#how historians cope | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

batmanisagatewaydrug · 7 months ago

Note

first of all, this is all legit, and not bait, though i have a feeling it may come off that way, this did happen to me. please don't publish if tumblr sends it off anon.

i'm a lesbian with gender dysphoria, and while i haven't had much sexual experience, i would consider myself a stone top. in the last year and a half i began reading "terf"/radical feminist writings and reading "terf" tumblr blogs fairly actively, largely out of frustration with misogyny i was experiencing IRL. though i never engaged with the community i did stop identifying as genderfluid and started understanding my dysphoria as stemming from the trauma of being bullied by other girls for having a high-androgen DSD, and using different pronouns/transition thoughts as unhealthy coping mechanisms. i'm happy with this, but i also don't know if i'm attracted to women anymore.

i've always been attracted to women in a way that's stereotypically guy-like; i find feminine women very attractive and not so much fellow(?) butches, want to penetrate with a strap on, don't like bush much, cursory interest in BDSM/daddy kink. i read/watched het erotica and porn sometimes and identified with the man. what i read problematized pretty much every aspect of that- femininity as a cage, penetration as violence/straps as disidentification w the female body, infantilization of women, bdsm as abuse etc. also, desisting making me more conscious of dysphoria/knowledge of how extensive sexual dimorphism is putting me off both women with larger breasts and hips AND smaller breasts and hips/unrealistically masculine body types as well. so a lot of what turned me on before isn't arousing anymore, or i feel guilty about it, and i haven't been able to find butch4butch stuff which is much healthier very interesting.

i consider my sexuality healthier now on a political level but my ability to get aroused/jerk off has plummeted (used to be i could jork it sunrise to sunset) and thinking about being in a relationship w another woman makes me feel uneasy and weird, especially since a lot of what i read emphasized reciprocative cunnilingus/tribbing (which i don't like) as the healthiest sex options. i also think about both my dysphoria and my sexuality issues 100x more than i did before, even though i was promised the opposite (freedom from dysphoria and feeling happier as a lesbian), and it's stressing me out day-to-day. i'm aware based on your general ethos that you probably think i'm a terrible person right now, but i figured it'd be useful to seek the opinion of someone who radically disagrees with what i've read on what i could/should do next, since i admittedly miss being at peace with my sexuality.

thanks for reading.

hi there anon,

it's a bummer that you'd think I would assume you're a terrible person based on everything you've told me here. I generally try not to consider people terrible unless they're actively being shitheads or hurting other people, which doesn't sound at all like you're describing. from what you've told me, you've been up to your eyes in some information that's made you feel deeply uncomfortable in your sexuality and now you're seeking out a new perspective to help you make sense of that hurt. that describes most of the people who send me questions!

it's so striking to me that much of what you're describing is very reminiscent of what's recounted in The Persistent Desire, an anthology of writings on butch/femme identities edited by femme historian and archivist Joan Nestle that was released in 1992. in various essays and interviews countless butches and femmes recount their discomfort with the feminist turn against butch and femme identities that too place in the 70s, when both roles were declared problematic recreations of heterosexuality and summarily decried as politically "incorrect" for lesbians. it's shocking to me how much what you've described echoes these accounts experienced by lesbians half a century ago - the disowning of women who are "excessively" feminine or masculine, the demonizing of penetrative sex, general insistence that there are "correct" sex acts that every lesbian is supposed to enjoy, and the deep discomfort and insecurity that this causes among people who don't fit into the very rigid standards of proper lesbian identity set forth.

here's a link to a PDF, if that's interesting to you at all. it's very long, so feel free not to read it straight through; it's a great project to skim and an incredible way to get in touch with the lesbians who came before us. their accounts of their lives are so wildly different from the boundaries of "good" queer representation that feel so universal today; in discussing their own lives many of these women speak very bluntly about their experiences with abuse, drugs, sex work, and violence. it's a great glimpse into the lives and history of a lot of very ordinary lesbians just living their lives, and I'm very grateful it's been preserved.

now, as for what you're actually gonna do: hey. listen. first of all, if you haven't given up reading this stuff yet, you've gotta. you simply cannot keep internalizing stuff that makes you overanalyze your own sexuality so hard that you feel uncomfortable about being attracted to women. that's not "healthy," that's conversion therapy lite. there are other places to talk about feminism without being made to feel ashamed of yourself.

listen: there's nothing unhealthy about anything that you described about yourself. being a stone butch, being attracted to certain looks and aesthetics, watching porn, wanting to use a strap and roleplay during sex and not being interested in other sexual activities - all of those thing are completely normal and, yes, healthy. certainly healthier than feeling the need to repress your sexuality so hard that thinking about being with a woman doesn't feel right!

should we run through that list?

