#adding his way of viewing the world into the prose

[kikizoshi]

Feeling discouraged, so here's a short, unfinished Godos piece that will never be realised. Nikolai's attempting (read: failing) to write his first draft of a play (an adaptation of Dead Souls, Part 2). Fyodor was going to cheer him up and inspire him, somehow, but I don't have any clue how, so this is all I could get out of that idea. (I do at least like how it turned out, though, unfinished as it is.)

---

The words on the page taunted Nikolai like so many Sufi dervishes. They blurred, swirled into characters half-formed, who jumped and jeered just out of Nikolai’s sight. ‘Find us,’ they seemed to say. ‘Come and see our beautiful lives! And then depict us, reveal us to everyone, that we may truly exist.’ They beckoned him to find them, invited him to view their marvelous exploits, to laugh along with their absurd adventures—and then just as he reached to meet them, they slipped away, laughing. Unendingly they tortured him with scenes just beyond grasp, a perfect story hidden in the periphery of a dense fog.

Nikolai groaned, leaned back, and pressed his palms against his eyes. It was a perfect picture of agony, well-practiced and endlessly rehearsed. ‘Yet all the acting in the world won’t save a lacking script,’ he thought. ‘Ah, why can’t you just write yourselves? Hop along, I’ll even guide the quill, so long as you do something, anything, oh please…’ His entreaties, of course, prompted naught but more formless tittering. Nikolai sighed, and contemplated how effective bashing his scull against the door-jam would be at shaking something loose.

“Is something the matter?” an irritatingly calm Fyodor asked from behind him. Nikolai swung around in his chair, resting his arms on the back, and stared pointedly at his relaxed friend who lounged so serenely on the green recliner, a book nestled under his folded palms. The question itself was preemptive, a set-up, a frivolous first line of a three-line script which always arrived at the same conclusion. Nikolai recognised the offer for friendly—and perhaps even needed—advice, but took it no less bitterly. He smiled mirthlessly. Nevertheless, he played his part.

“Whatever gave you that impression? Was it the willful suicide of the last of my creative expression? Or perhaps you hear them laughing too?”

“Your characters won’t work with you?” (Here, the second phrase, to be replied with…)

“Oh, far beyond that. They won’t speak to me at all! I’m being shunned.”

“I see.” Fyodor concluded and stood, pulling the curtain on their impromptu play. Nikolai watched him go, mildly curious which remedy Fyodor would prescribe this time. “I need to visit the theatre,” he said finally. “Would you like to join me?”

Nikolai laughed flatly. “For what? The stage doesn’t—and I say this from great experience—do anything for one’s imagination. If anything, it’s worse, because you see everything that has been and none of what could be! Can you imagine that? I know, I know, you’re ‘not that way artistically inclined,’ but imagine for a moment that the sentences of your computer codes were jumping and jaunting about in front of your very eyes, and so to fix it, you decided to stare at someone else's pages. Well? Would that help you very much?”

“Most likely it wouldn’t.” Fyodor smiled. “But we won’t be going to the stage. I need to stop by the costuming department. Misha talked one of the women there into parting with an unused costume design for Verenka, but couldn’t pick it up himself.”

“And you just so happen to be free?”

“No,” Fyodor said, a bit dejected. “But I couldn’t stand to stare at my colleagues’ ‘pages’. As you say, it won’t do any good.” He sighed wearily. “Some fresh air and new scenery, tea, something else to think about… I need them greatly. And some company would be nice, too.”

Nikolai stood without ceremony (a shame, yes, but recall his lack of inspiration and forgive him), stretched, and said flatly, “Well then, what are we waiting for?”

---

As it turned out, Nikolai was quite quick to regret those words. A lovely stroll down the uncharacteristically sun-touched streets of St. Petersburg wound down into a bustling cafe.

---

Surprisingly, all went well at the theatre. The lady was quite nice, expressing her condolences and well-wishes for the ‘poor young woman’, and waved them on their way. Pattern safely secured, the two stopped by the next-door cafe, ‘The Stray Dog’, (home to aspiring and established artists alike), for a spot of tea. And thence all collapsed.

[soracities]

what are your suggestions for starter poetry for people who dont have strong reading/analysis backgrounds

I've answered this a few times so I'm going to compile and expand them all into one post here.

I think if you haven't read much poetry before or aren't sure of your own tastes yet, then poetry anthologies are a great place to start: many of them will have a unifying theme so you can hone in based on a subject that interests you, or pick your way through something more general. I haven't read all of the ones below, but I have read most of them; the rest I came across in my own readings and added to my list either because I like the concept or am familiar with the editor(s) / their work:

Staying Alive: Real Poems for Unreal Times (ed. Nick Astley) & Being Alive: The Sequel to Staying Alive (there's two more books in this series, but I'm recommending these two just because it's where I started)

The Rattlebag (ed. Seamus Heaney and Ted Hughes)

The Ecco Anthology of International Poetry (ed. Ilya Kaminsky & Susan Harris)

The Essential Haiku, Versions of Basho, Buson and Issa (ed. Robert Hass)

A Book of Luminous Things (ed. Czesław Miłosz )

Now and Then: The Poet's Choice Columns by Robert Hass (this may be a good place to start if you're also looking for commentary on the poems themselves)

Poetry Unbound: 50 Poems to Open Your World(ed. Pádraig Ó'Tuama)

African American Poetry: 250 Years of Struggle and Song (ed. Kevin Young)

The Art of Losing: Poems of Grief and Healing (ed. Kevin Young)

Lifelines: Letters from Famous People about their Favourite Poems

The following lists are authors I love in one regard or another and is a small mix of different styles / time periods which I think are still fairly accessible regardless of what your reading background is! It's be no means exhaustice but hopefully it gives you even just a small glimpse of the range that's available so you can branch off and explore for yourself if any particular work speaks to you.

But in any case, for individual collections, I would try:

anything by Sara Teasdale

Devotions / Wild Geese / Felicity by Mary Oliver

Selected Poems and Prose by Christina Rossetti

Collected Poems by Langston Hughes

Where the Sidewalk Endsby Shel Silverstein

Morning Haiku by Sonia Sanchez

Revolutionary Letters, Diane di Prima

Concerning the Book That Is the Body of the Beloved by Gregory Orr

Rose: Poems by Li-Young Lee

A Red Cherry on a White-Tiled Floor / Barefoot Souls by Maram al-Masri

Deaf Republic by Ilya Kaminsky

Tell Me: Poems / What is This Thing Called Love? by Kim Addonizio

The Trouble with Poetry by Billy Collins (Billy Collins is THE go-to for accessible / beginner poetry in my view so I think any of his collections would probably do)

Crush by Richard Siken

Rapture / The World's Wife by Carol Ann Duffy

The War Works Hard by Dunya Mikhail

Selected Poems by Walt Whitman

View with a Grain of Sand by Wislawa Szymborska

Collected Poems by Vasko Popa

Under Milkwood by Dylan Thomas (this is a play, but Thomas is a poet and the language & structure is definitely poetic to me)

Bright Dead Things: Poems by Ada Limón

Teaching My Mother How to Give Birth by Warsan Shire,

Nostalgia, My Enemy: Selected Poems by Saadi Youssef

As for individual poems:

“Wild Geese” by Mary Oliver

[Dear The Vatican] erasure poem by Pádraig Ó'Tuama // "The Pedagogy of Conflict"

"Good Bones" by Maggie Smith

"The Author Writes the First Draft of His Weddings Vows (An erasure of Virginia Woolf's suicide letter to her husband, Leonard)" by Hanif Abdurraqib

"I Can Tell You a Story" by Chuck Carlise

"The Sciences Sing a Lullabye" by Albert Goldbarth

"One Last Poem for Richard" by Sandra Cisneros

"We Lived Happily During the War" by Ilya Kaminsky

“I’m Explaining a Few Things”by Pablo Neruda

"Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening" //"Nothing Gold Can Stay"//"Out, Out--" by Robert Frost

"Tablets: I // II // III"by Dunya Mikhail

"What Were They Like?" by Denise Levertov

"Those Winter Sundays" by Robert Hayden,

"The Patience of Ordinary Things" by Pat Schneider

“I, too” // "The Negro Speaks of Rivers” // "Harlem” // “Theme for English B” by Langston Hughes

“The Mower” // "The Trees" // "High Windows" by Philip Larkin

“The Leash” // “Love Poem with Apologies for My Appearance” // "Downhearted" by Ada Limón

“The Flea” by John Donne

"The Last Rose of Summer" by Thomas Moore

"Beauty" // "Please don't" // "How it Adds Up" by Tony Hoagland

“My Friend Yeshi” by Alice Walker

"De Humanis Corporis Fabrica"byJohn Burnside

“What Do Women Want?” // “For Desire” // "Stolen Moments" // "The Numbers" by Kim Addonizio

“Hummingbird” // "For Tess" by Raymond Carver

"The Two-Headed Calf" by Laura Gilpin

“Bleecker Street, Summer” by Derek Walcott

“Dirge Without Music” // "What Lips My Lips Have Kissed" by Edna St. Vincent Millay

“Digging” // “Mid-Term Break” // “The Rain Stick” // "Blackberry Picking" // "Twice Shy" by Seamus Heaney

“Dulce Et Decorum Est”by Wilfred Owen

“Notes from a Nonexistent Himalayan Expedition”by Wislawa Szymborska

"Hour" //"Medusa" byCarol Ann Duffy

“The More Loving One” // “Musée des Beaux Arts” by W.H. Auden

“Small Kindnesses” // "Feeding the Worms" by Danusha Laméris

"Down by the Salley Gardens” // “The Stolen Child” by W.B. Yeats

"The Thing Is" by Ellen Bass

"The Last Love Letter from an Entymologist" by Jared Singer

"[i like my body when it is with your]" by e.e. cummings

"Try to Praise the Mutilated World" by Adam Zagajewski

"The Cinnamon Peeler" by Michael Ondaatje

"Last Night I Dreamed I Made Myself" by Paige Lewis

"A Dream Within a Dream" // "The Raven" by Edgar Allan Poe (highly recommend reading the last one out loud or listening to it recited)

"Ars Poetica?" // "Encounter" // "A Song on the End of the World"by Czeslaw Milosz

"Wandering Around an Albequerque Airport Terminal” // "Two Countries” // "Kindness” by Naoimi Shihab Nye

"Slow Dance” by Matthew Dickman

"The Archipelago of Kisses" // "The Quiet World" by Jeffrey McDaniel

"Mimesis" by Fady Joudah

"The Great Fires" // "The Forgotten Dialect of the Heart" // "Failing and Flying" by Jack Gilbert

"The Mermaid" // "Virtuosi" by Lisel Mueller

"Macrophobia (Fear of Waiting)" by Jamaal May

"Someday I'll Love Ocean Vuong" by Ocean Vuong

"Still I Rise" by Maya Angelou

I would also recommend spending some times with essays, interviews, or other non-fiction, creative or otherwise (especially by other poets) if you want to broaden and improve how you read poetry; they can help give you a wider idea of the landscape behind and beyond the actual poems themselves, or even just let you acquaint yourself with how particular writers see and describe things in the world around them. The following are some of my favourites:

Upstream: Essays by Mary Oliver

"Theory and Play of the Duende" by Federico García Lorca

"The White Bird" and "Some Notes on Song" by John Berger

In That Great River: A Notebook by Anna Kamienska

A Little Devil in America: Notes in Praise of Black Performance by Hanif Abdurraqib

The Book of Delights by Ross Gay

"Of Strangeness That Wakes Us" and "Still Dancing: An Interview with Ilya Kaminsky" by Ilya Kaminsky

"The Sentence is a Lonely Place" by Garielle Lutz

Still Life with Oysters and Lemon by Mark Doty

Paris, When It's Naked by Etel Adnan

[msmargaretmurry]

hi i’m sorry super random question — i love your writing, and i was wondering if you had any fav books to recommend? i’m trying to read more lately!! thank you so much!!! 💖

no apologies necessary and thank you so much!! yay for reading more! i have so many books i love and usually i would try to tailor recommendations to someone's interests so i will just try to give a little smorgasbord here.

under the cut please find a very long list of recs; i hope there are a few that sound appealing to you! if there are things you like to have content warnings for and can't tell from the goodreads listing, feel free to message me to ask! 💕

literary/contemporary fiction

beartown by fredrik backman: this is the hockey novel, imo. somehow backman captures everything hockey is — violence, entitlement, racism, privilege, misogyny — while still writing a breathtaking story about people who love the sport and people who unwillingly get caught up in its wake. there are two sequels, which i haven't read yet solely because i'm afraid of how many feelings they'll make me feel.

the secret history by donna tartt: yes, the og dark academia book. moody, atmospheric, and pretentious, i feel like it's a you-love-it-or-hate-it, and i love it. a delicious critique of elitist academia even while filled with morsels for classics-loving nerds. fantastic, deeply fucked-up characters.

station eleven by emily st john mandell: not sure if reading this during a pandemic was the best idea, but it certainly added something to the experience. i love emily st john mandell's prose, and the post-pandemic-apocalypse world she builds feels simultaneously fantastical and painfully real.

evvie drake starts over by linda holmes: this is the perfect example of what i want in a contemporary romance novel. deeply character-driven, sweet, achy, lovely.

historical fiction

in memoriam by alice winn: oh man oh man. we read this one for book club last month and it blew me away. brutal, devastating, romantic.

how much of these hills is gold by c pam zhang: really loved how this book brought a new lens to the American western/frontier story, loved how it blended Chinese mythology into the story, loved how it unflinchingly did race and gender in ways that felt both illuminating and historically true.

the island of sea women by lisa see: i love lisa see's historical fiction because she does a shitload of research and weaves it into her stories in ways that don't feel like infodumping. on top of her being an excellent writer, i always feel like i've learned something.

the book thief by markus zusak: just a masterclass in point of view. made me ugly cry in public.

