perfectfoil

[perfectfoil]

The term 'ship' is too vague. I don't think they should date i think they should be fucking regularly. I don't think they should date i think they should yearn for eachother endlessly but never have it be requited. I don't think they should date i think they should kiss one night and never talk about it again. I don't think they should date i think they should hate eachother so much that it turns into bottled up lust. I don't think they should date i think one of them should have a one-sided crush on the other. I don't think they should date i think they should have a situationship that ruins their lives. I don't think they should date i think they should stab eachother

[perfectfoil]

HELLO, VERA

Wentworth // 4.01 First Blood // 8.18 The Abyss //

[perfectfoil]

[perfectfoil]

Thinking about how after the ending of Wentworth Vera is the only person to know that Joan not only escaped but also saved her life as she did so. How this final moment must have reframed their recent interactions for Vera, making her realize that the two of them had changed one another in more ways than they had realized. Even if they never see each other again from now on, they will be changed irrevocably because of their time together.

Throughout each one of their interactions that season, Vera was aggressive and lashing out at Joan even when it was cruel and went against who she was to do so. If Joan wouldn't be the cruel woman Vera once knew her to be, then she would try to provoke her into becoming that woman again, but in doing so it really just showed that Vera had become the thing she said she'd never be - like Governor Ferguson. Her actions towards Joan/Kath in the final season are emotionally charged in a similar way to when Joan believed that Vera had betrayed her in season 3 and had become paranoid and acted rashly with little concern to others, with the justification that it was all for the "greater good" and that she knew best.

Despite everyone around her and all the evidence suggesting that Joan really was harmless as Kath at the start of season 8, Vera refuses to believe that the woman who had such an impact on her life has gone and is paranoid that she will end up hurt/betrayed if she believes in Kath. This paranoia and stubbornness then leads her to act cruelly towards Kath because she justifies how she is acting as being for the "greater good" of everyone by punishing Joan for her past actions - despite the fact that it's not really Joan she's punishing in those moments. And it's these actions (ordering the spitbag in particular) that cause Joan's memories to return and therefore unleash the monster back into her life.

Vera had taken over the antagonistic role that was once Joan's in their relationship, emulating the authoritative and self-righteous character of her past mentor-and-friend-turned-enemy. And as she took on that role, Joan became the one with little power or control in their relationship, deferring meekly to Vera as her superior in the prison hierarchy. Someone raised to believe that emotions are a weakness was having to recognise and process that not only did she have strong emotions, but that these emotions were brought on because of Vera. Throughout their interactions in the season, Joan is incredibly earnest towards Vera and shows a great level of concern and care for her even if at first she doesn't understand it herself. It is through seeing and talking to Vera again that Joan learns to put others before herself - something that was once Vera's biggest weakness (before she met Joan), has now become a sign of positive growth for Joan.

That's not to say that Vera wasn't still the caring and loving woman we've seen throughout the show or that Joan didn't still engage and desire cruel/violent behaviours , but rather that over the course of their relationship they drew strength from the others weaknesses. Despite any claim of hatred for one another by the final episode, it's impossible to hide just how much the two have changed through knowing one another.

As Joan walks away from Vera and into the distance at the end of the final episode, the symbiotic nature of their relationship comes to an end, but the two of them will be forever changed from knowing one another.

[perfectfoil]

Joan Ferguson & Vera Bennett

F. Scott Fitszgerald, Dear Scott, Dearest Zelda: The Love Letters of F. Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald // Nipuna Mehta, (via @nipsyy)

[perfectfoil]

The way Vera has defined herself her whole life has been by trying to be who she was expected to be by those around her (and repressing herself in the process) in order to be accepted and liked, to feel like she was part of something. Her mother was the first one Vera tried and failed to please - and failed to be loved, appreciated, val: ued by. She suffered long into adulthood at the hands of her mother, trapped at home with her and catering to her every needs, until, with only a little nudge from Joan to push her over the edge: she killed her.

And she did that to please Joan - not entirely, but it played a huge part in her finally doing it. Vera then placed everything in Joan and let herself be defined and moulded by yet another woman. The only difference was that Vera was led to believe that she was somewhat in control and that Joan, acting as mentor, was standing side by side with her as equals in order to 'achieve great things together.'