femininity as cage - sure, okay, femininity isn't for everyone, and there are parts of it that suck. that doesn't mean there's anything wrong with women who like to wear dresses or put on makeup or shave or whatever, or anyone who's attracted to those women. genuinely I cannot think of anything less interesting or important to feminist organizing than getting hung up about what people want to wear. it's clothes, dude. it's fucking clothes. pick a more important hill to die on, I implore you.

penetration is not the same thing as violence. there's just nothing to debate about that one; it's patently absurd to pretend that every act of penetrative sex is rape and you'd have to fundamentally misunderstand how consent works to believe that.

straps are not about "disidentification with the female body," they're about augmenting a sexual experience. a strap-on is not more problematic than a vibrator or a massage oils or a pillow used to prop up a body part. unless those are also bad? are those bad? are pillows disidentifying from the female body also? I'm not up to date on this.

straight up I don't even know which part of your whole deal the infantilization of women is supposed to address, but a thing that I've always found interesting about a lot of radical feminists who are deeply distrustful of sex is the way that many of them seem to assume that women can't be trusted to understand their own sexual desires and need to be taught what's appropriate. seems kind of condescending to me, personally.

BDSM isn't the same thing as abuse. abuse, crucially, is not a situation that people can safe word out of or negotiate the constraints of. it's kind of like how, you know, I purposefully pay people to shove needles in my skin when I want a tattoo, but I wouldn't be stoked about it if somebody just ran up to me in public and started stabbing me without any warning or conversation. context is crucial. there can certainly be abusive people within BDSM spaces, but that's true of people of literally every sexual proclivity on earth, and certainly not an innate feature of BDSM. it's just make believe, dude. it's dress up. it's sex LARPing.

also, psst, hey. that thing about being attracted to women in a "guy-like" way? no such thing. men are humans, dude; they experience attraction in as many different ways as anyone else. for every dude interested in the same stuff as you there are men yearning for hairy women, muscular women, masculine women, women who will dominate them, women who would rather be eaten out then penetrated, and so on. to say nothing of the men who aren't into women at all! and, as is obvious from your own experience, men don't have a monopoly on those kinds of feelings, anyway! there are no men or women feelings, dude; it's all just people having feelings and fighting for their lives trying to figure out what they're into to.

I want to particularly talk about that last bit, where you mentioned not enjoying or wanting to engage in cunnilingus or tribbing. that's totally fine! people like different shit in all kinds of combinations - I'm personally a huge fan of getting eaten out and scratched up or bitten, but I don't do penetration and I've genuinely never met anyone who actually liked tribbing - and there are absolutely people out there who will, to paraphrase the poet Tinashe, perfectly match your freak.

(have you heard about the perpetual, critical shortage of tops that the queer community faces? you'd be a godsend, just saying.)

also, actually, hey I wanted to circle back to another thing as well: it's deeply alarming to me that whatever radfem stuff you've been reading has you feeling "put off" of women with wide hips and large breasts as well as women with small breasts and hips. what is wrong with either of those? both of those are just ways that women naturally look. women just look a wide variety of ways, and it's sad that that's upsetting you now. just thinking about this, conceptually, is giving me hives.

having been up to your eyes in all of this, I can definitely understand why you'd feel the urge to overanalyze you own gender and sexuality to the point of completely talking yourself out of identifying with anything that feels good for you. as I said, that's actually not healthy in any way, and as a sex educator I can't say that I think anyone genuinely invested in your well-being would want that for you.

entirely aside from their feelings on trans people, which I obviously disagree with pretty vehemently, one of the things about radfems that's most endlessly vexing to me is the insistence that such an extremely narrow range of sexual behaviors are appropriate. seems like a miserable way to live, and I sincerely hope you can detangle yourself from the morass of shame it's landed you in. you deserve better.

#sex edventures 2024

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perfinn · 4 months ago

Text

you're out of touch, i'm out of time

aegon ii targaryen x reader - part ii

wc: 4.6k

summary: you search for answers on why aegon is here, and find you rather enjoy his company

cw: f!reader, aegon the cringefail king, kinda just a lot of hanging out, a little make out session, aegon almost pushes toward dubcon advances but he's quickly stopped

masterlist, read on ao3, divider by saradika

You hardly sleep a wink that first night with Aegon in your flat. You’re too worried about him, and the carpet in the living room. You’re still not an expert on history, but you’re quite sure that vodka hadn’t been invented yet when Aegon was supposed to be alive. If it had, Westeros hadn’t yet set up any trade routes beyond the Bone Mountains. You still remember your first vodka hangover, even if you don’t quite remember the night that preceded it, and it was not a good time. Aegon is in for something of a shock if he hasn’t drowned in his own vomit– cheap as your vodka is, it’s a lot stronger than that piss water from the Arbour the historians all say he drank.

You rise from your bed with your alarm, not snoozing it as you usually do and instead going to go check on Aegon. Thankfully, he’s right where you left him and alive and well, if his open-mouth snoring is any indication. He’s splayed out on your couch, legs falling over the side and bottle of water you’d made up for him spilled on the floor. Hells, at least it’s only water he spilled.

