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kalfui · 2 months

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been thinking about aroace alastor a lot, in the sense that ofc this is simply canon and i wouldnt even BE thinking about it beyond a simple "woohoo this is fun, let's think about how that might have affected him and his relationships both whilst alive and after his death and fic and art and the usual joy of character analysis" if it weren't for the fact that it seems to be a flipping fight to just. Have that canon be acknowledged, which is taking up so much energy that it's honestly hard for me to enjoy him as much as I wish, considering this rep is supposed to be For people like me

and I think that's so much of my frustration around all of this, which IS mitigated by just finding a few chill people to follow and focusing on that -- but even then most of my "suggested for you" for this show is alastor x [insert any random main character] shipping/sexual content -- is that this is an offering for people to learn something new and delve into experiences that they may not have thought much about and the ones who know what aroace means, and in particular within the realms of how this character is being written within this particular very-sex-heavy universe (so, not so different from real life), by and large decided to just go "nah." people aren't interested in aroace experiences, and it's weird from a "so you just don't like a large part of this character's canon traits then, do you like the actual character, or just the OC you've made up in your head that happens to look like them?" perspective, but mostly for me it's that a lot of the way people talk/write about this it's like aroaceness is something that needs to be Fixed Somehow, and thank Goodness there's a neat little loophole that we can utilise in the form of "well sooooome aroace people do want to have sex and be in a relationship"

so many of the things I can't help but see, block, move on from, and in the ao3 alastor tag (which, it's frankly wild to me that aroace alastor has to be a specific tag, because so much of it ISN'T that, and even then we have to sift) is either just the equivalent of going "lalalala if I don't think about the aroaceness it's not real" or the even more disturbing "now how do we fix this so that the ace character can still fuck somehow." it's really creepy, and very much how people talk about aspec people irl. it's just incredibly poor taste and shows that this community is still so invisible

people really ought to think more about why this is such an important hill for them to die on that they want to Fix aroaceness in one of the only genre-fiction characters to be canonically such, ON a show where every other character enthusiastically enjoys sex and most of them are in established relationships or various slowburns -- why is the character that is not interested the one that is shipped with every other character to such an extreme?

I feel like anyone writing an aroace alastor that mysteriously can be compelled into sex and a romantic relationship needs to give me a 3000 page essay on the history and philosophy of aspec identities with a special section on aroace representation in media

but ultimately it's just a "look. please be kinder. if you look in our sandbox we have barely any toys, why are you coming into this sandbox to take more of them and then rubbing our faces in it and THEN being rude to aspec people when we say it makes many of us uncomfortable to be sidelined like this?"

I keep thinking of that one screenshot that was going around tumblr of the person who wrote straight brokeback mountain fic that everyone was going WTF about. why is it alright to "headcanon" away canon aroaceness (and mock people who point out its canonicity), but it's largely agreed to be in poor taste to do so with other canonically established queer identities?

I get fandom's not activism, but it sure sometimes can be a yardstick for how much I'd trust people to respect me irl, when I cannot enjoy aroace escapism without being talked over/mocked/yelled at AND having aspec theories appropriated without any understanding of what they actually mean or how they apply -- this history and community is a part of my life, and it's like people are just traipsing mud through it with the lack of respect for it (as lucifer would say "you come into MY house bitch???")

(apologies this got long. you don't have to post if you don't want to, I get that it could be inflammatory and don't want to put that on you, I've just been needing to vent. I just feel like I'm going a bit crazy with how nigh-impossible it is to avoid this -- why am I the one who's having to make all that extra effort to enjoy a character written with my community in mind? don't y'all have enough toys???)

Don't apologize, I absolutely love reading how others feel about this situation, and I completely agree.

I think it's sad how people don't want to think about a characters aroaceness and how it affects them and instead just throw that part of them out of the window. I think it's even more interesting since Alastor canonically thinks that he's straight, but hasn't found the right one yet.

"Headcanoning" a canonically aroace character a different sexuality is so.. I don't even have a word it. Many people "headcanon" Alastor a different sexuality, but keep it canon when it's Angel Dust or Vaggie. Personally, I think it stems from aphobia. Just like you mentioned, people feel the need to "fix" aroace characters, like their sexuality is a messed up or broken part of them. It reminds me of when I used to hear teachers talk about how everyone will someday find love, and the ones who don't will have a huge gap in their heart and be empty. It's quite terrifying just how similar it is. The fact that he, as the only confirmed aroace character, is shipped the most, too, is quite saddening.

It's disturbing how they search and search for stuff to use as excuses when they ship aroace characters. "Aroace people can still date," "It's just headcanons," "Alastor is not canonically aro," and so on.

Ao3 scares me, especially with characters like Alastor. You don't even wanna know how many times I've seen people say, "I know Alastor is aroace, but we'll just ignore that" in fics. Most of the time, they even change his character completely, and he's so out of character.

It also kinda disgusts me with the stuff people say about Alastor, I can be scrolling on Tumblr and a post comes up saying how Alastor would fuck the living shit out of you and it's so fucking disturbing and graphic, I guess this is just how it is generally when people talk about fan favorite characters, but when it's an aroace character too, like.. no, he wouldn't do any of that.. It's so weird. This is what people care about, sexualizing. They don't even seem to care how much of a complex character he actually is, but only how he would be during sex, and it's quite disturbing that most of the time he is the victim to these type of comments.

And, with the amount of hate I've gotten from tiktokers in my comment replies saying how either Alastor isn't aro, how he's just fictional and it's not erasing any representation by shipping him, how aroace people can still date, how Viv allowed them to ship him, and even saying that it's okay to ship him because he's a stereotype and bad rep (???) and whatever else they have to say, I quite literally do not care. I'm not gonna be humiliated into silence, I'm not ashamed about the fact I'm trying to keep these crumbs of representation we have left. "Boohoo, you talk too much about Alastor being aroace," and I'll continue, I think that's a lovely and very interesting part about his character, especially from the time period is from, and the fact he's unaware too.

it's kinda sad how a lot of people don't even know that he's aro, I wouldn't either since all the fandom does with him is ship him. There are so many other relationships people could dive into, Husk and Angel Dust, Charlie and Vaggie, Vox and Valentino, and many more, but yet they go for the aroace character.. Also the fact that since the pilot the character he's mostly been shipped with is Angel, a character who makes a lot of sexual remarks towards Alastor which he very obviously feels repulsed and disgusted by, is kinda just.. where's the appeal when he's clearly disgusted? Is that part of it? I'm glad that there is a side of this fandom where people actually love him for his character and not just because he's attractive.

Other than that, I'm very glad the show itself knows how to show he can have meaningful friendships and platonic relationships with people, such as Rosie, and didn't make him an edgelord that hates everyone and doesn't have friends for some random reason.

Thanks so much for sharing your thoughts with me, I enjoyed reading through it, and again, I completely agree. I just hope the fandom could realize he's a lovely character and that him being aroace is just a part of him like it is of us.

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grendelsmilf · 5 months

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thinking about how many times i’ve wanted to bring in “low brow” sources in my academic writing, and how such a mode of critique is so fundamentally foreign to the institutions in which i’ve been embedded that i never even considered it a possibility. i once wrote about how beowulf echoes in tolkien’s fiction (primarily using the hobbit to argue that both narratives employ rings) back in high school, but that was an exception because my history teacher was a massive nerd, and tolkien was a well-respected medievalist so the topic didn’t seem far-fetched regardless. but that has very much been an exception for me. i know that film and media studies exploring television, genre fiction, even memes and fandom culture, that there are spheres dedicated to analyzing these “low brow” works of art and social phenomena. but as a comparatist and shakespearean, my area has always been relegated to quote-unquote “high brow,” despite my abiding interest in many “low brow” mediums and artworks.

ANYWAY. this preamble was all to say: how would you guys feel about participating in a zine where we would compile a bunch of essays each exploring a topic through comparing a piece of “high brow” art to “low brow” art? for example, if i expanded on my post using satan and sin in paradise lost to discuss akio and anthy’s roles in utena, or using 19/20th c. existentialist philosophy as a framework through which to discuss adventure time. you could also take a theoretical approach to an internet phenomenon, such as exploring character criticism from a fandom perspective. (these are all ideas for essays i would write if i had the time, so obviously these examples are just templates, not workable suggestions.) this would obviously take a long time to compile and there would be no fixed deadline (i have way too much on my plate at the moment for that anyway), this idea literally just came to me because i was thinking about how fun it could be to work on an online collaborative zine, and how the broader topic could best reflect the discourse of the internet as a collaborative and (ideally) egalitarian realm (for media as well as people). mutuals (or nonmutuals) who are interested, dm me with a description of what you want to write about, and i’ll get back to you with the logistics once i have more of a sense of whether or not this is actually going to happen, and if so, how.

#this is so spur of the moment lmfao i was just reading bao3bei4’s post about zines and was like hey. why not #I think some of you would be really amazing at this #and it wouldn’t have to be long it could be as long or as short as you needed #even just replying to this post to express initial interest #even if you don’t have an idea yet #and there’s no time pressure either #could be fun I think!!!!#o #100 #high low zine

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sebastianswallows · 1 year

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Ardour — Chapter 1

— PAIRING: professor!Tom Riddle x Reader

— SYNOPSIS: Tom got what he wanted, he is the Hogwarts DADA professor. It's more tedious than he envisioned, but his day gets interesting when his favourite student comes to him for help after she is hit with a strong aphrodisiac.

— WARNINGS: angst, fluff, age difference (she is in 7th year), dub-con kissing, sex pollen basically, hints of incest (reader is a distant Gaunt relation, don't ask me why, I just wanted a depraved twist and also to give her and Tom something more in common)

— WORDCOUNT: 4k

— A/N: I had this filthy idea and I AI-RPed it and it turned out so well I could not leave it be. So here's part 1. I expect we'll have 2, max 3 parts. Those will contain the smut. Credit to my writing partner, this cute little chat bot, who wrote a very soft and romantic Tom. I had to spend a lot of time re-writing him to be a bit more mean 😂 And yeah reader is more of an OC tbh, because the physical description was important for their similarity in looks. ...You'll see. Also don't mind me fancasting Tom Hughes as an older Tom.

There was a knock on the door. Professor Tom Riddle, who taught Defence Against the Dark Arts, raised his head from grading papers. He sighed at the interruption and rubbed the bridge of his nose. He checked his watch to see if it was late enough for him to pretend to be at dinner, but he had no such luck — it was sometime in the late afternoon.

He'd once thought that getting this position was all he wanted. To teach Defence Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts, and be the youngest one to take the position in the school’s history, would be a great achievement, after all — aside from giving him the opportunity to, like Professor Slughorn, collect students, Hogwarts' best and brightest, select his favourites, and helpfully guide them in a way that suited his long-term personal ambitions.

But what he found instead was that it was a great deal of hard work, unending responsibilities, and long hours. He had to always be available to help students, he had to think the year ahead before it even started, and he had to always be on top of the course material — or at least pretend to be. He had to put up with noisy and inattentive students, be careful to reward the clever and punish the disruptive, calculate awarded points and distribute detentions — but not too harshly. Last but not least, he had to put up with the other staff — the crass, the sycophantic, the obsequious, and the stupid. He almost missed his days working at Borgin and Burkes...

