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#in my mind it's really poetic

dustteller · 2 months

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Now that I am mostly over the Absolutely Feral stage of my Radiant Emperor Obsession and can think again, I want to do a proper write up on how the series handles colonialism. I need to get my sources together and make it all pretty and stuff, but the gist of it is this.

I actually really respect SPC for not making it A Thing. Like, the colonialism is an inherent part of the serting, and a lot of important moments hinge around it, but there's also a pretty clear refusal by the author to turn it into A Statement. I think they do a really good job of walking the fine line between aknowledging it and making it clear that its an important part of the setting, without turning the book into a political thesis on Why Bad Actually.

I think a lot of fantasy authors that frankly have no business making their books into political science treatises try to be super philosophical about it, and inevitably have almost all their points ring flat bc the main character almost always ends up perpetuating the system they spent the whole book critiquing. The classic example being, of course, "We've destroyed The Evil Empire! We will now replace it with The Good Empire, which is functionally identical to The Evil Empire except Good bc our Main Character is in charge! This will totally change the systemic issues we've spent the last three million words exploring! How? Don't worry about it, absolute power only corrupts you if you're A Bad Person!" (atla. atla i am looking at you. my love for you does not mean I am letting you off the hook.)

The Radiant Emperor books interact with and aknowledge the colonialism. The empire canonically falls at least in part because of one guy's willfull ignorance of the differences between his culture and that of two of the people he loves the most, because his culture supercedes theirs to the point where he does not even consider the posibility of this difference truly existing as a real-life power imbalance. And still, these books are not about that! That is not the main theme! It is important. It is handled pretty well, it is aknowledged, and it is not The Point. I really appreciate that more understated approach that SPC takes, because ironically by refusing to partake in dramatic philosophical grandstanding the media often ends up making way better and more nuanced points, because then their point actually fits into the story they are trying to tell.

#white men really read three of the foundational texts of political science #none of which are from the last century and a half mind you #and immediately decide they're qualified to wax poetic about how politics should work actually #also white people really loooove writing about colonialism and imperialism while refusing to engage with any decolonial literature #you read The Prince and Hobbes' Leviathan huh. so did all polisci undergraduates. you are neither smart nor special<3 #like seriously at least read some of W.E.B. Du Bois. its the most basic accessible uncontroversial decolonial literature out there #it wont kill u i promise <3 try venerating a black man even half as hard as u do basic white men it'll change your life for the better.#by making you more interesting at the very least #ok ok i got derrailed there #thank you SPC! I appreciate you! please write more!#i promise the actual write up will be. less ranty.#my thoughts #the radiant emperor

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moe-broey · 1 month

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Like @ prev post (don't wanna sound too insane in op's tags even though this is the being insane about your blorbos website)

I feel like it has A LOT of comedic potential especially in a setting where you can't just look shit up on your phone and get Shrimp Image, like part of the comedy here would be Alfonse going across the fucking room, fishing out a very specific random ass book on his bookshelf, flipping through it and then Finding Shrimp Image, PHYSICALLY presenting the book and pointing at the Shrimp. Comedic potential off the fucking charts here for physical comedy and props, ect ect

But the thing is. The thing is. I think Alfonse would be Just As Bad as his freak summoner. Like I think you can argue him landing in either camp about it, and the potential is So There, but I have arrived at the Hard Stance that Alfonse would not only share his toothbrush with you if you asked, he would be REALLY NOT NORMAL ABOUT IT.

#one thing about alfonse in my mind is that he is a bit of an obsessive weirdo. he's good at hiding it (mostly)#he WILL find a way to erotize sharing a toothbrush. he will find a way to wax poetic and pine over it.#an indirect kiss......#he's just not well-adjusted about it at all.#i do think that post could work between my trainer and arven though. esp since arven is a clean freak #he WOULD be really fucking bothered by that LMFAOOOOO #and then a comic like that would be ultizing pokemon setting and rules which also could lend itself to extra layers of comedy #but also when the pokemon fixation is off it's off.#i. cannot fucking maintag this i will sound fuckinh insane.