Leaving him to sleep a moment longer, you pad into the kitchen and rummage around for the electrolyte tablets you keep for this exact scenario. Well– maybe not this exactly. Usually it’s reserved for your own hangovers, not for when the time travelling king of Westeros has broken into your drink cabinet and passed out on your couch. But close enough. You make up a drink for him, deciding he can cope with the orange flavour even if he doesn’t like it and come back over, setting the glass loudly down on the coffee table and waking Aegon with a jolt.

He almost falls from the couch, gasping and throwing his hands over his ears. “Get out!” He demands, wincing at the sound of his own voice. “Five more minutes!”

“Not your chambermaid, Aegon,” you say, folding your arms over your chest. “Drink this. And no, yesterday wasn't a fever dream, you’re still in the future.”

Part of you had hoped yesterday's events were a weird dream of your own.

Aegon cracks his eyes open, taking in the sight of you slowly before he groans and presses his fists hard into his eye sockets. “Fuck,” he mumbles. “My head…”

“Yeah,” you say, picking the glass back up and holding it out to him. “Straight vodka will do that to you. Drink.”

He lowers his hands and eyes you suspiciously as he reaches for the glass, sniffing it. You roll your eyes. He’ll drink from a random bottle he finds in your home but not something you’re offering to him?

“It'll make you feel better,” you say. “It's orange flavoured.”

“Well, that makes it alright then,” he grumbles, taking a slow sip and moving to sit upright. “If I’m getting poisoned, at least the poison tastes like oranges.”

You make your way over to the kitchen and fish around your cupboards for instant coffee as Aegon makes a noise of confusion.

“Why is it-” he stops, brows furrowed as he looks for the word. “Bubbles?”

“Oh,” you say, looking back at him while you clutch the Garfield mug you found at the thrift a few months ago. You lean over to put the kettle on, sighing as you realise how much of modern life you’re going to have to explain to Aegon. You wonder how much of it can be avoided, skirted around so you don't have to explain the entire industrial revolution to him. “Yeah, it’s fizzy. It’s not poison, just science.”

Aegon stares at you indignantly. “Are you a witch?”

“Gods, it’s not a magic potion, Aegon. Why can’t you just accept that we’ve made a bit of progress in the last thousand years? Things are different, that doesn’t make it magic. Just drink it, it’ll help you feel better.”

Aegon takes a slow sip, lips turning down as he seems to decide he likes it well enough. You turn your back to him and scoop a spoonful of the coffee into your mug, wondering what you’re going to do with him. You’ll have to call out of work, at least for today. You don’t trust him to be left alone; Gods know where he’ll end up, if he’ll contract some disease his immune system isn’t ready for or get hit by a car as he so nearly did yesterday. You hear him groan softly and turn back to see him leaning back on the sofa and sipping slowly at the drink.

You suppose he probably wants your attention, but you withhold it until you’ve taken the first sip of your coffee. It tastes as shit as you expect instant coffee to taste. Gods, you need to buy a proper coffee machine. You make your way back over to him, sitting down on the other end of the sofa.

“Ready to talk yet?” You ask him.

Aegon grunts, rubbing at his temple. “Quietly,” he mumbles. “I had hoped yesterday might be a dream.”

“Me too,” you say, sipping slowly at your coffee. “I’ll be frank with you, Aegon, I don’t know what to do with you.”

Aegon scoffs, kicking his feet up onto the coffee table. You’d tell him to take them down, but it’s not exactly a nice coffee table. You can see him staring at the plastic dragon figure on the TV unit. The bags under his eyes are so heavy. “That often seems to be the case,” he says, leaning forward slowly and picking up the dragon. It’s a small one, red and gold. “I wonder how this feels for Sunfyre…”

“Sunfyre was your dragon, right?” You ask, voice still quiet as he requested.

He nods, frowning as he moves the hard plastic wing of the toy. “He’s a fine beast,” he says. “Should he think me dead?”

“I wouldn't know,” you say. “Aegon, I think we need to get you home.”

Aegon goes quiet, almost as though he knows, somehow, that a grizzly fate awaits him in his own time. But he nods. “Yes,” he agrees. “How?”

“No idea. We’ll need to go to the library.”

He looks over at you, setting the dragon down and raising an eyebrow. “So you really can read?”

“Really really,” you say with a slight smile. “We peasants have been literate for centuries. I’ll make you some breakfast and then we can go.”

Aegon leans back again, watching you with wonder as you go back to the kitchen. “You know, I thought we might teach the smallfolk to read,” he says. “I think after the war I’ll bring it up.”

You glance over at him and smile. “Maybe you will.”

“They like me, I think,” Aegon says. “The smallfolk. Aegon the Magnanimous.”

You raise an eyebrow, pulling down a box of cereal. “Kind of lame.”