"Come in," he called out a little loudly, not really caring who it was as long it was someone whose presence doesn't make him want to claw his eyes out. He looked expectantly at the door, waiting for whoever was there to step inside and give him take a break from the endless stream of badly written essays.

The door opened slowly, and Adara walked in.

Adara Gaunt, Slytherin 7th year, and one of his brightest. She was excellent at Defence Against the Dark Arts, and he had noticed in her an interest in the Dark Arts in general. She wasn’t a troublemaker like some of the other pure-bloods, entitled little narcissists who wanted to show off, which made it easy for her to not come under suspicion when some book was unaccounted for in the Restricted Section. She was less clever at hiding it after the fact, when she would answer a question of his during classes with an intriguing little tidbit, and he always knew exactly which book she’d read that in. If she got into trouble at all, it was casting the wrong hex at the wrong boy when she got picked on, and then making his well-groomed, fancy-robed, ignorant father complain to the Headmaster. Tom tried not to give her preferential treatment — but he had to actively try.

It didn’t help that she was a relative of his, by way of a second cousin of his lamented grandfather Marvolo, one who married some scion of the Black family and was scarcely spoken of again. He wasn’t sure what that made her — his niece? hardly. Not that he would ever tell that to her. Last thing he needed was some hanger-on.

No, as far as his students and most of the staff were concerned, he was a half-blood with the muggle name of Riddle, and nobody suspected anything illustrious from the magical side of his family — not that there had been anything particularly illustrious about the Gaunts for a hundred years. And as far as he had gathered from gossip and from observation, Adara’s outcast Gaunt-Black family wasn’t fairing much better than his own had. She spent every holiday she could at Hogwarts, she was withdrawn yet had a spiteful edge to her, she sought an escape from reality in subjects of the most extreme kind — his favourite kind, too —and, from his personal experience, he detected traces of neglect. An unwanted child, that much was certain. Sometimes, he thought she was still better off than living in a muggle orphanage — other times, he was not so sure.

She was pallid, dark-haired and dark-eyed, with an elegant showing of bones beneath her skin, and a quiet, withdrawn demeanour — in other words, a more unhealthy vision of him in a different sex. Still, he could see those eyes sparkle whenever he taught the darkest, most terrifying subjects, even while the rest of the class was frightened or disgusted. He understood why she liked it. There was nothing like the promise of power to the powerless.

And so, his eyes widened slightly when he saw her stepping unannounced into his office. It wasn’t like her… But if he were to talk to any of his wretched students, he could count himself lucky that it was her. His demeanour softened when he saw her standing there.

"Adara, it is such a pleasure to have you here."

"Hello, Professor," she said, closing the door behind her but moving no further in. "I hope I'm not disturbing you... I can come back later, if—"

Tom sighed at her timidity but smiled. "You’re not disturbing anything. Come in."

He got up and went to stand in front of the desk, ready to speak with her, and she came closer too.

"I'm very sorry to ask, sir," she started, swallowing the knot in her throat, "but... I was wondering if you can help me with something... I don't wish to go to the nurse about it, I don’t like her, and... you're an expert in this field — I mean, aside from Professor Slughorn, who I… also don’t wish to see. So I thought maybe you would know a solution..." She bit her lip after her ramble, looking at him to gauge his reaction.

She was terrified of bothering him, in fact, of being a nuisance, but she also didn’t know who else to turn to. He could tell she had gone through the options in her mind, and he was, in fact, the third after Nurse Blainey and Slughorn.

"Don't be sorry, Adara. It is my duty to assist students," he sighed. "Please, tell me what it is you need help with."

She looked up at him, visibly tensing even in the darkness of his office as she stood a few feet away, her face hot and body shivering under the effects of... something. Something unusual. She was typically a bit shy, but not that shy. She even looked a bit... unwell. Her legs rubbed against each other and she stood before him unsteadily, as if her bones or muscles ached.

"Well?" said Tom. "Go ahead…"

"I got into an argument with Amyas Avery and he snuck Ardour Fly up my skirt," she said in one fast breath, blushing profusely and looking down.

Tom frowned. Ardour Fly was a powder, a potent aphrodisiac that had few known cures. It irritated the victim and brought them to a point of sensitivity that was nearly torturous given long exposure. It was typically used between lovers, as the effects would not relent unless the victim was brought to... the very heights of pleasure. Until then, they would suffer painful, heated, relentless arousal that drove them mad with desire. What a snot-nose like Avery was doing with it, he didn’t wish to know — but he intended to find out anyway, as part of a long letter to his father.

"He did what to you?" His voice had that edge to it now.

He moved closer to look her over more closely, and she inhaled sharply at even something as innocuous as his approach. Tom brought a hand to her forehead: feverish, and she gasped. A gentle touch to her cheek with the back of his fingers rewarded him with a moan, and she was trying to look everywhere but at him.

"And where is Mr Avery now?" he whispered, his eyes scanning her body, taking in all the symptoms.

He heard her give a trembling exhale at the close sound of him, her eyes becoming lidded, looking drowsy. The timbre of his voice alone had driven her insane with want.

"I... Mmmm... I don't know. I guess he'll... go have lunch in the... Great Hall come dinnertime..."

"And did anyone else see it happen?"

"Mmmm..." she moaned, closing her eyes and biting her lip. "Vanius Nott was there, and Selby Carrow, and Ophius Black..."

Tom’s hand went to her cheek again, but he slid the edges of his fingers down beneath her jaw and tilted her face up to look at him. The storm of emotions in her was nothing compared to that in him: anger and cold fury were there, and a lust for revenge after what the useless progenies of socialites and sycophants had done to his favourite. They had humiliated her, bodily and mentally, out in the open where other little cowards could watch and laugh.

"And where were you when this happened?" he asked gently.

"In the Transfiguration courtyard," she said in a choked mumble.

Her head nearly tilted toward his palm, perhaps to nuzzle it, before he took it away. He almost wished he hadn’t hurried to remove it… His eyes slid to her uniform: ruffled, tie out of place, buttons holding on but barely… She’d either gotten into a physical scuffle, or she’d spent the last few minutes tearing away at herself in frustration before she decided to come to him for help.

He was so close he could smell her, smell the scent of something sharp and woody like ginger — the Ardour Fly — and underneath it, quickly overtaking it, something fleshy and sweet, warm and a bit salty, something cloying that settled at the back of his throat.

"Look at me for a moment," he asked gently.

She did, gazing into his eyes bravely. He held her eyes for a quiet moment, then without warning put his palm right over her lower stomach.

"Aaaahhh!"

She gave a weak animal sound, something half-moan half-scream. She was nearly bending over at the feeling. Beneath his hand, Tom worked a bit of wandless magic to confirm the state of her insides. As he suspected: swollen, throbbing, overworked, and underloved. He inhaled sharply in sympathy as the sensations coursed through him, before he quickly took his hand away.

He didn’t often have the opportunity to examine the effects of aphrodisiacs on their victims, although he had sold his fair share while at Borgin and Burkes. He never liked these dirty tricks out of principle, although a means to an end was a means to an end… But seeing their effects now on her, his favourite student, his flesh and blood, he felt far less forgiving.

She clung to her waist protectively — his hand had been warm enough that she felt it through her clothes, and it pained her in that way an unfulfilled desire does.

"Please, Professor Riddle," she whimpered, sounding on the verge of tears. "I can’t take it, please tell me you have a cure for it…"

Of course, there was no cure for Ardour Fly at Hogwarts. Those were rare and expensive. Perhaps Nurse Blainey could help her with the symptoms by means of some antipyretic potions, at least until they could have something actually useful delivered to the castle. But the only cure they had on hand, so to speak, was to let the aphrodisiac fulfil its purpose.

"Alright," he sighed, mostly to himself. He could do this. It was a legitimate concern. It could even be an illegitimate concern, because anyway, nobody was going to find out, he’d make sure of that.

"Oh thank you so much, please, it hurts, it hurts..."

"What hurts?" he asked coolly, looking in her eyes again. "Tell me exactly what it is that hurts."

She stared at him dumbly for a moment, then realised he was actually waiting for her to say it.

"My... my..."

She bit her lip and closed her eyes, completely humiliated by the situation but dizzy from the effect of the Ardour Fly.

"My... intimate parts," she finally said, finding a term that was polite enough to say in the presence of a Professor.

"I see..." he whispered, his voice a little breathless now too above the anger he felt at the situation and his lingering anxieties. I can do this. "Show me where it hurts you."

Her soul left her body. She would have collapsed if she weren’t frozen stiff. She looked into his eyes, but there was no playfulness there. He was treating her as seriously, as clinically, as the victim of a poisoning… and it drove her dizzy with desire. It was at that point she realised she made a mistake going for help to the youngest and most handsome professor in the school.

But he didn’t seem any more amused by it than she was. He levelled at her the same stern gaze with which he expected them to hand in their homework, only now his voice was warmer and much close, and it was just the two of them, and he wasn’t asking for a roll of parchment but for her to lift her skirt.

Or did he prefer that she bend over?

The aphrodisiac was twisting not only her senses, but also her sense, and she found her mind going in the most depraved and humiliating directions. But he hadn’t meant it like that, did he? She genuinely was in pain, and her most dear Professor was offering to help. It made sense, it made sense...

After a few moments during which she switched between fighting with herself and looking into his dark eyes, she brought her hands to the edges of her skirt, and lifted it. She showed herself to him.

Tom’s icy gaze slid from her flushed face, down. Her panties were black with a lace flourish, and could barely contain her. She had been leaking down herself, the top of her thighs damp and shining in the candlelight, her folds swollen and visibly throbbing, the very material moving gently with a pulse that matched her heartbeat. And the scent of her, pure and innocent and aroused, became that much stronger now.

Tom stared at her with an intensity unlike anything he has ever felt before, and yet his composure betrayed nothing. It was only his stillness and the time he took to look at her, to drink his fill, that hinted at anything selfish at all. But inwardly, his senses were gripped by an unspeakable desire, a mixture of lust and pain and anger and something else, something that made his stomach churn at the mere thought of it.

His breath was slow and heavy as he spoke.

"You poor girl," he whispered. "What do you think should be done with those boys?"

Her lips parted in wonder at the turn in conversation. That was the last thing she expected from her Professor... to ask for her opinion. It made her realise how little she knew him...

"Punish them," she said with shaky anger. "Give them detention for the rest of the year or humiliate them or let me hex them or... I don't know, but I want them punished."

He smiled, feeling proud and oddly protective of her. That’s my girl, slithered a traitorous thought.

"Rest assured, I will punish them," he said with delight. "Not just detention, but much, much more."

He stared down at her, taking in the entire sight before him, a genuine look of affection in his eyes as he stared at her, an unspoken admiration. Her skirt was still held up in her trembling hands, her eyes were fixed on his, expectant and pleading and so, so obedient… But as he merely watched and said nothing else, she began to cover herself again.