the nickel boys by colson whitehead: i mean, colson whitehead is just so good. harrowing, atmospheric, and smart, the characters and story feel absolutely real in the best and worst ways.

fantasy/sci-fi

the radiant emperor duology by shelley parker-chan: man, this duology is one of the best fucking things i've read in the past few years. kind of an alternate-history 14th-century china, now with more magic and more gender. brutal and delicious. morally gray everything.

the farseer trilogy and the liveship traders trilogy by robin hobb: these were my favorite books as a teen and i've recently been rereading them (i'm finally on the third book of the second trilogy!) and having such a good time. structurally they're very classic high fantasy but i think hobb is so fucking good at worldbuilding and characters.

the left hand of darkness by ursula k. leguin: look, it's a classic for a reason! i will say if you start it and you feel kind of lost: stick with it, slow down, and be patient. the pov character is a stranger in a strange land and you feel every bit of that. another masterclass in point of view.

tuyo by rachel neumeier: i love reccing this book because it's just a random self-published fantasy novel that one of the gals in my book club found somehow and it wound up being super fun? the worldbuilding is fun, the culture clash is tense (and fun), and i feel like the concept of a "tuyo" could do numbers as a fanfic trope if people got on board!

the thief by megan whalen turner: another great book for pov!!! just a really fun and satisfying read (and pretty short, if you need something short!). the rest of the series is also very good and worth reading but none of it hit quite as hard for me as this first book, possibly because the first book is just so excellent.

young adult/middle grade

on the come up by angie thomas: this is specifically an audiobook rec. i'm sure this book is also good reading with your eyes, but it's about a teen girl who wants to be a rapper, and i think being able to hear the rhythm of the language, esp the rapping itself, makes for a fantastic audiobook experience.

the westing game by ellen raskin: another classic for a reason!! one of the smartest books out there, a joy to read for the first time at any age.

michigan vs the boys by carrie s. allen: the thing is, i usually i find first person present tense so annoying it's nigh unreadable, but i found this book about a teen girl having to play on her high school's boys' hockey team after they cut funding to the girls' program so charming and compulsively readable. bonus points that the author really knows her hockey!

darius the great is not okay by adib khorram: even just thinking about this book puts a lump in my throat lmao. just a beautiful coming of age story that deals with identity and depression and belonging and family and more.

the loneliest girl in the universe by lauren james: pretty sure i tore through this book in one sitting. great sci-fi setting and sense of creeping dread.

a wrinkle in time by madeleine l'engle: another classic for a reason, lol. including it on this list because it is actually my favorite book. l'engle has such a special touch with writing — it's so full of heart. as a kid one of the things i loved about this book was that it didn't dumb any of its sophisticated worldbuilding and characterization down for me, which i think is a great lesson for a writer.

memoir-ish

they can't kill us until they kills us by hanif abdurraqib: hanif is the GOAT and i recommend anything he's written, but this book of essays about music, culture, and hanif's life is easily my favorite of his work.

a ghost in the throat by doireann ní ghríofa: stunningly original mix of personal essay, poetry, history — i'm not even sure how to describe it. but it floored me.

in the dream house by carmen maria machado: speaking of creeping dread!!! many people have said many smart things about how good this book is so i will simply say they are all extremely correct.

sports nonfiction

the boys in the boat by daniel james brown: a gorgeously written love letter to rowing juxtaposed hauntingly against the rise of hitler. i have not seen the movie, but there's no way it could be as good as the book.

bottom of the 33rd by dan barry: possibly this is a baseball book for baseball people, but i loved every meandering moment of this lovingly written microhistory of the longest baseball game ever played.

the last best league by jim collins: another baseball book, sorry, baseball books are so good. this one's about the amateur league on cape cod where the best college players play in the summer. a great august read imo.

impossible owls: essays by brian phillips: a sprawling book of sportswriting from a former grantland writer. i read it five years ago and still think about it sometimes

other nonfiction

forget the alamo by bryan burrough, chris tomlinson, & jason standford: i made myself pick only ONE history nonfiction for this list because otherwise we'd be here all day. but this one is so good, especially if you're interested in the making and unmaking of american mythology.

empire of pain by patrick radden keefe: i do actually recommend anything prk writes, but this book on the sacklers' evil pharmaceutical empire is both timely and exhaustively reported. another audiobook rec as well, because prk reads it himself and you can hear the disdain in his voice.

because internet: understanding the new rules of language by gretchen mcculloch: really fun read about the development of online dialect and language! at five entire years old it's already a smidge out of date, but still so enjoyable.

[temnurus]

LWJ POV Fic Recs

I've done a WWX rec list, so I thought it was about time I made one for Lan Zhan, whom I adore & can never get enough of. The fact that we couldn't see into his head during canon will forever drive me mad, & if this bothers you as much as it does me, boy do I have good news for you! There are not one but two series re-writes from LWJ's POV in this list for your reading pleasure, along with 8 other not-quite-so canon compliant fics that are nevertheless out of this world good. Not gonna lie, people, several of these would make my top 20 if I redid my favorites list today, so I wish you some very happy reading. 😉

he comes in colors by ilip13 (M, 63,596)

Thoughts: The prose was absolutely gorgeous. I loved the author’s writing style, & the way they portrayed how Lan Zhan viewed the world was breathtakingly beautiful. I appreciated the nod in the author’s note about him possibly being read as neurodivergent because I picked up on that, & it felt both familiar & comforting in an I’m-not-so-alone-after-all way. I outright sobbed at some points due to the intensity of the emotions, both Lan Zhan’s & others’.

Wei Ying’s care & consideration for Lan Zhan was very gratifying & lovely to see. The depiction of grief was deeply moving, & the dynamics between all the characters in the story were rich, deep, & very meaningful. This is a new favorite of mine, & I couldn’t stop thinking about it for days after I finished. Fic hangover is very much a possibility with this one, but it will be 100% worth it; I promise you that.

paint smears on sunny days by SnowshadowAO3 (E, 53,808)

Thoughts: Barely anything hurt in this. Like, you could blink past a minimal amount of anxiety. It was mostly an adorable kid fic in which Lan Zhan very quickly found himself falling for his son’s art teacher. Wei Ying being so desperate to spend more time with both of them was heart-meltingly cute, & I loved how he just slotted so easily into their lives it was like he could’ve been there all along. If you like domesticity & gratuitous fluff, then I urge you to give this one a go. I was thoroughly charmed & added it to my favorites list immediately.

The Price of Old Wishes by SoManyJacks (E, 67,793)

Thoughts: This was absolutely fantastic. I crave Lan Zhan POVs, & a fic that was basically canon from his perspective was very much on my wish list. I was so excited when I found it, & I devoured it in a day. The tags that serve as trigger warnings are all referring to events in canon, so there’s not really much that’s going to be a surprise in that respect. If you handled canon, then I think you’d probably be fine to read this fic. I loved the explanation for Lan Zhan’s difficulty with words being selective mutism. It’s the second fic I’ve read with that idea, & I’ve loved both of them. I highly recommend this. It’s definitely been added to my favorites list.

leave all your love and your longing behind by ScarlettStorm (E, 143,609)

Thoughts: This was one of the best modern AUs for Wangxian I’ve ever read. It hooked me from the very beginning, & I absolutely melted at how sweet & caring Lan Zhan was when Wei Ying invaded his house in a panic while trying to escape from the dog that was chasing him. His cat Bunny (so cute) was a love muffin & such a comfort in the moment. The dynamics between the neighborhood help squad Lan Zhan contacted to assist with the dog & its overwhelmed owners were also incredibly heartwarming. This fic expanded beyond a love story into a lesson on the importance of community & treating each other with kindness. I can’t recommend this highly enough. I already know it’s going to be a consistent reread for me. It really is just that good.

When the Lights Come Up by brooklinegirl (E, 50,012) Thoughts: This is more Notting Hill inspired/adjacent than strictly following that story, for which I was actually quite grateful, as there were parts of Notting Hill I wouldn’t have cared for or felt fit Wangxian’s dynamic. I loved Lan Zhan’s characterization in this so, so much. Actually, I enjoyed pretty much everyone’s characterization, even down to side characters like Lan Huan & Nie Huaisang. Wangxian’s chemistry in this was spectacular, & the yearning was FELT. I got so anxious & heartbroken during the angsty bits, but as always, brooklinegirl delivered on that happy ending with aplomb. As someone with ADHD, I lamented the lack of chapters for good stopping places, but this is a minor personal quibble & by no means takes away from the overall brilliance of the work.

Where You Fell by Sweet_William (E, 303,010)

Thoughts: The angst was REAL in this fic, y’all. The intensity of Lan Zhan’s feelings is one of my favorite things about him, & that aspect of his character was fully realized here. I cried like a baby several times in this fic. I probably lost count, to be honest. Wei Ying being homeless & begrudgingly allowing Lan Zhan to help him in small ways at first nearly broke my heart, & then it absolutely shattered into a million pieces when the story hit peak angst later on. Tissues were a necessity, but I promise you that it was all worth it in the end. The slow burn was fantastic & so, so satisfying when they finally got their happy ending. They certainly deserved it. It was very overdue!

to hold the wind by androids_fighting93 (E, 62,474)

Thoughts: I was very excited to read another Wangxian soulmates AU, & this one was particularly interesting with the execution. The first time soulmates touched they remembered a scene from their past lives together. This of course offered a wealth of opportunity for angst with the quality of the memories Wangxian would have of theirs, & it delivered exactly that.

The slow burn was torture, & I cried at a couple of different points, particularly at Lan Zhan stifling his own feelings in order to respect Wei Ying’s boundaries regarding not wanting to remember. This fic also made me incandescently angry at Jiang Fengmian & Madam Yu for being such shitty foster parents & utterly failing Wei Ying (not that it was a new feeling, heh). He got his happy ending eventually, thank fuck, because we all know I couldn’t possibly accept anything less.

And He Knew Those Silver Eyes Were Trouble by PieceofLove (E, 311,140)

Thoughts: This is basically a series rewrite of The Untamed from Lan Zhan’s POV, though the author does mix book canon in as well, like the Phoenix Mountain kiss, etc. It’s the second I’ve read, though much longer than the first & not quite as well written but only because the bar was set so high by the first! I very much enjoyed this fic. I binged it within a few days, & that’s not bad for a little over 300k. The author clearly adored Lan Zhan (as they should), so it was fun to get their take on his side of the story. I’d absolutely recommend it as worth reading, even if I still like The Price of Old Wishes best of all the Lan Zhan POV rewrites of the series I've read so far.

Adventures in Pet Sitting by raitala (E, 63,003)

Thoughts: Wei Ying was a surprise extra roommate for Lan Zhan when he showed up to his brother’s apartment to pet sit. This was the first fic I’ve read that featured Lan Zhan as the one who was under the misapprehension that he was straight due compulsory heterosexuality. Usually I see Wei Ying placed in that position, so it was an interesting change of pace.

I loved how awkward things were at first & how it built up over time with the intense sexual tension between Lan Zhan & Wei Ying. One of my favorite scenes pre Lan Zhan’s self realization earned the light dom/sub tag, & I was very jealous of Wei Ying for the experience. That’s all I’ll say so that you can find out for yourself. Nie Huaisang was another highlight of the fic. I loved his meddling & the comic relief he provided amidst the Wangxian shenanigans.

varied my velocity by fantasiavii (E, 58,876)

Thoughts: I adored Lan Zhan in this. I have a soft spot for Lan Zhan POV fics, & this one was really well done. His characterization was just perfect. My heart went out to him for the shame he carried surrounding his sexuality. It made me cry at one point. I also really enjoyed the author’s dance background & how it came through in the fic with Lan Zhan’s love of ballet. The banter & intimate moments between Lan Zhan & Wei Ying as they got closer were absolutely fantastic. I really can’t rec this highly enough. It’s a new favorite.

*Edit: So I goofed & had to replace Scales & Arpeggios in this rec list because I forgot it was an alternating POV fic, not strictly Lan Zhan's. I do promise that the brooklinegirlfic is just as good. She's one of my very favorite Wangxian authors, after all.

[ipkkndlovescenes]

Arshi Poolside Moment #3

Touch&Feel {Epi- 29}

“If I could touch anything in the world right now, it would be your heart. I want to take that piece of you and keep it with me.”― Jessica Verday,

>>>>>>x<<<<<<

A wound, just a cut, a scratch, all he had, but the depth of this wound was more profound than ever. They say that family provides peace and love. But sometimes, this is the greatest lie; family is not succour for many reasons. For some of us, it is the secret wound. Sooner or later, we pay for the wounds of our ancestors, and Arnav was standing in his life at that point. 

Did he never get such small cuts and wounds?

Then suddenly, what happened that this scar was so special to him that he didn't even let Anjali dress it? He walked into his sanctuary, next to the pool, with a first aid box.

All he cared about was just this wound. His eyes never let that wound go away for a second. Why? Because it carried her part with it. It happened with the bangles he broke, hurting her and himself as well. There was this touch and feel attached to it, along with many things he was feeling right now. Regret, guilt, worries, and much much more. Among these feelings, he hurt someone who was beating in his heart.

A man in love who was feeling this pain towards his lover. He has hurt Khushi...That was all in the back of his head.

Standing at the window, his feet were refusing to move, his eyes refusing to let her go out of sight. Those memories were pinching him right now.

This was a feeling he had never known before or felt before. Oh, he hated this, but he was enslaved to it. He was a man who had to be in control all of his life, especially in such matters. Not a single girl mattered to him. There was no such thing as love in this world. 

But this wound, this cut, this scratch on his hand, was rushing in his veins like blood with these unbearable memories.

He Caressed her tears with his hands, removed her strands, and cleared every damn thing to clear his view of her, but her pain touched his heart and made him feel what he denied to feel. He was feeling it now; he closed his fist, remembering that touch, that feeling, and his eyes moved along, showing us clearly how deep this wound had reached this time.