Aegon sighs. “Yes. We are working on it.”

Once Aegon has eaten his fill of your off brand cereal (which he decides he hates) you get him up and lead him out of the house. Aegon still seems fascinated with the world outside.

“I suppose it does still look like King’s Landing,” he says, staring up at the buildings around him. He refuses to look at the cars, and you can’t blame him. You can’t imagine they’d be an easy thing to process right off the bat. Still, he’s going to have to deal with it when you get onto the bus.

You stop at the bus stop with him, pulling out your phone to check when it’ll arrive. You can feel Aegon staring at you, you glance up, seeing that confused look on his face. You put the phone away. “Bus’ll be here in five minutes.”

He nods, but doesn’t ask what a bus is. “It is strange,” he says. “It looks so different, but much the same.”

You nod, offering him a small smile. “A lot of it is heritage protected, so it can’t be altered. We’ve expanded a lot, so all the outer city is newer, but this is the centre.”

“This is Flea Bottom, right?”

You smile, laughing a bit. “Yeah, it is. They called it Flea Bottom back then too?”

Aegon nods, sniffing the air. “It doesn’t smell so badly these days, but the buildings are the same.”

“Yeah, well, rent’s cheapest here. There was some government initiative to clean it up. Or gentrify it. The university bought out a bunch of the flats for student accommodation, it was the best I could afford.”

“This… university, it is like the Citadel?”

You nod. “Citadel’s a university too, but yes.”

“No, the Citadel is the Citadel,” he says, scoffing.

“Okay, it’s a university now. Certainly not one I can afford,” you huff, reminded of the rejected scholarship you’d applied for. You suppose it wouldn’t have helped– rent in Oldtown is something else entirely. You crane your neck to spot the bus, seeing it coming close enough to flag it down. Aegon immediately steps behind you, eyeing the huge vehicle warily. You reach back, gently taking his hand and squeezing it without thinking.

“It’s okay,” you tell him. “Just trust me and follow me.”

You feel Aegon’s breath falter, and somehow you know he’s staring at your hand in his. You gently lead him up the step and ask the bus driver to tap on for two. The busdriver raises an eyebrow at Aegon, but nods and lets you on. You scan your card, leading Aegon up to a seat by the back.

Aegon sits down, frowning at the interior. “This is like a wheelhouse. But with no horse. And uglier.”

“They’re not really made for style,” you tell him.

He nods, looking at you again. He glances down at your hands, still intertwined. When you notice, you begin to pull away with the thought that he doesn’t like it. But Aegon only holds you tighter. You meet his eyes and find something desperate in them, a silent begging for you not to let go. Strange. But you oblige.

“So,” you say softly. “Can you tell me what you last remember?”

Aegon exhales slowly, puffing out his cheeks and glancing between you and the window. He settles on watching the world pass by, no doubt faster than any wheelhouse could carry him. He must decide he trusts you enough.

“It was nothing,” he tells you, leaning his forehead against the window. “I was with my favourites. Drinking, talking. Discussing my sobriquet. Everything after that is nothing. I didn’t even go to sleep. It is as though I blinked, and I was in the street. Then I met you.”

“Well that's…” You purse your lips, leaning back in the bus seat. “Nondescript. You weren't doing anything out of the ordinary? Not fucking with any ancient rocks? Weirwood trees?”

“No,” he says, sliding his gaze toward you. “I was on the throne, in the Keep.”

None of this helps. You scratch at your chin as you try to make sense of any of it. You pull your phone from your pocket, opening the browser and typing in – dreading the targeted ads you’re inadvertently signing yourself up to get – ‘accidental time travel firsthand account.’

Aegon peers over, watching the screen with fascination as you scroll past various untrustworthy conspiracy sites.

“Do you suppose perhaps Rhaenyra paid a witch to curse me?”

“Why would she do that?”

Aegon's lips pull down in a pouty frown. “Well, my brother did kill her son.”

“Yeah, well, that'll do it,” you sigh, closing your phone and leaning back in your seat. You glance out the window, watching the city go by. The people milling about the street go by so quickly you cannot see their faces. However strange a day anyone thinks they may be having, it cannot be more than yours.

“Witches. Woods witches. Weirwood, maybe,” you murmur, tilting your head this way and that. “Even if you weren't directly fucking with any, there's one in the Keep’s godswood. I went on a tour when I first moved here.”

“A tour…?”

“It's as good a place to start as any. Weirwood, woods witches, and rock formations. The library will have plenty on it.”

You get off the bus at the campus library soon after. The university sits upon Visenya’s hill behind the sept, which you’ve never really bothered to enter. It’s a strange thing, living in such a city rather than visiting it. Apart from your dead boring tour of the Red Keep, you've never visited the tourist traps. Growing up in the Riverlands, you never once visited any of the old castles. You always thought you might see more of King’s Landing when you came. Perhaps you would if you could, but you find you rarely have the time between study and work.