It was incredibly and painfully ironic that Joan who had prided herself in shaping Vera in her image then reaped the consequences by having her own 'creation' backfire and turn on her - because of course Joan took this as a betrayal.

Though Vera had known, until that very dinner, that she and Joan were the same, two sides of the same coin, she could deal with ti because she was more than happy to let Joan direct and dictate even if it unsettled her once acknowledged out loud ahs the parallels made were just hitting the nail on the end a little too accurately. When Joan pointed it out to demonstrate just how much they are alike it made it real in a way Vera isn’t ready to handle: “Every decision I make is for the greater good. If I have to make difficult choices, then so be it. You could relate to that. I'm sorry? What you did to your mother. I understand. It was a necessity. It was right. Some people would think differently, but you made a difficult decision for the greater good. Just like me.” (2.12) That was so very real and true, and for the first time Vera was forced to reckon with what she had done and the lengths she had gone to to free herself (and shackle herself to Joan)

Vera's brutal epiphany lie in her contamination. The physical stain of her hepatitis C was the symbol of Joan's deception and betrayal. That infamous dinner at Joan's house is a chilling parallel to the evening where Vera killed her mother. She was determined and she came to Joan's house and responded to her invitation with a purpose. Even the way she stood on her doorstep (and handed her another wine bottle than the one requested, an amazing proverbial 'fuck you' to Joan) was Vera taking back the power she'd handed over to Joan. Staring Joan in the eye with a calm and a composure season 1 and season 2 Vera would never have dreamed of possessing, she administered the first blow (and perhaps the most damaging because Joan never ever got over it - and Vera never got closure) by rejecting her: “You and I are nothing like each other.” (3.08) 

Had Joan admitted to having failed her when the prisoners took Vera hostage and threatened with a needle, that relationship might have gone differently. An apology might have been the beginning of an healing process for Vera who felt not only used, betrayed and manipulated but also soiled. That withdrawal from Joan, her wiping her hand on her napkin were so heavy and loaded. And Vera never ever got over that - up until the very end.

The death of her relationship with Joan marked not just another metamorphosis (not at all unlike the one brought about by her mother's cold-blooded murder) but the birth of Vera herself. For the first time she was being herself, choosing herself and letting herself define herself, her actions and her decisions.

Of course what is extremely brilliant is that she turned out to be just like Joan (as Joan had always seen and perceived in Vera's very own darkness).

[perfectfoil]

4x02 “poking spiders”

[perfectfoil]

Fortnight is about Freakytits.

The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived is about Vera and Jake.

[perfectfoil]

[perfectfoil]

— Sylvia Plath, from “Parliament Hill Fields”

[perfectfoil]

Wentworth // 5.06 Happy Birthday, Vera // Season Five Trailer //

[perfectfoil]

All it takes is the sound of a breath. Stella’s. As the air is expelled, with a force imbued with the same scorn Vera can hear when it comes to occupy, however briefly, the space between them, she understands then. Or rather, she comes to realise a few things all at once. They settle upon her, shoving aside thoughts and considerations that she was already granting Stella’s questions, and for a moment: there is no room for anything else. And so, Vera sits there with it all and the wine, warm and heavy as it churns inside her. It has taken her a while - and she chastised herself for that. “Not there.” Her father. Hadn’t been there. Absent. Nothing more is offered though whether this is due to Vera’s own lack of knowledge or to her reticence to share remains unclear.

What Stella gives is barely a crumb. It drops the way it would have had she tossed a piece of something Vera’s way and it isn’t picked up. Though she doesn’t know, not for certain, what it means, she is aware that it won’t be followed by anything else. A  sliver of information, purposefully generic. Vera looks down, her brows furrowed. The realisations lingering on the frayed periphery of her consciousness are yearning to be let in and to expose themselves to her mind’s eye.Slowly, she ushers them in. Slowly, she sips, seeking solace in a reality seemingly slipping from her grasp. Oh she’s been there before. Blind, of course. Unaware. Clueless. Naive. A paltry little thing eager to please, to know, to be seen.

