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#diversity in middle earth
mirra-kan · 1 year
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FAITHFUL HARADRIM KING I created several lore-friendly OCs to represent the Faithful haradrims. This is Yaroh the Just from Near Harad. Khisar's Father. This might turn to a ZIne one day, I believe ☽ ☼ ☾ 
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vickysaurus · 11 months
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Thinking about the Boring Billion. From 1.8 to 0.8 billion years ago, not much changed about life on Earth, nor even about the abiotic conditions of Earth itself. Earth, it seemed, had entered stasis. She was a planet almost three billion years old, her fiery Hadean childhood long behind her. The Archaean eon had brought water and life, had made her unique among her siblings. The young Earth had evolved many different kinds of prokaryotes, doing all sorts of fascinating things, making and using sulphur, methane, carbon dioxide, and eventually oxygen. Her atmosphere transformed, her skies turned blue, her oceanic iron settled into minerals, and life evolved symbiosis to grow into new, larger eukaryotic forms perfectly adapted to the oxygen. There were even some brief, quickly abandoned experiments with multicellularity. Earth was a bright young planet full of promise.
And then... nothing. As poised as the Earth seemed for her next big thing, it just didn’t come. She kept on spinning around the Sun as she always had, and her life, as chemically intricate and beautiful as it was in its own way, kept on doing largely the same things. What developments there were seemed slow, small, perhaps taking far longer than they needed to. And as the long ages of the Proterozoic stretched into a billion years, life on Earth, it seemed, was all it ever would be. Blue skies, blue seas with fascinating little unicellular creatures under their surface, and rocky continents dancing their slow tectonic dance. It wasn’t a bad existence, to be sure, and it must’ve been difficult to imagine it ever changing. After all, over a quarter of the planet’s existence had been like this. Earth’s future looked to be a few more billion years of it before her eventual fiery end.
But long before the Sun’s fire came for her, it was ice that finally broke the Earth. As she neared her fourth billion, the worst ice age Earth ever experienced came over her. Whether because of an unfortunate configuration of continents, a big shift in atmospheric gases, a lack of volcanism, a fluctuation in the Sun, a shift in her orbit, or some combination of these, the Cryogenian period brought glaciers all the way down to the equator. Earth, so full of life and wonder once upon a time, now looked like distant frozen Europa as the worst crisis since the Late Heavy Bombardment turned the planet into a glacial grave. And just when the ice retreated, when it seemed like things were looking up - the planet immediately froze over a second time.
But her life was tenacious and somehow clung on, in the liquid oceans below the ice and in the rare open seas around the equator. And when the ice thawed a second time and warmth returned, Earth did not return to her old stasis. When her life retook the formerly frozen wastes, it developed new tricks, new forms, spurred on by an atmosphere now more oxygenated than ever before. Multicellular life, mere experimental playthings in the past, became Earth’s hallmark and soon filled her seas with animals, plants, and fungi. Fronds bloomed on the sea floor and gelatinous blobby creatures wandered in between them and they were like nothing that had ever appeared before. The Earth bloomed with this new life for a time.
But it turned out she didn’t get it quite right, ran into a dead end, and the Ediacaran garden withered as suddenly as it had bloomed. But from its remnants, a second attempt at animal life came, very different than before yet building on its successes and failures. And this time, it seems, everything just clicked. From so simple a beginning, endless forms most beautiful and most wonderful evolved, every one of them begetting a hundred new possibilities, starting a runaway chain of creatures that would soon turn the bare continents green and even soar in the skies. After four billion years, the Earth finally reached the beautiful and unique potential that had been so unimaginable during those billion years that lie so far in the past and are so easily forgotten now.
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dangerliesbeforeyou · 8 months
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oh btw im finally watching the rings of power lol!
i'm only on ep 2 but already i know i WOULD die for galadriel and she would probably b like 'lol why'd u do that??' afterwards but i wouldnt care cos i love her sm
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moonssugar · 2 years
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not the cast and crew of various franchises having to make twitter announcements about now they don’t stand for racism after their actors get harassed to hell and back by fans every single goddamn time
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persephonaae · 2 years
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So glad I have notifications on for you so I see the tags not to watch the new LotR show.
💜
Gosh please no one fucking watch that shitshow, not only is it already wildly out of canon and thematic elements of the original text, they cast some actors way too young for certain characters, their costume design is sorely lacking both conceptually and in terms of actual garment construction, hair and makeup look absolutely wack, and while at surface level it’s nice that people of color are finally being offered a place in the Tolkien legendarium, but even scratching that surface shows a lot of heavy tokenization and stereotyping in the types of characters they are depicting, and most of the characters they cast as color are also characters they just made up for the show which sets them up for even higher scrutiny of white Tolkien purists
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requinoesis · 2 months
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What got you started on the anthropomorphic sharks as characters? I love them very much I just wish to learn the origin of this idea.
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I'm delighted that you're interested in them!
They are part of a world belonging to a cosmology that I created several years ago with the intention of seeing how far I could go creatively with sharks, which could captivate people to get to know their reality through a good fantasy story.
There's a lot to tell, from events involving a dying ancestral presence that now lives on in the sharks' dreams to misadventures involving a human who has been chosen as the sharks' herald, and many things I still want to keep secret.
Everything culminates in this shark civilization, which will appear on Earth millions of years post-anthropocene, humanity resting in the deepest beds of the Earth, now only as a little-understood archaeological curiosity.
But a mysterious presence has influenced these shark inhabitants to follow a human-like line of civilization, because it's the only way known to work in creating a diversity of creativity, philosophy and life experiences, which is what an entity was looking for to heal its wounded soul.
So they only have buildings, cars and clothes like us because humanity existed at some point to inspire a kind of path. Otherwise, they would probably have evolved to be great wild beasts for a cosmic destiny.
The story ended up being too long to tell, with millions of years of distance from one plot to the next. There are things happening from tribalistic and medieval times to events in the distant technological and space future.
Then this world was born! It is in the "middle" of the history of this civilization, in a period very similar to humanity between 1980~2000. At first it was just an idea that came up when I did an illustration of these sharks of mine in a retro period, I liked the aesthetic so much that I started to explore it further and now it's become a story that I'm managing to converge everything I wanted to tell about them in just one story.
The three sharks in the band are just some of the protagonists who are part of this story that I want to tell at some point.
I'm sorry if I've written too much, I don't know how to summarize things and sorry if there are any anomalies in the English, I used a translator.
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velvet4510 · 3 months
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Despite the conservative sides of his viewpoints that have been written about time and again, we really must give Tolkien some credit for the unique embrace of diversity that he does provide at the heart of LOTR.
Three times across history, a Man and an Elf fall in love and break the rules of Elven culture to be together.
Four Hobbits, two Men, an Elf, a Dwarf, and a Maia - a total of five different races - come together from completely different walks of life, form a Fellowship, and become a family. They each share pieces of their own culture with the others, and the others embrace those pieces.