As you ascend the steps with Aegon in tow, he stops and turns, gazing across the city. You glance back at him, following his gaze up Aegon’s High Hill, where the Red Keep sits. You stop in your footsteps, coming back down toward him.

“You okay?” You venture.

“Yes,” he murmurs. “Just odd, I suppose. It looks the same.”

“Lots of it still does, I guess. The dragonpit is still there too.”

You nod your head to the other end of the city, pointing him to the ruins of the building.

Aegon pales. “It's… what happened to it?”

“Time,” you murmur. In part because it's true, but also because you don't know why it's in ruins. You’ve never been that far up the hill. You’ve never had it in you to wonder.

“I don't believe you.”

You look over at him, and an intense purple gaze meets yours. You scoff. “I think I’m getting used to you not believing me,” you say. “Come on.”

You continue up the stairs and Aegon follows after a moment. “You really won't tell me what happened to the dragonpit?”

“No. Because I don't know. It's been like that for centuries, as far as I’m aware. And even if I did know, I feel like there has to be some sort of rule against it.”

“Against what?”

“Against telling you about the future!”

“What? But I’m already here! If the Gods didn't want me to know about the future I wouldn't be here!”

You purse your lips. He makes a good point, but still. “Well all the movies say it's bad. What if I send you back and you change things, and make it so I cease to exist? And I can’t tell you anyway because I don't know, so don't worry about it.”

“You know, I don't understand half the things you say,” Aegon says as you push the door to the library open, gesturing for him to enter first.

“Likewise.”

Once inside, you make your way up to the librarian’s desk, the older woman immediately perking up with your presence. You smile at her.

“Hi, um, I’m after pretty much anything you have on weirwood trees, woods witches, and, uh, like rock formations–”

“And any scrolls you have on Aegon the Second, thank you.”

“No.”

You look back at Aegon, who pouts at being denied. You imagine he’s not used to that.

“Don't worry yourself with the Aegon stuff,” you say, looking back at the librarian sheepishly. “He's uh… easily distracted.”

The librarian smiles anyway, putting her glasses on the end of her nose and leaning into her computer. “Let me see what I can find you.”

A few minutes later, Aegon and yourself are seated at a secluded table surrounded by soft chairs and lit by dusty sunlight, tucked away between bookshelves only matched in age by Aegon. Old books and new are scattered across the table, and Aegon marvels at the shining pages of a new textbook, thumbing at the photographs of Harrenhal.

“Can I see that one?” You ask, holding your hands out for it. Aegon slides it across. He folds his arms on the table, leaning forward and resting his chin on his arms.

“Do you do this often?” He asks. “Seems dreadfully dull.”

You shake your head. “Not as often as I ought to.”

“I assume this is what my father did all day,” he grumbles, thumbing at the worn cover of a book on the Old Gods. “Before he, you know.”

“Died?”

“No,” he says. “Well, yes. But I think his soul left long before his body gave out.”

You nod, unsure what to say. From what you can gather, Aegon didn't have much of a relationship with his father. You’re not sure if it's wise to pry. You’re not sure what you’d say if you did.

Aegon begins to make a clicking sound with his mouth as you flick through the pages.

“You could help,” you say after a moment.

“You want me to read?” He scoffs. “Your magical little drink didn't work that well. I just wish we had a bard or something.”

“A bard,” you repeat, voice flat. You roll your eyes, fishing into your pocket for your phone. He watches you with curiosity as you set the phone down and begin playing something at low volume. As soon as the song begins, he jolts upright and leans forward. He snatches up the phone, turning it over in his hands, shaking his head in disbelief. It’s some old synth song, something you remember watching your parents dance to when they’d have their friends over on the weekend and drink late into the night.

“Incredible,” Aegon murmurs. “How do you look at dusty books when you have this thing? Bards and scrolls at your fingertips.”

“I’m actually trying to get my screentime down,” you say sheepishly. “It’s uh… it’s pretty rough.”

Aegon gives you a quizzical glance before he’s distracted by your screen lighting up. He seems quite entertained by your lock screen and is silent for a few moments. You turn your gaze back to the books, resting your temple on your fist.

Your phone buzzes after a moment, and you glance at it only momentarily before you school yourself back toward the books. You’ve been trying to stop being so trained by your phone.

“Messages. Jeyne– and there’s a little drawing of what I suppose is a seashell –” You bolt upright as Aegon begins reading out the message. You try to snatch it from him, but he moves it out of your reach. “I just got YiTish dick – Seven Hells, then there’s more of these drawings, they look to be peaches? – freaky as everyone says.”

You stare, stunned into silence, at Aegon as he processes what he’s just read, looking at you with a wicked sort of grin. He sets the phone down, now playing some modern house music you barely remember adding to your playlist.

“I’m to understand this is some sort of raven, yes?”

