#behold my words boy. whether they're good or not

[ehlnofay]

12 - Caelestis...

12: candles

The only candles in the hold went out long ago, leaving the belly of the ship in darkness.

Caelestis can reach up to touch them, if ze tries – if ze crawls a little, hand pressed to the wall so ze isn’t knocked off balance – but it’s difficult with the ship tilting and moving as violently as it is, and it’s not worth it anyway. The candles are hardy little stubs, burned down far enough that they’re jutting out of a mass of their own melted wax, stuck securely to the little shelf they’re supposed to shine on. Caelestis can’t do anything to light them again, either – they don’t give you matches in prison, it appears, and the smooth metal bands secured around each of zir wrists tug at zem gently, drinking away any energy for spells ze might have had. Ze really hates the sensation of sapping cuffs, ze’s discovered. Makes zem feel like an eggshell – hollow, brittle, no substance to speak of.

Ze doesn’t mind the dark, though. Not really, not after a bit. Sometimes flashes of light come through the open door at the other end of the hold, but there’s very little to see down here. Just more dark, and grey-brown wood, and zir own trembling hands, and Jiub, who ze isn’t looking at because he isn’t looking back. Which is – well. Makes zem feel a bit like ze’s disappearing, breath catching as the boat tips up again, but it’s fair enough. Ze’s been choking on terror for all the time he's known zem, tossed on zir own ridiculous little ocean. Ze can’t stop shaking. He can’t be expected to try to deal with that with no breaks all the time. There isn’t much he can realistically do.

(Caelestis wants zir notebook, and a sheet of letter-paper, and some good food, and for the world to stop swirling around zem, and for zir shirt to be clean, and for zir hair to get out of zir face, and some sleep, and to go home, and zir mother. Ze has wanted all of these things for quite some time. But clearly, there is not much use wanting. Mostly ze’s trying to stop shaking. It’s harder than it should be.)

So ze sits slouched against the wall, cheek pressed against the splintery wood, teeth digging into soft flesh. Zir neck aches. Everything is still trembling. The ship pitches down another wave, and ze digs zir fingers into the pockmarked floor for balance. Every movement makes zir stomach twist. It feels like there are two different storms tugging zem in two. Ze stares into the empty dark and tries to stop shaking, and tries to stop worrying; every time the boat lurches ze can almost see it, flung about on the waves like a leaf thrown by a child into the running water of a gutter, the sky crackling with lightning around it, so much rain streaming down that it seems hard to tell where the ocean ends and the rain begins. In the hold it smells musty and sour. Zir shirt is stained. Ze watches the boat in the dark as if outside of it, pressing zir hands hard against the floor to still them, and ze tries to pretend that no time is passing at all.

There’s a touch on zir arm. Ze flinches.

“Hey.” It’s Jiub, gravel-voiced, close enough in the darkness ze can’t make out his features. “They brought down some food.”

Caelestis has washed out zir mouth twice. When ze swallows, ze can still taste vomit. “I don’t think I’m hungry,” ze says, and the boat plunges; zir stomach twists.

Jiub snorts. He sets something – a tray, probably, they’ve been letting them hold on to the metal trays the last few days – down on the ground. When Caelestis blinks, the storm rages behind zir eyes. The sky is red. It’s too dark down here to see anything but basic shapes.

“Won’t be too long now,” says Jiub. “It’s not a long journey over the Inner Sea.”

“It feels like it’s been months,” Caelestis says. Zir voice cracks. (It feels like it’s been months. It feels like it’s been forever. It feels like Caelestis was born in the brittle, shivering hold of this ship and ze’s never known anything else. The skies are burning sickly bright. The boat won’t stop moving.)

(Caelestis wishes ze was at home. Ze’d never leave the house again. It would be a terrible setback, except it won’t be, because it doesn’t look like ze’ll be returned home anytime soon. Maybe at all.)

(Ze’s shivering. Lightning that ze can’t see sparks outside.)

Jiub begins to say something, but then the ship pitches violently and Caelestis loses zir grip and tumbles into him, and they’re both sprawling on the floor. Jiub swears, catches the tray; then he looks at zem, ze thinks, and presses the heel of a hand to zir forehead with such rapidity it feels a bit like a slap. Ze winces. He swears again. “You’ve got a fever.”

Caelestis says, “Oh.” Maybe that’s why ze feels like an eggshell, all weird and broken and unpleasant. The ship pitches through a blurry red storm behind zir eyelids. Ze feels, suddenly, very hot. “Maybe that’s why I was throwing up.”