The background was covered with hues of blues, and the shimmering water of a pool with a simmering light reflected all sorts of emotions in this man. A melodic portrayal of falling in love with a girl who was nobody to him and now was touching his heart with every beat. It was reminding him only of her... 

The entrancing background music added this lyrical prose to the eyes without a single word, The room was grey and black, reflecting his state of mind, and he had a red wound on his palm. A man was feeling the touch of the one he was caressing in it. He was completely lost in this touch that he never ever thought he would feel or even care about.

He wanted to rewind it, he wanted to make things right. He wanted that control back. With these unknown touched feelings, he sank into his bed. The thing that caught my eyes was his fist was secured, holding onto; he wanted to hold onto these like sacred things he had in his life.

His eyes returned to that wound, a touch, a feeling that would never go away.

Did he caress these wounds before like he was doing now? Absolutely not. Kyuon dard hai itna there ishq main? Why there is s much pain in this love? 

Was he feeling pain as well as what he gave her? Yes, whatever you feel, I feel as our heartbeats become one...if you've been wounded, so have I.

He lifted his hand slowly, brought it closer to his face, and gently touched his wound. almost caressing it the way he'd caressed her before, he had left her with this wound as well. His blood dried, but her oozing blood from that wound was still oozing and extracting every pain out of him at the moment.

His eyes raised with every memory he had of her. His fingers were still in the touch of the wound, like his fingers were touching her face. An etched memory that will make him up many nights from now on. A clear touch of a man to feel love in the palm of his hand as a beat to his heart. Left hand, a wound to his heart, a beat in his veins, he could hear it, and she could hear it as well...

The guilt was piling up all the harsh things and the words he ever did and uttered. She was shadowing his mind and heart. His heart was craving the closeness he felt every time he was so close to her. That first look of her in red saree halted him from meeting him with her heartbeat to holding her in the rain. Those yearning desires could now take shape as he was standing there, ambushed by all.

But at this moment, he had no idea it was that feeling that had trapped him completely; her thoughts just plagued his core, and all he wanted to do was just to forget her and all this nonsense. He got frustrated, slammed his wardrobe door, and waited to compose himself.

But

It was too late, he wanted to know about her, wanted to see her doing fine, wanted to hear her, touch her, feel her right next to him...

"How can I see your open wounds. And without really thinking, I just chalked it up to another strange feeling about you: I never realized how much you got hurt in return.” ~Faiqa~

On the other side, Khushi dreamed of Arnav gently brushing hair from her face and woke up with a "No!"

She will realize this feeling later, the true reason for her feeling him near her this close. "That hamesha " Telepathy will come later, but it was budding here...Whenever Arnav became distressed, she could feel him closer to her; the same went by with him too. They both could feel each other's presence in their hearts.

She was shocked, confused, and a bit scared. How could it be? No, he is Rakhshus, a stubborn rich man who cared nothing but himself. He was the reason for their conditions, her and her sister's. He was the one who sent her to that place, then how come he brought me home with such care and safety. How come I can feel his touch, his caressing, his wound? Yes, he was hurt too...? How?

She could gather her memories of how she was closing her eyes and was about to faint when he was holding her tightly. How on earth she could feel him caressing her so lovingly...until her eyes landed on her wound and reminded him of his cruelty. 

But this contradicted what her sister was telling her or what she was feeling at the moment. 

There was a denial in both of them. When Payal asked Khushi, did he do anything? She said no instantly, like she knew he could be anything but such a person. Her imagining him removing her hair in her unconscious state was disturbing her. Why was she dreaming or sensing such a thing or even dreaming h about him? Her thought process is normal, it can't be real. But there was a connection, a destined one shown here. While Arnav knew it, he was feeling it for a while, he was getting under the cloud that she was affecting him darn so much that now unconsciously, he talks about her, thinks about her, worries about her...

 But his denial was visible too.

“Such wounds to the heart will probably never heal. But we cannot simply sit and stare at our wounds forever.”

 Each of us wages a private battle to thrive. Whenever a person fully immerses oneself in life’s aromatic flower garden of pleasures and encounters life’s warship of armour-plated rigours, they blend and bend to make reasonable accommodations for surviving. But here he was, having a hard time blending with these feelings. His resistance was very much visible when he was regaining control in front of his di, and she was doing that the same in front of her Jiji...

But both awakened to a life that wasn't theirs...

A deep wound was open and etched in their hearts with many questions, feelings, and emotions, and both could not decipher it. It was love, but they had no name for it at the moment...

What should I name this love?

[isfjmel-phleg]

Why I like it: Leave It to Psmith

I've analyzed this book to death. I don't even know what to say about it anymore.

It's probably the most familiar of the series. It has had the most adaptations--multiple theatrical versions and radio adaptations, a mysterious Hungarian film, an early 1930s film that removed Psmith and replaced him with one Sebastian Help, an Indian series in which Psmith is called...Rambo? (seeing a theme here--adapters seem to be afraid of Psmith himself). It crosses over with the Blandings series, which was then just getting started. It's easy to read without having read the earlier installments, for readers who are more reluctant to take on all the cricket etc. of those books.

Wodehouse intended it that way. Leave It to Psmith was written for a different audience than the other Psmith books. Instead of British schoolboys, his readership was now adult Americans who wouldn't have known Psmith at all since the earlier books hadn't been published in the US then. They didn't care about cricket; they were looking for the kind of plot that Wodehouse is more often associated with today. Hilarious, intricate shenanigans with some light romance. And the ever versatile Psmith fits into this new genre perfectly. Perhaps that's where he belonged all along.

Leave It to Psmith is one of the finest examples of Wodehouse's best style. There are different views on this, but I personally consider his work from approximately the early 1920s through the 1930s to be the height of his talent (he had finally fully found his voice, and the stories are still new enough to avoid the more overtly formulaic feel of his later books). And Leave It to Psmith is one of the books that kicked off that era of his writing. It's got everything. A witty and distinctive prose style that complements the theatrically-influenced story and characters. A memorable cast. A bizarre and silly but ultimately sweet central romance. A shocking newspaper ad. Flowerpot throwing. Jewel heists. Gun fights. An obnoxiously large chrysanthemum. Umbrella theft. A very elegant hat. Extremely strong opinions on hollyhocks. Mistaken identity. Imposters. The worst poetry ever. The motivating power of friendship. A dead bat that apparently was somebody's mother. It's not going to remembered as a Deep Philosophical Novel ever, but that's not what we need from it. It's just fun and joyful and a delight to read.

Even though this is the one book of the series that opens with Psmith in a genuinely difficult situation and relatively low frame of mind following his father's death and the loss of the family fortunes. Psmith has skated by on his father's money for the entire series up to this point, so taking away that kind of invincibility from him was a genius choice on Wodehouse's part. It forces Psmith to grow even further in a way that he never has before. We see him at his most vulnerable; the narrative gives us more of his POV than ever, and there's a marked contrast between what goes on in his head and how he presents himself. And it's at this point that he's finally in a position for something that's never been an option to him before: a romance.

Psmith and Eve's love story would probably not work in real life. But they're in Wodehouse-land, where realism isn't the point. The point is that they are two people who complement each other well and enrich each other's lives and need each other. They're both clever and dynamic and adventurous and alone in the world. She appreciates his eccentricities, which provide the excitement she craves. He appreciates her listening skills and sympathetic nature. She's warm-hearted and impulsive; he's a calculating thinker--and they balance each other out. Each has a brand of weird that works well with the other's. It takes them a little while to get matters resolved, but Eve doesn't put up with his nonsense, and he gradually develops the emotional maturity to trust rather than manipulate. When they do get together, it's not because he's done his usual fast-talking. It's a mutual choice.

We don't get to see much of Mike and Phyllis, but it's also clear that they're happy, and it's satisfying to see that Wodehouse gave Mike, the original protagonist of the series, the ending he deserves even if he is no longer in focus and the American audience wouldn't know or care about him from previous appearances. But Psmith cares about Mike a lot. That hasn't changed, and the lengths that Psmith is willing to go to for Mike's sake are endearing. The choice to give Eve a parallel role as best friend to Mike's wife reinforces the significance of this devotion. This entire plot happens because people care very much about Mike and Phyllis Jackson. That's pretty powerful.

This is the end of the series. We never see Psmith again. But it's an ending that leaves the reader satisfied. Psmith is not trapped in an endless loop of growthless status quo for our comedic benefit. We've watched him grow up from the worldweary teenager leaning on the mantelpiece at his detested new school to a joyfully singing young man running through Blandings Castle on his way to meet the woman whom he's about to have a future of adventures alongside. In many ways, he's still his old eccentric self, but his outlook has changed for the better. He's simply, genuinely happy. What more could we wish for him? What more could we hope for ourselves?

[monk-of-figaro]

Fanfic: Dissolution (by seventhe)

I found this story on Archive of Our Own. At 27,174 words, it's a lengthy read, but extremely well worth it.

That is, if you don't mind some twincest content.

Yeah, to be clear:

⚠️ WARNING: THIS STORY HAS GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF SEX BETWEEN EDGAR AND SABIN ⚠️

In fact, here is the author's description of the work, warnings included:

The death of a king, the future of a country, and the bond between two brothers: the story of how Edgar let Sabin go. [Further warnings/labels: Incest (twincest). Questionable consent (dubcon). Explicit sexual activity (cocks). Underage participants in said explicit sexual activity (the twins are 17). Badtouch. This story rolled in a pile of wrong.]

Do NOT read this story if any of that makes you uncomfortable. I will not respond to any comments about the morality of writing, reading, or sharing dubcon, and will be very trigger-happy with my use of the block button. You have been warned.

Phew, if you're still on-board and haven't been scared away, you'll find that what I actually want to talk about isn't the seggsy seggs. Truthfully, the graphic parts comprise only about one-fifth of the work (I literally calculated).

Instead, I want to talk about the wonderfully expressive writing, the fascinating world-building, and the amazing humanity with which the author portrays the brothers.

The story - which is told mostly from an Edgar-centric viewpoint - takes place immediately after their father, the former King of Figaro, dies, and ends on the fateful night of the coin toss. In this narrative, there is a little over a week between the two events, during which we observe the dynamics at play that gradually build up to the conclusion where Sabin leaves the kingdom.

I don't feel qualified to write about the author's prose. It's incredible. It's full of evocative and imaginative metaphors that give an incredibly realistic sense of "life" to the story - oftentimes using metaphors that directly relate to the character themselves.

For example, take this line:

[…] Edgar’s heart sank in his chest, clenching with emotion, as if a giant set of pliers were trying to pull it from his body.

The author deliberately and frequently uses metaphors related to tools and engineering when conveying Edgar's feelings or thoughts, which give them an extra layer of realism; it feels like Edgar is feeling these things.

Additionally, they make it a defined trait that Edgar often approaches problems and situations through the eyes of an expert engineer; things like political dynamics and interpersonal relationships are viewed as complex machines, and if he could understand all the inner workings and pieces of these machines, he could make the adjustments necessary to fix what is broken.

Edgar is portrayed as thoughtful, careful, and protective, if not a little manipulative. He's reeling from the weight of rulership now placed on the twins' shoulders - and slowly realizing that it's a weight that he'll need to shoulder alone. But this is not done with malice; he genuinely wants his brother to be happy, and can see in real time the way in which staying at the castle is breaking Sabin to his core.

Conversely, Sabin is portrayed as emotional, explosive, moody, and yet unwaveringly dedicated to his brother. He's a person who wears his emotions on his sleeve, and while we see almost none of the easy-going, affable goofball we get in FFVI, this depiction still feels very in-character for him. His world has been upended: his father has died, he's heard (and believes) a rumor that the Empire is behind it, the Figaroan chancellors are quickly trying to move onto successor business, and he feels the tightening chokehold of the golden shackle around his throat. Sabin is a no-nonsense man of direct action with a strong sense of justice, and he's expected to suppress all of these traits just to maintain the charade of pious devotion to the very ones oppressing him. It's no wonder he's so angry.

And yet Sabin is adamant, even up to the moment of the coin toss, that he won't let Edgar do something "selfless and noble"; even in his own darkest hour, he won't abandon his brother. Edgar - finally seeing the pieces of this machine click into place - knows that Sabin won't leave if he thinks it's Edgar's idea. He also realizes that Sabin is desperate and broken enough to fall for this bit of subterfuge; had Edgar tried the coin toss earlier, Sabin may not have been… well, emotionally shattered enough to agree to what's honestly a pretty flimsy justification for deserting his brother and seeking his freedom. It breaks Edgar's heart to do so, but he prioritizes his brother's happiness over his own. Urgh, it gets me every time. 🥺

All this, and I haven't even talked about the world-building! Interspersed throughout the story are unique details that hint at the author's vision of the society and culture of Figaro. I don't want to give too many details away, so I'll just list the ones that stuck in my head with as little context as possible:

Desert fever (connection to FFIV!)

Customary week of mourning

The symbolic offering to the dead

Lillies

The world that they present - the version of Figaro they present - is something I find delightfully fascinating and imaginative. I'd love to know more of their ideas, read more of their stories that expand on the life and history they imbue into this desert nation.

I don't know what else to say. This is one of the best fanfics - hell, one of the best pieces of fiction writing in general that I've ever read. It feels like a pinnacle example of how to write compelling and believable characterization, as well as building an authentic and captivating culture for a fictional world.

Thank you, seventhe, for the amazing story. ❤️

[battyaboutbooksreviews]

🦇 Ruthless Vows Book Review 🦇

❓ #QOTD What instrument would you want to learn to play? 🦇 Iris Winnow returns how heartbroken, with Roman missing and the war ranging on. When Iris is given a chance to return to the front, she grasps at the opportunity, aware that the conflict is inching closer to Oath. Meanwhile, Roman can no longer remember his past, memory wiped clean to become a correspondent for Dacre as the war rages on. Can the typewriters bring these lovers back together again, or will they remain on opposite sides of the war until the very end?