“Yes,” you say. Gods, what else could you even say to that? Your former roommate was never the most couth person, and you were never her biggest fan. But even though she’s disappeared to the other side of the world, you’re still subject to her unprompted oversharing.

“This Jeyne is quite something.”

“Yep,” you mumble, managing to grab your phone back. “How about we wrap this up for today? I’m suddenly craving YiTish food.”

“I can’t imagine why,” Aegon snickers. You realise that this may be the first time you’ve seen him smile, however wry and mocking it may be. It’s a lovely expression, but one you suspect he doesn’t wear very often.

“Come on,” you say, picking up several of the books. “Grab a few. We’re taking them back. But I’m borrowing this weirwood tree one.”

Aegon groans in protest, but gathers up the remaining books to balance in his arms. Once you’ve borrowed the book and created a list of the others, you escape the dusty library into the waning sunlight.

Aegon is a chatterbox when you’re on the bus again, and as you order the both of you some YiTish food. Clearly his hangover’s worn off. You smile apologetically at the young girl behind the counter as you take the bags of food. You shoot Aegon a look in hopes of shutting him up, but you have no such luck. The walk back up to your flat is accompanied by the sound of Aegon's voice.

When you get inside, he finally stops. Now that you’re in private, he wishes no longer to speak? You glance back at him with a raised eyebrow, but he's watching you unpack the food.

“I got you sweet and sour pork,” you tell him, handing him the little box and a fork. “Should be free enough of any major allergens… if not, Jeyne left behind an epipen.”

“I’m growing quite tired of asking you what things mean,” he says, opening up the box and sniffing at it. He pulls his lips down but doesn't look to actually be frowning.

You grab your own food, moving to sit down on your worn sofa and beckoning for Aegon to join you. “I’m guessing your time doesn't have YiTish food,” you say.

He huffs, nodding as he sits down and kicks his feet up on the coffee table. You’d tell him to knock that off if you had a nicer coffee table, but as it is – a piece of shit wooden box with shaky wheels on the bottom – you don't bother. “Not by far.”

“I’m not sure how authentic this is,” you say, poking your chopsticks into the box and searching for a nice crunchy bit of cabbage. “But it's cheap, and has never done me wrong.”

Aegon takes a tentative bite, and you watch as his face twists in curious acceptance of the new flavours. It’s… Gods, well, it's sort of cute.

“I like it. I think,” he remarks, taking another bite and leaning back comfortably. “Much has changed.”

You nod, glancing out of the window at the city lights. How had it looked all those years ago? How has the skylike changed? Brightened?

“You say you can't tell me what you know about my life,” Aegon says slowly. You nod, opening your mouth to sigh and tell him again that you won't budge, only he stops you. “I’m not going to ask. I only want to make sense of your world. And what remains of mine.”

“Oh,” you murmur. “Okay. Well, I’ll try.”

Aegon nods, looking down contemplatively. “Hm… the Dothraki?”

Not… exactly where you expected him to start. “Yeah,” you say with a small smile. “They're still around. They're kind of baller, actually. Like they gained all the modern stuff but still live nomadically.”

“Are they still so… brutal?”

“Oh, no,” you say. “Really kind of a peaceful state now. Jeyne reckons she'll be heading to the Sea after YiTi.”

Aegon nods slowly. “This Jeyne girl is quite something. She used to live with you?”

You nod. “Yeah. We were assigned the same flat… I can’t say I ever really liked her much, but she was tolerable.”

“And she… left? Escaped? “

“Mhm. Decided she was unfulfilled by higher education and fucked of to YiTi to ‘find herself.’ Alright for some, I guess.”

Aegon stares at you in silence for a moment, smiling ever so slightly. “You speak in such a strange and wonderful way,” he murmurs.

You can't help but smile. He has a nice smile about him. You suspect it's not an expression he uses much, at least not in a real, involuntary way.

“So do you,” you say softly. He’s… goodness, he’s beautiful in this light. You know you shouldn't think that.

(But then, why shouldn't you? He's a grown man, he’s sober, what’s stopping you? Responsibility? Expectation? You’re not certain.)

He must see the budding conflict on your face because he reaches out to touch your cheek. He lifts his thumb up, pressing it between your eyebrows to smooth out the crease there. “Why the frown?”

You smile wryly at him. “Just thinking,” you tell him as he sets his food down.

“Of course. You do a lot of that, don't you?”

You huff a soft laugh. “Too much.”

He shifts closer, and you find yourself less and less willing to stop him with every second. “Take a break from thinking,” he says, leaning forward and catching your lips in a kiss before you can respond.

There's a moment of hesitation, the briefest second where you contemplate pulling away. You should. The last thing you should be doing is letting Aegon entangle himself with you. He's misplaced in time, practically a stranger. Not to mention married.

(Unhappily, and to his sister, but all the same.)

