#tutor arrell

[capripian-arts]

ID: A digital drawing of three characters from Hieron. Exarch Alyosha is an East Asian human with tan skin and curly brown hair in a ponytail, wearing gold-toned robes and jewelry with sun motifs. His hands are folded and he looks calm. Tutor Arrell is a white half-elf with pale skin and short, receding salt-and-pepper hair, wearing muted blue and brown under a navy blue robe. His arms are crossed and he looks irate. The Great Fantasmo is a white half-elf with light skin and silver hair in a long side ponytail, wearing bright purple and blue robes and an iridescent scarf. He is gesturing effusively and he looks amused. Below the image are three close-ups of their faces. End ID.

Trying my hand at some Hieron designs. Thank you toxic wizards I love you toxic wizards (and Alyosha)

Speedpaint here | Commission me here

[ketraia]

my secsam for madetolooklikeus

[evilmageclub]

15, 17, and 28 for ao3 wrapped!

15. What WIP are you taking into next year with you?

glad you asked!!! i have many >:) all are about the sams. we have:

the boy-king's penance. you may recall this extremely nsfw illustration of the same name. if you want to know what this wip is about thats it . but i did literally just 4 days ago post 6k of samot getting tied up so i must restrain myself from doing so again lest i seem too specifically horny about it (although i am)

at arm's length. samothes/hadrian sad dad bonding in aubade

But Samothes can only defy ancient habits so far, so he sets the wine aside on the desk and picks up one of the lures. It leaves a thin film of sawdust where his skin is damp with the bottle’s condensation. He lets himself watch Hadrian while he savours each imperfect plane of knifework under the pad of his thumb. “I have a lathe in my workshop that could save you some time.” “Thank you.” Hadrian’s smile, though nervous, seems genuine. “But I’m not really short on time here. I do it for the process, you know,” he says, gesturing vaguely towards the small pile of completed lures. “Used to paint these a lot in Velas, with my son.”

an excerpt from the journals of the king-god samothes. i don't write first person generally, not my favourite, but i gravitated towards this as a framing device for writing about red jack's time in aubade. ymmv.

That night he was with me as I knelt oiling his blade, but his eyes stayed on the roiling storms at the sea’s edge. “My son,” he said. “He’ll be here by dawn.” I didn’t ask how he knew. I looked up and laid a hand on his broad forearm. "Don't..." it felt wrong to say don't worry, so I settled for the factual. “You can’t die here unless I allow it.” “Then I trust you’ll allow it, my friend." By that time I had finished applying the oil, so he sheathed his odachi and used it to stand. I was struck silent. It was not that I didn’t understand his resignation, but I had thought after everything I shared with him... Then again, we are stubborn, we creatures of myth. I recall the shine of blood on the blade I had repaired as Red Jack withdrew it from his victim, his maker; a younger man’s fire in that same striking face. He nodded to me, and then he urged Ace around and rode out across the sandbar, kicking up surf in his wake.

samot/arrell part 2 doomed wizard boogaloo. well the first part was samot/fantasmo mostly but in my head this is a sequel

An unveiled barb, sharp enough to make Arrell start towards Samot—not knowing exactly what he means to do, only that he's being provoked. Before he can complete the movement Samot catches him by the chin, thumb tracing his shadow-stricken jaw. “It's not your undeath that concerns me, Tutor.” To hear that name from a self-styled god’s lips is jarring. More unbalancing still is the touch of Samot’s slender fingers; light, precise, as though poised on the edge of a page. It reminds Arrell of—oh, he doesn’t finish the thought. Any similarity is superficial. Samot’s fingertips are cold, his nails long and biting as the arcs of starlight out northwest beyond the balcony.

to remake ourselves. young samsam gender symposium; also, samothes discovers bottoming

Samot leaned back to consider him like a prince holding court from his throne of cushions. “It’s very sweet how coy you act about this. You’re not weaker for wanting me inside you once in a while.” “No, but I want...” “Want what?” “To feel weak,” Samothes admitted, in a low and sultry timbre that belied how dry his throat was. “To feel like this body has things in it I can’t control, hidden mechanisms beholden to my lover. I’ve never wanted that with anyone but you.”

as well as one wip full of melancholy samsam trying to have a sexy romantic evening when they both know theyre about to go to war. some of this material ended up in false rings and my secsam from last year so who knows if it'll get posted, but theres an entire unused sex scene in there i wrote a full two years ago that i still like and want to find a place to put it at some point. and also i have an as-yet-unnamed sam(sam)/hadrian selkie au. theres no excerpt polished enough to post but i just think samots wolf pelt situation-

