#pepper would not engage with his arguing she simply had him removed

[doesnotloveyou]

re-analyzing mcu female characters now that i'm no longer a fan

look. they gave male writers a bucket of manly action figures and a baggie of female characters as accessories. fem chars were written like a list of tropes except with all the "icky sexism" ones crossed out. they were rarely written as, y'know, people (willing to argue that many of the male characters were barely allowed to be anything more than plastic action figures either)

Somehow though, despite being used as a fangirl stand-in (which are often derogatory caricatures imo) Darcy Lewis is an excellently written female character.

She is always herself. She doesn't care what professional men, hot men, authoritative men, extraordinary men, or even what any woman thinks of her. Not in a Hollywood "watch me not care and be so feisty and empowered while I do it" way, but in a chill "that's cool but imma be my own person" way

She is kind but doesn't put up with mistreatment

She is smart but doesn't need men to brag about her intelligence

She is savvy but doesn't need men to point it out

She is beautiful but neither a man nor the camera ever needs to realize it, and she dresses to be comfortable while also perfectly confident that she's gorgeous

She is fearful but she deals with it without needing a man to comfort her

She is firm in her opinions and her decisions without needing a man (or anyone) to approve of them

Best of all she cracks jokes for her own amusement and knows she's funny even if no one laughs

the writers (accidentally???) created a perfect every-woman by deciding to create a woman without making her Love Interest Material. they made her the Attractive Girl's Friend trope, yeah, but at least the friend gets to be herself instead of constantly wondering if the space viking will come back and sweep her off her feet

they made a strong female character in 2010, and when they brought her back in Wandavision she didn't even need a hot girl bestie as an excuse to be on the screen. their continuity reflected that she was now the most experienced person in her field. even the audience trusted her to be reliable in unreliable circumstances the same way a hero is meant to be reliable

every time Marvel tries to make a "strong female character" they do something hyper-stereotypical that bends in the other direction. "We can't be sexist, see? we converted his secretary into his assistant and then we made her the CEO of his company" or "we showed her punching out a misogynist in her first scene" or "canonically she's a maneater but we're afraid of how that will look so we'll make her have no romances instead while also being The Only Girl trope." and on and on and on

meanwhile, Darcy was great, and I give a lot of credit to Kat Dennings, but I would also like to know if there was a female, or even male, writer in the room who kept her all to themself and said "I'll write this character, I know them perfectly."

there must have been because she felt knowable. she also felt like a fun example of what being a normal human might be like in a universe where caped heroes fly around saving the world from aliens

[piperholmes]

Fitting Together Our Broken Parts

By: piperholmes

Thank you so much for the kind reception for Costumed.

I started a multi-chapter story that can be read on AO3

Or you can read the first part under the cut!

Phillip asks Anne to marry him…a few times. Phillip has to learn it isn’t as easy as he thinks it is and Anne has to be willing to believe that hope can be powerful when built on love. This will be in a few parts.

I wasn’t sure of the timeline but I am going with 1888 since that is the year Zac Efron used in an interview. I have researched marriage laws for New York in 1888 so I am trying to make this as accurate as my amateur research can make it. This isn’t beta’d either so I apologize for any mistakes.

Part 1: The Release

The first time he asked her to marry him it had been a bitterly cold, quiet night.

The snow had fallen heavily on New York, creating a glimmering, soft, silver wonderland that would be a sludge of brown by mid-morning as the busting city came to life. But for now, as the moonlight fought for prominence against the street lamps, there was a stillness and beauty that defied the biting chill.

The circus sat silent for once.

No crowd pushed for entrance, no one willing to ford the flakey powder that buried the city. It was easier to stay at home, warm by the fire, and pretend. Pretend to believe that the ephemeral world around them offered a sense of contentment. No one was fooled by the soft, delicate nature of the icy, deadly blanket they were all settled beneath, however, and so there was no audience to entertain.

It wasn’t often the performers got a night off so many had gathered together in small groups, around fires, playing cards, drinking, singing, laughing, anything to help stay warm.

W.D., however, sat silently, ignoring the glare from Lettie.

“Let it go,” the older woman advised. “There’s nothing that’s going to stop the boy from loving her.”