When a Dwarf is treated with discrimination by Elves, the rest of the Fellowship stand up for him and insist on being treated the same way he is (i.e. blindfolded), and he and the Elf of the Fellowship break through the barriers of cultural prejudice and build an unbreakable friendship.
A Man sacrifices his life to save two Hobbits.
A Man, an Elf, and a Dwarf forsake all other possible tasks and run on foot for hundreds and hundreds of miles on a rescue mission for two Hobbits.
The teamwork of two Hobbits and a group of Ents overpower their mutual enemy and turn the tide of a war.
A Man provides two Hobbits with encouragement as well as extra supplies which end up helping them survive the rest of their journey.
A Hobbit finds a father figure in an elderly Man.
The teamwork of a Woman and a Hobbit brings about the death of an evil it was said could never be killed.
The teamwork of a Maia and a Hobbit save a Man’s life.
An Elf and a Dwarf do not hesitate to follow a Man down a dark and dangerous pathway.
The combined forces of Men, an Elf, a Dwarf, and a Hobbit take on a hopeless battle merely to buy time for two other Hobbits to complete their mission.
A Man bows to two Hobbits at his own coronation.
A lost kingdom is restored by a dynasty begun by a Man/Elf couple.
A Maia offers a special gift to two wounded Hobbits and personally escorts them to a place where they will finally find peace.
Two Hobbits, eventually followed by a third, leave their homeland behind and build a new, beautiful life among Elven culture, into which they are accepted with open arms.
An Elf resists the “irresistible” call of the Sea to stand by his mortal friend, a Man, for as long as his friend lives.
A Hobbit names his son after a Man whom he has befriended.
A young Hobbit girl is honored by an Elf queen and later names her children after honorable figures of Elven history.
Two elderly Hobbits are warmly welcomed into a city of Men to live out their last years, and the ruler of these Men requests to be buried beside them.
The Elf/Dwarf odd-couple duo break the rules one last time and sail off together to a place where Dwarves are usually not allowed to be … a place where they can reunite with their other surviving friends, two Hobbits and a Maia.
Middle-Earth is a melting pot of love and acceptance across cultures and races. Tolkien may not have covered all the bases in his exploration of diversity, but by golly, did he cover a lot of them. He wrote a story in which people of completely different backgrounds form unbreakable bonds that change the fate of the world for the better.
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captainnswift · 2 years
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on rings of power
listen. as a brown girl who grew up in new zealand, ADORING lord of the rings but being keenly aware of how there was no representation for me in it, i LOVE the idea of having diverse actors and poc in a tolkien adaptation. i would eat that shit up!!! are you kidding me!!! little me would have died dead!!!!!
but i don't want it from amazon. from bezos' sticky fingers themselves (and let's be honest, do you think amazon really cares about representation?). i don't want it if it disrespects the source material, is affiliated with amazon, if it's a clear cash grab bootleg game of thrones. i don't want it when the creators have said that they think they could do a better job crafting middle earth than tolkien himself.
so no, people on tumblr who claim that every single person who opposes rings of power must be somehow influenced by the (very real and disgusting) racist side of the fandom. that's a very shallow take for fans who are poc like me. i grew up watching peter jackson's movies, and yes while they were also capitalist enterprises from top to bottom, there's so much love in those movies. every single shot is so lovingly made and maybe as a new zealander i'm biased because i know people who worked on the films and i've seen the sets and so forth.
jeff bezos and amazon are not capable of crafting tolkien's beautiful world with love. if they were, they would have given the elves their luscious long hair. they would have given Dis a beard. they wouldn't have girlbossed galadriel when her story is powerful enough on its own without her being a warrior, and they wouldn't have been so arrogant towards the creator of the stories they are now telling. not to mention, tolkien specifically uses lotr as a stance against industrialism and the destruction of the environment - two things amazon literally EMBODIES to a t. for them to tell tolkien's stories just feels...wrong.
i'm not going to judge anyone who does watch the show. i'm going to welcome any new tolkien fans with open arms. but i won't be watching it, and this is why. and it doesn't make me a flaming racist. it just means that lotr means the world to me and i don't trust amazon to handle it as gently as it deserves.
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pleasured-ambrosia · 7 months
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hi!! could you do a drabble of miguel protecting fem!reader from an ex or something like that? also i love your work !!
((Might get put on Ao3. Have not decided. College is hard. This was also written to be like pre-ASTV, back when Miguel wasn’t so sad and grumpy.))
The sound of your back popping breaks the long silence in Miguel’s office, your arms stretching to the ceiling as you let out a yawn. You had begun the long process of cataloging the many anomalies faced by fellow Spider-People that morning. However, even as the little clock at the bottom of your laptop screen flashes the late hour of the night, your stack of encounters is still tall enough to wobble at the slightest bump against your desk. The reports—if one could even call them that—are a mix of typed and written sheets of paper, as well as the stray napkin blobbed with ketchup or more mysterious substances.
Although it had been your idea to keep a database of anomaly encounters, you couldn’t have predicted that Spider-People had such . . . diverse forms of keeping track of their adventures.
A mug appears in your peripheral, breaking you from your thoughts. Your eyes follow the large hand wrapped around its handle, landing on the vague shape of Miguel O’Hara’s face, lit only by the orange hues of his computers. At one point, he had offered to teach you how to use them, but the process only put off your project’s completion further.
“I’m just taking a break,” you half-defend, half-yawn.
“Nah,” replies Miguel, nudging the mug closer to you. “You’re done for the night. Get some sleep.”
You sipped from the mug, letting the taste of herbal tea drown out your complaints. Your eyes take in Miguel’s form, noting that his usual blue and red suit was replaced with a gray jogging suit better-suited for your dimension than his. “No patrolling tonight?”
“I will after I take you home.”
You raise a brow with a small grin. “I can work a portal just fine, you know.”
“It’s not that.” Miguel’s stance shifts as he shoves his large hands into his pockets. “I just want to make sure you get home safe.”
Your grin widens. “So I can’t take care of myself, is that it?”
Miguel lets out a frustrated noise from the back of his throat. “No, I didn’t mean it like that . . . Por Dios, I just mean—“
“Miguel, relax. I’m messing with you. Walk me home if you want, but I have to stop by the store on the way home. Sound good?”
“As long as it’s quick.” Yet Miguel didn’t seem to mean it, watching as you pack up your laptop and roll up its charging cable. The two of you look almost normal standing in Miguel’s office, with him dressed in sweats and you opting out of your Spider-ensemble for an oversized sweater and a pair of jeans. You sling your laptop bag over your shoulder, imagining what it would be like for Miguel to walk you to a train or a bus rather than busting out a portal. You could probably make a decent living off data entry, but what would Miguel do? Maybe he would be a scientist, and despite working in two different departments, maybe he would become your friend.
“What’re you thinking about?” Miguel asks. He taps a button on his watch (which he would insist is, in fact, way cooler than a watch.) A portal of geometric shapes in red, orange, and yellow opens in the middle of Miguel’s lab, swirling with anticipation.
The vision of Miguel in a white coat and a button-up makes you snort. “Nothing.”