💜 I didn't reread Divine Rivals before completing the duology, and I didn't need to. The story sweeps you right back into its arms, Ross' prose effortlessly enchanting and enthralling. We're given a second chance at watching Roman and Iris fall in love, and it's just as intense, just as sweet, as the first time. A few secondary characters are given more time in this conclusion, adding to the sense of found family while showing us how the war as impacted different people in different ways.

💙 The problem with duologies is the second book so rarely lives up to the first, after we've already built a standard and expectations. Iris and Roman are kept apart for so long in this book that it becomes exhausting, only granting readers more time to predict the rushed ending. And it's very much predictable; the building blocks were set in place all along. Too much felt repetitive, causing the story to drag, and even once the lovers find themselves again, it's too slow. Perhaps the real issue is the world-building. In my review for Divine Rivals, I noted how weak the world-building was; how we're left to focus on the enchanted typewriters more than the purpose BEHIND the war and the gods themselves. This book is stuffed with mythology from Dacre's point of view--a weak, one-dimensional villain who, for some unspoken reason, decides to trust and confide in the slate-wiped-clean version of Roman. Enva, meanwhile, makes blatant appearances in the story, as if we're supposed to be surprised when the truth of her presence is revealed. As much as I loved Ross' prose, it can't make up for flat, fluffy storytelling.

🦇 Recommended for romantasy fans.

✨ The Vibes ✨ 📰 Young Adult Fantasy 📰 Historical Romantasy 📰 Closed Door 📰 Second in a Duology 📰 Dual POV 📰 War / Gods 📰 TW: War, Grief, Violence, Loss of a Loved One, Chronic Pain

💬 Quotes ❝ There is a song a story hiding in my scars. One that whispers to me, even though I have yet to fully capture the words. ❞ ❝ Despite our mundane lives, perhaps we make our own magic with words. ❞ ❝ I would love to see you burn with splendor. I would love to see your words catch fire with mine. ❞ ❝ Write me a story where there is no ending, Kitt. Write to me and fill my empty spaces. ❞

[foxfireink]

Hi! I found your blog when you reblogged my "how to writeblr" post but your WIPs all look super fascinating! If you have taglists, can you please add me to the ones for "Songs of Decay" and "Bards, Courts, and Changelings?"

Also please feel free to ramble about either of these WIPs, I'd love to hear more about them.

Wow, thank you for the ask! We have added you to our taglists! :D And we are soooo happy to ramble about Songs of Decay and Bards, Courts, and Changelings. This is Inkwell. I am gonna cover Songs of Decay, and Crooked Writer will cover BC&C in a part two post.

Be warned. This is a very long post. I had waay too much fun writing it, hahaha. Bards, Courts, and Changelings will be a much shorter post, as it is in an earlier stage of development.

Part One: Songs of Decay

A HISTORY OF THE PROJECT

This is definitely a 2020 project, hahaha. We wrote draft 1 in script format because it was an easy way to write intermittently. We pulled out board games like Arkham Horror (2nd Edition) and Betrayal at House on the Hill to help us add the eldritch elements and throw in some chaos. We tracked the insanity level of different characters through some of our scenes. Then, when we were done, we were so happy with the story that we wanted to DO something with it rather than it just being a hobby project… and we were like, "What if we actually turned it into an audio drama?"

Crooked Writer does voice acting, but neither of us had ANY experience with writing audio dramas. It was our lazy way of not converting to prose, but also trying something new!

We created draft 2 by having friends come read what we'd gotten done out loud. We would edit and write for two weeks, then gather online, divvy out parts for the night, and read through it. It gave us a lot of motivation to get through the draft! I personally am not the kind of person to sit in on someone's early writing project and read it out loud for an extended period of time on a consistent basis, and it still blows my mind that our friends wanted to do that with us. It was so much fun.

Now, a great deal of research and worldbuilding later, we have four seasons planned and are midway through writing draft 3 of season 1. :D

WORLDBUILDING

The story isn't straight cosmic horror, it's more flavored by the eldritch, and much more inspired by the board game Arkham Horror than Lovecraft. We have our own pantheon of Horrors who have different thematic elements and warp and corrupt in different ways. Technology is roughly equivalent to the 1910s, and eldritch Horrors have been threatening to end the world as we know it for centuries. We have four countries who approach the long-standing eldritch problem VERY differently:

Our setting country, Malgrave, has a "kill it with fire" approach. They have a specially trained corps of Stewards and an Eldritch Anomalies Department (the EAD) to handle things using mostly weaponry. Malgrave views eldritch corruption as an individual's choice to bring Horrors and Fiends (Horrors = world-ends-upon-arrival monsters, Fiends = smaller monsters) into the world and destroy/remake it, so laws tend to treat cults and such in a similar way to how you'd treat the mafia. The temptations are overpowering to many. You can't trust anyone completely.

Side note, because I love the Stewards: The Stewards have really fun political power dynamics, as they are supposed to keep the king's family from turning on him/protect the family, but also can't really contradict a royal, sooo it gets messy sometimes. They technically have the power to report or stop a royal that's corrupted, but just try doing that in practice and see how it goes. Stewards tend to be more subtle. They also die, a lot. The MC's father, Sam, is one of the few Stewards in living memory to retire from active duty. Pays well, though!

Eastcairn, Malgrave's other neighbor, uses augury - magical engineering - to create wards and automatons that are powered by protective patterns. These patterns slowly corrupt over time and must be maintained regularly, or they will amplify corruption rather than negate it. Eastcairn views corruption as a contagious miasma in the air and isolates eldritch outbreaks in sanatoria and asylums. There are many strains of corruptive virus, and most if not all are incurable by current science.

Logoria is Malgrave's neighbor to the left and uses patterns just like Eastcairn, but rather than using physical augury patterns they use mathematical patterns in music and dance to ward off corruption. They have trained singers and musicians and dancers, and choirs are common.

Not a ton of development on the fourth country, because it's farther away (only worldbuild the top of the iceberg, right?) but it has a protective martial art, a caste system based around the concept that corruption runs in family lines, and people there know what different kinds of corruptive influences/objects/presences smell like.

These varying perceptions pool together in our story, as Sam is from Eastcairn but worked in the Stewards in Malgrave and has a medley of views about the nature of eldritch corruption that often conflict with prevalent theories. Augury isn't well thought of in Malgrave, but both he and Tom practice it. The conflict of "eldritch corruption: illness or choice?" is central to the first two seasons of Songs of Decay (particularly the second).

CHARACTERS AND STORY (Season 1)

Tom moves into the very rural Malbury county because living too close to his far wealthier ex-wife will end with him losing custody of their daughter, Sara. His dad lives in Malbury county and is supposed to be living far away from all eldritch influence. However, Tom is appalled to see how rife the county is with cultists, corruption, and eldritch Fiends - such as the Moose that he and Sara run afoul of on the first day of school. Tom also has a past record that requires him to report to the EAD and means that the EAD could refuse to grant him an augury license, which is literally Tom's livelihood right now, SO Tom offers to help with local problems. In doing so, he trips into the plot of a local cult that centers on the estate of one Lady Esther Lambert, a widow with a grudge against the EAD. Esther married into one of the local noble families and is used to fighting for herself because no one else will. She throws an annual party at her house at the end of summer, but this time things go very poorly very quickly. Tom and Esther have to band together with other guests to stay alive and prevent the summoning of a greater Horror, but they don't know who to trust when you can't even rule yourself out as an enemy.

So, throughout Season 1 you've got Tom trying to be a good single parent, learning how to prep and cook three consistent meals a day while also getting drawn into fighting eldritch monsters and cultists. You have Sara, his daughter, who is trying to adjust to a lower class lifestyle, meeting a grandparent for the first time, and stressing about her dad putting himself in danger. You have Sam, who convinced his son to move to Belleview because he was worried about him, but also has so much corruption from his time in the Stewards that he is one poor decision away from snapping entirely. You have Chief Compton, a former city policeman and current head of the local EAD bullied into the role after the last chief died trying to contain an eldritch summoning. And you have Lady Esther, whose late husband's family literally built her house around the idea of summoning eldritch Horrors, and whose perception of the local EAD is so poor that she would rather fight off monsters with a shovel than call them in to help.

We are having a great time writing this story. :D The hope is to ultimately put it on YouTube, but we want to get the first two seasons ready before we get to that, as they contain the first major arc.

Okay, I am done now. If you've made it this far, thank you for reading! Again, really appreciate the ask, and absolutely delighted to be able to ramble away like this.

Cheers!

-Inkwell

Songs of Decay tag list: @hd-literature @pure-solomon @blind-the-winds @sarah-sandwich-writes @lucianinsanity @coffeewritesfiction @surroundedbypearls @tate-lin @ettawritesnstudies

[linkspooky]

do you have tips on how to write fanfiction? this is a list of what a struggle with,

dialogue

character writing

writing from POV(point of view)

do you have tips?

Ummm, I'm basically talking out of my ass when I try to give other people advice, but I'll try my best here.

DIALOGUE

One thing I do is before even attempting to write a characters dialogue I write out guidelines and rules for how they might speak. Like, imagine you were a tv show writer and you were about to hand your character off to another writer, you write them like "they sound like this, they don't sound like this, they wouldn't say this."

Example: Michikatsu is incredibly polite and formal in his dialogue almost to the point where he sounds stiff. Michi's dialogue should sound like Gojo's dialogue except Gojo takes an aggressive authoritative tone and Michi takes a passive aggressive one. Michi babbles about his special interests and personal thoughts and doesn't notice when other people aren't listening. Michi's rarely up front about anything. Michi’s incredibly flippant, if you insult him too his face he’ll usually laugh it off.  etc. etc.

Write out a summary of the entire conversation first before you even start to attempt to write it, don't just sit at a blank sheet of paper with a plan and attempt to pull a conversation out of thin air. I think a lot of people ignore that a big part of writing is planning and prep work.

You can write a conversation in script format first for a first draft, and then go back and add the prose and in between bits for a conversation earlier. Also it's way easier to edit the dialogue in script format.

POINT OF VIEW

So like number one you have to pick a perspective for your story and stick with it. Don't use first person perspective if there's nothing really unique about being inside of the character's head or there's nothing added by their first person narration and personal insight. Third person limited means you have watching from the back of their eyeballs, you can't describe the character like a camera floating around them. Third person omniscient you can jump anywhere but you should try to be clear when you are switching between perspectives in a scene.

You have to strike the right balance between physical description of the characters environment around them, and then thoughts and feelings of the character themselves. One thing I say is like, picture you are a director for a movie and try to decide where you think the camera should linger when you're writing up prose descriptions.

A third person omniscient narrator should be perspective, but if you're writing a third person limited narrator then every person in the whole world has a personal bias to their thoughts. Their thoughts and opinions should not be considered objective facts because a lot of characterization can come from where their biases differ from the truth. Every character should also start out with like a "Wrong" opinion, or a "Wrong" way they see the world, or just a mistake in their understanding that can be corrected.

This goes hand in hand with: Fictional characters are liars.

CHARACTER WRITING

Write meta and character analysis for your own characters. One thing I always do before I start any story is write character profiles like they were characters in a databook with long summaries of their personalities, and like relevant parts of their backstories. If you're writing your own character then like, this is your time to shine. Try to think clearly about what you want the audience to understand about the character. If you're writing someone else's character, then think about your personal thoughts for the character. B/c if you're writing fanfic like the goal unless it's an au is to write as close to canon as possible but literally no matter what you are going to be writing your personal take on the character.

Always think of your endpoint for the character first, because the whole story is the journey there. If you don't know where you are going you're just going to meander. Umm, a really basic way to describe character arcs is a want versus need conflict, what they think they want versus what they actually need. So your goal is to get them to realize what they need.

OCS INTERACTING WITH OTHER CHARACTERS

For OCS interacting with other ocs I do not have a ton of advice other than you should try to picture how interacting with this person would be in real life. Like characters can be drama queens and have tragic backstories, but imagine if they were just a person in your friend group. Would they be passive aggressive? Would they be annoying? Would they be a downer? They helps with personal interactions with other people.

Also in general try to think about what you want to get out of the scene by these two characters interacting. Do you just want it to be funny? Do you want the audience to learn something about these characters? LIKE That's a big focus in general. What does the audience learn here? What does this add to the story?

For OCS interacting with canon characters. I am all about OC Love but my best advice here is just like ocs interacting with other ocs you should try to use the OCS themselves to demonstrate character traits the canon characters have. Like, forget they are an OC for a moment, pretend they are a canon character just write them the same way you would write Itadori and Megumi interacting. However, the added caveat is you have to introduce and OC and exposit on them enough the audience understands their personality b/c they can't use their knowledge of canon characters as a reference material.

Also in general just like any canon character if you are putting them in a story you should ask yourself "What is the purpose of this character in the story? What do they add to it? Why do I want to include them?"

[unsureofwhathappens]

Official First Day of Winter -

Yesterday. So, I randomly felt like putting this down. Even though it is late....

------------------------------

You lifted your head, your face turned to the sky, eyes closed as you smiled and lifted your arms. It had been so long - so long since you got to experience snow like this. Where you were from, it didn't snow much. You almost felt like it was a fairytale or something mythical from the past.

It didn't help that the only time you heard about snow in real life was the extreme examples and everything. It always seemed like an all or nothing with heavy consequences. But a soft snow like this - where you are in a white wonderland and the snow is gracefully falling all around...

"It's almost like soft white petals gracing us from above. Giving us a view that we never expect but surrounds us in gentle reminder of the possibilities in this world," a warm, soft voice stated, saying your exact thoughts.

You loved hearing his thoughts, they could be so poetic. He is able to word what you felt into comprehensive words when you originally thought there was no way to describe it. It was one of his many talents and something you never grew tired of. Plus his voice, his tone, the warmth, the richness, it all added to the real meaning.