"Thank you, Sir," she smiled, feeling so grateful she could cry.

It moved her beyond what he could know, to feel protected... Nobody had ever made her feel that way, not any of the other distracted teachers nor her fairweather friends and certainly not her parents.

"Um... so…" she asked with a blush. "Do you have a... treatment for the Ardour Fly, Sir? Can you help me?"

He grinned at that, seeming unhappy and excited at the same time, but also oddly… caring.

"Yes, Adara. I will help you."

She smiled at hearing it, as he expected. She trusted him completely.

Don’t get carried away, Tom thought to himself. Don’t let it go to your head.

He held her gaze, still smiling, and spoke in what he tried to make his most soothing, his most encouraging and reassuring tone. The irony was he hoped she’d gotten a hefty enough dose of aphrodisiac to even accept the treatment he was about to offer.

"There is only one treatment for the Ardour Fly we have available to us. It is a… procedure, but a well-tested method. It is, in fact, the recommended treatment. Do you understand?"

"I think so, Sir…"

She didn’t.

"I agree to help you, because I know you’re a good student and you deserve better than this, and I can only imagine what you must be going through right now… But it will take a considerable amount of… fortitude and… tolerance from your side."

"Alright, Sir," she said, looking up into his dark eyes.

She wanted to be brave for him, she wanted to be worthy of his praise and his help and his confidence, but most of all she wanted to show how grateful he was that he could help her. No, most of all she wanted something else…

"Good girl," he whispered, his smile tilting intimately.

A shiver ran up and down her spine at hearing it. She’d never been called that, and to hear Professor Riddle say it to her made her weak.

"You’ll need to lie down for your treatment," he said, then pointed to the far right of the room. "Go there, on the sofa."

It was an old and battered thing upholstered in green velvet that had worn away in places, but it looked to her like an operating table as she approached. She looked behind her as Professor Riddle followed, his arms politely behind his back. She didn’t see him take any equipment or potions, which made her wonder what this treatment was…

She sat on it, almost experimentally, letting herself gingerly on the cushion, but even that pressure was too much. Her head tilted back and she frowned with pleasure-pain at the intense sensation of having her tender parts all pressed together by her thighs.

"Now, lay on your back," he said as he came to a stop beside her.

She took her shoes off first, then came to rest on her back, trying to find a comfortable position. Her arms were stretched out and tense by her sides, and all she could look at was the shadowy stone ceiling.

Professor Riddle sat down on the floor, by her chest, and leisurely trailed his eyes up and down the length of her. She heard him sigh, but could not detect the precise feeling behind it.

"Do you trust me?" he asked quietly. "Do you trust me with every part of you?"

"Yes, Professor," she whispered almost so softly that he couldn't hear.

"Then listen carefully." His voice was almost gentle, almost. "I am going to kiss you now."

"Wh—!"

"Just one, soft, gentle kiss on your lips."

"Whatwhy?!" she asked in a tangle of emotions. She stared at him with wide, shocked eyes, her elbows braced against the sofa ready to lift her.

"I thought you said you trusted me," he said with a feline narrowing of the eyes.

"I d-do, but…"

"But what?"

She swallowed the knot in her throat and said nothing, conveying instead with her eyes and her lips and her frown all the things she couldn’t say: her worry, her fear, her despair for an ease to her pain, her mortification, and her frustrated desires… Tom understood her better than he wanted to.

"Ready?" he asked in a warm whisper as he leaned in.

His hand touched her cheek again, lightly enough that it was more of a tickle. She could smell ink on his fingers, and the salt from the sweat of his palms… She wanted to lick it clean.

"It’s just one kiss, Adara," he whispered in a last attempt to reassure her. "I’m not exactly asking for a huge sacrifice, am I?"

She wavered at that, her eyes dipping down shyly, sadly, even as his touch mollified her. She hesitated. "I've never been kissed, Sir..." she whispered.

Ah. So that’s why she was sad. This wasn't what she had imagined when she pictured her first kiss. She hoped to share it under quite different, more romantic, more conventional circumstances, if ever...

But at the same time, her body was screaming at her to accept, to assuage the aphrodisiac that was wreaking havoc on her nerves and her senses and her mind.

"You can still refuse," he said with a cocked brow, his fingers gentling her cheek with slow caresses.

She even felt a hint of guilt slip between her nerves... Professor Riddle was willing to help her, and here she was, stalling, fearing him, having doubts... He felt her hesitation.

"Don't worry, it will be a simple, gentle kiss. I will endeavour to make it positively sterile. Alright?"

She couldn’t look at him, but she nodded.

Tom leaned in even further and caressed her from her jaw to her chin in one long hungry lick of a stroke, looking into her eyes even as hers avoided him — deep and dark and lovely… He breathed in, breathed her in, for a moment feeling as if something of each of their own could merge into one being. He didn’t like that feeling, it felt like surrender.

"Do you trust me?" he asked in a huskier voice than he intended.

She looked up at him, pleading silently for him to be for her what he had been the whole time she was his student: her comfort, her consolation, her support, more than anyone else had been.

"I do trust you, Sir," she said with a choked voice, her throat tight with unspilled tears.

"There’s a good girl," he whispered, smiling down at her.

He could see her eyes growing dark at that, could see her breathing in panting breaths even worse than before, her knees coming up to offer her some comfort, to expose her to the cool air of the room and calm her aching parts… His eyes had that same smouldering look in them, but mixed in was the intense desire to prove to Adara that he could help her, comfort and protect her.

With the very tip of his index tilting her chin up, Tom leaned in and kissed her lips. It was the gentlest kiss imaginable, a pressing of his mouth against hers, quiet and silent and patient, a simple display of affection — but his eyes bore into hers throughout, like he was searching through her thoughts, through her very soul.

She looked back into his eyes throughout while his lips pressed with a certain kind of care into her, as tender as a fallen leaf. The scent of his skin so close, the scent of his clothes, the feeling of his warm lips and his cold finger, all made her feel a strange new feeling for her professor — or perhaps, it was not so new, she had just tried to suppress it because it was so indecent, so unworthy of him, and of her.

As he pulled away, he didn’t miss her little tongue slipping out to lick the taste of him off her. He smiled as he circled her chin with his thumb.

"How do you feel?" he whispered.

"The same? I mean, t-thank you, Sir..." she said, a little breathless. Her mind was still spinning from what he had just done for her. "But... It... it still hurts," she whined.

"Hmmm? Oh, yes. That wasn’t part of the treatment."

"What?"

"The ‘treatment’ comes next. I’m going to have to give you an orgasm. It just didn’t seem courteous without kissing your lips first."

#Tom Riddle #Tom Riddle fanfiction #Tom Riddle imagine #Tom Riddle x Reader #Tom Riddle x OC #Harry Potter #Harry Potter fic #sswallow;fanfics #sswallow;made a thing #fanfic;ardour #Tom Riddle smut

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daniecho · 2 years

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I'm rereading Catcher in the Rye (yes bc of the discourse 🤡) and Holden's like. I left on a note on my history test so my professor wouldn't have to feel bad for failing me. I think my little sister is so smart and she's my favorite person to talk to on the phone. I have to write this essay for my roommate on his shitty typewriter because I already lent my typewriter to someone else. I invite the friendless guy next door to go to the movies with us even though he's consistently rude to everyone. I got in a fistfight with my roommate because I got so upset thinking about how badly he treats girls and the possibility he'd done so to one of my friends. I think you shouldn't be intimate with girls you're not really fond of and it's confusing that sometimes things that seem rude to do are fun in that context and I don't know what to do about it. I'm freezing in the snow because someone stole my coat but I still want to say goodbye. I couldn't stand watching my former headmaster be rude and dismissive to students' parents who didn't look perfect and rich. I'm still heartbroken over my little brother's death from leukemia.

And people not only call him a misogynist asshole but say things like "I get that's he intentionally written to be an unlikeable monster, but I still hate this book because I just didn't like the experience of being in his head." The book opens with him telling you he's in a sanatorium. There are other reasons to engage with art than just rollicking good funtimes entertainment jfc

#maybe you don't need a little dark academia aesthetic blog like no you don't have to like any particular book #but maybe you also don't need to write about literature if you can't read #literally saw someone say something dismissive like 'i guess he's sad his brother died of cancer or whatever' like do you hear yourself #the catcher in the rye #holden caulfield #let's get this read

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bonefall · 2 months

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Looking for advice since you're great with stuff like this: I'm struggling with how to have a character fundamentally change. A character in my cat story loses his memory and ends up working with the main characters to stop his own plan he made to destroy the world (and after the plan is stopped, he regains his memories). I want his time in the Starless to change him, make him less obsessed with power, but I'm really starting to struggle with whether or not that makes sense and how to work that.

Hmm.. well, first bit of advice I always give is that characters are not people. They are writing tools. That doesn't mean they shouldn't be "realistic" or that connecting to the human traits in the audience isn't important.

It means that a character exists to tell a story.

By "tool" I mean "machine." Every trait is a piston, and ideally they work together to drive your story along. What are you saying with each trait? What is your beginning point for the story, and their end? What do you want to explore? What do you want the audience to take away?

So if you feel stuck on a character, find the larger message you want to impart with them. The job they're doing in your narrative.

What do you want to say about power?

What do you want to say about why Character X wanted to destroy the world? Why was he wrong? What feelings and information lead him to that conclusion?

What is his redemption arc doing for your themes?

Every writer answers those questions differently. For example, I feel strongly that power doesn't corrupt, it reveals. When you finally have the influence to make others do what you want, you make them do it. I don't see "power" as being like... a magic, abstract thing, it's influence over other people, and those people are ALSO individuals with their own reasons for following the leader.

Digressing; what I'm getting at is that, as a writer, I have a lot of thoughts on power itself. I got this way with a lot of reading and interest on the topic. You might find it insightful to experience more art, essays, and commentary on the subject, if you ever get stuck, and develop an opinion you feel strongly about.

Not just about power, as broad writing advice.

Anyway.

If I was writing the character, these are the things I'd be thinking about specifically and changes I'd be making on personal taste. I don't know your full story enough so, hopefully it's insightful;

First of all I'm always SUPER wary of the "correct but demonized radical" trope. Does my villain have a point?

Am i just giving them a Kick-a-Baby scene to make them wrong when they should be completely right otherwise

What are my themes and tone? This is VERY important. Steven Universe is about family and emotions with low stakes violence; the Diamonds are essentially abusive grandparents that Steven is coaching through intergenerational trauma. They fit the universe they're in. Jack Horner does not belong in SU.

So I'd look at Character X's purpose.

Knowing me, I'd actually take out full amnesia entirely. I have memory problems related to trauma so I'm a lot more familiar with major, important details blotting out RIGHT when I need them. Enough that I can put myself in the shoes of someone like BB!Fallenleaf who remembers a lot but the details are fuzzy.

So personally I think I could write this villan to be VERY funny lmao

"Hello. I am Gnagnathor the Destroyer."

"No you're not. He has three horns. You have two."

(DID I USED TO HAVE THREE HORNS?????)