Before Miguel can press further, you grab his forearm and drag him through the portal.
Miguel has more practice at inter-dimensional than you, so it wasn’t much of a surprise that he remained calm as the portal thrusted the two of you through time and space. You, however, are less professional, waving your arms and resisting the urge to scream as your stomach turns into knots.
Landing on his feet, Miguel catches you before you can face plant onto the pavement of Earth-575, otherwise known as home. Your face burns with embarrassment as it hits the center of his chest and your arms wrap around Miguel’s middle. He’s warm, you think. And soft!
It was obvious to everyone in the Spider-Society that Miguel was in great shape. After all, most of the Spider training regiments had come from some of his own workouts. The man could probably rearrange your apartment without breaking a sweat, which was why it came as such a shock that despite Miguel’s muscles, you feel ready to snuggle into him like a pillow.
“You should really work on sticking that landing.”
You push Miguel away to glare up at his smug face. “You’ll get humbled real fast when I knock your ass to the ground.”
At that, Miguel roars with laughter. “I’d like to see you try.”
You huff, spinning around to take a look at the nearest street sign. The nearest convenience store is only two blocks away, making your apartment only an extra two. “Let’s move it, O’Hara. If you’re nice, I’ll buy you a snack.”
Although Miguel could very well buy his own snacks, he follows you anyways, taking extra care to shorten his strides so that he can walk by your side. Most of the residents of your city are tucked in bed by now, although a handful of lights accompany the sporadic streetlights. Besides the occasional rat or partygoer, you and Miguel are the only ones still out.
“Did you think the college kids were going to kidnap me in the middle of the night?” you tease.
“Absolutely,” Miguel deadpans. “They’d lock you in the basement of their frat house, and you’d starve because they haven’t gone grocery shopping since the semester started.”
“Is that what you did in college? Lure people into your frat house of doom?”
“Absolutely not.” Miguel beams with pride, his chest puffing out. “I was on the quiz bowl team.”
Your cackles bounce off the tall buildings lining the streets. Tears spring from the corners of your eyes as you clutch your stomach to keep it from aching. You can picture it now: a scrawny, awkward Miguel with thick glasses frantically consulting his team for the championship-winning answer.
“And when did you become all of this?” you ask, gesturing at Miguel.
He ponders this for a moment. “I didn’t become Spider-Man until I joined Alchemax, but I guess I branched out a little more towards the end of undergrad. Got more into working out, making connections.”
You turn around a corner, finding the entrance to a small convenience store. A small bell rings as you pull open the door, Miguel propping his arm over your head so that you can enter first.
“I’ll just be a second,” you assure him.
“One,” Miguel starts.
“Real mature, O’Hara.”
“Two.”
“Seriously, I’m going to web your mouth shut.”
“Three.”
“I swear to God—“
“Four—“
You make a beeline for the coolers towards the back, tuning out Miguel’s chuckling. By the time you pick out a half-gallon of milk, he’s perusing the long aisles of chips. You never really stopped to ask what kind of brands and flavors Miguel has in his dimension. They banned cigarettes and absurdly large sodas at gas stations, but that was all you heard. You make a mental note to ask, maybe even to buy Miguel something new to try.
You load up on a mishmash of items that hardly pass for a late-night dinner, filling your arms with small plastic bowls of cereal, styrofoam cups of ramen, and an overpriced bag of beef jerky. It’s not until you start weighing the pros and cons of ice cream over chocolate that you notice him.
His hair is longer than when you saw him last, curling around his ears in dark tufts. His guitar case is slung over his shoulder, and judging by the heavy eyeshadow and leather pants, he must’ve had a gig earlier.
You decide to skip grabbing something sweet, spinning around to make a beeline for the cashier when he calls out your name.
Shit.
You turn around slowly, heart hammering in your throat. It takes everything in you to force a smile. “Kasey, hey.”
“Long time no see. Haven’t seen you at The Clover lately.”
“Oh, you know,” you’re thankful that the bundle of snacks in your arms gives you something to hold, “just been busy. Haven’t had time to go out.”
You used to rehearse this moment in the bathroom. You had a whole script where you laid everything out on the table—gave Kasey the verbal beat down he deserved. Yet as you stand across from him, the words won’t come out. Is it my Spidey-sense? you wonder, but this feels different. Your Spidey-sense always led you to action. Whatever this was . . . it was paralyzing.
“I tried texting you,” Kasey continues.
I changed my number, you want to say.
“I haven’t been checking my messages lately.” Your voice cracks at the end, and you can tell Kasey noticed. Kasey always noticed.
“We should grab a drink, then. I actually just finished up tonight if you want to—“
“Are you ready to go?”
A large arm wraps around the small of your back and pulls you close, prompting a small oomf. You tilt your head back to look at Miguel. “Oh, uh, yeah. I’m ready.”
Kasey says your name again and smiles, sending a shiver down your spine. “Aren’t you going to introduce us?”
Miguel smiles down at Kasey, who barely reaches his chest. The expression looks more like a test than one out of sincerity. “I’m Miguel, and you are interrupting our date.”
Before you can reply, Miguel steers you to the cashier. He sets a bag of chips you didn’t even realize he was holding onto the counter and waits for you to do the same. You reach for your wallet, but Miguel’s faster, handing the cashier a twenty and not bothering to wait for the change as he takes the plastic grocery bags. As he escorts you out of the convenience store, you catch one last glimpse of Kasey’s slack-jawed face.
“I can’t believe you just did that,” you moan halfway down the block.
“I have paid for your snacks plenty of times.”
“No, not that. You shut him up just like that!” You snap your fingers for emphasis. “And you said we were on a date. And you put your arm around me!”
“It was the first thing that came to mind!” argues Miguel. “I didn’t need your Spider-sense—“
“Spidey-sense.”
“Lo que sea—to tell that you needed a little help.”
A beat of silence passes.
“Some great hero I am,” you grumble. “Can’t even handle an ex-boyfriend on my own.”
“We all have people that get under our skin. And sometimes no matter how hard we try to get them out, we can’t.”
Miguel’s gaze focuses on the street ahead, his face contemplative.
“You know, a convenience store would be a pretty lame first date.”
Miguel shrugs. “Well, if you’re going to be so ungrateful, I guess I’ll just eat all of this junk food myself.”
You did not tease Miguel for the rest of the night.
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dragonthunders01 · 7 months
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Spectember D5: Sexual Selection
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Through the different timelines, there is an alternative world that witnessed a deep ice age in the Permian caused by a prominent shift of the continent crust moving Pangea down into the south pole and blocking ocean currents, worsening the life conditions and turning most of the continent in a tundra, in the aftermath when the position of Pangea returned to something like its original position life was changed greatly, as unlike in our timeline earth was not suffocated in fire but got cold so a new variety of animals developed and survived.