“You don’t want to know.”

She looks up. Emotions swell, rise, gather themselves up like a great wave whose crest is crashing against her fortitude. That wasn’t there before - and that too, Vera comes to realise. They reach her, all those feelings - which are no more, no less than certitudes encumbered by weakness, as though from far away, through some net, a mesh of sorts whose bulky weight requires to be hauled and carried before she can hastily discard it.

“Not really.”

So close. What she could impart would come to fit, like pieces, and complete the mosaic Stella has been putting together. It will resemble Vera. Perhaps it will even look exactly like her in the most minute and intimate detail. Why? It’s a question she can’t and won’t ask. Why is she doing this? Why is it happening again?There’s a lot she wants to say but she has learnt that harsh lesson in the most cruel way, so the words remain stones, their jagged edges safely ensconced in the folds of her epiphany. She has been a fool, the remnants of her former self still potent enough to claim her. She has thought wrong again, erred in a direction not meant for her and now she is teetering on the brink. So very close, indeed. 

Her hand reaches the remote. The sound of the news fills the room once more.

this isn't a family , it's a repressive regime . / from stella @thef2ll

When Vera’s gaze slants downward, peeling itself from the television’s screen to find Stella’s perfectly sculpted profile, it takes her a moment to realise that the proffered observation - or judgement, more like - is indeed directed at the screen upon which some sordid case has been unfolding. Though Stella’s eyes are still riveted on the papers spread out on the coffee table, her words are meant for other people than those inhabiting the pages and haunting the glossy photos Vera is trying her best to avoid looking at. She looks back at the television without a word. Beside her, Stella shifts, turns over a page, retreats back into a silence neither woman seems to find uncomfortable. After sparing a glance in Stella’s direction, Vera leans forward, picks up the remote and mutes the news. It’s a statement of its kind. Not as aggressive as turning off the television but potent, meaningful enough in its intentions. If it perturbs Stella, she doesn’t let it show, choosing instead to extend a hand to retrieve her glass of wine and sip.

“I know a thing or two about that.” About families that aren’t that. About repressive regimes. It’s her turn to turn to the wine, drinking from her glass for a moment in silence as though more to say can be found in the red liquid she watches swirl as the stem of the glass between the tip of her fingers. Stella doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. Vera knows better than to assume she’s not heard her. She takes another sip then refills her glass but when Stella does move, her glass suddenly invading Vera’s field of vision, she almost startles. Their eyes meet. Vera’s fleet. She tops up Stella’s glass, clears her throat, discards the bottle. “You never ask,” she remarks. Vera doesn't either. Stella carries herself with ease and poise, wearing a facade like a finery, the front she presents to the world always so elegantly draped over her, like an expensive shawl made out of silk. It commands respect, forbids trespasses of any sort and warns, in a near nonchalant fashion, anyone who might entertain that very notion. “My mum raised me.” Mother. My mother raised me. Mother. She ought to nail that word into her vernacular. Mum never earned the name and the love it encompasses. With a cant of her head, Vera nods. “It’s your turn, Stella. Tit for tat.”  

[perfectfoil]

When Kayley was very young she had asked her mother one day if she was pretty, and her mother had said, "Well, you're not going to win any beauty contest, but you're not going to be in a freak show either." - Olive, Again (Elizabeth Strout)

[perfectfoil]

this isn't a family , it's a repressive regime . / from stella @thef2ll

When Vera’s gaze slants downward, peeling itself from the television’s screen to find Stella’s perfectly sculpted profile, it takes her a moment to realise that the proffered observation - or judgement, more like - is indeed directed at the screen upon which some sordid case has been unfolding. Though Stella’s eyes are still riveted on the papers spread out on the coffee table, her words are meant for other people than those inhabiting the pages and haunting the glossy photos Vera is trying her best to avoid looking at. She looks back at the television without a word. Beside her, Stella shifts, turns over a page, retreats back into a silence neither woman seems to find uncomfortable. After sparing a glance in Stella’s direction, Vera leans forward, picks up the remote and mutes the news. It’s a statement of its kind. Not as aggressive as turning off the television but potent, meaningful enough in its intentions. If it perturbs Stella, she doesn’t let it show, choosing instead to extend a hand to retrieve her glass of wine and sip.