“I think you’ve just got a weak stomach,” Jiub says. It’s abrupt, but not unkind. Caelestis laughs a bit. Zir head is feeling dreadfully untethered. “Doesn’t bode well for you if we’re going to be moved to the Bitter Coast.”

(Ze’s read about the Bitter Coast, in encyclopedias and the like; heard a bit about it from zir mother. Weirdly, hearing the name settles zem a little. The floor feels marginally more solid as it pitches below zem.)

Ze asks, “What should I do?”

“I’m not your keeper,” retorts Jiub immediately; there’s a breath, and then he says, “Get some rest, I guess. I’ll leave some food for you if you want it.”

The hold smells dark and acrid. They only get light when the door bangs open. Caelestis presses zirself against the wall, laid out along the floor. It’s not comfortable at all. Ze finds ze doesn’t really care. “Thank you,” ze says. Ze doesn’t say that he’s a good friend, even though he is, because he probably wouldn’t like that, and it’s probably a bit sad that ze’s had so few friends that he would count among the top five, besides.

Ze just presses zir forehead into the cold boards of the floor and closes zir eyes. In the empty dark, the ship hurtles itself into nothingness.

[blackswallowtailbutterfly]

Regarding "pretty privilege", I think the person who took it apart regarding axes of oppression put it perfectly. Yes, people can receive better treatment from those who think they're good-looking than those they don't think are good-looking. But for looks to be a proper axis of oppression, conventionally attractive people would need to wield power over conventionally unattractive people, and this would need to be true for both sexes, all racial categories, etc.. And they don't. Jeff Bezzos? Elon Musk? Mark Zuckerberg? Bill Gates? Ugly as shit--but they are rich, white, heterosexual, and male. In other words, they're on several actual axes of oppression, on the oppressor side, and have benefitted immensely.

How about Fox News? Most of the women hired on that network were gorgeous and blonde. Certainly that got them the benefit of a job from Roger Ailes and Bill O' Reilly (both also ugly as hell, but rich and white and heterosexual and male!), but those women then had to contend with sexual harassment from the both of them. So where is the power of pretty people if there are a number of ugly people who can just hire them for decoration and then sexually harass them or worse?

Beauty can come with some benefits, sure, but those benefits are conferred by the beholder of beauty regardless of the beholder's own looks, not by beautiful people. And those benefits often come with a catch. So if we want to argue pretty privilege as a thing, we have to be using a complete different framing of privilege than we use for white privilege (conferred by white people), male privilege (conferred by men), straight privilege (conferred by straight people), rich privilege (conferred by the wealthy), etc..

And before someone yells at me, yes, I'm aware that conventionally unattractive women are sexually harassed by men who expect them to be grateful for it. I was the outcast in elementary school and the early part of high school. The way boys treated me then was different than later, when their opinion of my looks changed. I've experienced both the "you should be happy for my attention because you're ugly" and the "you're lucky to be beautiful, you should give me a chance" from men and boys. The point is, whether you're sexually victimized by a man who expects gratitude because he deigned to touch you or by a man who hired you because you fit his type, who has the power? Not the conventionally attractive woman. The man does.

That's privilege. Male privilege. This is literally an oppressor sorting the oppressed out like toys and selecting his favourites. And some of you think the favourite toys make up a separate oppressor class. I'm sorry, that's not how it works.

[stay-outta-my-blood-circle]

Excuse me- May I please ask for a poly Thomas and Vincent headcanons?... how you write them is just so- 🥺❤️💕👌😤😫

VERY ADORABLE ❣️ Thank you!

Sorry this took a million years, I've been working on it a bit at a time xD I used the same format as my poly!chromespann headcanons.

With Thomas, you feel so…

Delicate – no matter what kind of frame you have, he’ll treat you like something precious he’s afraid of breaking. He knows how rough and strong his hands are, and he’s constantly anxious about accidentally hurting someone important to him (laughably, this extends to Vincent too – watching him treat the other man, who is quite strong and sturdy in his own right, like he’s made of porcelain is something to behold).

Safe – he may be worried he’s going to harm you, but you certainly aren’t. You know he’d never hurt you, and what’s more – he’d never let anyone else hurt you either. Strangers lurking around the neighborhood? So what. Things going bump in the night? You don’t even wake up. It’s impossible to be frightened when you’re beside such a big, protective bear of a man.