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talentforlying · 5 months

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nergal: an era is passing, constantine. for centuries the realms of darkness and of light have shared the bounty of this world; grazing in roughly equal measures the vast rolling plains of human souls. like bison, occasionally locking horns for push and shove. but always the contest was circular: ground gained on one front was lost on another. constantine: all right, you can skip the primary meta-physics. just give me the details, i'm out of grade school now.

his mind is so??????? why are you like this. HOW are you like this.

#( ooc. ) OUT OF CIGS.#he is so terrifyingly smart it really blows my mind #see he's such a force to be reckoned with in the occult world bc he Thinks like these fuckers do but he doesn't Act like it #he's darkly poetic and melancholic and vicious but he chooses to stamp it down and say 'yeah that's stupid. and so are you'#which is probably why he hates himself as well! he recognizes himself in these fuckers! food for thought!

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2dayihaveaheadache · 11 months

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The thin line we walk

Obikin WIP Wednesday (looks guilty at my clock, kinda is still Wednesday, hopefully, somewhere on the world... i guess)

Prompt: Obi-Wan is a struggling single dad of two. Anakin offers to help – in more than one way. Perfect American subrurbs vibes, Obi-Wan is challenged by his recent parting and now has to care for his kids all by himself. In an attempt to cling to his old life, he hides the breakup, pretending to life the best Home Sweet Home Life - for the noisy neighbors and the kids. One day he breaks down, Anakin is there to offer a hand or two.

dw: age gap, maybe sickfic-ish, nurse Anakin would be funny, Anakin just making Obi-Wan feel loved again, some crying during *the steamy scenes* (hopefully in a good way:)

I was asked, so i delivered a tiny (2k) WIP for this prompt. Tw for some dark thoughts on Obi-Wan's side but don't worry, Anakin is gonna give him a good warm hug (soon, i hope)

“The line we walk is a thin one..”

(scene to introduce the atmosphere)

Leaning against his groaning car, a vintage Ford Mustang 1967 from the local garage with a twice fixed chrome bumper, the engine still idling, Obi-Wan fidgeted with the strap of his cross-shoulder bag as he stared at front door in the setting sun. A slight drizzle had started, so he checked his appearance in the side-view mirror, make sure the rain hadn’t ruined his attire – reassure that he was still looking all proper coming home from work. Looking presentable for the neighbors, not sketchy, nothing to bat an eye twice. He brushed back a few copper strands that the wind had blown into his vision, readjusted the collar of his plaid shirt and then sighed, exhaustion making him wary.

He squinted, eyeing his reflection in the wing mirror of his car with suspicion, lowering his head to see clearer. A man in his end-thirties stared back at him, the hair was a mop of strawberry blond curls, the ends slightly brighter than the roots, bleached by the sun from having spent last year’s summer at the coast, now they were clinging damp to his forehead. The first hints of balding spots were visible above his temples. A receding hairline at his age, he furrowed his brows and the only thing that happened was that his wrinkles deepened. Great, he sighed another time and a sour grin played on his lips, nose crunched.

The intensity of the rain increased and transformed the gentle May drizzle into a torrential spring downpour, typical for this time of the year and region, Virginia. Fucking unpredictable Spring in Philly. If he had known that 18 years ago, he might have not moved up here, perhaps he would have chosen a different path. He had arrived with a suitcase bursting with dreams and expectations in his hands, yet they proved to be as flimsy and fleeting like a passing breeze, slipping through his grasp. He had been a fucking foolish young boy, he thought and the sour grin deepens.

The thick droplets descended from the sky, cascading, creating a weird melody of pitter-patter. They collided with the ground, echoing with a resonate thud, or got deflected, splashing against parked cars and the raised edges of the sidewalk. Even Obi-Wan’s pant legs became victim to the relentless deluge, the jeans soaking with frosty water.

He instinctively tucked his head down and pulled the wool jacket tighter, hoping it would provide some sort of comfort from the biting-cold rain. But despite his efforts, the relentless downpour found its way through his clothing, seeping through, sending a chilling sensation across his now wet skin. A shiver ran down his spine, and he couldn’t help but damn his choice of attire, an unspoken curse on his tongue.