17. Your favorite character to write this year?

i answered this here! tldr its samothes but also both of them

28. Favorite work you wrote this year?

i would be betraying myself if i didn't say false rings. structurally and scene to scene i know i have written things that are better. but it is so long it contains multitudes many of which im very happy with

[rookfeathers]

i will not let your memory be still stone in my mind, 

but will treat you instead as as a river in my heart

[image id: a drawing of alyosha and arrell standing at a beach. they are both older, arrell with a greyish skin and alyosha with a beard and greying hair. alyosha reaches out a hand to hesitating arrell, and there is a close up of their fingertips touching below, alyosha’s plants curling around his arms and reaching out to arrell’s hand. there are two suns in the sky. the text in the image reads: a path to follow towards a bright, distant sea. end id]

[sketchypixels]

Additions to my Spring in Hieron floral portraits, Exarch Alyosha and Tutor Arrell

[lizardrosen]

I knew the Arrell and Fantasmo stuff was coming, because I live in a world where it’s pointless to try to avoid spoilers completely, but Austin’s reveal is still so good and so much better than I expected based on the bits and pieces I’d picked up.

[socksta]

do you ever just cry

[lemfero]

sih 30 spoilers

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[thebestestbat]

wait so tutor WAS his given name?? (so says The Last University page on wiki)

[luckydicekirby]

Hello yes I would like a dvd commentary on a history of partings thanks

Well first of all obviously this story was mainly written to cause you specifically pain, so jot THAT down. Mostly I really wanted like, a good long Alyosha/Arrell backstory and like…no one else was gonna write it…not even Austin…so alas this burden fell to me. I have toyed with the idea of writing Arrell’s version of this but god, it would be so depressing. 

Anyway! Here’s the mind meld scene, you’re welcome.

Story here!

Later–a few hours or days, I was not sure–I awoke, feverish, to see you bent over me, your hands clasped tight around one of mine. I thought for a moment that you were casting a spell, but I quickly realized that in fact you were murmuring the words of a prayer, so quiet I could barely make them out.

Arrell PRAYING as the obvious Oh Geez Things Are Bad marker, of course.

I still don’t know whether that moment was a dream, a conjured fantasy of mine: the idea that I could be the only thing you would dare to have faith for. But, figment or not, your prayer worked, and the next time I awoke my mind was clear once again. You weren’t there. I spared a moment to be upset before I heard you speak, clear as if you were standing in front of me: I went out to get food. I’ll be back soon, Alyosha. And underneath your words I could hear a heartbeat, running much quicker than my own. My mouth tasted acrid. I stood up shakily to drink some water, but the bitterness on my tongue remained. I realized, as my breathing began to pick up, that it was your fear.

This was a scene I really wanted to get into this fic because I do really love the idea that Arrell is just….Deeply Afraid, all the time. And like it does not excuse what an unforgivable jerk he is! But it does make me really sad. My capacity to be sad about jerks truly is boundless. 

You had used this spell on me once or twice before, although never for long. Once so that I could run an errand for you, to choose the right book from a large stock that a merchant carried. Another time so that I could give you directions to a particular bakery I wanted you to buy my favorite rolls from. A third time on a rare occasion when we travelled together, to ensure that neither of us became lost. Simple and frivolous things like that. But it did not work the way that it should. You had explained it to me: this spell was meant for simple communication between minds. And any other time you used it, that was how it worked. But between us, our thoughts bled together like cheap ink on paper, and nothing you did could stop it.

Dungeon World: Yeah so telepathy is just like, a normal telepathy spell that works to send messages, nothing weird here!

Me: Okay but what if it was a fucked up involuntary mind meld thing in this specific instance? You know just for fun?

Anyway, I think them using telepathy so Alyosha could give him directions to a bakery is really cute. Nothing is more romantic than bread! Just ask Hella.

The mystery and intimacy of it bothered you and delighted me. But you never agreed to test it further, to discover precisely why this spell worked differently when you used it on me, rather than anyone else.

Arrell obviously being like. Can’t let my boyfriend read my mind he might find out about the oncoming heat death of the universe, and actually try to help me with that! God I hate him. 

I let the subject drop. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, and clearly to share your thoughts so closely with me did. I tried not to blame you for that. It was a normal thing, to dislike such claustrophobic intimacy, even with me.

And I knew why it was different. I could feel it, in the press of your heart against mine.

Aside from it being this way for Narrative Purposes, I do think being in love making your telepathy spell too intimate by default IS romantic.

