ok. years have passed and we've had some distance, so i'm finally gonna take the leap of faith that tma fandom is finally ready to hear me on this. let's talk about tannins.
161 was the first tma episode i heard on early release, and i felt the bit where martin declines wine and cites tannins was pretty obvious in its implications. cool, got it, say no more.
imagine my surprise when i was one of maybe three people i saw read between the lines there, in a fandom famous for red stringing--a fandom that immediately caught the much less obvious thread of ignition sources in the same episode. i'll spell it out: alcohol is an issue for martin.
maybe it just felt obvious because addiction is a pet issue for me--as it is for jonny, who has said everything he writes is filtered through a lens of addiction. i don't know if that's due to his own experience or a loved one's, and i won't speculate; i also don't know if martin personally struggled with drinking or just avoids it for fear he would, but alcohol would fit what we know of his family. his dad walking out and his mum spiralling into bitter wallowing and verbal abuse? i'd bet one or both of them drank, yeah.
on a basic level martin tries to decline alcohol, and that alone should have raised eyebrows given what we know of martin and, again, a fandom that dissects everything. we already knew martin "K" blackwood lied about his personal life and his family in particular, especially pre-canon, which is when this flashback took place. i was shocked that everyone took his flimsy excuse at face value with no further questions.
and the excuse is flimsy. martin turns down wine by--nervously--exclaiming tannins are "a proven headache trigger!" which sounds like trivia from a magazine cover and not the words of someone who actually has headaches--and it hasn't come up before or since. jon, confused, points out that tea, a drink martin consumes to a degree that is memetic both in- and out-of-universe, also contains tannins, and martin squawks a panicked, "what?!"
if tannins are enough of a concern for martin that he knew they're in wine and so avoids it, why didn't he know they're in his drink of choice? why does he still drink tea at the time of canon, and why doesn't he struggle with constant headaches from consuming 'a proven headache trigger' day in and day out? why, indeed, would someone avoid wine and not tea?
when sasha insists martin drink he caves and agrees to 'just a drop'. i imagine him pouring it in a plant, which admittedly he could have done if tannins really were the issue. i will say that i, for one, would be less likely to falsely agree to something that makes me physically ill than to a private issue that i'd rather not be pressed on any further. this scene also establishes martin's birthday was an ice cream party instead of the more traditional visit to a pub.
also, this scene was in the first episode of the final season, as one of three flashbacks that could have been to any pre-canon event in the archives. prime narrative real estate. not really time one would waste on establishing the important character context that martin has... headaches. which never comes up before or after, even regarding the week he spent in spiral town. but you know what is pretty crucial character background...?
it felt like a no-brainer, and yet all i saw was h/c fluff about jon attending to martin's headaches. and i hate feeling bitter about disability representation. i want folks with chronic headaches to feel seen and have fluffy escapist fantasies. i don't want to be mad about people portraying a character with a disability. but, guys? you got the wrong disability. jonny sent a clear message, and it went over fandom's head.
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❀ ˎˊ- prompt: bringing aventurine back from the nightclub
❀ ˎˊ- aventurine x gn!reader
❀ ˎˊ- wc: 1.1k
❀ ˎˊ- warnings: alcohol mentions, aventurine being aventurine
❀ ˎˊ- img credits
If not attending business meetings or gambling away in casinos, Aventurine can instead be found at nightclubs, with a brightly colored drink swirling leisurely in his hand.
He finds that he rather likes the atmosphere of the nightlife, with the darkness of the night providing a safe cover for him and any other partygoers, the loud roar of drunken clients drowning out any secrets or sorrows, and the blaring neon lights a distraction from the meaningless toil of the day. The energy of the party sweeps one away in a tsunami of alcohol and laughter and hands that wander where they shouldn't.
Aventurine takes another sip of his beverage - a margarita this time - and savors the slight burn as it slides down his throat. His elbow rests casually on the bar counter as he simply takes in the delirious atmosphere.