He held it back, pinching his lips, embarrassed, eyes on the ground. Remembering where he was.

212th Street, Shellwood Port, one of the white picket fence neighborhoods, nestled within suburbs of Philadelphia. Tree-lined alleys with brick row houses or elegant two-story homes from the 1910s, all owned, nothing rental. Immaculately mown grass lanes across the backyards. In the front, carefully tended rose bushes and forest green painted doors, the pride of its residence, the names in graved in gleaming brass plates. Smith. Miller. Jones. Kenobi. An extra key hidden underneath a bloom pot on the front stair in a false sense of security. Home sweet Home, in its most picture book perfect form.

But admits this pristine perfection, achieved by pretending and idolization, there was no place for carelessly muttered curses when everything was sweet, shiny, and perfect. It was a perfectly curated world, handpicked like the choicest cherry a dessert, only the best of the best, and monitored by prying eyes behind pulled back ruffled lace curtains. A heavy sigh escaped his lips for the third time today. He felt miserable, drenched in the rain.

His eyes once again landed on the reflection in the side-view mirror, so he leaned forward to get a better view of himself. The round rimmed-glasses had slipped down of his nose a bit. He readjusted them with a hesitant smile, pushing them all up. The rain had shown him no mercy, completely soaking through his cardigan, causing his plaid shirt to cling uncomfortably to his neck, as if longing for respite from the relentless rain. The damp locks hung heavy into his face. A deep crease had formed on his forehead, a furrowed brow revealing the weight of his worries.

He was just a figure of misery in this downpour.

The weather forecast has promised a mild day – a gentle breeze and the possibilty of sunshine, he thinks bitterly. Obi-Wan, like a clockwork, tuned in the weather forecast every morning. It was like a ritual, like a morning sermon, his hands occupied by one of the many pans on the cooker, the unmistakeable aroma of cheap fraying pork oil, sizzling eggs and coffee lingering in the kitchen, then he would swiftly grab a linen towel, wiping his greasy fingers clean and adjust the radio antenna on the old model, from the 60s, to hear WTOP announce the weather for today.

It was akin to the way other people craved their first cup of coffee, a moment that set the tone for day ahead. Just like the aroma of freshly brewn beans water invirogates other, the weather program awakened Obi-Wan’s sense, preparing him for the coming day. With a cup of his favorite tea blend waiting on the counter, he sported an old-fashioned, grandma-like quilt apron thrown over his sweater, his glasses slightly fogged from the warmth of the kitchen. As he tuned in on the radio weather program, Obi-Wan’s morning came to life.

It wasn’t just about planning his acitivities, it was about, well, everything – the weather forecast held the key how to orchestrate his day as a dad. How to dress the kids. Were their raincoats still neatly hung on the coat rack in the hallway? Where were Ahsoka’s gumboots, or had they wandered off to some forgotten corner? Would they still fit her tween feet, which had grown to sizes last summer? And then there was little Cal – it was a real challenge convincing him to take a bath after he had frolicked through the mud of the kindergarten grounds.

So, how could have something important like rain slipped his mind?

As the raindrops fell from heavens and soaked him to the bone, he couldn’t help himself but feel a well-known ache in his chest, a deep-seated pain in his chest that echoed with the weight of self-loathing. An all-too familiar sensation, like a scar itching. A constant reminder no matter how hard he tried; he would never measure up – even if it were only such tiny things as packing for his kids the raincoats.

Obi-Wan had learned to fight tooth and nail for acceptance in life. The old wounds of rejection ran deep, foster system, his step dad, his wife. And now, in Shellwood Port, it had always felt like there was an invisible wall that separated him from the world of privilege, prosperity, bbq parties and rose bushes. A glass dome keeping him out. As he stood amidst the white picket fences and brick row houses, the stark contrast between his sentiments and the others loomed over him like a dark cloud.