"Yeah," you softly replied, not being able to add to it properly. You didn't want to ruin the perfection that was his prose.

Your smile grew as you turned to him, opening your eyes as you felt the familiar warm spreading in the hand that he reached up to hold and then brought it to his side. His smile was soft and loving, saying more than he could.

Yeah, it was moments like these that you live for. What a wonderful way to start Winter.

[nutsonline]

Learn tamil through kannada books

Rachael believes that resorts should provide visitors with opportunities to explore mountain environments in different ways for example, by introducing hiking routes, mountain bike trails, viewing platforms and educational attractions. Yes, they were designed as ski resorts but they can be turned into something else with a little bit of foresight and planning," Rachael added. Most places understand that these practices aren`t a long-term solution, but it is buying them time. "It was interesting seeing different solutions to the issue. There will be a lot of people adversely affected by the economic impact of not having this tourism." Rachael said: "At the rate, we`re losing glaciers, doing nothing is not an option for these industries.

However, the use of most snow and ice generation and conservation measures are caught up in a loop of unsustainability, consuming energy that contributes to climate change. Resorts around the world are using similar strategies and many rely on snow machines. designed in a circular shape gives us an opportunity to learn a lot more. Indian languages like Tamil, Sanskrit, Kannada at the.

This can be seen in the native chart (Native will miss his son). learn from the rich traditions of Tamil language inġ through 45 which were taught between and 12 June. effortlessly rendered in Tamil u2013 or in Kannada. Īnd the common thread that runs through them. Language As Unifying Force Sitaram Yechury (Speech Delivered. Kannada Kannada/Tamil Tamil Telugu Urdu English TOTAL Second Lang % Second Ī language and learn u201cthroughu201d a language at the same time, they face. Second-Language Learners and the Karnataka Learning. the act through you entirely for His own purposes. this method took 12 or more years to learn just one veda. Īmong NammAzhwAru0026#39 s four Tamil Prabhandhams. YAJUR VEDA UPAKARMA VIDHI - ibiblio - The Publicu0026#39 s Library. Through the descriptions of the Goddessu2122s form that make up the. Soundaryalahari - Advaitin Homepage is under const relationships not as prose but poetry and learn to ĪBOUT SWAMIJI VOICE OF THE PRESS Z Z Prasanna Wellness CentreĪn all time sales record in the history of Tamil, Kannada. the channels (vu0101ykku0101l) passing through the villages, the quarter. Tamil (Dravidian) 28,000 Kannada (Dravidian. The Past as known from Tamil Inscriptions: Village Community. the computer will go through a series of automated tasks What You Will Learn B ASIC C OMPUTER S KILLS P AGE 03 Anatomy of a Computer How Computers Work. The girl walked through the building.ĬOMPUTER BASICS - University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. Learn it? When they were learning to talk, they learned the names of things (vocabulary), the different forms of a word. GRAMMAR: PART I - Whatu0026#39 s new | National Adult Literacy Database chances of success with services like Learn. Hindi, Telugu, Marathi, Bengali, Malayalam, Kannada, Tamil. Nokia Life Tools is designed to address information gaps so. Īddress and overcome impediments of illiteracy through. As we get good appreciation andĮmpowerment through learning - Tata Consultancy Services: IT. Īn Incentive to those who want to learn Tamil through the medium of English, Hindi, Telugu, Kannadam, Malayalam, and Marathi. Learn Telugu in 30 Days - Learning Telugu | Hints and. Learn Tamil Through English / Hindi INDEX Four Test Papers vii Lesson 1 The Tamil Alphabet 1 Lesson 2 Speaking Tamil Characters.

TAMIL Through English / Hindi - Your Indian Culture Learning. Learn English through Kannada and Tamil Preface This book is a compilation of numerous lessons taught in the special English class of Sri Venkateswara Temple at.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Prisoners’ Inventions

2003’s PRISONERS INVENTIONS is an underground classic, a high-stakes precursor to MAKE Magazine, combining ingenuity, adversarial interoperability, and user-centered design. After 13 years out of print, Half Letter Press published a new, expanded edition.

https://halfletterpress.com/prisoners-inventions-new-edition/

Prisoners’ Inventions was created by Angelo, a pseudonymous, long-serving incarcerated American who entered into a collaboration with the Temporary Services collective, who both published Angelo’s work and staged multiple gallery showings of his work.

For these shows, museum workers followed Angelo’s finely drafted, detailed drawings and notes to recreate the inventions he’d documented, recreating his cell from the floorplans and elevations he’d supplied.

The new edition documents these showings, and the absurd ways that Angelo experienced them — for example, when a guard discovered a postcard with a recreation of Angelo’s cell, he was convinced that this was evidence that someone had smuggled a digital camera into the prison.

So realistic was the reproduction — so precise and faithful were Angelo’s plans — that the warden took extensive persuading to be convinced that the digital camera theory was a paranoid guard’s fantasy.

The anaecdote illustrates the core attraction of PRISONERS’ INVENTIONS: not just that Angelo has a fine, expressive draftsman’s hand, nor that his accompanying text makes for an economical, shrewdly observed ethnography of the tools and their users.

But rather that this ingenuity is an act of survival and resistance, created under harsh conditions where each inventor must create the tools to fashion the tools — under adversarial conditions where all-powerful enemies can smash everything and set the makers back to zero.

In some regards, it’s like a for-real version of those neo-neolithic Youtubers who show how to bootstrap advanced tooling from raw materials. In others, it’s a physical version of the beloved first-person accounts of daring feats recounted in the pages of 2600.

This is true adversarial interoperability — treating the environment as a puzzle and a challenge, to be deconstructed and reconfigured by toolsmiths for their users’ benefit, overcoming both user-hostile designs and policing by the original designers’ armed enforcers.

Reading Angelo’s accounts of his fellow toolsmiths’ ingenuity, I was forcibly reminded of the thrill and dread I experience every time I re-read James Clavell’s debut novel, KING RAT, a fictionalized account of his incarceration in the infamous Changi death-camp.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/King_Rat_%28Clavell_novel%29

I always lingered over Clavell’s description of the POWs’ ingenuity, from the contraband radio inside hidden water-bottle compartments that had to be clipped together when the conspirators gathered to tune into war news, or how tailors practiced their trade behind the wire.

This is the true hacker mindset, the combination of playfulness, lateral thinking, user-centered design, and pitting your wits against brutal authority. It’s part of a lineage that includes classics like STEAL THIS BOOK.

The illustrations in Steal This Book are strikingly similar to those in Prisoners’ Inventions, though Angelo’s prose is sharper and less self-indulgent.

Equally, Prisoners’ Inventions recalls wartime pamphlets like the famous MEND AND MAKE DO, with their emphasis on thrift and finding creature comforts under conditions of indefinite hardship and privation.

https://www.bl.uk/learning/timeline/item106365.html

Many of the inventions Angelo catalogues are about creating space for comfort out of miserable conditions. The prisoners who make greeting-card pigments by scraping ink off magazine ads and mixing it with body-lotion embrace the Mend and Make Do ethos as much as anyone.

Prisoners’ Inventions deserves a spot on your shelf between your MAKE Magazines and your copy of PRISON RAMEN, a bridge between those two world.

https://www.bbc.com/news/world-us-canada-37164279

I long treasured my 2003 copy of the original. Last year, my office flooded and I lost my whole bottom shelf of books. I salvaged just two: that 2003 edition and the illustrated history of Dachau my parents gave me when we visited the camp when I was 12.

Both books recorded prisoners’ resistance, the humanity of caged people in inhumane circumstances — and both do so from the perspective of the incarcerated, just as King Rat does. These are powerful stories that shaped my view of the world and are never far from my mind.

As the new edition’s introduction notes, Angelo died in Dec 2016 in LA, three years after his release from more than two decades of incarceration. He was days away from his 73rd birthday.

https://us6.campaign-archive.com/?u=b8471866234ee0d53940f266d&id=ec274824dd&e=7d41a18bd2

He spent his brief years of freedom watching and cataloging films he sourced from thrift stores and other secondary sources, living a quiet and mostly solitary life.

The new edition is a tribute to Angelo. America continues to incarcerate more people than any nation in human history.

[oonajaeadira]

Long Fall Into Oblivion (Ezra x reader)

(header by sirtadcooper - check out the whole beautiful set here.)

Rating: Mature. 

Pairing: Ezra (post-Prospect film) x f!reader

Warnings: Non-explicit sex. Some swears maybe (think there’s a f*ck in there somewhere, my GOODNESS). A lot of gooey, syrupy, soft fluffety fluff. Author attempts at writing Ezra dialogue. A lot of chewy prose.

A/N: I can’t believe I’m posting this, but here goes. I love Ezra. He is a man of questionable morality and an insufferable tongue and I really shouldn’t. But I really do. I just wanted to give him a try. I’ve softened him up here, putting a few years on him so maybe he’s fluffed up some since the events in the film. Also I just ignored the fade or assumed that aurelac mining was still happening because scarcity/demand. Doesn’t matter. Just wanted to go exploring.

Summary: You take a job as an aurelac prospecting trainee and Ezra shows you the ropes. You’re gonna fall in love with him. That’s it. That’s the whole thing.

TAGLIST: you can always request to be on the taglist for this or any of my work. If you’d like to be on taglists for upcoming fic, please sign up here –> TAGLIST

MASTERLIST

________________

Bakhroma is one of the smallest gas giants in the sector, but as you stand on the surface of the Green Moon, it dominates the entire horizon, pulling your focus, threatening to engulf everything around it. You almost feel sorry for the lush moon as you walk through its undergrowth, so gentle and full of beauty, destined many years after you’re gone to give its life to her.

A moon is an orbiting admirer, and what is an orbit but a long fall to oblivion?

There’s a painful, sour ache in your heart as you walk back to the camp in twilight, watching the back of Ezra’s helmet bob along in front of you. You’d spent two days digging that claim only to find the weakest aurelac nest you’ve seen yet, only three viable nodes. You’d dug through one of them by accident and completely melted another like an incompetent fool. Kevva’s ass, you were such a disappointment. Three months in the Green and you still can’t cut a blister out properly. Not even once.

Ezra’s shoulders are wide and tense, his one hand splayed out as he walks, running over the tops of the tall ferns, catching one every now and then only to rip the top away, twirl it between his gloved fingers and toss it impatiently aside.

The other two members of your team headed out on a sling this morning, another two will be arriving in a few days. And you wonder if Ez regrets just not cutting his losses and leaving with them, or at least sending you back in exchange for another kip.

You think about shifting through the comm channels, hoping that he’s chattering away in one of them, switched without your knowledge, but it’s a lost cause. You can hear him breathing on the channel between you. It’s not often Ezra has nothing to say.

________________

You thought your father was leaving you an inheritance. It’s not the reason you took care of him through his illness, but you’d dropped everything to be back home with him through his final months. In a way, it was a blessing, a reason to quit the Dasha factory and the terrible working conditions there, come back home and focus on your dad, relive good memories, just spend time. The reconnection lifted your heart, but his death sank it low again. When you learned he had nothing to leave you but a small house and some old vehicles, you sold what you could and traded in the rest.

Then you had nothing. No family, no job, little savings, questionable future. It almost broke your spirit. But the last few months with your father rekindled your love of him as he told you about his years in the Fringe, mining and prospecting. And your heart had said, “what the hell, let’s try that.” So you listened.

It took some time to track down the right inroads, but you were able to find some ads for prospecting teams, in particular those who were willing to take on members in training for a re-distributed cut. With all provisions included--other than suit and gear, which your father’s inheritance neatly covered--it seemed like just as good of a deal as any, and an adventure to boot.

But the reality was, every team you met with was full of hardened men, and while you were not a soft Central woman, you also weren’t overly versed in weaponry and didn’t know if you could defend yourself out in the Fringe against attack if things got crusty.

You were just about ready to admit defeat when you walked into yet another conference bunker and found your match. The first thing you noticed was that he was standing when you arrived, waiting for you politely rather than manspread at the table. Second were his eyes. Deep, brown, and sad. Maybe sad was the wrong word, certainly it seemed by the lines in his face, possibly by the missing arm, that he’d seen enough sadness, but toward you, it read more as concern. You wouldn’t know it until later when he confessed his feelings about this first meeting, but he was worried you wouldn’t choose him. Ezra had a hell of a time hiring partners. He may have been one of the longest-working aurelac diggers out there, but young kippers saw his greying beard and seasoned diggers saw his lacking arm and they all tended to turn around and walk out before he even said hello. So he’d tried to put himself out there as a trainer, show that he had something more to offer.

It didn’t hurt his feelings when you admitted to him later that those qualities were exactly why you chose him. He seemed the opposite of threatening. And his eyes were bright when he smiled at you. With his thrumming baritone and his Fringe twang and his mixed deck of mosaic words, he had a way of speaking that felt like a fluffy blanket curling around you, your brain vibrating with comfort at every new monologue. He was eccentric and perhaps a little jarringly rough in his humor at times, but there was something about him that you trusted immediately, even though you’d come to learn later you probably shouldn’t have if you were being overly cautious.

Not that your judgement ever came to detriment. Not that he ever proved you wrong that way. Not when it came to you. But the man was dangerous when he had to be in a way you hadn’t initially picked up on.

________________

You hadn’t been out in the Green two weeks before you looked up from the bottom of a dig hole to see Ezra standing over you with a thrower.

“You get down and you stay down, understand?”

“Ez? What--”

“I said stay down! Do not make me waste words on mere repetition!” The fuzzy blanket of his voice replaced suddenly by a snarling, snapping brush wolf, a quick change hitting you like a slap in the ear.

There’d been pops and whizzes as shots rang through and you did as your trainer said, face down, the view of your visor giving you nothing but dirt. Your helmet was a chorus of quick breathing from both of you and sweat rolled down your neck as you begged the eyes of Kevva to look down upon your partner. When the crossfire faded, you’d heard Ezra stalk away. Then there were a couple more shots. Then more footsteps returning.