Cherished – you’re so, so precious to him; it’s obvious in the way he looks at you, the way he touches you, the little notes he leaves for you, the things he does around the house - every interaction with him is drowning in tender affection. He’d do anything for you, you’re sure. He feels so lucky and grateful to have you, and he tries to demonstrate that as often as he can.

With Vincent, you’ve never been so…

Accepted - you can be yourself around him, completely without judgment. Rarely have you been so comfortable in your own skin. It's important to him that you feel able to be completely open with him, and he has succeeded in that.

Revered - you're his muse, his light in the darkness, the altar at which he worships through burnt (sculpted?) offering. Sometimes you get vertigo from how high on a pedestal he's placed you, but it seems impossible for you to fall off - he knows you're not perfect, he just holds you in high esteem despite your imperfections.

Understood - it's almost unnerving how accurately he can guess, without a word from you, what you're thinking or how you're feeling. It's as if he's memorized every subtle expression or movement you make. He's also good at knowing what you need - whether that's space, or comfort, or distraction.

All together now!

They have a great dynamic on their own, but you're the icing on the cake. Both men enjoy nurturing and being nurtured equally; in this relationship, you all take care of each other.

It's a quiet, peaceful household. Lazy weekend mornings cuddling in bed, low-key evenings making dinner together, board game nights. If you like cozy familiarity, this is the relationship for you.

Thomas' love language is acts of service, which tends to manifest in househusbandy ways; he does chores (he's used to those anyway), he cooks, he fixes things around the house. It makes him happy to provide for the two of you in that way.

Vincent's love language is quality time; if he's not engrossed in his work, he's hanging out with one or both of you - whether that involves watching a movie, working on a project together, or just keeping you company while you fold towels or something.

NSFW below the cut

Oh boy, these two are a treat.

What are you in the mood for? Slow and sensual or fast and rough? Top or bottom? Kinks you wanna try? They'll happily grant any wish you may have. They're very well-rounded and flexible.

One thing is for sure: you'll be extremely well taken care of - before, during, and after. They endeavor to make you feel special at all times, so it's no surprise they dote on you in bed too.

It's like they can read each others' minds; they pass you back and forth and maneuver you into position for one another with zero apparent communication.

Usually it's all three of you at once (hands everywhere), but sometimes they like to take turns watching you with the other one.

Thomas has the higher sex drive and often instigates. Most of your one-on-one sessions are with him.

Vincent is kinkier. Restraint, temperature play (with or without wax), you name it. Thomas is a simple man and would be perfectly happy with just the basics, but he enjoys the extra stuff too.

Vincent lasts longer, but Thomas can go more rounds. You're going to end up exhausted for sure. :) enjoy!

[danpuff-ao3]

Also hopping in with my two cents (at the nudging of @perverse-idyll)

There is, I think, a very classic idea of what "good writing" is. It ticks several boxes. Beautiful prose, relatable characters, interesting plot that makes sense. Worldbuilding and magic systems. Everything well thought out. But it's at the point where we can objectively look at something and call it "good writing" whether we enjoyed it or not, and whether it touched us or not.

Likewise, you could look at the list of boxes and a work might not tick them all, but it worked for you. There was heart in that story with plot holes and sparse language. That character was captivating, even if they were an irredeemable jerkface. Maybe the characters were cardboard cutout people and the plot made no sense, but boy was it fun!

All stories have inherent worth, whether a jury deems them "good" or not.

Now, I imagine when someone is asking for "well written" stories, they're thinking of that checklist. But I'd like to challenge that checklist.

I'll admit, I'm a sucker for "beautiful prose", for strings of words that make my heart sing! And I could ask you why beautiful prose makes something well-written. But I might also ask you: what is beautiful prose? Isn't beauty in the eye of the beholder?

Poetic wordcrafting might speak to me, but it might drive someone else bonkers! "Enough with the fluffed up word count, get to the point!" Just as well, because I also see beauty in sparseness. A barebone skeleton is just as lovely to me as a rich and colorful garden. They are beautiful in different ways, yes, but beautiful all the same.

Just because the skeleton is too bare or too morbid for you, or the garden too fragrant and wild, doesn't mean either is bad.

What about characters? What do you look for in your protagonist? If you're my partner, you look for moral correctness and strong values. He favors the goody-two-shoes, boy scout, Captain America-esque figures. My partner also hates Snape. To him, Snape is a bully, and my partner can't forgive that.