So, he had strived and sought validation, he had fucking fought for it – for himself when he was young and spirited, a fire burning in his eyes and now, that it was too late for him, at least for his kids. That they would have a better life than he had. But then there was this raw sting, piercing the flesh on his ribcage. It was a harsh grip, squeezing tightly and refusing to let go. No matter how hard he pushed himself, there was always a lingering sense of failing. “You’ll never be good enough.” He wasn’t sure who whispered the words, he, the wind or the rain. “You’ll never be a good enough dad… because you never had one.”

Fuck his freshly ironed shirt from this morning he wore to fit in, fuck the unpredictable weather of Philadelphia that had played him like a fool, fuck Shellwood Port and its unfulfillable expectations. He had kids, he was a dad, he needed to get home.

“Kenobi, everything alright with your car?”

Obi-Wan straightened his back and lifted his head, turning into the direction of the familiar voice. A couple of feet away, on the other side of the road, he could see Mace, the neighbor from number 187th, living in the same brick row house, peeking over his white fence.

He swallowed before answering, voice strained, but he tried his best to overplay it, “Yeah, sure.”

Mace’s expression was unreadable, lips pressed together into a tight smile and an overly curios gleam in his eyes. “I was working in the kitchen...” Mace gestured to the rose bushes in front yard, blooming on the edge on the neatly mown grass lane, the grass blades were cut off at exactly 15 millimeters as if Mace would measure them with a ruler every morning. “… when I saw you on the street. You have been staring quite long at your car.”

Obi-Wan didn’t have a reply, yet, so he nodded faintly, unsure what Mace planned to imply, flexing the strap of his bag in his hand, a notorious nervous habit, a shaky laugh on his lips. “I- I was just coming home from work. It’s late and the kids are waiting.”

He tried to deepen the grin but it just made him feel even more like the idiot with the painted face, so he let the expression drop, looking more serious at Mace. “Yeah, so – so, everything alright with you?”

His attempt on small talk found no continuation. Mace leaned further forward, supporting himself with one hand on the fence, eyes narrowed, not entirely convinced with Obi-Wan short lipped reply, an unforgiving undertone in his voice, stoic, reserved. “Your car needs a wash.”

The nervous laughter he had tried to hold back, bubbles up in his chest and then echoed from his lips. Inappropriate in the situation, he felt Mace’s stern glare on himself, the lips pressed together into a thin line, a flinty gleam in his eyes, watching his every move and then judging him. Obi-Wan halted in his movement, one hand pressed to his chest. He tried an apologetic smile and failed. “ In the rain …I guess-“

He did not like Mace’s calculating stare, overly curious and intrusive – it makes him nervous, uneasy, biting absently his inner cheek and pushing up his glasses, his eyes finding Mace’s again.

Then he faced back to his car, pretending to be seriously overthinking Mace’s suggestion. The metal of the Mustang shimmered the evening sun, reflected by the rain. The black paint coat has a few scratches, the chrome bumper hung crooked over the sealed beam headlights and the white stripe on the engine cover had a tinge of champagne yellow to it, a sign of its age, typical for vintage motorcycles that are still in use. Overhanging branches from his pear tree painted a dark shadow on the car window, hiding the inside. He spotted nothing peculiar, nothing worthy for a trip to the car washer – especially in the rain.

He shifted back to Mace, putting up a grin. “You are right. I’ll- I will consider it.” He nodded weakly, wishing for the conversation to be over.

“You have been working a lot lately.”, Mace continued, folding his hands in front of him, glaring over his white picket fence, head tilted to the side.

“Yeah?”

“I’ve been just wondering where Satine is. Depa and I, we haven’t seen her around in a really long time and we asked ourselves, are you two fighting?”

It hit him like a truck.

(the next morning, scene to introduce more of Obi-Wan's character and his struggles -> turned way more into a character study than I thought)

Obi-Wan's shirt was freshly ironed, the fabric felt stiff around his neck, he wore Bermuda shorts and tennis socks, pulled over his ankles.

He looked like the picture book perfect version of a white man in his thrities, father of two, living his best home sweet home American Dream in the suburbs, with more than enough of on the bank, the weekends filled with garden grill parties with the neighbors.