“You are permitted to stand, trinket. All is well as it can be for us. But not so much for our dearly departed friends.” These words were as soothing as much as his previous ones had burned, and he simply went back to working at the dig at hand as if he’d just come back from taking a leak. It wasn’t until you left the site that evening that you tramped past two rotting raiders, gaudily outfitted with broken face shields, left to let the Green take them.

Ezra whistled as he stepped over them, stopping only to harvest their filters and munition rods, which he tossed your way to stow in your pack, and then continued lazily down the path toward camp. Just another day on the job. 

He may be a little peculiar and not someone to trifle with, he may have just killed two people without remorse or further comment, but his lack of reassuring words told you that this was just part of the deal. You wear the suit, you use the air scrubber in the tent, you follow the landing pod instructions as written, and you defend yourself against those who wish to harm you. Survival by any and all means is paramount, mundane, and something he has no qualms with on any level.

There was something deep down inside of you that instinctually pulled you to follow him, not just down the literal path before you, but whatever path Ezra chose to wander.

________________

Before you’d left the station with him, he’d taken you to a thrower range to gauge your skill which was decent in theory, but dismal compared with what he could do. No matter, he still patiently taught you how to properly clean and charge a weapon and the best way to breathe and pull the trigger; “like you’re taking hold of a man’s...well... Just go easy and firm.” He suggested you should come and practice every day before lift off and then hope to Kevva that you didn’t have to rely too heavily on it.

“If I find myself in a coffin of my own suit, then feel free to defend yourself as a final means of preservation. Otherwise, when it comes down to shots fired, best to let me do the dirty work. Might as well keep the blood where the blood has been.”

You’d been a little nervous about sharing a freighter pod alone with him, but Ezra was...well, not so much a gentleman as just a comfortable soul. 

He always waited until you were hungry to eat, thinking it rude to eat alone in front of you. He never moved around the pod while you were sleeping, content to keep still with a book in his cot. And if you couldn’t sleep, he was always willing to read to you from whatever impossibly dense old world classic he was digging through for the umpteenth time, letting his voice come up from the deeps and pull you gently under. If you asked permission to turn on the radio, he’d ask you “why Isn’t it on yet, woman,” quietly tolerating your taste in harsh and gleeful babblecore pshcyopop. In the later days of the journey, he’d even come to dance with you from time to time, although both of you were dismal at it and ended up with you in a fit of giggles. It was a sure-fire way to cure a case of the pouts you carried through from the morning fitness sessions when he beat you at pushups. Again.

When it came to privacy in the tight space, he had a habit of turning away without having to be asked or stopping his stream of talk when you went to change clothes, just happily chattering away until you called the all clear. Although he was not squeamish about his own state of undress, should you happen to catch it by accident. While he was respectful of your privacy, he seemed to need none of his own, but neither did he flaunt anything. You might look up from studying the flight manual to notice he was changing into a fresh pair of compression pants, tugging them on haphazardly with one hand, more concerned with telling you the overwhelmingly disgusting manufacturing process of Bits Bars than his own ass hanging out where you might see it. At least he always changed facing away from you which was a kindness.

Until it wasn’t.

After you realized you’d fallen quietly in love with him--a sudden, soft moment on the Green--then you’d admit only privately to yourself that you wouldn’t mind if you accidentally saw a little more than the occasional shirtless attire he might wear around the tent.

But in the pod, the only part of him that had caught your curiosity was his stump, and you’d known Ezra intensely enough over the past couple of weeks where you knew he wouldn’t take offense. Especially if you asked him the right way.

“Will you tell me a story, Ezra?”

“I feel that it is my duty to do so whether you ask me to or not. Shall I choose, or is there something in particular you would like to hear?”

He was sitting cross-legged on the floor, propped up against his cot, going through his kit, cleaning his gear. You waited until he noticed your lack of answer and looked up to meet your eyes. When he saw that you had put your manual down and were focusing all your quiet attention on him, he stopped his busy work. 

When Ezra gives you his attention, it is absolute. When he knows you seriously need something from him, that becomes his immediate main priority and all else can wait. It’s only gotten more intense since that day, but there is a trust that resides between you when you look into his eyes, gathering your words as he waits patiently every time to hear whatever you’re going to request of him. There’s always hope there in his big browns, always something specific he’s waiting for you to ask, and every day you get a little bit closer to understanding what it might be. But until then, any question is a welcome one, any query is met with his wish to provide.

“Will you tell me how you lost your arm?”

At first you thought you may have gone too far, that maybe you insulted him, as his eyebrows peaked together and he looked down at his hand. But then, “That is a tale that may cause you some consternation, trinket. The Green is dangerous and unforgiving, and there were times I may not have been a man worthy of fair opinion.”

“My father was a prospector, you know. I’ve heard stories. Have you ever killed anyone?”

He clicked his tongue and screwed up an eye, causing the thin white scar on his cheek to twist. Then he sighed and returned to your locked gaze. “To be honest, I have. Though I have never done so with pleasure, I have killed in defense and out of desperation, and it was out of dispatching a man in this way that I came to lose the second favorite of all my appendages.”

“Second favorite?”

“Well, it depends what you classify as a limb.” He huffed a small laugh, a spark in his eye, trying to diffuse the harsh subject in his own way.

His leaning into baseness never bothered you. There was something earthy about it, gritty and rough, but never lewd. You rewarded his crassness with a smile. “Do you plan on killing me out in the Green?”

“I would hope my murdering days are behind me, and if they are not, you would see me aim a thrower at everyone but you in the course of my spree. You are under my tutelage, and for that, I owe you a duty of care. That is my word by Kevva.”

“Then tell me the story. I like your stories. I promise not to judge now-Ezra by then-Ezra.”

A dimple formed on his cheek, a punctuation mark framing the approaching anecdote on his lips. “Then I will declare myself absolved of any sin heretofore and regale you with a clean and grateful heart.”

________________

You can see the tent through the trees and you realize with some horror that it’s just you and Ezra for the next few nights. If he’s angry with you, and this is how he is when he’s upset, the silence will be unbearable.

Even that little girl he helped out here years ago was probably more capable than you. You feel so lost in this moment, and it’s only made worse by his silence. You fumble with your communicator and hit the mute just in time to choke on a sob.

This isn’t like you. You’re not one to cry when things get rough. You hardly shed a tear when your father died. But the thought of that just brings another sob and as acting as your own psychologist you realize that you are experiencing some displaced sorrow, the odd need to please the leading male in your life, the one that’s walking ahead of you, away from you. If he’d just turn around and throw you his worn weary smile, if he’d just start up a conversation you’d know that there was hope for you, you’d know you didn’t give up everything to be here in a job you couldn’t hack.

You gotta stop this. Or it’s going to be an uncomfortable night.

Shake it off.

Once you enter the tent, the usual dance happens. Ezra reaches up to turn on the air scrubber and you unhook his filter tube from his helmet. When he turns to you, you pull open the zipper cover on his suit and start his zip for him before lifting his helmet up and off. He can pull the zip the rest of the way, but you generally pull the left collar down for him so he can get his arm out. He’s on his own from there as you turn to fuss with your own gear. 

________________

You remember it starting easily enough. He was telling you a story about the breeding habits of the Tokovian Musk Owl and you could see he was having trouble with his suit zipper, yanking at it and trying to look down at it even though it was under his chin and his helmet. Without another hand to keep the fabric taut, the zip didn’t want to release, so you simply batted his hand away and started it for him. He didn’t even stop his yammering, just threw in a “thank you” somewhere in between “could hear them screeching” and “for a fuck.” He’d right out asked you the day before if you wouldn’t mind disengaging the filter tube just because it was delicate and he didn’t want to mangle the expensive part trying to pop it out one-handed day after day. And while he could manage the helmet fine enough, his prominent nose thanked you for a smoother removal for sure. 

It wasn’t the only routine dance you’d concocted. 

There was the harness dance.

While dig days were excruciating, you always looked forward to helping him attach the harness for his prosthesis--a kind of rigid pole attached to a shovel so you didn’t have to do all the hard digging alone. There were a couple of straps that came around his torso with multiple latches and you’d come to really enjoy wrapping your arms around him to fit the straps on. Sure, you could do the job just as easily from behind, but if you embraced him at the front, he’d usually raise his arm and let it come to rest around your shoulders while you worked. If you let yourself dream, it would be easy to imagine that he might be pressing you into him just a little bit.

And there was the harvesting dance.

On a dig, you were the one to mix the fazer and Ezra did the pour. He fished the sack, you cut the cord. You sliced the outer casing and held it open while he did the extraction. And with the flesh-covered stone, he told you every time to “hold it like you love it” so he could cut away the slippery blister before cleaning the gemstone.

It was a beautiful harmony. And the only way it worked. Because once on every dig he urged you to do a solo extraction, and on every dig, you pierced the blister and lost that stone. And on every dig, he squeezed your shoulder and told you it was a wondrous try, that he was proud of you, and there would always be another turn. There was no sarcasm, no pity, just a warm smile and ceaseless optimism even though you just lost both of you thousands in pay.

These were the first touches, these shoulder squeezes that ran down your arm on the let-go. Sometimes he would just reach out and grab onto you like a pole to help himself up, or he might stumble off balance on uneven ground and without the counterweight of his right arm he’d throw his hand out onto you to steady himself. He wasn’t beyond lightly touching the small of your back to encourage you down a path or to take your next try at a gem pull. 

This was all part of something you’ve secretly named the left-handed-lover’s dance. Basically, that you keep on his left whenever you can in case he needs your help or has the inclination to reach for you. It started out as just trying to be a good partner. Then it became a passing hope that it was more than just a friendly bond. But you were both here to do a job. He was here to teach you to be an independent prospector and you were here to assist and learn. That was evident at the end of the day; once you were both in the tent and out of the suits he never touched you, never so much as bumped into you or grazed your hand in passing an item or clapped you on the arm after a good joke. 

But out in the field all zipped in and helmets on, there was nothing more natural than his gentle hand guiding you or reaching for your assistance, including the day you realized you loved him.

________________

Before you can turn away to strip off your own coverings, Ezra catches your arm, spinning your face into the light. You try to shake him off, not wanting him to catch your eyes puffy from crying and your cheeks still streaked with tears, but his grip is not so gentle now and he yanks you back around to his stormy glare, chin up, brows low. His intensity paralyzes you, rendering you unable to continue your struggle when he catches your eyes with his.

When Ezra gives you his attention, it is absolute.

His gaze travels back and forth between your eyes, waiting for an explanation, a minute so stringent it breaks you down, dissolves you into the tears you’d tried so hard to hide.

“I’m sorry, Ezra. I really am trying... I don’t know why I’m such a scuffer at this and I know it would only be right to release you from the contract and tell you to send me back but I don’t want you to, I really wanna stay, I really wanna learn and I’m so, so sorry.”

Your words have an immediate effect, softening him, pulling his glare into concern and wonder, his lips parting just the tiniest bit in surprise.

“This is the reason for your heavy mood? You think I am provoked by your proficiency in the field?” 

“I crusted up good today and it seems like you’re not happy about it. Just...know that it means so much to me that...I don’t wanna let you down.”

“Oh, trinket, no.” An incredulous huff jumps out of him and his grip on your arm loosens, becomes a splayed warm support behind your shoulder, moving in soothing patterns and you’re instantly relieved that your assumptions were wrong. “You have done no harm in my book. It is not an easy thing to deliver a gem of this ilk into the world unscathed. Your opportunities have been few and scattered and it takes many sticks before a lover becomes a lothario.” He knows the crass humor will make you laugh, knows what to say to lighten your heart, to get you to soften, and bring you into his intimate, conspiratorial mood. “To be perfectly honest, I am selfish to an unrighteous degree, for every gem you burn keeps me in value to you. A worthy sacrifice to guarantee you mightn’t be so quick in your need to fly away from me until your training’s complete.”

This causes a hitch in your breath as you see the welcome turn the conversation he’s taking and you follow the path he’s making for you. “I don’t want to leave you, Ez.”

A smile creeps up one side of his mouth. “Well then I am a happy man. A bargain is struck! Partners it is.”

“Partners it is.”

A moment hangs between you as he rubs his thumb in slow circles on your shoulder. There’s that look in his eye again, the one where he’s waiting for you to ask the question he wants to hear from you. So close now.

Still, you’re unsure. “I guess I’m lucky I found the one person who wants an incompetent partner.”

“No, I do not, nor is it what I have and I must express my objection to your self-debasement. This work is not for the shiny, and you have not once complained about taking on the meat of the digging or the crawl of my schedule.”  His hand comes to your helmet shield and he rakes his thumb across it as if he ached to wipe away one of your staleing tears. “Those bright eyes of yours got a penchant for spotting deposits more skillfully than I could ever manage and that’s not something that can be taught; that’s talent, girl. The blistering?” He shrugs. “Even I can’t manage that without the steady help of your fine hands. You may think that your blunders in education are causing us some financial ruin, but our fortunes are creamy. I assure you, we can afford it.”

That look is still there. He’s waiting. “There’s some ‘us’ and ‘we’ in there, Ez.” Your hands drift to his sides, taking fistfuls of his compression suit top, willing him closer.

The edges of his eyes take on the crinkle you’ve come to find so much comfort in. “So there is.”

You’re almost there. You know what he wants. “Why were you so quiet on the walk back?” 

“Because for the next few days we are alone here and I have a mind full of questions I do not know how to ask you.”

“Then let me go first.” A yearning happiness settles in his brown eyes; finally. Finally you’ve found out what it is he needs you to request of him. “If I take this helmet off, are you going to kiss me, Ez?”

His eyes close in contentment and he nods, “Yes. Yes, little jewel. Yes I am, that and more. I hope I have inferred correctly that it is your wish that I do so, because I am in free fall. I feel my orbit ending and my pull to you is complete.”