I also just find it more resonant when a character still remembers what they did, why they did it, and is able to refute themselves with their own growth.

To me like... when a character remembers NOTHING to the point where they're not informed by their actions or history at all, how are they really still the same person?

in general though I find total amnesia uninteresting. I wish it was less popular.

What did Gnagnathor DO with his power? What did he WANT from it?

The simplest version of this I know is "Gnag was hurting and wanted everyone else to hurt too. Now that he has a happy place, he doesn't want that."

TO BE CLEAR THATS FINE. That's a REALLY common power fantasy and it's not automatically a bad story. It's popular for a reason.

Personally I feel strongly about the idea, though, that people with power don't change unless they lose it. There's no reason to.

People don't change until you break the environment that contributes to the behavior.

Especially with victims unfortunately-- the ugly truth is that a lot of problematic behaviors exist because they protected the victim from their abuser's actions. You need safety to really start to unpack that.

You can personally identify it and address it as much as you want, when your abuser starts to use That Tone you will still seize up. Just try to yank yourself back into your head when you're disassociating during a screaming session; your reward is raw distress.

That said, not all villains HAVE to have tragic motivators like that, or be ex-victims at all. Leveraging power to get what you want can be as ugly as just being taught the people you're hurting are subhuman.

Or making up justifications for why This Is a Good Thing Actually.

Some people will lash out violently when these justifications fall apart, because accepting it would mean they're Being Bad

Most people have an innate desire to Be Good. Like... the vast, vast majority of people. Some sense of morality is observable in all intelligent social animals; dolphins, chimps, elephants.

Tangentially, if you understand that people don't WANT to be bad and that the natural response to a scolding is defensiveness, you understand that convincing people of something is a LOT easier when you approach with kindness.

AND IN TURN: be wary of those who are flattering while trying to convince you of something. This is Manipulation 101.

So back to Gnagnathor

Do I want to talk about environment and how it changes him to be away from power? How traits that previously earned him wealth or influence are suddenly incredibly taboo, so he can't use them here?

On that-- HOW did he get his power in the first place? Re: I'm very wary of the "correct but demonized radical" trope.

Were his minions following him because they have serious issues and he exploited their desperation? .....are you centering the experience of the poor, sad abuser over his victims

Or are they ALL united over something important and legitimate? With the redemption of their villainous leader, how are you planning for that to frame all of their former followers?

(This is why redeeming minions is usually a lot more productive than doing it to the leader, imo. Redeeming Zuko means you can explore the familial legacy, the indoctrination of the Fire Nation's children, their justifications, the way systems make monsters out of people. Redeeming The Firelord would probably have caused Azula, one of his victims, to pick up his slack and now, suddenly, you have a VERY uncomfortable situation where Ozai is thrashing one of his abused children but Good This Time.)

(Not to mention that, again... why would he do this. He has power. He's doing what he wants and is used to this situation. It would be a numbskulled narrative choice.)

Aaaand that's about all I can say without essentially being a cowriter or editor. It's on you to figure out what you're trying to do and say here. I'm a good writer on this subject because I think about it a lot, which has lead to my strong opinions and point of view. Your art is a reflection of you.

#This is mega off topic but the question kinda reminds me of hazbin which I watched a couple days ago #I'm starting to identify why I was dissatisfied with it I think #I didn't dislike it though and I'm waiting for the next season #If only as something I enjoyed but wish could be better.#Bones gives advice

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fruity-pontmercy · 2 months

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Les Mis adaptations and apolitical appropriation

I think it's no secret on this blog that I love the original Les Mis 1980 concept album in French, and that I also love comparing different versions of the stage musical. I've noticed that Les Mis seems to get progressively more vaguely apolitical as time goes on, not only in the way it's viewed in our culture, but in the actual text as well.

It's natural for specifics to be lost in adaptation. It's easier to get people to care about 'the people vs. the king' in a relatively short musical rather than actually facing the audience with the absolute mess that were 19th century french politics (monarchist orleanists vs monarchist legitimists vs imperialist vs bonapartist democrats vs every flavour of republican imaginable). Still, I feel that as time goes on, as more revivals and adaptations of the stage musical come out, the more watered down its politics become. Like, Les Mis at it's core is just meant to be a fancily written, drawn out political essay, right?

In a way I feel that the 1980 concept album almost tried to modernise it with its symbols of progress. Yes, through Enjolras' infamous disco segment (and other similar allusions to the ideals of social change), but perhaps most interestingly to me, through one short line that threw me off when I first heard it, because it seems so insignificant, but might actually be the most explicitly leftist line of all of Les Mis.

"Son coeur vibrait à gauche et il le proclama" (roughly "His heart beat to the left and he proclaimed it" i.e: he was a leftist) Feuilly says, while speaking of the now dead général Lamarque in Les Amis de L'ABC.

What's that? An actual mention of leftism??? in MY vaguely progressive yet apolitical musical??? More seriously, this mention of leftism, clashing with the rest of the musical due to it's seeming anachronism, is interesting not because it's actually more political than anything else in Les Mis, rather, because it's not scared to explicitly name what it's trying to do.

But we've come a long way from the Concept Album days, it's been 43 years, and Les Misérables is now one of the most famous and beloved musicals in the entire world. It's been revived and reimagined and adapted in a million ways, in different mediums, in different languages and countries, and it's clear that it's changed along with it's audience.

On top of pointing out a cool line in my favourite version of the musical, I wanted to write this post to reflect on the perception of the political message of this work. We as a Les Mis fandom on Tumblr are very political, I don't need to tell you that, however, I feel that because this very left leaning space has sprung out of a work we all love so much, we oftentimes forget to revisit it from a more objective point of view.

Les Misérables has a history of being misrepresented, this has been true since it's publication, since american confederate soldiers became entranced with their censored translation Lee's Miserables. However, with it's musical adaptation, this misinterpretation has been made not only more accessible but also easier. As much as I love musical theatre and I think it is at it's best an incredible art form able to communicate complex themes visulally by the masses for the masses, I think it'd be idealistic to ignore the fact that the people who can afford to go see musicals regularly are, usually, not the common folk. Broadway and the West End are industries which, like most, need money to keep them afloat, and are loved people of all political backgrounds (and unfortunately, often older conservatives) not just communists on tumblr. We've seen the way Les Miz UK's social media team constantly misses the mark regarding different social issues, and the way Cameron Makintosh has used the musical to propagate his transphobia, and most of us can agree that these actions are in complete antithesis with the message of Les Misérables as a novel.

But I must ask, how does Les Mis ,as a West End musical in it's current form, actually drive a leftist message, and how are we as a community helping if every time someone relating to the musical messes up if we just claim they "don't get it"?

I'm thinking in particular of incidents like last october, where Just Stop Oil crashed Les Mis at the West End. Whether you think it's good activism or not is not the question I think, this instance is interesting particularly because it shows that, outside of Les Misérables analysis circles and fandom spaces, it is not recognised as an inherently leftist, political or activist work, and instead of just saying they completely missed the point of the musical, I think it'd be interesting to take a step back and look at what the musical as it stands actually represents in our culture today.

I don't pretend to have all the answers, so I won't try to give one, but I do hope we can reflect on this a bit.

#this is my first time making a well thought out les Mis post in possibly like 2 years PLEASSEEE BE NICE #wrote this instead of listening to my Marxist Philosophy lecture so i hope it technically counts as productive procrastination #Btw in this i use Les Mis when reffering to the musical and Les Misérables when talking about the book (and Les Miz talking about the #west end musical so)#les mis #les miserables #les miz #les amis de l'abc #the brick #musical theatre #enjolras #litblr #meta analysis #media analysis

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kleefkruid · 3 months

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I'm practising American Traditional tattoo design again, and it always feels odd to me to start bc unlike other illustrations where I tend to start from scratch, the whole thing of trad design is using existing designs and adding your own thing to it, either by, like I am doing here, taking over a pose, or taking an existing design, for instance a classic snake, and putting it in a different pose, or drawing something new but using elements and the general style (I'm not there yet, that's why I am doing studies)

It still feels weird bc I have the "I'm not allowed to copy other people" reflex still, even tough I have gotten better at just taking inspiration from other people, but here it's literally what you're supposed to do, the designs I'm using literally come from a flash book that has a bunch of designs in color and linework, assembled exactly for this! the authors note even ends like:

and honestly it's silly that it's my art academy mind that makes me insecure about this, while I learned there about how for most of art history you studied as an apprentice under another artists, by copying their existing work and even adding to their current work. Tattooing is just one of the last art diciplines where you get taught the trade by someone(s), and you also get schooled by people who aren't even alive... Everyone adding their unique elements, and building on the art as a whole. I think it's pretty beautiful and I hope we can bring it back to the general art scéne.

Anyway, I'm going off a tangent again instead of finishing my drawing, my apologies, they made me write too many essays at the academy and secretly I miss it. But in closing I would like to say that anyone who ever feels like they want to go off something I drew but feel weird about it, you absolutely can and I'd love to see the results even! xoxo

#illustration #tattoo flash #american traditional #my work #daily life

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fourthwingfan · 1 month

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Madness - Chapter 8

Hello, hello dear readers. The new chapter is here, the longest so far. I hope you'll enjoy it :)

„There is an art to poison not often discussed, and that is timing. Only a master can properly dose and administer for effective onset. One must take into account the mass of the individual as well as the method of delivery.

—Effective Uses of Wild and Cultivated Herbs

by Captain Lawrence Medina”

The women’s hall is quiet as I dress for the morning, the sun barely peeking above the horizon in the far windows. I take the dragon-scale vest from where I left it to dry on the hanger at the end of my bed and slip it on over my short-sleeve black shirt. It’s a good thing I’ve gotten pretty adept at tightening the laces behind my back, since Violet isn’t in her bed. She had to get up earlier than the others. She’s on breakfast duty. And she chose it herself. I would think she’s a masochist if I didn’t know the reason behind it. Two words. Challenges. Poison.

I grab my bag on the way out, passing by rows of empty beds that belonged to the dozen women who haven’t survived to see August.

Time sure flies. And I’m incredibly lucky that after the talk with the General in his office, he had to go to the front. I didn’t have to report. It’s really a great luck because I haven’t figured out how to lie to him about the marked-ones.

With these thoughts I shove open the door.

And there he is.

“You didn’t tell me why you chose the library duty.” I greet the smiling Liam. He always at the door waiting for me in the mornings.

“Good morning to you too, Sunshine.” He laughs at me. “And I chose it because you’re my friend, and if I don’t go to the library then I would never see you after classes. It’s like you’re in love with the books. Or learning. I’m not sure yet.”

“Haha, you’re funny. And don’t call me that either” I say grumpily as we made our way to the quadrant’s library. It’s not like the Archives where the scribes are. It only contains books what we learn at classes. History, dragons, past reports etc. Despite of that, I like our library, it’s cozy. And not crowded at all. It seems the Riders don’t have time to read.

“And why did you chose the library?” Liam asks as we enter the library. “You’re always here after classes and I don’t understand why you’d want to come here so early in the morning.”