That kind of man to never admit to buying a six pack of canned beer. Or the kind to scold the kids for running over the freshly mown lane. The kind to be overly punctual, narrow-mind, gratingly stuffy and – calls the police on you for noise disturbance at 7 am in the morning when the kids have stand up to noisy, squalling that they want to go to school. Better said, he looked like a fucking stick-in-the-mud.

What a dream to be, right? That type of aspiring role model he wanted to be for his children, the perfect type to be living in Shellwood Port.

Obi-Wan deepened the frown on his face, one eyebrow cocked, leaning forward. He wetted his lips with a nervous flick of his tongue and opened the first button of his shirt, more room to breath. His fingers were shacky, nervous, so he clenched them. His first breath was shuddery, unsure, almost as if it was unlearned, like he hadn’t done it in a really long, like he hadn't been able to breath the last years. Like he had been uptight all the time.

The second intake was less shacky, so he tried his best smile.

He should be happy; he thought as he scowled at himself in the bathroom mirror, eyebrows still furrowed, the smile painted on his face that doesn’t seem like a smile. The wedding band on his index finger burned his skin. He should be happy, he repeated, happy even now as a now single dad. He rose the corners of his lips, practicing his best tooth paste commerical smile to convince everyone - just not himself.

"Dad, hurry up... I gotta go to school."

"Right, 'Soka. I'll hurry up."

There was blood in the sink when he leaft.

(sorry)

(extra, because i have a soft at heart for them, imagine that happening at the same time)

Meanwhile Anakin in the house next door, pining hard on his hot, older neighbor, like doing his laundery twice to see the other man working shirtless in the garden (he just has black laundery so no need to seperate it and make to washing cycles out of it, but every excuse is right to to pine for Mr. Kenobi), knowing damn well that he will pamper, love and cherish that man with every fiber of his heart....

hope you enjoy!

I will expand on this prompt, so await more action in the future...

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waterfallofspace · 1 year

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Does anyone else just ever have the urge to write/read about sickness/allergies but like... really poetically...? Like, describe the way the fever stained his pale skin, almost as if it was painting a tapestry of discomfort across his soft features. Or the way his eyes were an unsettling degree of calm, like the ocean surface, seeming to underplay the raging current that runs just below. Or the water pooling in his eyes, releasing with each blink, like waves falling up the shore. Just like... snz stuff is very fun to write and read, as is angst/comfort/fluff, but sometimes I just wanna marvel at the poetic beauty that can be found when someone’s succumbing to a sickness/allergy.

#snzthoughts kinda but not really #just something on my mind recently #ive always loved poetry so maybe thats why #but theres just something so poetic and beautiful to me #especially in fevers and all the symptoms they bring with them #just love the idea so much honestly #theres something almost soft and comforting in it for me #BUT IDK maybe im insane hahahaha

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beatledumpster · 1 year

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Paul loves enjambments

Enjambment is the continuation of a sentence or clause across a line break. For example, the poet John Donne uses enjambment in his poem "The Good-Morrow" when he continues the opening sentence across the line break between the first and second lines: "I wonder, by my troth, what thou and I / Did, till we loved? Were we not weaned till then?"

These are the examples that I could think of right now of Paul hopping across lines (well, if you agree with where the cuts are placed, as lines in a song can be written in several ways, and if you agree that the breaks in syntax are unusual enough to be considered poetic/interesting enjambments) :

...

I've just seen a face I can't forget The time or place where we just met

...

I was alone, I took a ride I didn't know what I would find there Another road where maybe I Could see another kind of mind there

... Ooh, you were meant to be near me Ooh, and I want you to hear me Say we'll be together every day

...

And it really doesn't matter if I'm wrong, I'm right Where I belong, I'm right Where I belong

...

There beneath the blue suburban skies I sit and meanwhile back In Penny Lane there is a fireman with an hourglass

...

And when the broken hearted People living in the world agree There will be an answer Let it be

...