He doesn't remember which glass he's on now, nor does he particularly care. All Aventurine needs to bother with is keeping his drink covered and his wit still relatively intact, and a few measly glasses isn't enough to win him over.
Still, it doesn't mean that the alcohol isn't taking its effect on him. While Aventurine's eyes are as sharp as ever, both observing the ridiculous acts of drunken clients with almost sadistic amusement and keeping an eye out for any malicious intent, he can't deny the warm tingle in the back of his head that comes with his drinks.
He lets out a content sigh into the alcohol-laced air, raising his gaze to the multicolored ceiling.
Yes, this was perfect for him, he muses, a bitter smile on his face. This was where he belonged, in a twisted sanctuary for people to temporarily drink and party themselves out of reality. This was the only place left for people like him.
"I thought I might find you here."
As if by habit, Aventurine chuckles, straightening his posture. Taking another sip of his drink, he takes his time turning to you and meeting your disapproving gaze.
"Well, if it isn't my favorite assistant," he hums, the glass still hovering above his lips, the nectar within just a few bits away from pouring into his mouth. "What brings you all the way here?"
As he doesn't already know the answer.
"You, who else?" You sound exasperated, but your words bring upon satisfaction as his smile grows wider.
"Aww," Aventurine coos. He downs the rest of his drink, setting it down on the bar before leaning on the counter towards you, propping his head up on his palm. "Was someone worried about me?"
Again, he eagerly awaits for your answer.
You give him a tired look, one that he's seen many, many times in his career. Yet you decide to indulge him, a defeated sigh leaving you.
"Obviously," you say bluntly. "You'll destroy your liver at this rate."
Aventurine laughs good-naturedly, the corners of his mesmerizing eyes crinkling.
"Well, aren't you sweet."
He pushes himself off the counter to stand, and shrugs on the fur coat that was hanging off his stool. With a gloved finger, he tips your chin towards him.
"I must apologize for worrying you, my dear," he says sweetly. You furrow your brows at the nickname, but Aventurine pays no mind as he quickly pays off his tab and saunters off to the building's exit. He looks back at you, amusement flickering behind those rose-tinted glasses as you stare at him, dumbfounded yet too tired to care for his antics. "Aren't you going to see me home?"
You don't remember saying anything of the sort, and Aventurine knows this, but in the end, he's still your boss and you have to do what he asks of you.
Reluctantly, you follow him out. Aventurine slings an arm around you as you come close and pulls you flush against his side as you walk down the streets of the city. When you don't protest, but rather, subtly lean into his hold, Aventurine internally breathes a sign of relief.
He doesn't treat anyone else like this, much less a subordinate. The Amber Lord knows what people have been whispering about the two of you at headquarters. But he can't help it, not when you're the only one to actively seek him out and not push him away, as annoyed with him as you sound.
Something about that attracts him to you, as much as he hates to admit it. Time and time again, whenever you take the time out of your already busy work schedule to check on him, like now, he can't stop his heart from beating a little bit faster.
"Your breath reeks of alcohol," you comment, pulling him out of his thoughts.
"Is that so?" Aventurine hums thoughtfully. "I wonder why."
You roll your eyes. "If you need a distraction that badly, have you tried seeking therapy?"
"That's hardly a distraction, my dear," Aventurine chuckles. "No, unless you can come up with a better idea, I think I'll stick to the clubs."
"Or you could come to me."
You expect another laugh, but instead, Aventurine stiffens as if shocked by a lightning bolt. His eyes widen, his mouth slightly agape as he stares at you. But by the time you notice and look back to him, Aventurine's smile is back, only this time, something dark lingers behind his irises.
"Hm, I don't know about that one," he says easily, his arm falling back to his side as he quickens his pace. "You know, it isn't nice to say things you don't mean."
Indignation flashes across your face, and something in Aventurine's chest tightens.
"Sir-"
And yet, he persists despite himself.
"We should get going."
His tone is flat, still lighthearted, but warning this time. You open your mouth to protest, but think better of it and shut your lips.