He scowled, but said nothing.

W.D. had, in the beginning, argued with his sister, warned her against spending more time with the young man. A young man who knew more privilege and freedom than either of the acrobats had ever dreamed of enjoying. He feared for his sister. He feared what such an association might do to her. What the world might do to her. What the dissidence of two different understandings might do to her. But in the end, he gave up. He’d seen the look in her eyes. The same look when she let go of the safety of the bar and flew with courage and skill above the danger below.  She was used to life without a net.

None of the other performers spoke about it to him. They left him stewing when his sister would disappear into Carlyle’s office, or when the ringmaster would take her to places that professed to beauty. To W.D. such beauty was counterfeit, hiding the ugliness behind diamonds, because beauty, true beauty should be available to all, not to those of a certain skin color and wealth. Anne would never see such beauty but on the arm of an affluent white man, and W.D. struggled with the happiness he felt for his sister to experience such a world and the heartbreak at knowing the price she paid.

His forced his gaze away from the office above them, finally giving into Lettie’s attempts to engage him in a game of Cinch.

He just hoped his sister knew what she was doing.

Phillip sat at his desk in his office, reviewing accounts, grateful for the fire roaring in his small cast-iron stove, the smoky scent of the burning wood covering the oft pungent aroma of elephants and zebras. He’d wondered at the idea of expanding his space, but knowing how hard it was to fight against the cold had always deterred him. For now, especially as Anne sat so near him, her legs crossed beneath her on the cot he’d set up in his office for those nights when he wouldn’t make it home, he knew he’d never give up this tiny space for anything bigger.

Phillip leaned away from the account logs, tired of adding and subtracting and feeling like it always came up short, and just watched her. Sometimes that was all they could do. The nightly performances were exhausting, and it was enough to just be together, silent. Anne would often fall asleep on his cot as he worked into the wee hours. Her body aching from exertion. He’d eventually slid up alongside her, pulling her tightly against him so he’d have enough room, then fall into a dead sleep. Other nights they would sit and talk, legs pressed against each other, fingers entwined. They listened and shared. Exploring worlds neither could imagine; her wonder and amazement at the places he’d been, the people he’d met, the life he’d lived, his awe and adoration at the cruelty she’d endured, the fights she’d survived, the family she had created.

It seemed impossible, like two stars forever trapped in one orbit, destined never to touch. Yet, somehow, they’d broken free and fallen together.

He watched her now, as she sat with her eye close, her arms moving to music only she could hear, dreaming up some new routine.  Her face free of any paint, hair lose about her shoulders, looking younger than either of them felt.

He felt happy, and warm, at home.

Without much thought he simply said, “Marry me.”

His voice sounded rough and gravely from disuse, the deep tones almost difficult to hear but he saw her arms freeze before lowering as her eyes opened to meet his.

She looked at him.

He pushed away from his desk, moving to kneel in front of her, his hand coming to rest against her knee.

“Marry me,” he repeated.

Her brow lowered as her lips pressed together.

“Anne,” he whispered, his eyes unwavering from hers.

They sat like that, wordlessly looking at each other, before she leaned forward, her hand cupping his face, pulling him gently towards her until her lips met his. Again, and again, her lips pressed, welcoming him, deepening the kiss. One hand slip to the back of his neck, her fingers burying themselves into his hair, the other hand fell to his shoulder, then chest, then beneath the brown jacket he’d yet to shed.

She felt the warmth of his body, and delighted in the way his breath hitched against her lips when her fingers pulled his white-button up from the waist of his pants before slipping beneath his undershirt, her chilled fingers connecting with the heat of his skin.

They had kissed like this before, engaging in the prelude of a deeper connection, but Phillip always stopped them before too many clothes had been removed.

“I won’t ruin you,” he’d swore. “You are more to me than one night.”

Her love and fear of him had grown with that promise. She’d loved him for how he loved her, but she knew that there was no true hope in the world allowing them to be together the way Phillip dreamed.

She used her weight to leverage him up, forcing him to fall forward onto her and the cot, her lips never leaving his.

“Anne,” Phillip warned, his hands pressing against the cot, surrounding her, pushing his face away, his breath panting against her face.