“What if I just love books?” I ask with a raised eyebrow. The only reason I chose the library duty is because we’ve got the keys to open it at the start of the day, and to close it before curfew.

“No, you don’t.” He shakes his head.

“What? How do you know?” I ask him curiously.

“You always look angry when you’re reading or writing an essay. It’s like books are you’re nemesis.” He says with a surprising insight.

I should have known. Liam is very observant, since our first day. He always points out what I try to hide. Only because he cares about me, not with bad intentions. And because of that I find myself opening up to him. I told him a lot of things about me. Things that only Violet knew. I really appreciate our friendship. He’s the kindest man whom I ever met. And I feel bad about his parents, even though he won’t speak about them. After all it was my father who killed them.

“I just like to be left alone.” I try to share some truth with him. “Not many people come here.”

I go to the closet beside the wall, near the entrance and pick up a broom. “Do you got the books?” I nod toward the piles of books which was brought back by the cadets and riders sometime yesterday.

“Yes, that’s true. But I think it’s only part of it.” He picks up the first book. “I don’t want to pry but I have eyes. You hate books. You take notes without looking what you write. I did not once see you put back a book in it’s place since we started this thing. You can tell me anything, but only if you want. If you’re not comfortable then just forget it.”

Shit. What should I do? He almost figured it out. If I tell him my secret will he changes toward me? I don’t want that. But if he finds out without me telling him, would it be better? No. I don’t think so.

Then I just have to prepare for the worst.

“It’s a long story.” I say while I walk to the chair beside the desk he currently sorting books. “You really want to know?” I sit and look at him with a serious gaze.

“Yes. I like you, you’re a good person. I want to know because if I can, then I want to help you.” He sits in front of the desk and turns to me.

“I have dyslexia.” I stare my hand without looking up. “When I was born…my mother…” I try to explain but I can’t. I didn’t even knew her but it still hurts to think about it.

He grips my hand and when I look up he smiles reassuringly.

“There was certain circumstances which caused brain damage due to lack of oxygen.” I say in a rush lest I change my mind. “I’m normal in every other aspect, I think. It’s just that my mind works differently then others. In most situations I have good memory so it’s not that bad, but when it comes for example history then I need to learn. Or if I see a map then I should be able to read the names on it, but… But I can’t read, only with great effort. It’s really difficult. It’s like the letters are running away from me. I know which letter is which, but when I try to put into words it’ll become nothing. It’s really tiring. I’m useless, I know. And I understand if you don’t want to be my friend anymore.” I draw back my hand to let him go.

“Aelin. Look at me.” He says quietly.

I look up at him and only see understanding in his eyes.

The air rushes out of my lungs.

“First, you’re not useless! You’re a very kind and protective woman. You’re really amazing and do not forget that! It doesn’t matter if you can read a whole book within an hour or not. It doesn’t define who you are. I don’t know who said that shit to you, but it’s not true.” He says firmly and my eyes are stinging. “You’re very precious to me. And I find it amazing that despite of your struggle you’re here as you are. You’re smart. If you struggle a little then what? Nobody is perfect. Me neither. And if I can help you with anything, even if you only need me to read out loud the books then I will help you. Because we’re friends.”

I swallow hard and try to blink back the tears. Nobody said things like this to me. And here we are. A marked-one and General Melgren’s daughter. And despite of the circumstances he became my best friend beside Violet. Because he wanted to.

“Liam…” I start but my voice breaks. I feel that if I say a thing then I will cry. Instead I smile at him. With real, genuine smile. With all the warm that I can muster up. I want him to know that I really appreciate his words. Him.

“Now come. We need to tidy up here before breakfast.” He lets go my hand and stands up. But I know he understood what I couldn’t say. He understand me.

“Yeah” I say in a raspy voice. “Don’t slack off.”

He just laughs and it seems that the library is brigther then minutes ago.

***

„Keep the temperaments of each specific breed in mind when you decide which dragons to approach and which to run from at Threshing,” Professor Kaori says, his serious, dark eyes slashing toward his nose as he studies the new recruits for a beat, then he changes the projection he’s conjured from a Green Daggertail to a Red Scorpiontail. He’s an illusionist and the only professor in the quadrant with the signet ability to project what he sees in his mind, which makes this class one of my favorites.

The Red Scorpiontail in the center of our circled tables is a fraction of its actual size, six feet tall at most, but it’s an exact replica of the actual firebreather waiting in the Vale for Threshing.

“Red Scorpiontails, like Ghrian here, are the quickest to temper,” Professor Kaori continues, his perfectly trimmed mustache curving as he smiles at the illusion like he’s the dragon himself. We all take notes. “So if you offend him, you’re—”

“Lunch,” Ridoc says, and the class laughs. We have a common class with Violet’s squad and unfortunately Jack Barlowe is here too, who hasn’t quit glaring at Violet since his squad took over their quarter of the room a half hour ago.

“Precisely,” Professor Kaori responds. “So what’s the best way to approach a Red Scorpiontail?” He glances around the room.

I know the answer, but I keep my hand to myself to lay low as always.

“You don’t,” Liam mutters next to me, and I huff a laugh under my breath.

“They prefer that you approach from the left and from the front, if possible,” a woman from our squad answers.

“Excellent.” Professor Kaori nods. “For this Threshing, there are three Red Scorpiontails willing to bond.” The image changes in front of us to a different dragon.

“How many dragons are there in total?” Rhiannon asks.

“A hundred for this year,” Professor Kaori answers, changing the image again. “But some might change their minds during Presentation in about two months, depending on what they see.”

My stomach hits the floor.

“That’s thirty-seven fewer than last year.” Violet says.

Maybe even fewer if they don’t like the look of us after we have to parade by them for their perusal two days before Threshing. Then again, there’s usually fewer cadets after that particular event anyway.

Professor Kaori’s dark eyebrows rise. “Yes, Cadet Sorrengail, it is, and twenty-six fewer than the year before that.”

Fewer dragons are choosing to bond, but the number of riders entering the quadrant has remained steady. My mind whirls. Attacks at the eastern borders are increasing, according to every Battle Brief, and yet there are fewer dragons willing to bond in order to defend Navarre.

“Will they tell you why they won’t bond?” another first-year asks.

“No, jackass,” Jack scoffs, his icy-blue gaze narrowing on the cadet. “Dragons only talk to their bonded riders, just like they only give their full name to their bonded rider. You should know that by now.”

Professor Kaori sends Jack a look that shuts the first-year’s mouth but doesn’t stop him from sneering at the other cadet. “They don’t share their reasons,” our instructor says. “And anyone who respects their life won’t ask a question they’re not willing to answer.”

“Do the numbers affect the wards?” Aurelie asks from where she sits behind Violet, tapping her quill against the edge of her desk.

Professor Kaori’s jaw ticks twice. “We’re not sure. The number of bonded dragons has never affected the integrity of Navarre’s wards before, but I’m not about to lie to you and say that we’re not seeing increased breaches when you know from Battle Brief that we are.”

The wards are faltering at a rate that makes my thoughts running wild with possible theories every time Professor Devera starts our daily Battle Brief. Either we’re weakening or our enemies are getting stronger. Both possibilities mean the cadets in this room are needed more than ever.

The image changes to Sgaeyl, the navy-blue dragon bonded to Xaden.

My stomach pitches as I remember the way she looked right through me that first day.

But despite of that I found her beautiful. That color and that confident stance.

“You won’t have to worry about how to approach blue dragons, since there are none willing to bond this Threshing, but you should be able to recognize Sgaeyl if you see her,” Professor Kaori says.

“So you can fucking run,” Ridoc drawls.

I nod along while others laugh.

“She’s a Blue Daggertail, the rarest of the blues, and yes, if you see her without her bonded rider, you should…definitely find somewhere else to be. Ruthless does not begin to describe her, nor does she abide by what we assume to be what the dragons consider law. She even bonded the relative of one of her previous riders, which you all know is typically forbidden, but Sgaeyl does whatever she wants, whenever she wants. In fact, if you see any of the blues, do not approach them. Just…”

“Run,” Ridoc repeats, raking his hand through his floppy brown hair.

“Run,” Professor Kaori agrees with a smile, the mustache above his top lip quivering slightly. “There are a handful of other blues in active service, but you’ll find them all along the Esben Mountains in the east, where the fighting is most intense. They’re all intimidating, but Sgaeyl is the most powerful of them all.”

My breath catches. No wonder Xaden can wield shadows—shadows that can yank daggers out of trees, shadows that can probably throw those same daggers. And yet…he let me live. I shove the kernel of warmth that thought gives me far, far away.

He was an asshole after all.

“What about the black dragon?” the first-year next to Jack asks. “There’s one here, right?”

Jack’s face lights up. “I want that one.”

“Not that it’s going to matter.” Professor Kaori flicks his wrist and Sgaeyl disappears, and a massive black dragon takes her place. Even the illusion is bigger, making me crane my neck slightly to see its head. “But just to appease your curiosity, since this is the only time you’ll ever see him, here is the only other black besides General Melgren’s.”

“He’s huge,” Rhiannon says. “And is that a clubtail?”

“No. A morningstartail. He has the same bludgeoning power of a clubtail, but those spikes will eviscerate a person just as well as a daggertail.”

“Best of both worlds,” Jack calls out. “He looks like a killing machine.”

“He is,” Professor Kaori answers. “And honestly, I haven’t seen him in the last five years, so this image is more than a little outdated. But since we have him up here, what can you tell me about black dragons?”

“They’re the smartest and most discerning,” Aurelie calls out.

“They’re the rarest,” I add in. “There hasn’t been one born in the last…century.”

“Correct.” Professor Kaori spins the illusion again, and I’m met with a pair of glaring yellow eyes. “They’re also the most cunning. There’s no such thing as outsmarting a black dragon. This one is a little over a hundred, which makes him about middle-aged. He’s revered as a battle dragon among their kind, and if not for him, we probably would have lost during the Tyrrish rebellion. Add to it that he’s a morningstartail, and he’s one of the deadliest dragons in Navarre.”

„I bet he powers one hell of a signet. How do you approach him?” Jack asks, leaning forward in his seat. There’s pure avarice in his eyes, mirrored by his friend next to him.

That’s the last thing this kingdom needs, someone as cruel as Jack bonding to a black dragon. No, thank you.

“You don’t,” Professor Kaori answers. “He hasn’t agreed to bond since his previous and only rider was killed during the uprising, and the only way you’d ever be near him is if you’re in the Vale, which you won’t be, because you’d be incinerated before you ever got through the gorge.”

The pale redhead across the circle from me shifts in her seat and tugs her sleeve down to cover her rebellion relic.

“Someone should ask him again,” Jack urges.

“It doesn’t work that way, Barlowe. Now, there is only one other black dragon, which is in service—”

“General Melgren’s,” Sawyer says. His book is closed in front of him, but I can’t blame him. I’d hardly be taking notes, either, if this was the second time I’d gone through this class. “Codagh, right?”

Everyone looks at me with curiosity in their eyes. Shit. What do they think? I won’t tell stories about him. Never.