In the oceans, Holocephali had a resurgence post Permian mega ice age, as their groups did not suffer horrible, things like Petalodontiforms, Eugeneodontids and other did not perish, but then there were other more varied forms evolving too, some sample are within Chimaeriforms which they in a better spot now that they aren’t relegated to the deep ocean but as diverse surface dwellers, some groups started to exploit their clasper structure in ways that would make them look almost unfitting for survival, this as a response of sexual selection. From there, a new group evolved, the Clasperantlers (Delirocephalia)
They are short body forms, small caudal fins but with large pectoral fins, these have the peculiarity that male claspers now have become these super elaborated ornamental structures that works mostly for exhibition or fight, depending of the species. They derive from ornamental structures around the orbits and the whole dorsal fin spine that developed into an articulated claw-like structure, something resembling the ornamental spines of Symmoriiformes but capable of movement.
The most common species is the Pentanichecephale monstruorum, small in size, about 30 cm in length, females look pretty much average to a chimaera with short tail, with a small dorsal fin, but the male in the other hand possess an ostentatious arrangement of 5 long horn-like structures, being 2 pairs growing around the orbit, with the middle 5th one the derived dorsal fin. They tend to be moderate in size but when mating season approaches, they start to grow in size, being covered in layers of dead tissue and useful against other males, they can break and regenerate, males often have to stand multiple fights before mating with a female which can hold with the 5th horn.
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mirra-kan · 1 year
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Peoples of Middle Earth: character concept sketch Khand / Near Harad borderlands (?)
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No, Amazon’s Rings of Power is not “woke”
It annoys me so much when people complain about Rings of Power being “woke.” First of all, because of the way they overuse the word, woke has become a next-to-meaningless term that can be applied to anything conservatives don’t like. Second, Rings of Power is only progressive in the most surface-level way; underneath that it is in fact extremely regressive. People who whine about Rings of Power being woke are not only annoying, they’re also just plain wrong.
Ever since the casting was announced, right-wing idiots have been shrieking about Black actors being cast in Rings of Power. These trolls have made all kinds of dumb statements about how Middle-earth = Europe, but they seem willfully ignorant of the fact that Europe has never been exclusively white, and there is no reason to exclude people of color from the cast of any Tolkien adaptation. Still, this didn’t make the show progressive in its casting (which was tokenistic) or its writing (which ranges from bad to horrible).
For instance, the only storyline Amazon writers could apparently think of to introduce Arondir was literally him being enslaved. I mean, really? Is that really the best plotline to go with? To be clear, I’m not criticizing the actor, I’m criticizing the writing. In addition, Amazon cast actors of color overwhelmingly in parts invented for the show—rather than as actual Tolkien characters—which more easily allows them to be sidelined by the narrative, and the casting overall was in no way diverse enough. So I find it bizarre that people criticize the show for its so-called wokeness, when very little effort was made from a diversity and inclusion standpoint.
Right-wing nutjobs also threw a fit about Amazon portraying Galadriel as a warrior, to the point where they started calling her “Guyladriel.” They whined about Galadriel being too feminist and too masculine in the show, but that’s the opposite of what happened and betrays a fundamental misunderstanding of Galadriel as a character. First of all, she fought at Alqualondë in one version of the story, so no one should have a problem with her wielding a sword. What IS a problem is everything else about her portrayal.
Amazon’s writers took one of Tolkien’s most interesting characters and stripped her of her power, her authority, her gravitas, her wisdom, and her ambition. They had Gil-galad, her younger cousin, order her around. They had Elendil compare her to his children, even though she’s older than the sun and moon. And they made her a petty, naïve, incompetent brat whose entire first season involves being manipulated by Sauron, and as if that wasn’t bad enough, having a bizarre will-they-won’t-they relationship with him. In addition, Galadriel is canonically tall and strong, and one of her names means “man-maiden,” but they made her short and waif-like instead.
Galadriel in Amazon’s show doesn’t even resemble the character Tolkien wrote—the character named Nerwen, who never trusted Annatar, who certainly never had some creepy Reylo thing with him, who was powerful and wise and authoritative, who had a marvelous gift of insight into the minds of others—not a quippy, rude, annoying idiot who is constantly being controlled by the men around her. I don’t know why anyone would look at Rings of Power and think this portrayal is progressive. It’s actually a failure of imagination: Amazon’s writers literally cannot conceive of a powerful woman even when all of the work of imagining her has been done for them. In addition to the faux-feminist-and-actually-sexist portrayal of Galadriel, Rings of Power is also on the whole weirdly regressive from the standpoint of gender roles and gender expression. Tolkien’s Elves are canonically tall, beautiful, and long-haired, regardless of gender. Tolkien’s Dwarves all have beards. So what did Amazon do? They gave most of their male Elves short hair, while the female Elves still have long hair, and they did away with female Dwarves’ beards. They patted themselves on the back for “letting” Galadriel fight, but don’t show other female warriors—in battle scenes, for instance, why are all the soldiers male? In general, they made their characters adhere to conservative gender roles and gender expression, which is especially glaring because it contradicts what Tolkien actually wrote.
On top of all this, they decided to throw in some anti-Irish stereotypes with a side of classism, just for fun. They had the ragged, dirty, primitive Harfoots speaking in Irish accents, while the regal, ethereal, advanced Elves speak with English accents. None of the actors playing the Harfoots are Irish themselves, to my knowledge, which makes the choice to have them speak this way especially questionable. Seriously, who thought this was a good idea?
All in all, it makes absolutely no fucking sense to criticize Rings of Power for being woke. It may look progressive on the surface because there’s a Black Elf and a woman with a sword, but that’s as far as it goes. The show isn’t particularly diverse to begin with, and it treats its characters of color poorly. Galadriel’s portrayal is disgustingly regressive, as is the show’s overarching take on gender. This is to say nothing of the caliber of the writing in general, which is unsurprisingly low. There is so much to criticize—like the nonsense about mithril, or the fact that Celebrimbor of all people doesn’t understand alloys, or the fact that you can apparently swim across the Sundering Seas now—which makes complaining about the show’s supposed wokeness especially irrational.
I also have to wonder if the people still whining about wokeness know anything about Tolkien’s works. Do they know that the crown of Gondor was based on the crown of the Pharaohs of Egypt? Do they know that Tolkien considered Byzantium the basis for Minas Tirith? Do they know that female warriors already exist in Tolkien’s books? Do they know when they rant about how much they hate “Guyladriel” that Amazon’s portrayal is actually too feminine? Ultimately, people who complain about wokeness in Rings of Power—or any Tolkien adaptation—are just betraying their own idiocy. I honestly think if Tolkien’s books were published now conservatives would scream that they’re woke too.
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ronearoundblindly · 1 year
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Ransom x reader
Enemies to lovers , bot came from wealthy backgrounds as one is a trust fund (ran) then the other has her life getting good with a buissness outside her family . Why are they enemies at first? Shes admired for not relying on her folks too much as a teen and down to earth , enjoys the finer things as she views them as a reward or gift but ransom Demands that shit they also bicker how shes freinds with people bellow her and she sasses him how he always rely on perks thats petty
Warnings: so. much. cursing. It's all from Ransom's point of view, and since he's a disturbing(ly sexy) asshole, that translates to language. Plus smut (protected sex) MINORS DNI. 18+ ONLY. Reader's background/company is ambiguous. Also of note is the 'enemies' portion is quite subtle. WC 4k
The Root of All Ransom, Part One (see series)
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There’s new money and then there’s new money.