“Shh,” she soothed, beginning to pepper his face with small kisses before slowly moving to his jaw, then just below his ear, until she was gently sucking at the skin of his neck.

She felt a low moan begin in his chest, and knew he’d fight harder to pull away.

Her leg came up, wrapping around the back of his thigh, pulling him more fully on top of her.

“Don’t,” she pleaded when she felt him stiffen. “Don’t pull away from me.”

She had whispered the words into his ear, her cheek now pressed tightly against his. She could feel him against her where she cradled him between her legs.

“Make me your wife.”

Phillip’s head snapped back, blue eyes colliding with dark brown, both searching, both pleading, both hopeful.

With a groan, he allowed his weight to settle more fully against her, his lips meeting hers with a fervor neither had been willing to express before this moment.

They had worked to remove clothes, moments of laughter merging with the passion. It was awkward and tender, learning and exploring, embarrassment and pleasure delicately interwoven.

He’d been gentle and careful, and she’d teased him.

Both did a poor job hiding their nervousness, and an even worse job at keeping quiet.

Phillip laughingly shushed her, claiming his fear of W.D., until Anne scolded him for mentioning her brother to her at such a time, then promptly rolled her hips in such a way that Phillip could only swear loudly.

And nothing could be done about the squeaking protest of the bed bearing their weight.

Afterword, after they had shyly helped each other clean up, as they lay tightly wrapped together beneath the old blanket Anne had brought to him long ago, claiming if she was going to fall asleep in the office the least he could do was have a soft blanket, both breathing hard, hearts pounding against each other, finding a perfect rhythm, Phillip kissed her brow.

“You are going to marry me, right?”

She lifted her head, her chin resting against his chest, a small, sad smile on her lips. She leaned up to kiss the corner of his mouth before resting her head back against his heart.

“We already are.”

He wanted more. Wanted her to give him a clear answer, but he knew that was all she would say tonight. He knew because he knew her, body and soul.

Because he loved her.

Yes, they were married, their vow to each other sealed tonight, two becoming one.

But Phillip was determined to tell the world.

He would marry his wife one day.

[moteloleander]

@radar-one - [transcribed from notes ages ago sorry you probably don't even care anymore] ...[you] also wanted to know more about Francesca, though I always found Francesca self-explanatory - Heather Chandler, had she lived and swollen.  Liberal arts degree, never any intention of working, always intended to marry money.  Had her eye on Ted for years, even ebfore Maggie appeared (out of nowhere, the bitch) and stole that bachelor heart in short order.  Ted and Maggie rubbed along beautifully and Francesca faded back.  So life goes on, right up until it doesn't anymore; Maggie died due to labour complications.  It's okay, parenthood would have killed her anyway.  Maggie was a very cool sort of woman.  Not cruel, even affectionate, but Lee grew up a lot like her - very hard, very capable and straight-edged.  Lee was not a planned child.  Maggie would have coped, she was very good at that, but it's not what she was designed for.  Off topic.  Anyway.  After a reasonable period (the briefest possible decent period) Francesca started to insinuate herself again.  Big pillowy shadow at the edge of baby Lee's vision.  Lee seven, maybe eight.  And Ted does work an awful lot.  And Grandma's really not able anymore, all those school holidays and evenings.  And so it came to pass that My Ted made a terrible decision for a very good reason.  Same decision and reason as Cinderella's father and with the same effect - a girl needs a mother after all and here's this hyperfeminine, hyperavailable stalwart who has never gone anywhere or done anything unbefitting her station and has been just safe and bland and is so very grateful for everything she can get.  St Frankie.  It's that maneating sister of hers you have to look out for, but St Frankie just wanted a warm stable home.  Every pick of attention she's got goes to her husband or that darling little dolls he gave her for a stepdaughter, why, no child ever had parents that were so good to it as little Lee Petrova.  (Secretly, private whispers, and this is between you me and the wall, locals around East Borden far prefer doting helicopter Francesca to cool, removed Maggie.  They prefer the little princess Francesca made to the independent little bitch we all know Margaret Easter would have turned her into (A further point - nobody could ever get out of the habit of using Maggie's maiden name)  But Ted does work a lot.  I'm not sure Francesca ever realized just how often he's away, how many nights and even weekends he stays in the city.  Just how much time she'd end up spending on her own in an isolated hourse with an increasingly resentful child she had no experience managing.  Lee hit the 'you're not my real mom' phase and it never seemed to end.  And Francesca's response was just to pour more and more of her love and self over Lee, smothering and fussing and dressing and petting until, finally, she woke up one morning and found the balance had shifted.  THe contents of the sack were no longer struggling.  St Frankie was in control.   And then it was just a case of gradually pushing and pushing and seeing where the edges were