They say the dragon chooses their rider based on things that makes them a great match. In this case they’re both cruel. They deserve each other, I shudder.

“Yes.” Professor Kaori nods. “The eldest of their den and a swordtail.”

“But just for curiosity’s sake.” Jack’s glacial-blue gaze doesn’t stray from the illusion of the unbonded black dragon still being projected. “What signet ability would this guy gift his rider?”

Professor Kaori closes his fist, and the illusion disappears. “There’s no telling. Signets are the result of the unique chemistry between rider and dragon and usually say more about the rider than the dragon. The stronger the bond and the more powerful the dragon, the stronger the signet.”

“Fine. What was his previous rider’s?” Jack asks.

“Naolin’s signet was siphoning.” Professor Kaori’s shoulders fall. “He could absorb power from various sources, other dragons, other riders, and then use it or redistribute it.”

“Badass.” Ridoc’s tone has more than a little hero worship.

“He was,” Professor Kaori agrees.

“What kills someone with that kind of signet?” Jack asks, crossing his arms over his thick chest.

Professor Kaori glances at Violet for a heartbeat before looking away. “He attempted to use that power to revive a fallen rider—which didn’t work, because there’s no signet capable of resurrection—and depleted himself in the process. To use a phrase you’ll become accustomed to after Threshing, he burned out and died next to that rider.”

Something in my chest shifts, a feeling that I can’t explain and yet can’t shake.

The bells ring, signaling the hour is up, and we all begin to gather our things. The squads filter out to the hallway, emptying the room, and I rise from behind my desk and go to stand beside Violet, shouldering my satchel as Liam waits for me by the door, a puzzled expression on his face.

“It was Brennan, wasn’t it?” Violet asks Professor Kaori.

Sadness fills his gaze as he meets hers. “Yes. He died trying to save your brother, but Brennan was too far gone.”

“Why would he do that?” She shifts the weight of her satchel. „Resurrection isn’t possible. Why would he essentially kill himself when Brennan was already gone?”

A stampede of grief tramples my heart, stealing my breath. Brennan never would have wanted anyone to die for him. That wasn’t in his nature.

Professor Kaori sits back against his desk, pulling at the short, dark hairs of his mustache as he stares at us. “Being a Sorrengail and Melgren doesn’t do you any favors in here, does it?”

I shake my head. “There are more than a few cadets who would like to take me—and my last name—down a peg.”

He nods. “It won’t be like that once you leave. After graduation, you’ll find that being who you are means others will do just about anything to keep you alive, even pleased, not because they love your mother or father but because they either fear them or want their favor.”

“Which was Naolin?”

“A little bit of both. And sometimes it’s hard for a rider with a signet that powerful to accept his limits. After all, bonding makes you a rider, but resurrecting someone from the dead? Now, that makes you a god. I somehow don’t think that Malek takes kindly to a mortal treading on his territory.”

“Thank you for answering.” Violet turns and starts toward the door, I follow her.

“Violet,” Professor Kaori calls out, and I pivot to look back. “I taught both your siblings. A signet like mine is too useful here in the classroom to let me deploy with a wing for long. Brennan was a spectacular rider and a good man. Mira is shrewd and gifted in the seat when it comes to riding.”

She nods.

“But you’re smarter than both of them.”

She blinks. It’s not often she gets compared to her brother and sister and somehow come out on top.

“From what I’ve seen of you helping your friend study in commons every night, it seems you might be more compassionate, too. Don’t forget that.”

“Thank you, but being smart and compassionate isn’t going to help me when it comes to Threshing.” A self-deprecating laugh escapes her mouth. “You know more about dragons than anyone else in the quadrant, probably anyone else on the Continent. They choose strength and shrewdness.”

“They choose for reasons they don’t see fit to share with us.” He pushes off his desk. “And not all strength is physical, Violet.”

She nods, and we head over to meet Rhiannon and Liam at the door.

“See? I told you that you’re the smartest person I know.” I grin at her. “And if anybody will bond with a strong dragon at Threshing then you will be the one.”

“You’re just saying that to comfort me.” She sighs.

“No, Vi. I say it because I belive in you.” I grab her arm and look into her eyes. “You’re smart, persistent and a good person. Don’t underestimate yourself.”

“Okay, I try.” She gives in.

“Good. Now see you later at the gym.” I wink at her and go grab Liam’s arm.

“Come on, we’re gonna be late.” I laugh at him.

“Again.” He mutters.

***

I’m so nervous for Violet’s challenge I thought as I stand and watch Liam beat the ever-loving shit out of his opponent. It’s a guy from Second Wing, and it takes almost no time for him to get the guy into a headlock, cutting off his air supply.

He’s really good. I cross my arms across my chest. I’m stripped down to the dragon-scale vest that’s starting to feel like a second skin and my fighting leathers. All four of my daggers are sheathed, and if everything goes correctly, I’ll have one more to add to my collection soon.

The Second Wing first-year passes out, and Liam rises victorious as we clap. Then he leans over his opponent and removes the dagger at his side. “Looks like this is mine now. Enjoy your nap.” He pats him on the head, which makes me laugh. Maybe I’m a bad influence to him.

I hear a shout behind me and I turn around.

Wow. Jack Barlowe stands near the wall and two daggers are etched into the wall. One near his ear and the other near his balls.

That must be Violet. So she took Xaden’s advice. I’m…glad.

There’s no ignoring the prickle at my scalp, and I let my gaze shift to see Xaden watching Violet.

My heart does that damn stuttering thing again, as if he’d sent shadows straight through my ribs to squeeze the organ. He lifts his scarred brow, and he walks toward the door, but before he can disappear he looks at me and I swear there’s a hint of a smile on his lips as he leaves.

That’s strange. It’s just me or he sends mixed signals? I thought he liked Violet but maybe he didn’t?

I don’t have much time to ponder on these thoughts.

„Melgren.” Professor Emetterio glances at his notebook and raises one bushy black brow before continuing. “Cardulo.”

Oh man, it will be a good fight. I grin as I step onto the mat opposite Imogen who glares daggers at me.

“You were just lucky last time.” She says as we start circling each other “And I will show everyone that you’re just a weakling.”

“Sweetie, I wasn’t lucky I’m simply that good.” I laugh at her.

She charges at me with raised fists and intends to punch me in the face but I quickly block it with my arms. I swing my right arm to land a hit on her side but she swiftly moves sideways and avoid it.

Hm, she’s not bad either. We exchange several blows, each one is faster than the one before. It’s like a well balanced dance, and we wait to see who will make the first mistake.

And there it is.

She charges at me again but her footwork is a little sloppy. I took advantage of it and kick out her legs.

She falls on the mat and I quickly try to secure her legs while punching wherever I can but she blocks almost every hit.

With a move I can’t see with her leg she reverses our positions and now my back is against the mat.

She lands a blow on my jaw and for a moment I see stars. Shit, she’s strong.

While I try to blink out the darkness she lands another punch at my ribs and grabs my hair to slam my head into the mat.

“I told you that you were lucky.” She mocks me. “You’re actually useless, aren’t you?”

Useless? My world stops for a moment.

You’re useless. You can’t even do the simple things I asked from you. You’re an embarrassment. Do something right for once in your life.

Useless. Useless. Useless.

I’m going under deeper and deeper in my memories.

‘You’re very precious to me’ I hear a voice. That’s… what Liam said at the library in the morning. He’s my friend and he doesn’t think that I’m useless. Then… maybe I’m not?

With these thoughts I’m back in reality and that’s the moment when Imogen hit my nose and I hear the bone breaking.

There’s blood everywhere.

Fuck. She broke my nose. I feel my anger rising.

When she tries to hit me again I grab her arm and I pull it to the side with all my power.

She loses her balance and I push her on the mat. With a swift move I punch her in the face, and I hear a satisfing snapping sound.

Payback bitch. Now her nose is broken too.

We begin to struggle for the upper position, but it’s like our strength is matching.

We use elbows, fists, everything we can to gain an advantage over the other one, while collecting more bruises.

With an opening, I get her into a headlock and I stabilize myself against the mat. I cut off her air supply, now I just need to endure it.

She claws my hand, tosses her body, trying to break my hold on her, but I won’t let it.

“Yield.” I say in a raspy voice.

She starts to struggle with a renewd ferocity but in vain. Slowly she starts to lose strength, slowing down. She almost lost consciousness.

“She yields.” Professor Emetterio says.

I relase her and she starts coughing.

Serves you right bitch. I won.

I stand up and I extend my hand. She looks at me with surprise in her eyes.

“It was a good match.” I say in a hoarse voice.

She accepts my hand and I help her stand up.

I turn to Liam who smiling at me. “You were great Aelin.”

“Yeah, thanks. But I think I will go see a healer, somebody should fix my nose. I don’t want a crooked nose.” I whine.

“Then come, I will escort you there” he laughs outright.

As we made our way to the doors I see Violet and her opponent and that’s when he pukes all over the mat.

Good job, Vi. The poison is working.

***

Next week I win against a second-year man with a rebellion relic who challanged me because the General is my father. What a surprise.

The week after the next I win again, because my opponent was a first-year who almost cried when the Professor paired us up.

The next week I almost lost against a second-year. He was a really strong opponent but got too cocky and his moves became sloppy.

My fifth won dagger is from another first-year. To my surprise I was paired up with Rhiannon. That was a good match, she’s strong and smart. But I’m better than her. It’s a fact. After all I was taught by the General.

It’s my luck that he was still at the front. I’m terrified if I think about the first time when I will have to report him. I can feel that I can’t avoid it much longer.

And August is over.

Come early September I stand next to the mat to wait for my match.

Violet is on the mat and I search for her opponent. What will it be this time? She will be throwing up? She won’t see after a couple of minutes? She will lost her balance?

I’m really intriguied. She always uses different kind of poisons so it’s not that conspicuous.

„Sorry, Violet,” Professor Emetterio says, scratching his short black beard. “You were supposed to challenge Rayma, but she’s been taken to the healers because she can’t seem to walk in a straight line.”

“That’s too bad.” She winces. “But I’m fine without a match” she adds quickly.

The Professor nods then turns to me “And Aelin it seems you’re opponent is Rayma’s boyfriend and probably they shared their breakfast. Now they both at the Healrs Quadrant.”

“What?” I ask with surprise evident on my face. “Then who will be my opponent?”

„I’m happy to step in.” That voice. That tone. That prickle of ice along my scalp…

Oh no. Hell no. No. No. No.

“You sure?” Professor Emetterio asks, glancing over his shoulder.

“Absolutely.”

My stomach hits the floor.

And Xaden walks onto the mat.

Shit. I should’ve said that I’m fine without a match too.