But you hated that closeness, and I could not blame you for it–you, who believed so fervently in the separateness of humanity from one another. I have never agreed with you in that, but I could only respect the belief you held so tightly.

WE’RE MOSAICS MISSING EMBELLISHMENTS, ARRELL!! BITCH!!

I sat back down on my bed and closed my eyes, and I thought about what you had done. You had not wanted me to wake up alone, and so you opened a connection between us, something you hated desperately.

I let that knowledge settle into my gut over your anxiety, and I waited for you to return, content that for just a small moment, we were closer to one person than two.

Oh yeah I forgot I put the Plato soulmates story earlier in this fic…Alyosha is really into the idea of two people being so connected they’re one person, which sure means he should’ve picked a different boyfriend. Or maybe he is that way because he has such a standoffish on again-off- again boyfriend! fun to contemplate.

You returned with two covered dishes, and set them down with a clatter on the table before you came to me. You fell to your knees before me, hands on my thighs, your head bowed. You said my name, ragged.

“I’m all right. I promise you I’m all right.” I ran my hand through the short bristly hair at the back of your neck. I could see your back shaking. I could feel inside my head the sobs you were not letting escape. “Tutor, please, look at me.”

You did. I’d never seen you look so scared, not in the years and years we had known each other. And I could feel it, too. Fear for my well-being, fear that you would be left alone, fear that soon enough we would all be gone–

“Tutor,” I said, fear clawing at my throat, tears stinging at my eyes. I bent over you, pressed my lips to the crown of your head, my loose hair falling around us, sealing us off from the rest of the world. If I could just protect you from the dark–

The tail end of these paragraphs being Arrell’s thoughts bleeding into Alyosha’s, and getting really close to letting Alyosha know about the H&D. I do really love coming up with situations where characters thoughts can bleed together–this happens in the aly/arr/hadrian fic too (thanks, dungeon world spell Cage, which does explicitly allow mind-reading) and the vanven fic. I just think it’s neat!

I felt you raise your hand and wave it in the air, a dismissive gesture, ending the spell. All at once the fear ebbed, a tide returning to sea, and I could breathe again. I gasped and sat back.

And of course the moment Alyosha starts to get a sense of what exactly Arrell is scared of, Arrell is like oh shit, let’s NOT do that. I mean also because he was low-key giving Alyosha a panic attack.

“What–Tutor, I don’t understand–”

Your hands gripped my knees tightly, hard enough that I could feel your nails biting into my skin. “I thought that I would come back and find you gone. That something I had done would be wrong, or something I didn’t do–”

“It was just a fever. I didn’t meant to scare you.” I wiped the tears from my eyes. “Do you always feel like that?”

“It’s nothing,” you said. Head bowed once again. Hiding your eyes.

Yes, he always feels like that. ugh Arrell SAY WHAT YOU MEAN

I couldn’t bear to force you to speak, though maybe then would have been the only time I could–you were already so cracked open before me. But I wanted to see you smile again. I wanted to take the fear from your eyes. I wanted to convince you I was alive. And this was the problem I could see, so I pulled you up by your forearms and folded you into my arms, my mouth pressed against your ear. “I’m here,” I said, over and over, and you clung to me, your tears hot against my neck.

Alyosha is such a good boyfriend and Arrell does NOT deserve him. Anyway, for Arrell to actually be crying you KNOW he must’ve been really fucked up. One supposes that dealing with the impending death of the universe is fine, but when you add ‘my boyfriend is really sick’ into the mix then it just becomes unmanageable. 

Eventually you stood and dusted yourself off. The food you brought had gone cold, but we ate it together on the bed. Your eyes followed me as if magnetized, as if you couldn’t let me out of your sight. In time you returned to your duties, and I to mine, but for that long day we were simply together, not speaking much, basking in the surety of one another’s presence. I thought whatever darkness you so feared, we could act as one another’s lights. I thought we could stand against it, together. The sort of solutions children think of, that I have yet to grow out of. What creeping monster under a bed cannot be defeated by a light?

This is a sideway reference to one of the letters, where Alyosha talks about the prelate: “the sort of questions children ask.”

I talk about Alyosha/his beliefs in terms of light a lot, both in this fic and others–I mean obviously it’s a good set up in opposition to the Heat and the Dark, and a Samothes thing, but also I think because it reflects like, a kind of simplicity of faith that he has. How do you defeat great evil? Well, with light. Alyosha loves Kingdom Hearts, is what I’m saying. Or he did before he got stuck in the forge!!