But the moment passes. And you let him. And you lean into him and return the favour. Encouraged by your response, Aegon shifts closer and grabs at your waist, trying to pull you closer.

It happens fast, he doesn't seem to want to waste time building up to a point before he's shoving his tongue into your mouth and crashing his teeth against yours.

“Aegon,” you murmur. He only grunts in protest, continuing his advances. “Aegon, slow down.”

Aegon huffs as he pulls away just a fraction, hands groping a little too harshly at your hips. “What for?”

You frown at him, gently pushing him away. He relents, but begins to scowl. You place your hands firmly on his shoulders. “There's no need to rush,” you say quietly.

You realise then that Aegon is used to taking. He is used to taking what he needs and not bothering with any sort of lead-up beyond unrefined kissing. He surges forward to kiss you again but you place your hand in his face and shove him away.

He cries your name indignantly, unused to being denied either.

“Sit down,” you say firmly, shoving him back onto the sofa cushion. “And stay.”

Aegon looks stunned, but readily obeys. He leans back against the cushions and watches you warily as you shift closer to him, throwing your leg over his lap so you straddle him. Aegon seems almost afraid to touch you all of a sudden, so you take his hands and place them gently on your hips.

Should you be encouraging this? Absolutely not. But some touch starved little sect of your brain has staged a coup on your good sense, so here you are.

“Have you never done this before?” You ask him softly.

“Been ridden?” He scoffs. “Of course I have.”

“No,” you say. “I’m not riding you. Have you ever just made out with someone for a little while?”

Averting his eyes, Aegon shakes his head.

“That’s okay,” you murmur, catching his lips in a gentle kiss that seems to startle him. You place your hands on his chest, closing your eyes as you kiss him again. He’s hesitant now, unsure. But you press on, sucking gently at his lip before slowly, gently, sliding your tongue into his mouth and dragging it over the flat of his. Aegon makes a soft noise of shock, hands grasping a little harder at the soft of your hips.

Before, he hadn’t seemed to know what to do with his tongue in your mouth except to have it shoved in there, desperate to have some sort of dominance over your mouth. You can tell he’s still fighting the urge to take over, but he sits nicely for you, only gently pushing back against your tongue. He seems to rather enjoy the feeling of not being in charge, of simply being guided. Not told what to do, not commanded, just… treated gently.

After a while, you gently pull away, your thumb brushing over his wet bottom lip. “Do you want to keep going?” You ask, though you know you shouldn’t.

Aegon looks up at you with dilated eyes, pupils almost sparkling as he blinks slowly. Almost dazed. “I’d like to keep doing this. It’s nice.”

You smile, gently pecking his lips and nodding. “Okay,” you whisper. “We can keep doing this.”

You decide your research can wait. It’ll still be there tomorrow.

#my work #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon x reader #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon ii targaryen fanfic #aegon targaryen fanfic #fic: you're out of touch i'm out of time #DONT EVER THINK ITS OVER #IM ALWAYS COMING #WATCH UR BACK

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commandershepardvasfuckit · 1 month ago

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Kingsguard part 2

Part 1

M!troll x f!reader

2.3k words

Festivals are always a good time, even if you end up losing your friend and getting found by the last person on the planet you want to spend time with.

————

The open area in front of the hold had been almost entirely cleared out, instead a great bonfire raged in the center of the space, stoked by several orcs clad in ornate ceremonial garb. All around people laughed and cheered, drinks in hand, as drums played as others danced.

Bira led you around, explaining the festival and grabbing a drink while she introduced you to more people than you could ever hope to remember. You smiled and nodded politely, but felt too distracted by how awkward you felt in the clothes Bira had loaned you.

The pants she had given you were a soft, green material but were barely long enough to cover your backside. She had tied a skirt around your hips but the fabric only really covered your sides and butt and even then was only scarcely longer than the pants. Worst still was the top, a long length of gold fabric that she draped over your shoulders, crossed over your chest, then tied behind your back. The clothing itself was common, you had seen many troll, orc, and minotaur women wearing similar things over the weeks to cope with the heat of living in a city in the desert, but still have so much skin exposed was much more than you were used to.

As the two of you made your way around you spotted an imposing site across the fire: the orcish king and two guards in full regalia.

Even all dressed up you recognized Ba’tual at the king’s side. He donned the elaborately carved mask the jaguar god, the lord of shadows, elaborate pauldrons, greaves, and cuffs all in red and gold. Under the dark night sky the light from the fire played off his skin, scars more noticeable on his bare chest than usual, harsh shadows along the lines of his muscles.

You had come to an unfortunate revelation weeks ago: if it was not for his awful personality, Ba’tual would actually be quite attractive.

Trolls in general were not at all what you had been expecting. Stories came back to Brinedeep of terrifying blue-skinned monsters with tusks like animals who towered over humans, which was not an inaccurate description entirely, but did not give the full picture either.