Ransom loves the smell of new, physical money, and because he spends so much of it, he gets to feel those crisp bills all the time. Sure, his black card gets the same look at a register, but the plastic gets tattered after a while. The metal cards are a nice touch. Hefty. Metal makes a great tapping sound when he’s bored of waiting for a retail worker to do their fucking job and let him leave already. Cash is easiest to toss down and run out. He likes all forms of money. Ransom is diverse that way.
You, however, you are the New Money, the shit that’s a title, the shit that’s been earned, and it reminds him of his mother’s ranting. ‘Self-made’ his ass. Grandpa Harlan never made Linda repay a dime; that’s not a million-dollar loan. That’s good, old-fashioned nepotism. That’s inheritance come early. Old Harlan is Old Money, but New Money You is just as stale.
“She’s a breath of fresh air,” the middle-aged woman beside him coos.
Fucking gross.
Each time Ransom sees you he gets a foul taste in his mouth. His nostrils flair. He can smell the budgeting on you even at a distance. For every one of these events (with swag bags and a charity write-off promise) where you make a speech after receiving an award for whatever—he’s already too bored to listen—Ransom drinks heavily to make it to the end of the night.
He hasn’t given a dime, mind you, but Harlan has, and Linda has. Neither of them ever wants to go hobnob. Linda would but can’t trust Richard at these things, so she sticks to daytime shindigs. Walt is a bumbling, awkward mess, so he can’t represent anything other than why big pharma for every neurosis exists. He’s not welcome. Instead, it falls to nowhere-else-to-be Ransom. 
He thought he’d hate the events as much as the company until he found a thick, silver lining: some starry-eyed wannabe is always seated at an adjacent table. Handsome, young Ransom is guaranteed someone to go home with. Bonus points if they give head during the car ride.
Tonight though, he fucks up.
Ransom Drysdale makes the mistake of chatting up your date: your friend, Mariah, from high school who’s in town for the weekend. She’s doing a remarkable impression of a bimbo socialite, and he’s already wasted most of the meal trying to land an unattainable prize—though not a worthwhile prize, obviously.
It’s not his fault; he was at the bar when you and Mariah arrived, so he had no clue.
He expects you to be defensive once you make your way back to the table after your speech and find your friend with him. Ran is sure his reputation precedes him. He looks great in the photo ops just as he looks for great ass. He thinks your smile seems forced until you get closer. All you do is tell them to enjoy themselves.
Mariah here looks like she’s about to drop to her knees under the table, and you’re gonna let her?
You can’t possibly be stupid enough to trust him, can you?
He snorts out a chuckle, thinking you may know your business but you clearly do not know people. He wants to fuck Mariah. Then he really wants Mariah to tell you about fucking him, ad nauseam, hopefully, multiple times. Then he’s not sure whether he’d prefer you want to fuck him or you be mad about him fucking Mariah. He’ll have to wait and see.
“Isn’t she the best,” Mariah tosses out as flippantly as her hair extensions over her exposed shoulders. “I’m surprised she wanted me to come instead of a real date.”
“Sure,” he swigs his whisky quickly, “but then I wouldn’t get you for the evening, too.”
If he’s not mistaken, Mariah just soaked the pretty little thong he can just see the outline of in her tight dress, so Ran lays on a few more easy moves and thinks it’s a done deal.
Alas, he is wrong, and you and your friend leave together smiling while he races to text a booty call to meet at his place in a half-hour.
It’s all very frustrating, and Ransom hates you that much more.
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Ransom has two new coats, a half-dozen new shirts, a three-piece suit, three new pairs of shoes, and he’s looking for the piece de resistance: a scarf (or several).
He loves accessories because he loves to change things up. He gets bored extremely easily, and he feels better when he treats himself.
In Hermès, he eyes a few options. He might even bother to get that one for his mother just because it has a few hideous accent colors he knows she’ll hate. Linda will still smile tightly and fake gratitude; it’s the only type of gratitude she knows. He doesn’t find anything for himself though, so he heads to the counter and recognizes the curves of a woman’s backside…in a dress that he’s seen in multiple candid tabloid shots.
How old is that garment? Jesus. Have some pride, woman.
His bored greeting startles you.
“Mr. Drysdale,” you exclaim, hand over your heart, “good to see you again.”
Is it?
“Right,” he grumbles roughly. “What brings you out of your goodie-two-shoes hole this afternoon?”
You seem excited, but in a different way than he’s ever noticed. At events, you are the picture of humility, full of genuine gratitude (and possibly the only reason he knows what that looks like), but this is something else.
The salesman returns with your order and unboxes a Birkin bag for you to inspect.
Now you’re just plain giddy, overjoyed, and vibrating, and Ransom preens a little to see Ms. High-and-Mighty so lowered as to indulge in retail therapy.
That’s a twenty-five thousand dollar bag you’re holding.
“Nice color,” Ransom chides, but he isn’t rewarded with your deterrence. You simply turn to beam at him.
“My favorite!” Your hands return to sweeping over the beautiful pebbled leather. “I had to wait for years—which is fine—“ you quickly add “—but I promised myself I’d do ten hours a week of volunteer work to earn such an extravagance.”
“Are you going to use it?”
You nod without turning back to him.
“Are you going to enjoy it?”
Another saleswoman motions to help him with the scarf he holds, and Ransom says nothing to her but drops his black card on the counter.
“Very much so,” you say quietly, almost like a confession.
“Then what’s so crazy about that?”
You giggle. You actually giggle. You don’t tell him how wrong he is or judge his spending in any way, which is surprising when that’s all those events he knows you from are for—to get him to spend money their way.
Ransom doesn’t know what compels him to stand there with his small purchase and watch while your bag gets squared away. You don’t choose to wear it out of the store, something he finds patently ridiculous because it’s a fucking Birkin and you’re about to walk out of Hermes with it in a box in another bag.
He pushes off the counter to walk out with you, an idea springing up.
“You’ve met my mother, I believe.”
Your polite smile gives nothing away. “Yes, a few times. Very briefly.”
“Her birthday is next month—” he lets an employee open the door for you both “—her sixtieth, allegedly.”
“Oh, well, tell her happy birthday for me.”
“You could come.”
Your face scrunches but whether from his offer or the bright sun on the street, he doesn’t know. His sunglasses are already on. You rummage around in what looks like a tapestry bag on the bad side of vintage for yours. 
This is why you should have left using the Birkin, and he’s honestly surprised Hermès even served you looking like you do.
Where’s all that new money now, he thinks, because one bag is certainly not all of it.
“Why not? You both own businesses and run in similar circles.”
“Hugh, I don’t think—“
“Ransom,” he corrects with a sneer.