I think, even now, that there are still embers within you, Tutor, waiting to be stoked. I remember the way you held onto me so tightly, the naked fear in your eyes. You care so much. You always have, reluctant as you are to show it. I know you want to save us. To save me. But I wish you would give some thought to what will be left of yourself. You, too, deserve saving. Yes, Tutor; even now.

Ugh this shit is sad. Like I know I wrote it but it’s sad? I think I find Arrell so tragic because I truly do think he cares, for the world and for Alyosha. He’s just really bad at it.

anyway, the only other important part of this fic is the time Arrell falls off a horse, which he deserves.

[clementineskesh]

dO noT WRIte Me. dO NOt stuDy tHe sOUnD oF My naMe.

Tutor Arrell??

[joaquimblog]

Irene Mas, Jorge Franco, Roberto Maietta, Carles Pachón i Núria Vinyals. La Scala di Seta Fotog© A Bofillrafia

Roberto Maietta i Carles Pachón a La Scala di Seta Teatre de Sarrià Fotografia © A Bofill

Carles Pachón, Irene Mas, Jorge Franco i Roberto Maietta. La Scala di Seta Teatre de Sarrià Fotografia © A Bofill

Jorge Franco, Irene Mas, Carles Pachón i Roberto Maietta. La Scala di Seta Teatre de Sarrià Fotografia © A Bofill

Jorge Franco i Irene Mas La Scala di Seta Teatre de Sarrià Fotografia © A Bofill

Els Amics de l’Òpera de Sarrià han inaugurat la cinquena temporada de l’Òpera de Cambra de Barcelona amb la farsa de Gioachino Rossini, La Scala di Seta.

Segurament estem davant de la producció globalment més reeixida de les he vist fins ara a Sarrià. Aquest projecte que va començar amb molta empenta s’ha anat consolidant i agafa consistència i personalitat, arrelant no tan sols al barri que l’acull, si no en l’àmbit operístic de la ciutat, quelcom imprescindible per garantir el futur d’una iniciativa formidable i imprescindible que omple un buit que hauria de cobrir el Liceu si disposés de la sala alternativa tan reivindicada i que ni tan sols en el Foyer, anys enrere tan actiu, ha pogut tenir cabuda.

El Teatre de Sarrià va apostar per aquest somni quimèric i al voltant del suport dels Amics de l’Òpera de Sarrià s’ha fet possible. Arribar fins aquesta cinquena temporada que no podia iniciar millor amb una versió magnífica de la farsa rossiniana i amb un èxit de públic que ha omplert la sala els dos dies i que esperem que es repeteixi en les properes representacions al Teatre El Prado de Sitges el proper divendres 8 de febrer i al Teatre Conservatori de Manresa el proper diumenge 10 de de febrer, en aquesta lloable i entusiasmant d’exportació sarrianenca a altres punts de la geografia catalana tan necessitats d’òpera.

Davant de l’Orquestra Barcelona Concertante integrada per 20 musics (segurament  una formació molt similar a la de l’estrena) va dirigir amb precisió i molt atent als cantants el mestre Assunto Nese. Tenint en compte que l’orquestra només es reuneix per fer les produccions de Sarrià cal dir que el resultat és molt meritori, amb prestacions solistes de relleu, molt en estil i guspirejant. Amb més assaigs els resultats podrien ser molt meritoris. Bravo!

També bravo a Viviana Salisi en la sempre poc agraïda però imprescindible tasca en els recitatius, del baix continuo.

L’equip vocal, sobretot el masculí, va obtenir un merescudíssim èxit.

La soprano Irene Mas, que ja havia cantat a Sarrià la producció de Il Signor Bruschino  interpretava el rol de Giulia amb desimboltura i estil, però en aquesta ocasió amb una tendència a emfatitzar en la zona més aguda algunes notes que potser no calia, ja que en els sobreaguts és quan la veu perdia seva entitat i precisió. Va fer molt bé les coloratures i les variacions, només em va semblar més insegura en l’atac a les notes més extremes i en la zona més baixa del registre en els concertants. Segurament la partitura demana un lírica coloratura, no pas una lleugera coloratura i això fa que en els passatges més centrals i greus, la veu de Mas quedés més apagada i poc audible.

Germano va ser el baríton Roberto Maietta que havia entusiasmat tant a Il Signor Bruschino en la temporada 2017 com la passada amb el sensacional Tarabotto de  l’Inganno Felice. Una altra vegada assoleix l’èxit de la representació per estil, veu i per una capacitat innata en apoderar-se de l’escena i concentrar l’atenció al seu voltant. En totes les intervencions va estar magnífic però va ser en la seva escena “Amore dolcemente” on va obtenir un clamorós i merescut triomf. Bravo!

