I don't know who needs to hear this, but as a creator -
I am fine with "the audience" -
downloading my fics
printing my fics
copy/pasting or screenshotting my fics
sharing your saved copy of my fics with anyone else who might want them in the unlikely but never impossible case that my fics are no longer available on ao3
making a book of my fic(s) and running your fingers across the pages while lovingly whispering my precioussss
doing these things with anything I create for fandom, such as meta, headcanons, au nonsense like 'texts from the brodinsons,' etc
I am not fine with "the audience"
doing any of the above with the purpose/intent of plagiarizing my work or passing it off as their own in any capacity
feeding my work into ai for any reason whatsoever
Save the fandom things. Preserve the fandom things. Respect the fandom things.
Enjoy the fandom things.
21K notes
·
View notes
something. about. the horror of being sent on an impossible (death) quest and obligations and hospitality politics. the trauma of not having a home, and then the trauma of being in a house that becomes actively hostile to you, one that would swallow you whole and spit out your bones if you step out of line. all of this is conditional, your existence continues to be something men want gone.
it's about going back as far as I can with the perseus narrative because there's always a version of a myth that exists behind the one that survives. the missing pieces are clearly defined, but the oldest recorded version of it isn't there! and there's probably something older before that!! but it's doomed to forever be an unfilled space, clearly defined by an outline of something that was there and continues to be there in it's absence.
and love. it's also about love. even when you had nothing, you had love.
on the opposite side of the spectrum, this is Not About Ovid Or Roman-Renaissance Reception, Depictions And Discourses On The Perseus Narrative.
edit: to add to the above, while it's not about Ovid, because I'm specifically trying to peel things back to the oldest version of this story, Ovid is fine. alterations on the Perseus myth that give more attention Medusa predate Ovid by several centuries. this comic is also not about those, either! there are many versions of this story from the ancient world. there is not one singular True or Better version, they're all saying something.
Perseus, Daniel Ogden
Anthology of Classical Myth: Primary Sources in Translation, edited & translated by Stephen M Trzaskoma, R. Scott Smith, Stephen Brunet
6K notes
·
View notes
gotham war? failsafe? tom taylor? batgirl getting defeated by harley fucking quinn and oracle can walk again? dude what are you talking about, a massive earthquake just hit gotham city!!! its crazy, they're calling it no man's land! cmon buddy, theyre all waiting for us at the comic shop. we're gonna pool our allowances together and share so we all get to experience this exciting new arc :)
1K notes
·
View notes
I've been thinking lately about Vanitas and Noé's first "what is salvation" fight at the bal masqué and what it means about their individual definitions of the concept, and I've realized something about Vanitas.
Noé's definition of salvation is the obvious one. It feels natural. To save someone is to keep them from dying. But in a way, his understanding of salvation is also almost selfish. Noé's foundational trauma is the constant loss of his loved ones. He is the eternal sole survivor. So of course he wants to keep people alive—he wants to "save" the people he cares about in the way that keeps them by his side this time.
It's not wrong to want that, of course. I don't mean "selfish" as a condemnation. It's just that the definition of salvation that Noé starts the series with is inarguably the one that best serves his own happiness.
And it's the same with Vanitas.
When Vanitas kills the little girl Catherine by restoring her true name, he tells Noé he doesn't know what salvation is. He might be lying there, or he might be telling the truth in that he's never put his definition of salvation into words or acknowledged it on a conscious level. Either way, though, I do think he has a definition of salvation somewhere in his mind, and it's a very personal one.
Vanitas sees salvation as the preservation or restoration of one's true self. You're saved so long as you can preserve your essential self, uncorrupted by outside forces. Even if the price of that selfness is death.
While Noé's foundational trauma that informs his worldview is the loss of his loved ones, one of Vanitas's foundational traumas is the loss of his bodily autonomy. Through Moreau's experiments and Luna's mark/bite, he has been transformed into something no longer fully human, and he hates it. From the moment Luna told him he was dying, he said he wanted to die as himself rather than live as their kin, and he has been denied that opportunity.
Nothing is more important for Vanitas than being able to dictate the destiny of his own body, and malnomen are the ultimate corruption of bodily autonomy and selfness. Altering one's true name warps not only their physical body, but their very being on a metaphysical level. The curse takes everything a vampire is and changes it, and doing that to an unwilling victim is the ultimate horror for Vanitas.
Given that context, of course Vanitas thinks that killing a child to restore her true name counts as saving her. He's restoring her essential self and un-corrupting her body and being, and even if her self is only returned for an instant before she dies, it's preferable to living on as something warped by an outside force.
Vanitas absolutely starts the series with a definition of salvation, and like Noé, it's the one that best serves his own happiness. He wants to be saved. He wants to be returned to his human self, and failing that (since he knows it's impossible), he wants to wipe out all traces of the force that changed him and then die without going any further down the path of inhumanity.
Vanitas might not be able to admit that definition out loud (or even to himself directly), but it's there, and it guides him early in the series as much as Noé's own definition of salvation guides him in turn.
184 notes
·
View notes
I've been doing a lot of reading lately about the history of vampires in fiction and how the vampire as we know it today first entered literature, and the subject is honestly fascinating. The traditional folklore around vampires and vampire-like creatures is largely very different from what we'd think of as a vampire today, and it's also very different from how vampires appeared in even their earliest literary incarnations.
For one thing, there's nothing particularly alluring about most traditional vampires. They're bloated corpses that have crawled out of their graves, not dashing mysterious counts in lonely castles. They're not a particularly stylish or sexy monster.
However, from pretty much the moment that western literature first turned to the vampire myth for inspiration, writers saw something in the concept to sexualize. The poem "Der Vampir" (The Vampire) by Heinrich August Ossenfelder is often cited as the first ever true literary depiction of a vampire (published 1748!), and it is about a man corrupting a chaste and religious woman through his unwanted kiss/vampiric bite. John William Polidori's 1819 short story "The Vampyre" is widely seen as the first work to truly codify vampire fiction, and the titular Vampyre Ruthven is in large part inspired by the womanizing Lord Byron. Le Fanu's Carmilla depicts an intense attraction between Carmilla and her victim Laura. Stoker's Count Dracula is a man with overly flushed lips and hair on his palms, marks of Victorian fears of sexuality.
From the very start, vampires in literature have been a sexual monster. They're emblems of the seductive and terrible—the kiss of death that you can't help but be drawn to anyway. A violent forced intimacy that will corrupt you and drain away your very life force. There's a great deal of xenophobia and fear of the un-christian in early vampire fiction as well, but the fear of sex and sexual assault have always been a driver of literary vampires' horror and allure. Writers seem eternally split between desire for the vampire and revulsion at that very lust, even from the moments that the creatures first graced the page.
There's a great tradition of vampiric fiction both using vampirism to evoke sexual predators and making vampires themselves desirably sexy. Thus, given that it is very concerned with sexual assault and bodily autonomy as themes, often uses predation by a vampire to evoke sexual violence, and is deeply horny about vampires and blood drinking, Jun Mochizuki's The Case Study of Vanitas is actually one of if not the best modern successor to the canon of early vampire literature. In this essay, I will
444 notes
·
View notes