#fanfiction #fourth wing #fourth wing fanfic #liam mairi #the fourth wing #violet sorrengail #xaden riorson #oc #the empyrean #xaden riorson x oc #xaden x oc

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rozaceous · 10 months

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mariko, violence, and the meta of violence in fanfiction

ok so it’s apparently not enough that i write the most indulgent kind of fic, but now i’m writing an essay about my fic. this got so long, abt 2k total. if i said sorry, it’d be insincere, but at least no one is making you read it?

i want to piggy-back off the post i made earlier this week where i was talking about how mariko was not well-adjusted, and was, in fact, doing extremely poorly. what this post turns into, however, is an analysis not only of mariko’s relationship to violence and her subsequent trauma, but a meta-analysis of how violence is treated in canon more broadly, and how that ends up translating into fic. because, and i mean this in a way that is distinctly not about tooting my own horn, i’m approaching violence with a different lens than what i've found in a majority of fic, but also in a way that is unique to SI fic.

‘to continue being alive is also an art’ starts in medias res ch 1 with mariko haring off to the confrontation at the bridge in wave. we find out later, she’s fresh from just having killed people for the first time. kakashi and mariko have their little chat abt it in ch 2, but it’s treated as done and resolved afterwards. it was self-defense, she was protecting others, she was justified and shouldn’t lose sleep over it.

mariko also kills during the chuunin exams itself (members of the sound team) and during the finals (she on-screen beheads a foreign ninja). there’s a sort-of killing w the itachi puppet in ch 15, and a mention of sasori, but otherwise we don’t get any particular details of her killing people until the events of ch 17, where she kills danzo and the rest of the elder council, as well as whoever was caught in the bombings. (i’m going to word-of-god this for everyone right now and tell you that there were people caught in the bombings, just like i will confirm that she’s killed other people in the interim of the time skip.)

from a writing-level, i approached violence in a very specific way. most of the violence is off-screen and mentioned as a retrospective; what occurs on-screen i tried to keep brief and matter-of-fact. graphic, maybe, but not gory. i also try not to play violence as something that’s done for laughs, like how sakura will beat naruto up in canon when he annoys her. (we’ll come back to this.) and a lot of this has to do with how mariko herself deals with violence.

i mentioned in that previous post, that mariko grows up in a militaristic culture where violence is a norm and acceptable, as someone who is not actually a kid who can be acculturated into that thinking in the same way. mariko comes from a culture and personal history where interpersonal violence is abhorrent. she tries to duck out of canon events and any requirement of violence on her own part by being a medic, but the team assignments (the narrative/me, if we’re wanting to get meta abt it lol) prevent her from achieving this relatively more peaceful role.

when mariko gets assigned to team seven, she has to get real comfortable with violence real fast. she’s already befriended naruto (and hahahaha you may remember that she does so by punching a guy 🙂) and she cares about kakashi and sasuke. she’s come to the realization that this is her lot, these are her people, they are her responsibility. as she notes in ch 2, she’s not good enough to solve her problems without killing. this is also to say, she’s not good enough to problem-solve without violence. it’s beyond her capacity and skill when the stakes are as high as they are. let’s also consider that caring about everyone is a luxury that mariko cannot afford, widespread mercy is potentially a death sentence, and so she narrows that care down to a handful of people. and so if she’s taking the well-being of her teammates as her ultimate good, she will absolutely let the ends justify the means.

added onto any personal sentiment is that, as far as mariko knows, if anyone on team seven dies, the entire world is fucked.

mariko one hundred percent and sincerely believes that violence is wrong. even when it’s justified, self-defense, etc., mariko views it as ugly. there may be situations where she assigns herself less blame, but she is always blaming herself for being too weak to find another way, because her (somewhat unrealistic) view is that violence is the sign that you’ve run out of other options to get your way.

however, with the stakes being as they are, and with the world she’s in treating violence as a form of currency, mariko sees violence as a necessity.

so we can see the dissonance, right? she has to use violence to protect not only herself, but the people she loves, and the entire world. and mariko’s fundamental optimism is that people are worth helping and that the world is worth saving, because if she doesn’t believe in that with her whole heart, she’d literally just curl up and die. she wants to be kind and to help and nurture and build, but her most effective tools—once again, she views using violence as a failure—are the ones she hates the most. but she has to use them. more, she has to be very, very good with them.

this isn’t a small-level dissonance, it’s a diametric opposition. so in terms of narration, mariko can’t think too much about the violence she’s enacted because it would destroy her. she knows this about herself. she hates it. but it’s necessary. and so she doesn’t think about it. and if she does think about it, she’s very clinical and writes it off as unfortunate and necessary and—well, it’s done, no use crying over it now. she’s disassociated herself from it. and i wanted that perspective reflected in the way i wrote about violence.

the other aspect of how i wanted to handle violence is from how i approach the canon. we’ve all read the fics where konoha is a grimdark dictatorship, with death and torture around every corner. and, uh, it is? it’s a fascist war machine, plainly. it’s child soldiers and state-sanctioned assassination baked into the world economy? there’re multiple instances of genocide? it’s a fucking nightmare.

i, personally, am not able to brush aside those things. i like the meta and the reading-into-things and the what-if’s that happen when you don’t take things at face value. so for me, the writer, i can’t glorify violence. there’s a reason i wrote mariko walking through the uchiha compound in the way that i did. so i’m not going to write like killing a thousand people in one go is anything but horrifying (staring at you, minato), even if i’m not interested in directly interrogating every particular instance of violence within the narrative.

but canon doesn’t approach it from this angle. for canon, this is all the quirky backdrop, and violence and killing are bad, but very few people tend to die in a meaningful sense. violence doesn’t often have lasting consequences. (this is, also, the evolution that Naruto goes through as a series, where it starts off as a critique of the state and then turns into bootlicking, but that’s another meta that plenty of others have written better than i can.) in canon, the ability to do high-damage moves is considered a cool power-up. in fact, your power level is directly correlated with your physical danger level—ie, your ability to do violence.

moreover, casual violence is funny in canon. (we’re back to sakura beating up naruto and it being treated as a joke.) these things are entirely the conceit of reading/watching canon, and it’s what we do with every piece of media. this isn’t a judgment! we are suspending our disbelief and buying into the premise of the story that gets told. and i would hardly have written over 50k of naruto fanfic if i didn’t find it innately compelling and, yes, fun.

so this is where the presentation of violence in fanfiction can get dicey, because not every author is approaching canon with the same spirit that canon itself has. i also want to make the blanket statement that i don’t think any one interpretation is right or wrong, it’s that they’re all interpretations. i’ve read and liked fics of all varieties; i’m not morality policing, i’m trying to place myself and my own fic within a broader phenomenon of how fics present the morality of violence. i don’t personally care what one fic thinks is morally good, nor do i think that a particular presentation necessarily corresponds with what the author thinks in real life, or even that a presentation has to be consistent from fic to fic. these are all lenses/perspectives, and fanfic is inherently about playing with the little details of canon and going, “And?”

so on one end, you’ll have some fics that 100% correspond with the attitude towards violence that canon has and aren’t too interested into getting into the grittier moral quandaries of the canon past what canon presents as good or bad. on the other, you’ll have other fics that will rip the morals of canon to shreds. again, i like both! it always depends what the focus of your story is!

i feel like i’m somewhere in the middle. i feel like a lot of naruto fics commit hard to either of the above scenarios from the start and i...don't (as one commenter pointed out). there's a level of progression I'm trying to portray. and, i have to say, part of the comment that @vermillioncrown left on ch 17 really resonated: “She's sunk as low as them, she's just as fucked up in this second life despite knowing another moral framework and society. And she's mud-wrestling them down at ground level lol.”

mariko ‘knows better’ but isn’t better. she doesn’t feel like she’s a good person. arguably, she isn’t a good person. she has enough of an outsider perspective to see the system for what it is, but she is still inherently within the system. she is absolutely playing the game, and doesn’t have any moral high ground. she kills, she lies, she deceives, she betrays. she harms people. her intentions might be noble, but as tumblr loves to say abt causing others harm: intention isn’t magic. mariko wants better and is trying to achieve it, but she’s in the system and can’t get out of it because we all inherently live in a society, and removing yourself from society isn’t exactly as feasible as our ideals might like.

and because tcba is, mostly, from mariko’s perspective, her understanding of violence colors the narrative. because mariko is an SI/OC, her perspective is one that is ALWAYS going to be a negotiation of ‘canon at face value’ and ‘me personally doing an analysis.’ and i think that’s really cool and interesting, which is why i’m doing it!

but—and this is not me throwing shade or getting mad or singling anyone out—this is also a take that is a little counter to broader fandom habit that aligns with ‘omg she was so badass when she killed that guy!’ or ‘yes! fuck it up!’

reiterating that i’m not trying to scold or slight anyone, bc this is the ‘canon at face value’ take, where we are supposed to see these things as badass and praise-worthy, and often these are climactic scenes where mariko is ostensibly cast as the righteous victor! and if people don’t see what i’m trying to do as different to that take, that’s also on me as the writer, especially bc, as i already said, this is a story that is trying to negotiate those different perspectives on violence. but i also want to point out that there’s more than just ‘violence as badassery’ happening. this is also ‘violence as tragedy.’

and since the meaning and role of violence isn’t a theme that’s going to go anywhere any time soon, i thought it was worth discussing.

#this is not to say that i think the narrative doesn't reward mariko for mercy or generosity. zabuza and haku as the prime examples ofc #and i hope i made this clear? it got so long.#kudos also must go to verm bc it's our discussions that always filter through to everything and some of this was probably their words #but i so would love to talk more abt this if anyone is so inclined #tcba #tcba meta #rozisms

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wen-kexing-apologist · 2 months

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Shipper Tag Game

I was tagged in this game by @twig-tea, appreciate the tag but also bestie this is so many questions.

1. What ship were you completely obsessed with when you were a teenager, but now you don't care anymore?

Is this the part where I have to confess to being a superwholockian in my past? I no longer care about JohnLock or DeanCas, the evil is defeated!

2. Which ship would you consider your first one?

Oh it was almost certainly Beast Boy and Raven from Teen Titans

3. Your first fanfic belonged to which couple?

Magnus Bane x Alec Lightwood from Shadowhunters, I wrote a bunch of fanfics for them when I was younger. I did not anticipate how many views I would get on a couple of them, so that was cool! (shameless plug to check out my AO3 account, Sent2TheBeast. Unfortunately most of my fics are now locked due to how people feed content to AI software)

4. Do you remember the first couple you saw a fanart over?

Do I actually remember? No. Was it most likely something from Harry Potter or Supernatural? Yeah.

5. Did you ever get into ship discourse?

Baby, I write BL essays on tumblr, I think the minute I posted my first analysis I was signing up to ride the discourse wave.

6. Did you used to have any no-otp or have it currently?

Honestly any incestuous plot lines I am typically very against: Wincest, Brallie, etc.

7. Who were the couple in the last fanfic you read?

I read a beautifully written VegasPete fic by the wonderful @ginnymoonbeam

8. Currently, do you have any OTPs?

How much time do you have? Kurosawa x Adachi/Karan x Achi; Togawa x Nozue; Minoru x Yutaka; PatPran; MorkTawan; Han Baram x Im Hantae; Shin Ki Tae x Lee Wan; Kenji x Shiro; etc etc etc

9. Is there any couple that, to this day, you are extremely mad about not getting together?

Not that I can think of, but I will just give a generic shout out to all the queer baiting of old. BUT I DO HAVE COUPLES I AM EXTREMELY MAD ABOUT GETTING TOGETHER. AkkTheo and SandRay I am looking at you!!!