“Well, I just…” You regard him thoroughly for a long moment until a black car pulls up and its driver opens the door for you.
There it is. There’s a bit of pomp. He’s almost proud to see you being served. You’re just like him—or rather his family—in a way; you have help.
“Fine,” you say to Ransom while nodding to your driver, “text me the details, and I’ll see if I’m in town.” Even though your words are dismissive, they sound genuine and kind.
Yuck.
Your driver fishes a card from his breast pocket and curtly adds a ‘sir,’ before shutting you behind tinted windows.
Ok, so it’s not the easiest ‘yes’ he’s ever gotten. It wasn’t a ‘no’ either. Good news is that Ransom is not holding his breath. If it works, it works.
The idea is to flaunt you in front of Linda, not romantically, of course, but as a younger woman, perceived as better, more self-made, more successful, with a Birkin bag in his mother’s actual favorite color, while he gives her a scarf she’ll be revolted by. It’s perfect.
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This did not at all go to plan.
Linda is supposed to be pissed. She’s supposed to be appalled and furious and have to hide that from her guests—which is most of the family, catering staff, and Harlan’s house help. She’s supposed to look at Ransom and know that he did this on purpose.
He told you not to bring a present for a reason, but he made damn sure when he picked you up that you were wearing that damn bag.
How the fuck was he supposed to know you’d go and be the dumbest bitch ever?
Linda got through two whole sentences of greeting after obviously clocking the Birkin and then turned it about her. She’s predictable that way, but you are not.
“That’s my favorite color,” she said.
“Mine too,” you said.
You both fucking laughed.
“I’ve always wanted one,” she said.
“You should have one,” you said.
He should have known right then except for on what planet does someone…
Ransom only stepped out for a few minutes to mess with Walt, smoking that sickening cigar. When he comes back in, there on the table right beside Linda is your bag. He looks around, but you aren’t in the living room. Then his mom smiles and pets the Birkin possessively.
“Oh, Ran, that girl is so sweet,” Linda coos.
Richard snorts in astonishment. “She’s really something.”
Ransom cringes at the lustful leer on his father’s face while he stares off toward the library.
What the shit? 
You gave his mother your bag? After one minute of conversation?
God fucking damn it.
He has no words. Ran just purses his lips and stalks off to the other room in search of you. You’re deep in conversation with Harlan, seated across from each other in the bay windows of the library in high-backed upholstered chairs. On the floor beside your foot is a Blood Like Wine tote, partially filled.
“Grandpa,” he interrupts, leaning one arm against your chair with a questioning gaze.
“Ransom, my boy, it’s good to see you.” Before he can get a word in, Harlan waves an arthritis-gnarled hand in your direction. “Have you met my neighbor?”
“Neighbor?”
You shrug with a weak smile. “I purchased the Carlyles’ old property last year but kept my apartment in town.”
He’s thrown off by this news, thinking. “That’s walking distance from here,” Ransom says flatly.
“Yes, it is. That’s why I can find my own way home tonight.”
“Ah,” Harlan taps his nose, “so you two know each other.”
“Your grandson was kind enough to invite me.”
“And you made quite a fucking impression,” Ransom growls while putting a hand on your shoulder.
Harlan flicks Ransom away. “Don’t be creepy, son. Get the lady a drink.”
“Mr. Thrombey, please.” You stand, forcibly pushing his hand off of you. “Ransom’s your family. Why don’t I get you boys something while you catch up?”
“Whiskey, neat, two fingers,” Ransom bitterly spits, shoving the hand in his jean pocket.
Harlan tsks him with a solemn look.
“The same,” his grandfather sighs before returning your smile. “I appreciate it, dear.”
“Anytime.”
Ran fights the urge to kick your tote on the floor.
Harlan simply moves on. “One of my next novels is an intrigue of corruption, involves a non-profit, and Good Miss was enlightening me to a few details of their inner workings.”
“Glad you both can turn it off for five minutes,” Ransom grunts back.
Harlan’s sharp gaze lands on him.
“While I am glad you did not use her and lose her, as they say.”
“God, no,” Ransom groans in revulsion. “She’s here to rub Linda the wrong way…not me.” He tries to bury his self-satisfied smirk in a sweater sleeve held to his mouth.
“Charming.” Harlan means anything but charming as he looks to see you side-tracked again by a chat with Marta. “You’ve done much worse before—“ he turns to the window “—but my guess is she never has.”
Ransom’s jaw twitches. This is why he hates his family, even his favorite among them. No wonder he brought someone exclusively to annoy them, hoping to make them feel small and selfish, but he forgot something important.
They’re all like him. None of them care to be selfless. They don’t want to be charitable. They are fine being perceived that way, if necessary, if it gains them something else they want.
But.
What Harlan says gives him another idea. What if he keeps you around? They are sure to lose their minds. Harlan would be impressed (and proved wrong). Richard will be jealous (although that’s still gross). Linda would be unable to manipulate that situation (though she’ll try).
Plus, Joni will hate you instantly because you’re prettier and don’t need her snake-oil skin shit.
“Harlan,” you offer his grandfather his drink first, then turn to Ran with that irritatingly kind smile. “Hugh.”
He takes the glass and flashes pearly whites.
It’s decided. He just hopes the sex won’t be as boring as he thinks. You’re definitely not a roadhead bitch.
Although based on that damn Birkin, you are stupidly generous, so he hopes that translates to the bed…or wherever he fucks you.
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“Sure your shoes can take it?”
As if he can’t walk across the fucking woods…the embers of waning alcohol all push around in his gut on the trek over to the Carlyles’ place. He hasn’t gone over there since maybe freshman year of high school during a long Christmas stay at Thrombey Manor.
He was wrong. Ran’s shoes are not fine, but he has to bury that irritation down deep while entering the warm and inviting mansion filled with your...roommates?
Four other people live in a house that you sometimes stay in: Angela, Diego, Terrell, and Luca.
Ran doesn’t fucking care. This is not some weird orgy he’s planning. He almost walks right back out and floors the Beamer back to civilization.
Mercifully, you have most of the upstairs entirely to yourself, a small suite of a bedroom, office, and bathroom neatly tucked above a quieter part of the house.
He’s surprised that you drop the tote bag and start shedding clothes so quickly.
“Sorry about them. We all went to uni together and this works as a crash-pad for the internationals.”
“No problem,” he sighs, “I know what it’s like.” They’re freeloaders, like my cousin Meg, is what they are, but Ransom keeps that thought to himself.
You offer him another drink, which Ran accepts, watching you like a hawk with sky-blue eyes.
Beneath your dress, you wear a slip, a silky satin thing that actually impresses him. He’s convinced there is thick shapewear beneath it because that just seems like a you thing to do: one sexy move, one boner killer. Instead of showing him though, you spin your finger around in front of him.
“Really,” he quips. He’s already resigned to putting his dick in either way, so he doesn’t really care.
You smile too sweetly for it to read as coy. “Make yourself useful and go to my bag.”
“That’s not a bag,” he scoffs. “Might as well be made of tissue paper.”