_______________

“A moon is an orbiting admirer, and what is an orbit but a long fall to oblivion?”

Speculating days were some of your favorite times, just wading through the brush and looking for the telltale signs and shoots of an underlying deposit. Sometimes you came upon nests of strange groundling insects or flowers that only grew in secret. There were treasures underfoot on this poisonous moon, but if you remembered to look up as well, you might find some dangerous beauties there too. 

On that day--the one where you finally understood your heart--you’d looked up to find that you were on a cliffside overlooking a valley, the canopy a million different hues of green, the gas giant looming over half the sky in a big pink and orange semi-circle. There was a fallen log that served as a perfect seat for the perfect view and you knew Ezra wouldn’t mind if you stole a few moments to sit and to take it in. It’s just the kind of thing he’d appreciate. And you were proven right when he came up behind you, putting a hand on your shoulder to steady himself as he swung one leg then the other over the log, finding a perch next to you, spouting pretty words through the channel link--soft and low--about moons and orbits and obilvions.

“That glowing beauty is Bakhroma. She is quiet and fierce, made up of the unfathomable and the unknowable, always within sight, but out of reach and untouchable unless one would trade the honor with great sacrifice. She reflects the light that is given to her with a patience that is heretofore untold. And the Green Moon upon which we ride follows where she goes like a lovesick fool, spinning around her in a heady kind of adoration, full of secret treasures buried deep down that will ultimately one day belong to her, falling incrementally over eons until he finally loses himself in her, all his glories gladly forfeit to her welcome and inevitable embrace. Alone but together, seemingly eternal, pulled as one by the laws of a mysterious universe.”

The void that came after those words was filled with the beating of your heart, and you were sure he could hear it through the channel.

When he’d landed there beside you, you’d registered how his hand slid off your shoulder, diagonally down across your back, coming to rest at your waist, his arm draped lightly around you. Natural. Easy. Everything was warm--the colors of the sky, the care with which he kept you close as if to better hear the honey sweetness in his prose, the fire burning in your lungs and neck.

Ezra probably didn’t know that you spoke a little Vayok.

Bakh being the Vayok word for adornment. Ornament, Gem. Roma was a modifier, a diminutive. Small. Dear.

Bakhroma. Sentimental bauble. A little jewel.

In other words, a trinket.

All you wanted to do was sit down to take in the view of an entire world for a few moments, but by the time Ezra took your hand and helped you to your feet, all you saw was him.

________________

The helmet is barely off before his lips are sealed to yours in a press of greed. Even if he can’t form words when he kisses you, he can’t help but express his deep relief in a heartbreaking moan. It’s a fight to release yourself from the suit when he keeps pulling you against him and every time you try to get some space between you to work the zipper, he chuckles into your mouth, enjoying the tease and the struggle. It’s simultaneously frustrating and thrilling and you give in for a few moments just to give him what he seems to want so desperately right now.

Ezra kisses like a man starved for air, long, hard, and full of need, peeling his lips away only to come back for another breath of you until his initial want is slaked and he slows, allows for more time between his taking, his mouth starting to mumble against yours, praising you with pet names, telling you how perfect you are to him, how long he’s “fought against my more dubious natures to respect your womanly virtues and take them only when you could see in me a man worth bestowing them on.”

You’re able to use his weakness for monologuing to turn around in his vice-like embrace, finally freeing yourself of the suit and he takes the opportunity to drawl more pretty words in your ear, warning you that “I’m afraid I have been enamored of you overly long and may be extra eager in my attentions. So you just say the word if you need a slow down, gentle one, and I will do my best to comply. Although I will admit it will be a difficult endeavor indeed as I feel I am entering your atmosphere and nothing might quell this burn but finding some drowning place to land.”

Your first impression of him was of a man whose age and temperament and body would not be able to overpower you.

Your first impression was wrong.

Of course, it helps that you are willing.

It doesn’t take long for him to strip you down, and then himself. To kiss you down onto the floor. To find exactly where you like to be touched most and how long it takes for you to break from it. He has so many words for you, so many praises to sing about every part of you that is round or soft or wet, comparing you to things that are sweet and plush or celestial and holy. And when you take his favorite limb in hand--as wondrous as the rest of his body--and guide it to its fit, he plunders and harvests all you have to give him, filing you with himself, for as long as you call for it, as long as you let him. He loves you like he speaks to you: rough and drawn out, full of beautiful tangents and meandering plotlines, but in the end it is beautiful and fulfilling; you may be just a little bit confused how you got to the ending, but you’re completely in awe.

When you lay breathing heavy, staring but not seeing the ceiling of the tent, your consciousness seemingly lifted to see through it to the stars, to the glowing face of Bakhroma, you run hands through rough-chopped hair on a head laying on your chest. He’s listening to your heartbeat, waiting for it to slow down so he can start again. The air is thick--even the air scrubber can’t keep up with all your humidity--and there’s a halo around each bulb of the string lights just barely illuminating the darkness.

“How long, Ez?”

“Hm?”

“How long have you been waiting for that.”

“Most likely since the day you walked into my interview. I am a man of simple wants and you had all the right parts for my preferences.”

“For real, Ez.”

He tipped his head up to find you. “What you ask has many true answers, and I stand by the first. I have no qualms telling you of my weakness for a pretty succulence and a kind smile the likes of which you possess. But if you are asking when I knew I would have it, well, that may have been the first day you danced. Or when you asked me to read you to sleep. Or when I understood I wouldn’t let those bastard raiders get near enough to take their turn at your qualities when I had not had them myself. Or when you finally saw me as a viable person to drape your affections on; maybe it was that day too.”

“When I finally saw you as....”

“I have read many tomes and verses but none so full of beautiful passages as your face that day on the cliff. There is a difference of knowing and being. I knew the feel of your pull that day, but found I’d been in orbit all along.”

How he can live this way, twist everything into a tossed away poem...it should be exhausting. Yet you feed off it. You breathe it like air.

After another long cycle of frenzied entanglement and violent euphoria, you ask Ezra if he’d like to move to a cot, maybe get some sleep. “I’m not sure if I’ll be able to walk to the dig tomorrow morning,” you confess.

“No need to worry about tomorrow,” he says, wapping his arm around you and dragging you back to him, grumbling into your ear. “We are the only prospectors in this sector and the aurelac will wait. Until our new compatriots arrive, we are officially on hiatus. Recreational mining only. Restricted to the confines of this tent. By order of your supervisor. In the interest of more precious treasures. And I intend to strike it rich.”

“Well. I’m here to assist. And learn.”

“When it comes to this dig, trinket, you are more than competent. I am no longer your trainer. Partners it is.”

“Partners it is.”

The new contract is struck, signed and sealed in kissing and in touch and a long, slow fall into inevitable oblivion.

[itonje]

people of color in arthurian legend masterpost

hi! some people said it would be cool if i did this, and this is something i find interesting so. yeah! are you interested in king arthur and the knights of the round table? do you like to read about characters of color, especially in older lit? well, i hope this can be a good resource for people to get into stuff like that, especially poc/ethnic minorities who might feel uncomfortable or lonely getting into older media like arthuriana. this post is friendly to both those who prefer medieval lit and those who prefer modern stuff!

disclaimers: i am not a medievalist nor a race theorist! very much not so. i am just a 17 year old asian creature on the internet who wants to have an easy-to-reference post, if i’m not comprehensive enough please inform me. i’m going to stay closely to the matter of britain, as well, not all medieval european literature as a. this is what i’m more familiar with and b. there’s so much content and information and context to go along with it that it would really be impossible to put it all into one tumblr post. (however there’s always going to be overlap!) also, please do not treat me or any other person of color/ethnic minority as a singular all-knowing authority on anything! we’re all trying to have fun here and being made into an information machine on things, especially what is and isn’t offensive isn’t fun. with that out of the way, let’s get into it! (under cut for length!) 

part i: some historical context (tw for racism and antisemitism discussion)

fair warning, i’m going to start off with some discussions of more heavier history before we talk about more fun stuff. while pre colonial racism was far more different than how it is today, there still...was racism. and it’s important to understand the social mien around nonwhite people in europe at the time these works were written. 

to understand how marginalized ethnicities were written in medieval european literature, you have to understand the fact that religion, specifically catholicism, was a very important part of medieval european life. already, catholicism has violent tenets (ie, conversion as an inherent part of the church, as well as many antisemitic theologies and beliefs), but this violence worsened when an event known as the crusades happened.

the crusades were a series of religious wars started by the catholic church to ‘reclaim’ the holy land from islamic rule and to aid the byzantine empire. while i won’t go into the full history of the crusades, (some basic info here and here and here) its important to understand that they had strengthened the european view of the ’pagan’ (ie: not european christian) world as an ‘other’, a threat to christiandom that needed to be conquered and converted, for the spiritual benefit of both the convertee and the converter. these ideas of ethnoreligious superiority and conversion would permeate into the literature of the time written by european christians. 

even today, the crusades are very much associated with white supremacy and modern islamophobic sentiment, with words such as ‘deus vult’ as a dogwhistle, and worship of and willingness to emulate the violence the crusaders used against the inhabitants of the holy land in tradcath spaces, so this isn’t stuff that’s all dead and in the past. crusader propaganda and the ignorance on the violence of the catholic church and the crusaders on muslim and jewish populations (as well as nonwhite christians ofc) is very harmful. arthuriana itself has a lot of links to white supremacy too-thanks to @/to-many-towered-camelot for this informative post. none of this stuff exists in a bubble. 

here’s a book on catholic antisemitism, here’s a book on orientalism, here’s a book about racism in history that touches on the crusades. (to any catholic, i highly reccommend you read the first.)

with that out of the way, we can talk about the various not european groups that typically show up in arthurian literature and some historical background irt to that. the terms ‘moor’ and ‘saracen’ will typically pop up. both terms are exonyms and are very, very broad, eventually used as both a general term for muslims and as a general term for african and (western + central) asian people. they’re very vague, but when you encounter them the typical understanding you’re supposed to take away is ‘(western asian/african) foreigner’ and typically muslim/not christian as well. t

generally, african and asian lands will typically be referred to as pagan or ‘eastern/foreign’ lands, with little regard for understanding the actual religions of that area. they will also typically refer to saracens as pagans although islam is not a pagan religion. this is just a bit of a disclaimer. the term saracen itself is considered to be rather offensive-thank you to @/lesbianlanval for sending me a paper on this subject. 

while i typically refer to the content on this post as having to pertain to african and asian people (ie, not european) european jewish arthurian traditions are included on this post too. but, i know more about poc and they’ll feature more prominently in this post because of that, lol. 

part ii: so, are there any medieval texts involving characters of color?

i’m glad you asked! of course there are! to be clear, european medieval authors were very much aware that people of color and african + asian nations existed, don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. even the vita merlini mentions sri lanka and a set of islands that might (?) be the philippines!! for the sake of brevity though, on this list i’m not going to list every single one of these small and frequent references, so i’m just going to focus on texts that primarily (or notably) feature characters of color. 

first of all, it’s important to know was the influence of cultures of color and marginalized ethnicities that helped shape arthurian legend. the cultural exchange between europe and the islamic world during the crusades, as well as the long history of arab presence in southern europe, led to the influence of arabic love poetry and concepts of love on european literature, helping to form what we consider the archetypal romance. there are also arthurian traditions in hebrew, and yiddish too, adding new cultural ideas and introducing new story elements to their literature-all of these are just as crucial to the matter of britain as any other traditions!

when it comes to nonwhite presence in the works themselves, many knights of color in arthurian legend tend to be characters that, after defeated by a knight of arthur’s court join the court themselves. though some are side characters, there are others with their own romances and stories devoted to them! many of them are portrayed as capable + good as, if not better than their counterparts. (this, however, usually only comes through conversion to christianity if the knight is not christian...yeah.) though groups of color as a general monolith created by european christians tended to be orientalized in literature (see: mystical and strange ~eastern~ lands), many individual knights were written to be seen by their medieval audience as positive heroes. i’m going to try to stick to mostly individual character portrayals such as these. 

with that all said though, these characters can still be taken as offensive (i would consider most to be) in their writing, so take everything with a grain of salt here. i will also include links to as many english translations of texts as i can, as well as note which ones i think are beginner friendly to those on the fence about medieval literature!

he shows up in too many texts so let’s make this into two bullet notes and start with one of, if not the most ubiquitous knight of color of the round table (at least in medieval lit),-palamedes! palamedes/palomides is a ‘’saracen knight’’ who (typically) hails from babylon or palestine and shows up in a good amount of texts. his first appearance is in the prose tristan, and he plays a major role there as a knight who fights with tristan for the hand of iseult-while he uh. loses, him and tristan later become companions + friends with a rivalry, and palamedes later goes off to hunt the questing beast, a re-occurring trend in his story. 

palamedes even got his own romance named after him (which was very popular!) and details the adventures of the fathers of the knights of the round table, pre arthur, as well as later parts of the story detailing the adventures of their sons. it was included in rustichello da pisa’s compilation of arthurian romances, which i unfortunately have not seen floating around online (or...anywhere), so i can’t attest to the quality of it or anything. he appears in le morte darthur as well, slaying the questing beast but only after his conversion to christianity (...yeah.) in the texts in which he appears, palamedes is considered to be one of the top knights of the round table, alongside tristan and lancelot, fully living up to chivalric and courtly ideals and then some. i love him dearly and i’ve read the prose tristan five times just for him. (also the prose tristan in general is good, please give it a try, especially if you’re a romance fan.)

speaking of le morte d’arthur, an egyptian knight named priamus shows up in the lucius v arthur episode on lucius’ side first, later joining arthur’s after some interactions with gawaine. palamedes has brothers here as well-safir and segwarides. safir was relatively popular, and shows up in many medieval texts, mostly alongside his older brother. i wouldn’t recommend reading le morte of all things for the characters of color though-if you really want to see what it’s all about, just skip to the parts they’re mentioned with ctrl + f, haha. 