Mull of Kintyre Oh, mist rolling in from The sea, my desire Is always to be here Oh, Mull of Kintyre

Feel free to add more if you can recall any!

#the beatles #paul mccartney #i like the instances when these enjambments make the phrasing ambiguous with several meanings #or at least one meaning that ends up replacing the first one you constructed (you can look up garden path sentences which is a #related phenomenon)#like the ambiguity in ive just seen a face or obviously fixing a hole (my mind was blown when i realised this one)#also as a nonnative speaker i never could parse the lyrics to mull of kintyre although I’ve heard it lots #especially the ‘oh mist rolling in from’ line #never knew what he was saying until i looked it up #so i would always interpret based on the way he sang it that ‘the sea; my desire’ was a distinct element.#like; he asserts the sea is his desire #then i guess i did understand the next bit (‘is always to be here’) so idk why it made sense to me. well it just didn’t i suppose but i #never really pondered over it or anything!#oh wait omg. The following sentence IS valid although strange in a poetic way : ‘the sea; my desire; is always to be here.’#(Excuse the semicolons to replace commas because im in the tags)#-> i.e. the sea (which is my desire) ought to always be here !#(vs. the basic meaning : i wish to always be here; with ‘the sea’ being part of the previous phrase)#OMG paul was this intended? king of ambiguous/multiple meanings!#(am not actually 100% sure this was correct english but i hope so)

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inkykeiji · 4 months

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I SAW YOUR SHAKESPEARE FANFIC POST AND CLARI I WOULD DIE TO BE ABLE TO READ ONE OF THOSE!!! i havent read it since hs unfortunately 😔💔 but i loved it sm back then and have a lot of his plays and have been meaning to read them. Its also such a fun concept!! If you ever choose to write it i will be #1 SUPPORTER 😤

omg no way!!!!! i never completed any of them sadly but maybe one day far far faaaaar in the future i’ll complete one!!! i’ve always wanted to write my own hamlet adaptation so why not!

AW hehehe anon <33 ur so adorable!!! thank you!! sending tons of love ur way sweetpea <3

#i love love love shakespeare #hamlet is my number one favourite character of all time across all art #i also really love iago because he is just;;; SO fucking evil and for what?????? he’s literally just evil personified #also a lot of his lines are so poetic #i encourage you to read more of his work for sure!!! if u ever have the time n feel up to it!#it boggles my mind in the best way that we are STILL studying shakespeare even 400 yrs later #it just goes to show you how important and influential art is #i love it #i love it so much #inky.bb #clari gets mail

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seirindono · 2 years

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Could you... Maybe idk share the names of the naga stuff you experienced on ao3/tumbler? 🤔

No, Anon, you share some names. Don't you know I'm desperate to find more- *sob*

In all seriousness though, I haven't had time to read much lately so nothing new comes to mind. And a lot of what I've been reading has been discontinued, buried in my reading list or worse, deleted. Naga content is just that rare TT

In fact, I just browsed my Ao3 history for this Ask and, boy that's depressing. A lot are gone. And even if I remember the plot, I can't remember the names so I can't tell which ones are still around. Too scared to find out too

(ex: a poly, SF Sans naga focused x Reader fic or a UT Sans naga x farmer one where he'd protect the crops...? I'm sure I read these but I'm the kind of dum who only remember one word title that I see often, forgets to bookmark and still continues to binge read without a care in the world)

...However, if you're looking for fantasy stuff or naga, I believe @llamagoddessofficialma recently started a siren zoo fic and there's also the first naga fic I read, by @aka-indulgence.

Kudo to them for still providing us with a fair dose of naga, mermay, sea creature, moth or really any content they're obsessed with at the moment. It's much appreciated (╥_╥)

#ask #ask me #had you asked mobster or mermay I'd have plenty to share #but naga is a rare au #also I know I always recommend these two #I won't stop #they're really that good #hope you don't mind me tagging you #on another note #thanks to that ask I noticed some names on my list were updated #made the research a bit less depressing #kudos to all writers and artist out there for what you do #even if you dropped a project #thanks for sharing it #a short but beautiful journey #it's poetic

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