He still obediently wanders over to the chair you draped it over and flips back a handle. Excellent. This nearly makes up for the entire party. Ran derives a sickening amount of pleasure from knowing these condoms were stored in the Birkin his mother will now carry around with pride.
He downs the remainder of his drink and whips out a wrapper. He wouldn’t care if you didn’t have any, or didn’t want to use one, or if you made some reference to them but the lights were off and didn’t check. The lights are still on though, and you’ve pointed him right to them. He’ll play ball. He hopes you play with balls, too. He hopes this is fun instead of just mediocre. He prepares himself to be actively bored, however, because that’s the most likely scenario.
It’s his usual MO. Works like a charm. Start out slow and teasing—girls tend to think it’s sensual but he’s being lazy (and they beg soon anyway)—until he can take over in exactly whatever fashion he wants. Except you don’t quite let things unfold that way.
He expects you to want him to kiss you, but you playfully turn away each time he advances. You swat his hands when he tries to touch you, only to grab the hem of his sweater and rip it off him. You don’t wait for him to unbutton his jeans before sliding cool fingers down past the band of his boxers.
Fuck, he does like it when they're forward.
He pops the button, pushes the zipper, and shuffles out of the heavy cotton while you get a good hold of him. Ransom doesn’t care that your hands are soft, just rough enough for friction and nothing more, and he doesn’t really care that your slip is still on because he’s figured something else out.
You’re not wearing underwear. He’s not sure if you were but tossed them aside while he grabbed the condom, or perhaps you’ve been speaking with his family for the better part of two hours with your cunt kissed by the same air they were all breathing, but he’s happy about it.
Ransom leans forward to you again, but instead of letting him kiss you, you look down to spit in your hand and work him harder.
“The sooner you suit up…” you taunt him, glancing at the wrapper still clutched in Ran’s hand, “sooner you get in for the night.”
He’s been with bossy doms before—not his favorite—but this is different. His instinct is that you want a show of it, maybe you want to see him touch himself, maybe you want to see his face as the tight latex is rolled down his throbbing cock, but you hold his gaze while turning your body away from him.
Since he doesn’t have to play up how he looks, Ran focuses on the expanse of skin across your back. There’s so much more than your dress showed, yet not enough, and it’s beautiful. He thinks about the same, smooth skin that must be stretched across your ass and rolls his hips against the fabric while his mouth maps your neck and shoulders.
Not romantically, of course, he’s not trying to make you feel better—you are more than capable of feeling yourself, but Ransom enjoys a little taunting of his own now and then.
His hands move to cup your breasts, and fuck, did you not have a bra on earlier either? This day is full of surprises.
His intense rutting coupled with teasing your taut nipples makes your slip catch between your ass cheeks, and he angles his dick to press through the apex of your thighs, taking the satin with him.
Pretty skin beneath his lips, pretty noises ringing in his ears, Ran pulls away.
The fresh wet spot on your slip sticks to the condom when he looks down at his demanding erection.
You’re ready. He’s ready.
Fuck, Ransom is so ready, and you know it, climbing onto the edge of your bed to get comfortable presented in all your glory, all the lights on, fingers already teasing and working yourself open.
This is already way better than he expected. He doesn’t have to work. He doesn’t have to try. He doesn’t have to fake interest. You handle your clit like the expert you are on yourself, and Ran works himself up, sheathed and thrusting in you like the expert he is on himself. Pleasure for pleasure, and fuck is it pleasurable. 
His fist holds onto the bundled satin across the small of your back, and you make natural escalating noises.
It sounds genuine.
Shit, when was the last time he didn’t get annoyed at some bitch hamming up her moans? Not that it distracted him from coming, no, he could get him whether she was dramatic or an awkward, silent one. Takes more effort when he has to ignore something she’s doing though. 
Then you demand he goes faster, and he’s into it. Then you come with a groan that’ll haunt his hindbrain, and he can feel the massaging grip and release. Then you take his balls in hand, tugging gently, and he fucking loses it.
He feels the hot flood of his cum into the condom as your walls still ripple against him. 
Damn, he doesn’t even care if you made him wrap up. That was fucking satisfying. It wasn’t even complicated, but you came and he came and that’s all he needed.
Ransom hasn’t been at a girl’s place in a while (certainly not without his car ready to get away) because he prefers to kick them out and already be home, but his hookups are usually clinging to the idea of staying the night.
You immediately go to the bathroom, clean up, and—now completely naked—stand at the foot of the bed.
“You good, Hugh? I’m on a call with Beijing in fifteen, so take your time—“ you button up a plain, blue shirt, your nipples showing right through “—or sleep or whatever. I’ll be a bit.”
“Only the help calls me Hugh.” It’s all he can come up with while he stares at your breasts and contemplates why he feels a bit used.
He got off, you’re not clinging to him, and you’ve given him an easy out. If he had to describe his perfect fucking date, this would be it, and his gut twists oddly just thinking about being dismissed.
You don’t miss a beat, heading for the door with only panties and the shirt on. Your ass pops out easily from under the hem.
“Suppose I’ll see you at the Kennedy thing next weekend, huh?”
Ran slaps his hand over his face, remembering there’s another fucking event coming up. “Yeah. Is that the stupid inner-city garden initiative?”
You hum in response, grabbing something else out of your flimsy purse tote. He better not see you carry that fucking thing around in front of actual fucking people. You don’t see him staring at your ass through his fingers before you swivel back around.
“If you need something, text me. Don’t knock.”
He snorts, knowing that he wouldn’t stay if a girl paid him to.
For one shining moment, you turn to beam at him. “Thanks for making it quick,” you chirp with a wink and shut the door behind you.
You goddamn wink at him after chucking him into the quickie category in your own mansion.
What the fuck?
Out of spite, he should just sleep here, he thinks. Let Harlan question why the Beamer is still in the drive. Let Walt stare at the car and know Ransom can get better pussy than that twat has had in a lifetime. Let Linda…
Hell, let Linda do whatever the fuck she wants and let Richard think whatever the fuck he wants.
Ransom takes his own naked walk of glory to the bathroom and does just that—he sleeps in a hookup’s bed all night, completely pleased with himself and his control of the situation.
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a/n: Honest to god, this was supposed to be a one-shot. Genuinely, I swear. Now that I've plotted it out though...there was no way. I just personally don't really like more than 5k per Tumblr post. Too easy to lose your place. This way we stick with a three-ish-act structure, too. Squee! Hope you enjoyed this, and please let me know what you think in comments, reblogs, or anon asks!
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demaparbat-hp · 2 months
Note
In almost all of your artwork you transform Katara into a different person. You take away her hair loopies, give her short hair (knowing how much hair is important to her culture), take away all her heritage, and now you have her join Fire Nation military because of your AU, which can be misinterpreted if your art is reposted without context. You’re really talented but as a woc, why do you like removing all of Katara’s culture in your AUs?
Hi! I had never given this much thought because I honestly didn't think it would ever be a problem, but I guess I can see where you're coming from.