the romance of moriaen is a 12th century dutch romance from the lancelot compilation, named for its main character morien. morien, who is a black moor, is the son of sir aglovale, the brother of perceval. whilst gawaine and lancelot are searching for said perceval, they encounter morien, who is in turn searching for aglovale as he had abandoned morien’s mother way back when. i wholeheartedly recommend this text for people who might feel uncomfy with medieval lit. though the translation i’ve linked can be a bit tricky, the story is short, sweet, and easy to follow, and morien and his relationships (esp with gariet, gawaine’s brother) are all wonderful. 

king artus (original hebrew text here) is a northern italian jewish arthurian text written in hebrew- it retells a bit of the typical conception of arthur story, as well as some parts from the death of arthur as well. i really can’t recommend this text enough-it’s quite short, with an easy-to-read english translation, going over episodes that are pretty familiar to any average reader while adding a lot of fun details and it’s VERY interesting to me from a cultural standpoint. i find the way how they adapt the holy grail (one of the most archetypal christian motifs ever) in particular pretty amazing. this is also a very beginner friendly text! 

wolfram von eschenbach’s parzival (link to volume 1 and volume 2-this translation rhymes!) is a medieval high german romance from the early 13th century, based off de troyes’ le conte du graal while greatly expanding on the original story. it concerns parzival and his quest for the grail (with a rather unique take on it-he fails at first!), and also takes like one million detours to talk about gawaine as all arthurian lit does. the prominent character of color here is a noble mixed race knight called feirefiz, parzival’s half brother by his father, who after dueling with parzival, and figures out their familial connection, joins him on his grail quest. he eventually converts to christianity (..yeah.) to see the grail and all ends happily for him. however, this text is notable to me as it contains two named women of color-belacane, feirefiz’s black african mother, and secundilla, feirefiz’s indian wife. though unfortunately, both are pretty screwed over by the text and their respective husbands. though parzival is maybe my favorite medieval text i’ve read so far i don’t necessarily know if i’d recommend this one, because it is long, and can be confusing at times. however, i do think that when it comes to the portrayal of people of color, while quite poor by today’s standards, von eschenbach was trying his best?-of course, in reason for. a 13th century medival german christian but he treats them with respect and all these characters are actually characters. if you’re really interested in grail stories (and are aware of the more uncomfortably christian aspects of the grail story), and you like gawaine and perceval, i’d say go for it. 

in the turk and sir gawain, an english poem from the early 16th century, gawaine and the titular turkish man play a game of tennis ball. i’m shitting you not. this text is pretty short, funnily absurd, and with most of the hallmarks of a typical quest (various challenges culminating in some castle being freed), so it’s an easier read. it’s unclear to me, but at the end of the story the turkish man turns into sir gromer, a noble knight, who may or may not be white which uh. consider my ‘....yeah’ typical at this point, but i don’t personally read it that way for my own sanity. also he throws the sultan (??) of the isle of man (????) into a cauldron for not being a christian so when it comes to respectful representation of poc this one doesn’t make it, but it does make this list. 

the revenge of ragisel, or at least the version i’ve read (the eng translation of the dutch version from the lancelot compilation), die wrake van ragisel, starts off being about the mysterious murder of a knight, but eventually, as most stories do, becomes a varying series of adventures about gawaine and co. one of gawaine’s friends (see: a knight who he combated with for a hot sec and then became friends and allies with, as you do) is a black knight named maurus! he’s not really an mc, but he features prominently and he’s pretty entertaining, as all the characters in this are. i also recommend this highly, i was laughing the whole time reading it! it’s not too long and pretty wild, you’ll have a good romp. this is a good starter text for anyone in general!

i’ve not read the roman van walewein, which, as it says on the tin, is a 12th century dutch romance concerning some deeds of gawaine (if only gawaine was a canon poc, i wouldn’t need to make this list because he’s so popular...). i’m putting it on the list for in this, gawaine goes to the far eastern land of endi (india) and romances a princess named ysabele. i can’t speak to ysabele’s character or the respectfulness of her kingdom or representation, but i know she’s a major character and her story ends pretty well, so that’s encouraging. women of color, especially fleshed out woc, are pretty rare in arthurian lit. i’ve also heard the story itself is pretty wild, and includes a fox, which sounds pretty exciting to me!

now the next two things i’m going to mention aren’t really? texts that feature characters of color or jewish characters, but are rather more notable for being translations of existing texts into certain languages. wigalois is a german 13th century romances featuring the titular character (the son of, you guessed it, gawaine!) and his deeds. the second, jaufre, is the only arthurian romance written in occitan, and is a quite long work about the adventures of the knight jaufre, based on the knight griflet. what’s notable about these two works is that wigalois has a yiddish translation, and jaufre has a tagalog translation. wigalois’ yiddish translation in particular changed the original german text into something more fitting of the arthurian romance format as well as adding elements to make it more appealing for a jewish audience. the tagalog translation of jaufre on the other hand was not medieval, only coming about in 1900, but the philippines has had a long history of romantic tradition and verse writing, so i’m curious to see if it too adds or changes elements when it comes to the arthurian story, but i can’t find a lot on the tagalog version of jaufre unfortunately-i hope i can eventually!

this list of texts is also non-exhaustive! i’m just listing a couple of notoriety, and some to start with. 

part iii: papers and academic analysis

so here’s just a dump of various papers i’ve read and collected on topics such as these-this is an inexhaustive and non-comprehensive list! if you have any papers you think are good and would like to be added here, shoot me an ask. i’ll try to include a link when i can, but if it’s unavailable to you just message me. * starred are the ones i really think people, especially white people, should at least try to read. 

Swank, Kris. ‘Black in Camelot: Race and Ethnicity in Arthurian Legend’ *

Harrill, Claire. ‘Saracens and racial Otherness in Middle English * Romance’

Keita, Maghan. ‘Saracens and Black Knights’ 

Hoffman, Donald L. ‘Assimilating Saracens: The Aliens in Malory's ‘Morte Darthur’

Goodrich, Peter H. ‘Saracens and Islamic Alterity in Malory's ‘Le Morte Darthur’

Schultz, Annie. ‘Forbidden Love: The Arabic Influence on the Courtly Love Poetry of Medieval Europe’ *

Hardman, Philipa. ‘Dear Enemies: the Motif of the Converted Saracen and Sir Gawain and the Green Knight’

Knowles, Annie. ‘Encounters of the Arabian Kind: Cultural Exchange and Identity the Tristans of Medieval France, England, and Spain’ *

Hermes, Nizar F. ‘King Arthur in the Lands of the Saracens’ *

Ayed, Wajih. ‘Somatic Figurations of the Saracen in Sir Thomas Malory’s Le Morte Darthur’

Herde, Christopher M. ‘A new fantasy of crusade: Sarras in the vulgate cycle.’ *

Rovang, Paul R. ‘Hebraizing Arthurian Romance: The Originality of ‘Melech Artus.’’

Rajabzdeh, Shokoofeh. ‘The Depoliticized Saracen and Muslim erasure’ *

Holbrook, Sue Ellen. ‘To the Well: Malory's Sir Palomides on Ideals of Chivalric Reputation, Male Friendship, Romantic Love, Religious Conversion—and Loyalty.’ *

Lumbley, Coral. ‘Geoffrey of Monmouth and Race’ *

Oehme, Annegret. ‘Adapting Arthur. The Transformations and Adaptations of Wirnt von Grafenberg’s Wigalois’ *

Hendrix, Erik. ‘An Unlikely Hero: The Romance of Moriaen and Racial Discursivity in the Middle Ages’ *

Darrup, Cathy C. ‘Gender, Skin Color, and the Power of Place in the Medieval Dutch Romance of Moriaen’ *

Armstrong, Dorsey. ‘Postcolonial Palomides: Malory's Saracen Knight and the Unmaking of Arthurian Community’ (note this is the only one i can’t access in its entirety)

part iv: supplemental material

here’s some other stuff i find useful to getting to know knights of color in arthurian legend, especially if papers/academic stuff/medieval literature is daunting! i’d really recommend you go through all of these if you can’t go through anything else-most are quick reads. 

a magazine article on knights of color here, and this article about the yiddish translation of wigalois. 

this video about characters of color in arthurian legend!

the performance of the translation of arabic in Libro del Caballero Zifar, and how it pertains to the matter of britain 

a post by yours truly about women of color in parzival

this info sheet about palamedes, and this info sheet about ysabele-thanks to @/pendraegon and @/reynier for letting me use these!

this page on palamedes as well

this post with various resources on race and ethnicity in arthuriana-another thank you to @/reynier! 

part v: how about modern day stories and adaptations?

there’s a lot of em out there! i’m not as familiar with modern stuff, but i will try to recommend medias i know where characters of color (including racebends!) are prominent. since i haven’t read/watched all (or truly most) of these, i can’t really speak on the quality of the representation though, so that’s your warning. 

first of all, when it comes to the victorian arthurian revival, i know that william morris really liked palamedes! (don’t we all.) he features frequently in morris’ arthurian poetry, (in this beautiful book, he primarily features in ‘sir galahad, a christmas mystery’ and ‘king arthur’s tomb’. he has his own poem by morris here.)

and some other poems about palamedes, which i’d all recommend. 

for movies, i know a knight in camelot (1998) stars whoopi goldberg as an original character, the green knight (2021) will star dev patel as gawaine. 

some shows include camelot high, bbc merlin, disney’s once upon a time, and netflix’s cursed, all featuring both original characters of color and people of color cast as known arthurian figures. 

for any music people, in ‘high noon over camelot’, an album by the mechanisms, mordred is played by ashes o’reilley, who in turn is performed by frank voss, and arthur is played by marius von raum who is perfomed by kofi young. 

i’ve also heard the pendragon and the squire’s tales have palamedes as a relevant character if you’re looking for novels, as well as legendborn and the forgotten knight: a chinese warrior in king arthur’s court starring original protagonists of color! 

part vi: going on from here

so, you’ve read some medieval lit, read some papers, watched some shows, and done all that. what now? well, there’s still so much out there! 

if you have fanfiction, analysis, metaposts, fun content etc etc about arthurian poc, feel free to plug your content on this post! i’d be happy to boost it. 

in general, if you’re a person of color or a jewish person and you’re into arthurian legend, feel free to promote your blog on this post as well! i would love to know more people active on arthurian tumblr who are nonwhite. 

this is really just me asking for extra content, especially content made by poc, but that’s okay! arthurian legend is a living, breathing set of canons and i would love love love to see more fresh diversity within them right alongside the older stuff. 

a very gracious thank you to the tumblr users whom i linked posts to on here, and thanks to y’all for saying you want to see this! i hope this post helped people learn some new things! 

[mariacallous]

What it meant to be a writer—imaginatively and morally—had interested Didion since she spent her teen-age years retyping Hemingway sentences, trying to understand the way they worked. Fifty years later, she wrote about his afterlives in “Last Words,” an essay for this magazine condemning the publication of books that Hemingway had deemed incomplete. To edit a dead author’s near-finished work for publication, Didion thought, was to assume that he or she was playing by the usual rules. But it was precisely not working in this consensus realm that made great artists great.

A common criticism of Didion suggests that the peppering of her prose with proper nouns (the Bendel’s black wool challis dress, the Grès perfume) is somehow unserious. (For whatever reason, these complaints usually come from men.) But the correct way to understand this impulse is in the lineage of front writing. As Adam Gopnik has noted in these pages, it is Hemingway who’s forever telling you which wines to enjoy while fighting in Spain, how to take your brasserie coffee—how to make his particular yours. Didion feminized that way of writing, pushing against the postwar idea that women writers were obliged to be either mini Virginia Woolfs, mincing abstractions from the parlor, or Shulamith Firestones, raging for liberation. Part of what Didion took from Hemingway, by her account, was a mind-set of “romantic individualism,” “looking but not joining,” and a commitment to the details that gave distinctiveness and precision to that outside view. A trip to the Royal Hawaiian in the midst of a rocky marriage, the right soap to pack for a reporting trip while your husband stays with the baby: in Didion’s work, these were as important in their hard details as Hemingway’s crabe mexicaine and Sancerre at Prunier. Hemingway mythologized his authorial life style so well that generations of writers longed to live and work his way. Didion saw what he was doing, and appropriated the technique.

Yet what made the modernists daring was sometimes a weak point of their endeavor: the writing doesn’t always let readers know how it wants to be read. Hemingway’s theory was that if you, the writer, could reduce what you saw in your imagination to the igniting gestures and images—don’t elaborate why you feel sad about your marriage ending; just nail the image of the burning farmhouse that launched you on that train of thought—then you could get readers’ minds to make the same turns at the same intersections, and convey the world more immersively than through exposition. He explained his theory rarely and badly (hence the endless rancid chestnuts about lean prose, laconic dialogue, and crossing important things out), but Didion didn’t miss the point. “When I talk about pictures in my mind I am talking, quite specifically, about images that shimmer around the edges. . . . The picture tells you how to arrange the words and the arrangement of the words tells you, or tells me, what’s going on in the picture,” she noted, in “Why I Write.” And yet she added in signposts Hemingway left out. A first-rate Didion piece explains its terms as it goes, as if the manual were part of the main text. She is perpetually on guard about saying stuff either not clearly enough (the title “Let Me Tell You What I Mean” emerges from her work) or so clearly as to be subject to “distortion and flattening,” and thus untrue to what she means.

“I wanted not a window on the world but the world itself. I wanted everything in the picture” is how she puts it in “Telling Stories,” an essay from 1978 included in the new collection. She is explaining why she lost, or maybe never had, a desire to write salable short stories—tightly constructed pieces hung on a “little epiphany.” For her, the key to capturing life on the page without the usual sort of reduction, she says in the same essay, was figuring out how to use the first person across time.

What We Get Wrong About Joan Didion