward her room, tugging Ella along after her.

“Why?” Ella muttered tentatively, but allowed Leona to pull her into her room and guide her to the small vanity that Leona had found for cheap at a yard sale. Leona shut the door behind them, then pushed Ella a little so she plopped back into the vanity seat.

“You can’t just walk around in a hoodie for the rest of the day. You’re gonna pass out,” Leona said as she fished around in her vanity drawers, plastic makeup cases clacking together. “I bought a foundation last summer that I think might match your skin tone.”

Ella watched her dig through the drawers for a moment until she pulled out a warm, tan bottle. Then she selected a sponge and turned to Ella. “I’m gonna cover up the bruise, okay? You can watch in the mirror to see how I do it so you can do it yourself later.”

Ella stared at her. “You’re… gonna help me cover it up?” She squinted. “You’re not gonna tell Dad?”

Leona was frowning at her again. “No. Why would I tell Dad?”

A shrug, and a guilty glance at her feet. “Uh… I guess I kinda thought you were a snitch. About most stuff. Especially this kinda stuff.”

“Ella…” Leona sighed and turned the chair so Ella’s back was to her, but she could still see them both in the mirror. She blotted the foundation onto Ella’s neck and started to smooth it over the bruise. It really was a good match to her skin. “I only tell Dad things I think he needs to know. He doesn’t need to know that you’ve been making out with… with anyone. Doesn’t matter who.” She applied more foundation and worked it in. “I would only tell him about this if I thought you were in trouble, or if someone was hurting you.” She paused. “And you’re not in trouble, right? Casey isn’t hurting you?”

Ella’s lip curled. “Of course not.”

“Then I don’t need to tell Dad anything.” She resumed blending the makeup in. “I’m your sister, not your mom. I get not wanting adults to know everything. I keep secrets from Dad too, you know.”

Ella couldn’t hold in her laugh of surprise. “You?”

“Uh, yeah, and he knows it too. He just… trusts me not to keep anything serious from him.”

Ella watched her hand for a moment, watched the way she blended the foundation into her skin with smooth, circular motions. Then she glanced up at her sister’s face in the mirror. Her brow was furrowed with concentration, but her eyes kept glancing at the mirror to check on Ella.

“So you’re cool?”

Leona smiled. “Of course I’m cool. I’m the coolest.”

“No, I mean…” She swallowed. “Casey. You’re cool?”

“Well.” Leona pursed her lips. “She wouldn’t be my first choice. I mean, she’s been suspended how many times? And she rides that awful motorcycle to school, which I had better never catch you on. And she was caught spray painting the restrooms by the track field that one time–”

“Leo. I meant that she’s a girl.”

Leona stopped and looked at her in the mirror. “Oh.” She frowned and put a hand on Ella’s shoulder. “Of course. You’re my sister. None of that matters. I only care that you’re safe and happy, El.”

Ella took in a shaky breath, then let it out. She nodded. “Okay,” she said, her voice cracking.

“Okay.” Leona squeezed her shoulder, then went back to the bruise. She gave the foundation a few more dabs before setting the sponge down. “I think it’s done.”

The column of her neck looked completely unmarred. Ella ran a finger lightly over where the bruise was, feeling the tackiness of the makeup. “You can really work magic with that stuff, huh?”

“Pretty much.” Leona capped the bottle, then grabbed a little plastic bag and dropped it in. A clean sponge was tossed in as well before the bag was deposited in Ella’s hand. “For when you need to reapply. Don’t leave it on when you sleep. Wash it off and put more foundation on in the morning.”

Ella nodded, then glanced up at her sister. “Thanks.”

“Sure.” Leona bit the inside of her lip. “Just… talk to me. Next time.” She shrugged and scratched at her arm. “And don’t give yourself a heatstroke for no good reason. I’m on your side. You know that right?”

Ella snorted. “Yeah. I know.” She put the baggie in the pocket of the hoodie. “I can do that, I guess.”

Leona put her arms around Ella’s shoulders in a firm hug, and Ella didn’t fight it. She squeezed her sister’s torso, smiling when the strength of it made her groan. Ella’s nose was tucked against Leona’s shoulder, and she looked at the cat calendar that hung against the pale blue bedroom wall, each day filled out with penned notes and highlighter circles.

“I’m gonna miss you when you leave,” Ella muttered against her shoulder.

Leona squeezed tighter. “Me too. I’m gonna miss all of you so much, you don’t even know.”

Ella smiled. “I do.”

Leona laughed. “Yeah… yeah, you probably do.”

The two returned to the cookout, Casey’s hoodie tucked into the back of Ella’s jean pocket. Donna gave them both a look and gestured to the plates of food sitting on the porch steps, letting them know that their requested hotdogs and burgers were probably cold because they took so fucking long. Dad placidly reminded Donna not to swear.

#my writing #fandom writings #fanfiction #fanfic #tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #raph #raphael #casey jones #rasey #girls!rasey #not sure how else to tag for that....#sorry this peters off and doesn't really have an ending??? i wasn't sure where else to go with it #anyway. there's that. that's all i have so far for this

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fremedon · 6 months ago

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Back in 2014, I did a panel at CON.TXT on dubious consent tropes: sex pollen, fuck or die, omegaverse, and so on. And we talked about how the same tropes can carry different kinds of narrative weight, and how the ways they're used have evolved over time--how tropes that started out as a way to get around the rape culture assumption that Nice Girls Don't were repurposed to interrogate rape culture. By making the coercion external to all parties to the sex act--by removing culpability--they allow for rape and rape culture stories without rapists.

And I proposed that a lot of these tropes were also coming to be used in ways that read as allegories for the impossibility of resisting the conditions of late capitalism. A character is placed under complete social or biological constraint, with no power to escape or fight or do anything but submit, and their only choice is whether to submit gracefully or make a token and futile resistance. And that their decision to make the experience something they want--to claim whatever good they can in it--is an act of power. That to consent, even internally, and make it meaningful, even when they have no way to enforce a refusal, is an act of power.

Because it was a panel on dubcon, and saying Yes is what differentiates dubcon from noncon, in fiction, we talked mostly about stories where the protagonist says Yes; we talked about these consent tropes as allegories for the ways that people do, in fact, find good in conditions they cannot opt out of. People do build good relationships under rape culture. They build communities under late capitalism. These things do happen, outside of fiction, and a story about someone reconciling to life as an omega can have a lot to say about the complicated internal struggles people go through to make them happen.

We didn't talk so much about the flip side of these tropes--that by making that internal Yes meaningful, even in circumstances where No has no power, they also imply that there is meaning in No, even where it has no effect. They validate the worth of an internal resistance, even where it achieves nothing. Maybe we mentioned it? I don't even remember--it was a panel on dubcon, not noncon, and that internal No has the power to change the genre, if nothing else.

I am thinking now, though, about the rise within fandom of a purity culture that strenuously rejects these tropes--while also granting them remarkable power. That claims that, because real life does not have the distinction possible in fiction between dubious consent and nonconsent, that not only is fictional dubcon no different from fictional rape, it's no different from real rape. That returns culpability to these stories and places it firmly with the author. That says that a fictional character cannot consent, to anything--and that the real author, being the only person involved with actual moral agency, owes it to the character to keep them safe.

To exercise moral choice on their behalf.

To say No, in the fictional world where that No is meaningful, and to imbue that No with an irresistible moral weight in the real world.

At any rate I'm not saying the crowd that thinks not voting to withhold their consent from things done in their name is somehow a meaningful form of protest just needs to read some sex pollen about it. But I'm not not saying that.

#dubcon #rape culture #purity culture #not even sure how else to tag this

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