Culture is something precious, and it's very, very important to me, as a creator, to get these character's cultures right. I've studied about cultural inspiration and lore in ATLA, especially their visual characteristics. They're so diverse, and I love exploring them. Especially through clothing and the characters' distinct features. Katara in particular is probably my favorite character to draw, and I always do my best to make it clear she's Water Tribe through visual representation.
That being said, I took the liberty of checking out the artworks I've posted to see things from your pov. And I guess you're right, to an extent. I can understand that, without context, it may seem as if I'm erasing Katara's culture.
Except that's not true. At all.
Even, as I already said, without context.
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These are the only artworks I could find that fit your description. But I don't know if you've noticed, anon, the things they all have in common: each one of them is an AU, in which Katara is put in a position where she needs to hide her identity (the Hunters AU, as well as Lee and Kya) or has a different background all together (in the middle, the HalfBlood AU, where he's born in the Earth Kingdom as a water half-child); but even under these circumstances, I don't forget about her culture, and neither does she.
Instead of her hair loopies, she wears a Warrior's braids and beads, a waterskin, and a blue sash embroidered with silver waves; all of this while she's part of a Fire Nation crew that's trying to end the war from within.
The other AUs are like that, too. Katara finds ways to remember her culture, who she is, even if it's in the little details. A blue and silver sash in seas of green clothing, a betrothal necklace once belonging to her mother and grandmother. Her features.
I refuse to forget about Katara's culture and how it has shaped her, even if the AU demands it so. She is who she is, no matter what.
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antiracist-tolkien · 8 months
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Harad Through Fandom Eyes
Plenty of people acknowledge that LOTR's Haradrim, Easterlings and Variags are racist. However, I've seen less discussion about how fandom adds even more racism into the mix. This seems to be mostly because many people have very little knowledge about West Asia and North Africa, aka WANA [Why say WANA/SWANA instead of Middle East?] and what anti-WANA racism looks like.
I'm going to focus on Harad because this is the region that we know the most about. If you need a brief refresher:
Harad, or Haradwaith, is the region south of Gondor. There's a long history of violence between Harad and Gondor which dates back beyond Gondor even existed, to when Numenorians colonised Harad and repressed the people. Since then there were multiple wars and for long periods of time Gondor occupied parts of Harad. The Haradrim fight for Sauron in LoTR, partially due to their hatred of Gondor.
Harad is divided into two. Near Harad is strongly North Africa coded, and Far Harad is sub-Saharan Africa coded.
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(Image description in alt text.)
Tolkien uses multiple different names to refer to the people of Harad (Haradrim, Southrons, Swertings, etc.) However, these seem to be the people of Near Harad, who he differentiates from the people of Far Harad. (There's some serious anti-blackness in this next quote, so skip over it if you need to. I only put it here as evidence that the use of Haradrim/Southrons in LOTR refers to Near Haradrim.)
[...] Easterlings with axes, and Variags of Khand, Southrons in scarlet, and out of Far Harad black men like half-trolls with white eyes and red tongues. - Return of the King
There is more to say on this than I would be able to fit into this post. There's a discussion to be had about Tolkien's textual and real life relationship with Black people. There's also a discussion that needs to be had about how Tolkien's racism is often excused with the idea that he was a 'benevolent' or well-meaning racist, a product of his time. It's an excuse that ignores the violence of quotations like this and the way that he wielded his whiteness against Black people in academia and writing.
I don't have time or space for those discussions in this post, but I want to acknowledge them.
What I want to discuss here is fandom portrayals of Haradrim. I'm not going to talk too much about the in-text racism, because that has been extensively covered elsewhere. But in summary:
The idea of the good white guys conquering the lesser brown 'Men of Darkness' is inherently racist
Tolkien's description of the Haradrim, such as repeatedly describing them as a cruel and warlike people, is also racist
The one paragraph where Samwise feels empathy for a dead Haradrim soldier does not lessen the racism.
With that out of the way, let's talk about fandom.
There's a gaping void in the information we're given about the Haradrim, so of course fandom attempts to fill the gaps. Fans often take inspiration from WANA. But many fans don't actually know that much about WANA and don't realise how much of their perception of it is based on racist and imperialist propaganda.
In fannish depictions, Harad all too frequently becomes an exotified fantasy that pulls from Western perceptions of WANA. Orientalist ideals of a mystical, magical, and yet dangerous place predominate the fannish idea of Harad.
The first thing that you should know about WANA is that it's an extremely culturally, religiously and geographically diverse place. If your depiction of Harad is entirely desert, or made of a culturally homogenous people with a narrow range of skin tones and features, you need to expand that. Equally, depictions of Harad as more 'socially backward' than other areas of Middle Earth stem directly from racist propaganda.
Too many stories write Harad as misogynistic and homophobic, often in direct contrast to other areas of Middle Earth. As many WANA people have pointed out, these kinds of sweeping generalisations are often specifically targeted at WANA because of racism.
Mysterious cursed objects from the 'far away lands of Harad', decadent sultans, the fetishization of cultural practices like belly dancing; these are all forms of Orientalism. Female characters may be sexualised, shown as seductresses or members of harems. (By the way, Westerners tend to have a very incorrect understanding of what harems actually are/were. They were the part of a Muslim household reserved for women and pre-pubescent boys. It was outsiders who perceived them as fundamentally sexual spaces and created the modern tropes of sexual harems.)
Male characters may be violent, cunning, greedy, dangerous and strange. There may be public executions and enslaved peoples, regardless of the complete absence of a textual basis. All of these things stem directly from racist ideas of WANA as 'barbaric' and 'uncivilised'.
In fact, Haradrim were once enslaved by Numenorians. They were victims of violent colonisation that continued into the days of Gondor. They have every reason to hate the 'Men of the West' and fight against them.
On a final note, the most major and dangerous WANA stereotype is the portrayal of WANA people as terrorists. This isn't a trope seen in Tolkien's works because it's primarily a post-911 phenomenon. But it's something that you must be conscious of if you're writing about Harad or other WANA-coded regions.
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From the tropics to the far north, fungi in the soil seem to directly determine the number and types of trees that can thrive in a given area, said Jonathan Myers, an associate professor of biology whose work at Tyson contributed to the global findings. The study was published in Communications Biology. Many trees depend on a special partnership with mycorrhizal fungi that grow around their roots. The fungi provide the tree with nitrogen, phosphorus and other nutrients, and the tree gives the fungi carbon in the form of sugar and lipids for energy. "It's a mutually beneficial arrangement," Myers said. The results from this study suggest that fungi are more than casual acquaintances with their tree companions: the fungi drive diversity—or lack thereof. Specifically, the underground back-and-forth helps explain why tropical forests can support multiple species of trees in a small area, why forests in the far north and south are often dominated by just a few species, and why the oak and hickory forests at Tyson fall near the middle of the diversity spectrum. "The study really zeroed in on one of the basic patterns in ecology, which is that forests become more diverse the closer you get to the equator," Myers said.
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