@snow, get a frickin tumblr so i can tag you in actual things you're so high-maintenance ugh Evelyn H Fairchild would have been one half of the villainy for B:B had it ever lived.  Which it hasn't, and it won't.  But i still dont' want to spoil it because the plot was okay so suffer.  Former U.S. military liaison.  Evie was one of those impossibly scary creatures who walk around bases unchallenged, who never wear a uniform, who are on first name terms with congressmen and every aide in Washington.  Not a power broker, not somebody who makes things happen - somebody who goes and tells people that things are going to happen and assists them in getting the fuck over it so we can all get along with our lives.  Why she was no longer thus engaged at the time of the tale, i can't tell you.  Suffice to say she wasn't, and was perfectly free to insinuate herself with Our James.  Her presence in London just so happened to coincide with a protracted and unexplained absence on Dani's part.  This absence might not have gone unexplained for so long if Evie hadn't made herself so bloody useful.  With the exception of theft and seduction - and there are plenty you can hire for such work - she provided every service Dani ever had, and was much more agreeable about it.  She could spot the flaws in a plan without being sarcastic about them, she was well-connected without being secretive.  And she almost *never* disagreed.  Evie also had some very strong ideas of her own, and was not shy about putting them forward.  Naturally, given this introduction was begun by naming her a villain, these did not end well for Our James.  But she really did have him.  In all the years to follow, he doens't even like to think of her.  They use her name, collectively, as a curse.  Because he can't even argue, can't hide it, can't cover up and refuse to accept, she had him.  Sort of a turning point for his character, towards the utter professionalism that characterised later work.  She was a crystallising factor for his talents, but for his cold as well.  Evie knocked him for six, she knocked him out of the world, because he really, honestly trusted her.  She had him simply through his vanity, simply because she never laughed at him like a certain bolshy Brit we're more familiar with.

@ misc anons who are probably long gone becaus ei never addressed this at the time - the steampunk Robot AU works by extrapolating code as machinery.  Giant, nightmarish, Moloch machinery.  But all machines have weak spots - valves, breakable pipes etc - or 'exploits'.  Something like a logic bomb operates by rigging a small prt of the machinery so that, under certain conditions, it will throw the whole thing off.  Really the Steambot Au exists purely because of an improbable desire on my part to see Edward in tiny smoked glass Dracula pince-nez, opium den visits instead of lines of morphine and weeks at sea on our way to visit Rose in Shanghai

@residentbunburyist  ...  -_-  trust you to chip in with a late one i didn't already have all figured out, lol.  Well, Jamie is obvious, Jamie can talk to spirits (upcoming version changes may or may not take this more seriously).  I have to figure on some kind of lycanthropy for Cal - my heart associates him very much with dogs and wolves, with packs and hunting and that sort of kinship.  I am trying to hook up George and fire but my inner Dessie won't stop screaming.  Given that, in later years after the world ends, his ghost shows up piggybacking Nora Pepper to torment his siblings afresh, I'ma make the sneaky bastard invisible.  Sunny's another obvious one, she's an energy vampire.  And Dessie... Maybe I'm cheating because this is what she is normally, but Dessie divides.  Dessie has a perfectly peaceful, zen-master side which is charming and sensual and merciful and compassionate and understanding and at a moments notice can drop the latch on a creature of untold violence, beyond reason, beyond intelligence, knowing only honour and blood.  And then she can put it away again on another heartbeat and never even know it happened.

Thus concludeth the attic-clearance of my brainspace.  Hopefully now I shall be able to do some work.