We all have our flaws, even the man I love.

Meanwhile, I love Severus Snape! I fell in love with him as a child and I've loved him ever since. I stray towards more morally gray characters, and I love them all the more when their flaws are leaned into. Show me the worst of them alongside the best. Be ruthless in examining their every fault. That's what I like.

My partner has his values and they matter to him dearly, and he wants to see them expressed even in the media he consumes. And while I live according to my own values, I toss them out of the window for a good story. To me, it's fiction, and I could care less about morality in my fiction. I'm here to be entertained!

More than that, I am endlessly fascinated by humanity. I believe people to be worthy of love and respect inherently. Let me explore every dark crevice of your soul and love every inch of it. Whereas my partner values real people who are their best selves, and that's what he wants to see in his fiction: the best of humanity.

What of plots? I know people who will rip a work to shreds at a weak point in the plot, or over every little plot hole. "This doesn't make sense!" they say. "The author forgot this." Or: "this section is lacking xyz that the other sections have!" Whereas, for me, unless a plot hole is glaring and egregious, I might not even notice. And if I do notice, I might not care. Plot holes have to be pretty extreme for me to give a rat's tail about it. But some people are less forgiving of logical inconsistencies than others.

What of worldbuilding and magic systems? Not every story needs these, but for the ones that do...My partner favors hard magic systems himself. He wants to know every little thing, and every little thing must make sense. For me, though...Well. I just want to have a good time. I like whimsy and color. I'm fine with the mythical, mystical, mysterious quality to some works while my partner is looking for a scientific study.

What of smut? For some people smut must "make sense", others are here for the fantasy of it more than the consistency of it.

When I'm reading, I want to feel something. I want magic. I want the words to feel like magic lighting up my veins. I want the romance to feel like magic in my heart. I want to fall in love with the characters, warts and all.

Magic, to me, isn't good or perfect, it's gritty and real and alive. I want passion and intensity and drama! I want a match lit in my gut. I want to be consumed by it. I don't need it to make sense and I don't need to be taught lessons, I want to feel alive as I'm burning to ash.

My partner is a man of science. He wants creators to be gods of their worlds, and he wants to explore every nook and cranny of those worlds. He wants the characters, who he views as associates, to be good and noble people. And, best of all, he wants to have a fun adventure along the way. Prose? While he enjoys beautiful prose, it's the least of his concerns with a story.

My partner and I are different people. We share a life together and we share the same values, but we are, at our core, different. We both LOVE reading, but what we love to read can differ. And when we love the same story, we love them for different reasons.

So...what is "writing"? Is it the prose? Is it the story? Is it a checklist of items?

What makes writing "good?" Is it how many boxes it checks? Is there a ranking system? What items on the list are more heavily weighted than others?

And even then...even if we could agree on what defines a work as "good writing", that doesn't necessarily mean you will enjoy it.

It helps, I think, to first know what you like to read. What genres, what tropes? What parts of a work capture your interest the most? Do you like lyrical prose and character studies? Do you like witty dialogue and heavy plots? Do you prefer logic or whimsy? Do you want to have fun, or do you want to be destroyed?

Even though I think I have a grasp on what "good writing" means to a lot of people, I would hesitate to be able to list works at all. What if I offer a list of what I view as "good" and people judge me for it? There is an inherent value judgment in the phrasing "good writing." There are works I feel self-conscious to recommend for fear of what others might think, but how is that fair?

It's not fair of me to consider a work as "bad writing" when I enjoy it, just because I think other people will see it as bad.

At this point I'm rambling, but the point is: how can any of us really judge what good writing is? Even if we can, how do we recommend what is "good" in a way that is fair, or in a way that will be well-received? But most of all, I sort of want people to think beyond the popular view of what is "good" because what is "good" doesn't matter so much as how much you enjoy it, and how it touches you and your life.

If you would have to list your top five Drarry fics that you consider a) the best written fics and b) your personal favorite fics, would the two lists have the exact same five fics? :D Because to me they wouldnt

Hi anon! Hmm probably not as my favourites are usually based on my reading preferences, then again that depends on the parameters chosen to decide what’s a “well written” fic. Personally, I don’t have enough knowledge about literature or English usage to go there so I feel like my picks will always be personal in that sense. Very interesting ask, would love to see others’ thoughts on the matter - I feel like we all agree those lists will diverge at some point!