“I know a thing or two about that.” About families that aren’t that. About repressive regimes. It’s her turn to turn to the wine, drinking from her glass for a moment in silence as though more to say can be found in the red liquid she watches swirl as the stem of the glass between the tip of her fingers. Stella doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. Vera knows better than to assume she’s not heard her. She takes another sip then refills her glass but when Stella does move, her glass suddenly invading Vera’s field of vision, she almost startles. Their eyes meet. Vera’s fleet. She tops up Stella’s glass, clears her throat, discards the bottle. “You never ask,” she remarks. Vera doesn't either. Stella carries herself with ease and poise, wearing a facade like a finery, the front she presents to the world always so elegantly draped over her, like an expensive shawl made out of silk. It commands respect, forbids trespasses of any sort and warns, in a near nonchalant fashion, anyone who might entertain that very notion. “My mum raised me.” Mother. My mother raised me. Mother. She ought to nail that word into her vernacular. Mum never earned the name and the love it encompasses. With a cant of her head, Vera nods. “It’s your turn, Stella. Tit for tat.”  

[perfectfoil]

↪ 𝑾𝑯𝑨𝑻 𝑯𝑨𝑷𝑷𝑬𝑵𝑬𝑫 𝑻𝑶 𝑴𝑶𝑵𝑫𝑨𝒀 ? ( a collection of sentence starters from the 2017 film . adjust phrasing as necessary . )

i like it . did you write that ?

haven't i already told you that ?

tell me , [ name ] , what's your secret ?

you're looking fresh as a daisy .

are you okay ? you seem ...

i'm just tired . tomorrow's a big day .

that's very important , do you understand ?

why can't you just accept that this is your family ?

this isn't a family , it's a repressive regime .

you're driving us all crazy .

this is our life , it is what it is .

you're burning up . you running a fever ?

shut the fuck up .

all these years , i've been trying to figure out your angle .

you're not interested in anyone .

[ name ] . i'm onto you .

you can't just vanish .

is there a problem ?

there's obviously been a mistake , can you please tell me what i'm doing here ?

what a pleasure to meet you .

i know who you are .

i'm amazed you made it this far .

this is ... this is all a big mistake .

for your sake , i wish that were true .

is there another way ?

i can't believe this is happening .

we can't just sit here . we gotta do something !

i don't wanna die . i don't wanna die .

you're gonna be okay , i'm here .

i'm sorry . i'm so sorry .

you're supposed to be the believer .

i don't know what i believe . i don't know who i am .

they won't suffer .

sometimes , i think " to hell with it " . to hell with everybody .

do not underestimate [ name ] .

make this a priority .

we always work best as a team .

somebody wants us to disappear . the question is why .

this isn't a game , [ name ] . don't lose your head out there .

what's it gonna be ?

playing dumb doesn't suit you , [ name ] .

get the fuck out of there !

that's not an option .

i wanted to , uh ... try something new .

hold on , we've got a situation .

all your big talk , and you've ... never been with anyone ?

trust me , we're doing them a favor .

i'm scared , [ name ] . what are we gonna do ?

shhh , we're gonna get you out of here .

we failed miserably as a species on this planet .

anyone who's willing to sacrifice their own flesh and blood can never truly be trusted .

you sold us out . how could you ?

i thought you of all people would understand .

what do you know about family ?

i did everything i was told . i did everything right .

i didn't plan this . it got out of my control .

i was a total fuck - up .

if i could go back and change it all , i would .

promise me you won't let them take them .

stay with me , okay ?

[perfectfoil]

“It seemed to her that the dullness and the boredom of her childhood, her youth, were stored here in the room under the worn dusty red rugs, in the bloated brassware, amongst the dried grasses in the swollen vases, behind the yellowed photographs in the oval frames – everything, everything that she had so hated as a child and that was still preserved here as if this were the storeroom of some dull, uninviting provincial museum.”

— Anita Desai, Clear Light of Day

[perfectfoil]

Wentworth // 4.12 // Seeing Red //