El Dorvil del tenor Jorge Franco també va ser una agradable sorpresa per l’estil, la qualitat i elegància del fraseig i l’habilitat tècnica en els passatges ornamentats, només algun sobreagut va quedar una mica deslluït. Va ser justament aplaudit a “Vedrò qual sommo incanto”.

Carles Pachón es va fer càrrec del rol de Blansac. Vocal i escènicament va estar esplèndid tot i que el rol demana una mica més de registre greu, ja que l’hauria d’assumir un basso cantante que ell no és, però el va saber dotar de la gràcia i fatxenderia que requereix el rol. Originalment no té cap ària i s’acostuma a incorporar-ne una d’alguna altra òpera. A Pesaro en la darrera edició Carlo Lepore cantava “Alle voci dell’amore”, una ària preciosa escrita a la mateixa època que la farsa però que es desconeix a quina òpera pertanyia. A Sarrià van triar “Le femmine d’Italia” de l’Italiana in Algeri, que Pachón va cantar amb brillantor, lluint una veu de baríton fresca i molt prometedora. Estem davant d’una de les futures figures de l’òpera a casa nostra.

El rol de Lucilla va anar a càrrec de la mezzosoprano Núria Vinyals que va resoldre amb eficàcia les seves intervencions, no gaire compromeses, ja que Rossini no li va donar cap ària. La veu càlida flueix bé en la seva zona central, mentre que en la banda aguda perd qualitat i bellesa. Tot i així el rol no permet esplaiar-se gaire.

El rol menor del tutor Dormont va anar a càrrec del tenor Elias Juan Ongay.

La proposta escènica, deguda a Anna Ponces, compta amb una senzilla escenografia a càrrec dels alumnes del 3er grau en disseny d’espai de l’escola Elisava i d’un vestuari contemporani dissenyat per Núria Cardoner. Ponces contemporaneïtza l’acció com ho feia Michieletto a Pesaro, però es va difícil entendre les situacions descrites en aquest vodevil blanquinós, amb noies per casar, tutors, galants i criats, que pugen a l’apartament per una escala que no es precisa ment de seda i que es transforma en una poc poètica bastida.

Tampoc crec que marcar la gestualitat de Germano i Blansac tan exagerada, s’escaigui gaire amb un comportament contemporani i potser amb perruques i levites hagués quedat més creïble. Tot i així tan Maietta com Pachón ho exageren i s’ho passen en gran, altre cosa és que no quedi una mica caricaturesc, fins i tot en un entorn de farsa vodevilesca.

A Barcelona de moment no, però a Sitges i a Manresa encara es podrà gaudir d’aquesta refrescant i divertida proposta, musicalment molt cuidada i vocalment brillant, tots els que us ho heu perdut teniu l’oportunitat de repescar-la, no us en penedireu.

TEATRE DE SARRIÀ 2019: LA SCALA DI SETA Els Amics de l'Òpera de Sarrià han inaugurat la cinquena temporada de l’Òpera de Cambra de Barcelona amb la farsa de…

[thebestestbat]

Excerpts from Exarch Alyosha's letters to the scholar Arrell

(How I wish we could walk its halls and debate the merits of its exhibits—but ah, it’s more than snow that separates us these days.)  So instead, let me ask you a question, dearest Arrell...

I will not open old wounds—I do not want you to convince me of this heresy—I only wonder: Do you still believe it?

My Tutor, you bear no malice in your appraisal of the world, I know. But you forget: We are both refugees too--and though we too were stripped of our nations, we found our own culture, no?  Strange bedfellows indeed... In the life of an exile there is despair. But in the life of two, there is hope.

I will remain. I must, now more than ever. And I will see you again, under the sun. But please Tutor, next time, just say what you mean.

Or, perhaps I can lure your eyes from your sense of duty, as I learned to do years ago.

Had you heard that one, already Arrell? Do I bore you? Yes, I know my effort to keep your eye is narcissism. Yes, I know that you'd tell me (if you weren't so busy) that I risk admonishment. Have you not considered that my misbehavior has always been by design?

You are not yet gone, I know that much, they've told me. So let us at least carry on correspondance until you truly leave. I dare not wait for you.

In the face of that soot-stuff, I let you go with a wish, Lion's Tooth on the wind. Do not write me. Do not study the sound of my name or the curves of my hand. Do not grieve--we are too busy for grief now.

You'll understand the moments our eyes meet.

Your pupil,

Alyosha