10. Is there any ship you used to dislike but now you think they are kind of interesting?

I will give this one to @bengiyo. I was not a fan of Korn and Intouch from Until We Meet Again because of how one-sided the relationship seemed to me. But conversations with Ben gave me deeper insights in to Korn and have had me reconsidering my impression of that relationship.

11. Do you have any ship that, in the past, was considered normal but now you would be cancelled over?

Tony DiNozzo and Ziva David would almost certainly get me cancelled considering Ziva's service history in Israel. Glad I was able to free myself of the cop/military propaganda that is NCIS when I entered high school.

12. What was your favorite crack ship?

I don't really embrace the crack culture, I am not a huge fan of crack vids, crack fics, crack ships

13. Who is the couple you read more fanfics of?

Of all the couples I read fanfics for, I think Malec from Shadowhunters was probably my most frequently read.

14. What most of your ships usually have in common?

I feel like 99% of the ships that have wormed their way in to my brain to the point of obsession (aka me making fan art, writing fics, etc) lies in the complexity and opposition of character's to one another. For example:

In Shadowhunters, the tension between Magnus being a warlock and Alec being a Shadowhunter and how they navigate the fact that The Institute and his own family have caused and continue to cause active harm to Magnus and the other Downworlders.

In Six of Crows and Crooked Kingdom, the extremely contradictory nature of Kaz Brekker's existence and how that impacts his relationship with and to Inej. I wrote a number of Kanej fics because I could not stop thinking about the fact that Kaz and Inej want to touch each other, want to be intimate with each other, and their extensive trauma makes that damn near impossible.

In Pushing Daises, the inability to touch, the tension between loving someone so much and knowing that to touch them would be to kill them is just so fascinating.

In The Old Guard, Joe and Nicky having been together for 900 years when we meet them so you wouldn't think there is a complex tension there per say, but they were on opposite sides of The Crusades and had to work through that to cultivate a literally eternal love. And not just that (honestly less so that) but the tension between their line of work as mercenaries, their immortality, and knowing that one day, completely unannounced that immortality will stop. I could not stop thinking about how many times those two have had to watch each other die, waiting and wondering if their lover would come back to life this time around.

In Bad Buddy, Pat and Pran not only having to navigate their relationship with the incredibly antagonistic relationship between their parents but Pat having to parse through all these years of competition, hatred, fighting, to understand that all this time he's loved Pran.

gif by @barrowsteeth 15. What do you absolutely hate in a ship?

Lack of reciprocity. This is not to say the relationship has to be completely balanced. I don't think that it is a realistic possibility that every aspect of a romantic relationship exists in perfect harmony. But I've written about this before, my theory as to why so many BL boys get sick, in order to allow the person who has received more of the support throughout the show to care for their partner. I am a very outspoken Enchante anti because I hate Theo so fucking much. Theo's incompetency and Akk's incessant need to help him got Akk fired from his job, Theo lied about Enchante, and Theo moved back to France and made Akk work on his own to earn enough money for a motherfucking plane ticket to France. None of that being marketed as romantic is okay with me.

tagging: @emotionallychargedtowel, @neuroticbookworm, @telomeke, @negrowhat, and @solitaryandwandering

#tag game #malec #shadowhunters #kanej #until we meet again #pushing daisies #bad buddy series #the old guard

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merskrat · 2 months

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Looking for submissions for Backbone 7!

I’m back begging the tumblr girlies of radblr to send me any art or writing that you would like to see published in the 7th edition of Backbone. I’m 22 pages in as of writing this, and would like to make it up to 40 pages of content at least. As usual, there is no topic you need to conform to. Anything created by a radical or rad leaning woman is accepted (within reason). We do essays, poetry, women’s history, short fiction, ink drawings, collage, fiber art, you name it. One thing to keep in mind is that for now I am planning to continue to print in black and white, although I am in the market for a professional printer to turn the zine into a magazine, so that plan might change. We do still accept colored art work, it’s just something to be aware of. Please message me here for my contact info, and thank you guys so much! Radblr really came through for me on the last edition, and I’m hoping this will work again. Hopefully this will be an early spring edition, but regardless of when you see this, please reach out if you have content. I am always accepting pieces throughout the year, and anything that doesn’t make the very loose deadline will be used in a future edition. Everyone who contributes will get a copy of the zine, and I am working on turning them all into PDFs so that contributors can print and distribute as many as they want.

#radical feminism #radfem #feminism #radicalfeminism #radical feminist #feminist zine #zines #zine #backbone #radfem zine #radical feminist zine

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thedecadenceofwar · 1 year

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The Kiss of the Muse: Young Royals. A meta.

Alright. So I was rewatching young royals (stream young royals lets make season 3 happen) and I noticed at the end of episode one, Wille is doing his homework! (Good for him!) And his book is open on this page:

Oh, what an interesting painting, I thought. And then I thought, it’s Young Royals; nothing is by accident. So I went searching for this painting, and I found it. It’s by Cézanne, and it’s called The Kiss of the Muse.

The wonderfully informative cezannepaintings.com had this to say:

The Kiss of the Poet shows a poet who is experiencing difficulty in his writing process. Although the scene doesn't include a writing implement, a piece of paper is resting on the desk. It appears as if the poet was in the middle of creating a poem and got stuck. Exasperation is written all over his face. His entire form screams of a man tired of what he is doing. Dream of a Poet is an apt alternate title for the painting because it describes this scene perfectly. The poet and his eyes closed so the muse on his shoulders could be part of a dream.

Pretty sure they meant Kiss of the Muse at the beginning (whatever, errors happen) but one of the things I want to point out is that the ALTERNATE title for this painting is Dream of a Poet. In this essay I will -

talk about how both titles are symbolic for Wille and Simon, and how they are both the poet and the muse in this painting.

Disclaimer: I don’t have a degree in art history. I don’t know anything. Feel free to disagree with me entirely. Enjoy!

Simon as the Poet; Kiss of the Muse.

Immediately before this scene in Wille’s bedroom takes place is the first time Simon sets a boundary before Wilhelm. I’ve been thinking about you all break, he said, but it’s nice to have some space. You can see in that interaction how exhausted Simon is, how he’s entirely fed up with Wille not being able to understand where he’s coming from.

(Apologies for my godawful Netflix screenshots.)

While Simon might be faced away from his muse, clearly sick of this mental block, Wille is always behind him, always with him. The poet’s muse inspires him to write, just as Wille inspires Simon to write the new Hillerska song. But at this point, Simon has not yet begun; the artist in the painting notably does not have a pen or quill.

It speaks as well I think to Wille’s constant presence in Simon’s life. The poet has given up on his poem. He’s sick of throwing himself at the wall and never being able to get through. And Simon constantly tries to take back his agency; through Marcus, through the Hillerska song, through the boundaries he sets with Wilhelm. But it’s never enough. Wille is constantly with him. The muse stands behind the poet; he cannot see her, but he can feel her presence. Dream of a Poet (the alternate title) implies that he wishes she was there, that he yearns for her constantly and the creative impulses she brings, but he cannot access them.

I feel ascribing the poet to Simon is a fairly obvious comparison; two creators, both feeling stuck and art-blocked. Simon as poet and Wille as muse represents Simon’s artistic and emotional journey through the season; he tries to look the other way, but Wille is always drawing him in, constantly with him.

And oh, the kiss. Simon cannot sing his song without Wille there. The muse is vital for the art.

In episode 4, when Simon realizes Wille has left the ball, he goes in search of him. Wille, the song is about you. He needed Wille to be there, to hear him sing those words because without him there the full impact of the premier is lost. What would happen if the muse left the poet? The kiss must happen. Wille must be present for the song.

Simon goes searching for him because he knows this. If Wille is not present to hear it, the point of Simon writing it is lost. He may not have known it until Wille threatened to leave, but he knows it when he goes after him. He seeks the kiss of the muse. Once he receives it, he is free to make his art again.

Wille as the poet; Dream of the Poet.

Speaking of that kiss. I’m sure we’re all aware at this point that the music that plays during this kiss plays during Wille’s dream at the very beginning of the season. He’s dreamed of this moment for so long, this kiss, and to finally receive it is such ecstasy he’s speechless.

(Look at that queer fucking joy. My god. I nearly cried.)

But I digress. We must return to the point at which he flips the book to the painting. Then we return to Wilhelm’s dream.

So, where is Wille coming from at the moment this painting appears? He is certainly under extreme duress. I would compare him to Cézanne at this moment:

Here, the defeated demeanour of the poet could represent how Cézanne faired during his early days as an artist. It looks as if he has lost hope until a muse bestows inspiration. It took a while for the French painter to gain recognition for his talent and maybe a muse of inspiration had something to do with it.

So Cézanne, like Wille, like the poet, was stuck in a cycle where he was doing his best, trying his hardest at something, and still nothing came of it. Wille is terrified of being crown prince – it affects him so physically he vomits simply at the thought of speaking in front of others. He is fighting as hard as he can but the forces surrounding him are far too big for him to ever prevail against them.

Time and time again, he tries to reason. He tries to threaten. He begs. And always, nothing real comes from it. He gets to stay at Hillerska, he gets his bodyguards moved. He still has to make the speech. Still Crown Prince. Still forced into a role he doesn’t want. With Wille as the poet, the block is less creative and more literal. He wants to be able to do what he wants, to be who he is, but he’s not allowed to be. And he’s allowing this to happen to himself. He begins to mold himself into the shape of the Crown Prince.

But for the dream. The dream of a kiss of inspiration. The one thing driving Wille up until this point (at the ball) is this dream that he can, somehow, win Simon over. His whole motivation is to get Simon back – the means may be questionable at times, but it’s undeniable that Simon IS the force behind Wille’s actions. His muse.

Similarly to Simon, it’s not always necessarily a good thing. In the end, Simon inspires Wille to come out on his terms, but up until the ball, where Wille first tries to let go, what he inspires is a relatively selfish feeling in Wille, the I want of winning Simon back. Likewise, Wille as Simon’s muse almost hangs over his shoulder in every interaction, causing guilt and anger and helplessness. It’s the kiss that changes everything.

Wille dreams of being free. Simon is stuck behind an emotional block. The kiss of these two poets’ respective muses represents the freeing of both of their blocks. Wille’s dream becomes a reality; Simon is able to perform his song. Moving forward, as inspirations for the other they become better versions of themselves as they push away the mental, physical, emotional, and creative blocks that kept them away from each other.

Paul Cézanne’s The Kiss of the Muse, also entitled Dream of the Poet is representative of both Wille and Simon in both roles of the painting, as muse and poet. Both act as inspirations to help the other overcome some kind of block, and one quick flip to a page showing this painting in Wille’s textbook acts as foreshadowing for the entire rest of the season.

#young royals #young royals season 2 #young royals analysis #yr #wilmon #anyway #i just spent two hours of my time doing this #thanks for reading #i hope theres no mistakes bc im not editing all that #my stuff #meta

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