The walk back to the car is quiet, deafeningly so. You still walk by Aventurine's side, but now, there's a considerable distance between you two.
Aventurine's fingers twitch, and for a moment, he almost reaches towards you, only to catch himself and reign his hand back to his side. Closing his eyes, he takes a deep breath and calms himself.
Yes, this is how it should be, he thinks to himself as he enters the car. He leans on the door and gazes outside at the nightclub, still raving despite it all.
An escape, a distraction, that was what he sought out most. But it couldn't come from you.
He'd rather die before he'd let that happen.
reblogs w comments are appreciated !!
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Hello all! Here's a Stormlight Archive observation I'd like to share. Shallan's coping mechanisms are not:
❌ Veil
❌ Radiant
Veil, Radiant, and headmates in general are actually people! How would you feel if someone called you a coping mechanism or an unhealthy coping mechanism, or implied or outright said that you were not real? Yes, Veil and Radiant are characters, but there are also systems who exist in real life and can hear how you talk about them.*
To be fair, I know that for the first two books, Brandon Sanderson himself was not writing Radiant and Veil as their own people, and there is an argument to be made that he never fully pivoted away from that, but I believe/hope that we as a fandom can do better than him.
In addition, what Shallan's coping mechanisms are, from my observation:
Drawing, to distract herself from things that are stressing her out.
Being a scholar, especially in the earlier books.
Dissociation, which, interestingly, in the flashback chapters seems to be fully blanking out for a while, and in current time is written more as active repression (maybe so that Shallan can just decide not to repress her memories and achieve Character Development more easily? Not sure.)
This is kinda a sneak peak of a giant character analysis of Shallan that I've been doing for a while. I got stuck writing down quotes in Oathbringer, but I've been picking it up again recently. I hope to be posting more thoughts from that in the future:]
*I am the host of one of those systems who see y'all posting. just to make it clear
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Hey scphcmicklefootge @rabidiot get fed
Jon’s been drinking.
That makes it sound like hes Just started, but. In reality. It had been..something of a thing ever since daisy had started lingering around. Even before the coma. The crew was far more interested in drinking than working, and although he could feel the pull of the Eye dragging him back to the archives
And the pull of Something Else begging for him to just be Alone
He had agreed, despite himself. He couldn't find it in himself to want to stay entirely sober, much to the malicious ‘teasing’ of Tim.
////////
He managed at least three drinks that he did not Actually like the taste or feeling of as the liquid slid down his throat— he didn't think he earned the right to properly enjoy a drink —before he was Definetly slurring his words and forgetting to be as guarded.
That led to some looks, mostly from Tim, as Jon either stared blankly and opened and closed his mouth like a fish as he tried to gain some footing in the drunken conversation. Leading to Jon simply moving a stool away from the group. It wasn't his place. He shouldn't have even come, he had a perfectly good bottle of whine hidden away in one of his cabinets.
He supposed it was nice to feel like he wasn't meant to be here than feel nothing at all.
Tim was annoyed, picking him up. Into his car, while Jon tried to sober up out of his own will. He could very rarely decipher the Beholding’s forced knowledge between his own inner monologue, he didn't care if the voice in his head saying Tim hated him. Wished he was Gone, was his or not. It was true, wasn't it?
///////
God,
Jon has been Drinking.
That pub was not the last time he did so. Everyone hated him, as they should. Daisy is just waiting for him to let his guard down, she was at the Pub too. And his guard was never not up, even if the mental walls were made of paper soaked in alcohol.
Sometimes he likes not thinking.
///////
Tim was dead.
Obviously Jon started drinking, fresh out of a coma. Maybe he puked a few times. Maybe that was because he really could only Drink, think, and Know he wasn't truly Alone.
And yet the one person he considered not being alone for had utterly left him. Of course he did. Jon wished he hadn't woken up now, too.
///////
Jon stopped drinking.
Jon felt alone
Jon knew in some part of his soul that he didn't get the luxury of feeling nothing. Like he wanted. at least he didn't deserve it.
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