A now disgraced scholar and historian once proposed a link between trolls and elves, claiming one group must be descended from the other, or possibly they both were descended from the same common ancestor. Naturally, he was laughed out of academic circles for such a preposterous claim, but looking at the trolls around you here you understood his line of thought.

The same high cheekbones and eyes as elves could be seen in the trolls around you. Their builds could be described as a taller, bulkier elf. While the trolls did not have the same small, dainty features as elves there sure was a faint resemblance you could not argue.

At some point Bira had wandered off from you, but that just gave you more time to get lost in everything. You happily explored all the festival had to offer; new foods, drinks, music, the sights and sounds, everything was new and exciting. Sitting down along the fire you nursed a cup of strong orcish alcohol, it burned terribly with every sip, but it also seemed like the only drink around.

“Whatcha got there?” you nearly leapt out of your skin from the sudden voice in your ear.

“Ba’tual!” you yelled, “By the light how are you always so quiet?”

He tapped his fingers against his mask before pulling it up so you could see his face, “The Lord of Shadows guides me, he keeps my steps light” he sat down next to you and took the cup from your hands and gave it a sniff, “That won’t do, it’s going to make you sick”.

“It’s fine” you protested.

“No, it’s orcish. If a cup or two can take down an orc it’s really going to mess you up, little human”.

Reluctantly you gave in, letting him sit the cup down on the ground.

“Oh don’t look so disappointed, if you’re looking to drink I’ve got something better anyways” he assured you.

Ba’tual quickly pulled a flask from one of the pockets on his belt, nestled between a variety of talismans, fetishes, vials of what looked to be blood, and other ritualistic items.

“Something got your attention?” he asked as he noticed you staring.

“Is that blood?” you blurted out.

He let out a rumbling laugh, caught off guard by your surprise, “Yes, it’s blood. This one is mine” he gestured to the smaller vial, “and this one is not” he pointed to a larger one.

Your face must have been twisted into a look of shock and concern as he rushed to elaborate, “It’s boar’s blood, taken from a recent offering, I promise”.

This did not make you feel much better.

“Blood will only work if it’s taken from the willing or from an offering. That’s why I use my own. But this isn’t a topic for a festival, here” he offered you the flask.

Tentatively you took it and gave it a sniff, the unmistakable burn of alcohol stung your nose, but it was not a bad as the orcish drink and at least this smelled sweet. You took a small slip, coughing as it burned your throat, but it was tolerable.

“Better?” he asked.

“Yeah” you said and took a good gulp of it before passing it back to Ba’tual. It was sweet and somewhat fruity even if it still burned.

The two of you sat quietly watching the festival and passing the flask back and forth, just taking in the ambiance. While your time here in Kor’mal had been nothing but enjoyable it had been all work until now, and it felt nice to just relax. Your face was warm and flushed red from the heat of the fire and alcohol, but it was nice. Looking over at Ba’tual you noticed even his cheeks were faintly tinged purple from the blue of his skin and flush of red on his face.

He shook the flask, only a little of it remained, and handed it back to you to finish.

“You look nice by the way” he broke the silence.

You felt even more blood rush to your face, grateful that it probably was not noticeable. “Thanks” you muttered, “Bira loaned me some clothes and jewelry”.

“It suits you” he stood up and offered his hand out to you, “Dance with me?”

“Oh, no, no, I don’t dance. Especially like that” you gestured out to the crowd. It was nothing like Brinedeep, at least like the events in scholarly circles you can been invited it, no ballroom dancing with precise steps to been seen.

“Everyone can dance, I’ll show you” he motioned for you to standup.

Hesitantly you took his hand. It felt strange in your hand, only two large fingers and a thumb versus your 5.

He led you to the edge of where everyone was dancing and circled behind you, “Don’t worry about what anyone else is doing, close your eyes if you need to, but only focus on this” he placed his hands on either side of your ribcage and gently tapped the beat of the drums, “and move with it”.

Slowly he guided you back and forth, swaying with the music, moving his hands to your shoulders once he felt you could keep time on your own.

“Now, lean into it with your shoulders, loosen up your neck too, let everything move together”.

You let yourself relax, let your body move in time with the drums and Ba’tual’s guidance.

“Good girl” he murmured in your ear, one of his tusks brushed your cheek, and his words made a warmth pool in your belly. He pulled you close against him, your back pressed flat to his chest and his hands drifted down to your hips, “I like these a lot, soft and round”.

Your heart raced as he moved you in time with his dancing, his face still lowered down next to yours, his tusk still brushing you skin as he moved.

It was a conflicting thing, feeling giddy and excited as he touched you, he was actually quite charming when he was not trying to show off or get your attention.

“You said something to Bira earlier, something in troll, what was it?” you asked, trying not to let your mind wander too far down the path it was on, anything to distract you from your current train of thought.

“That? Haha, I’m not surprised she didn’t translate for you. Are you sure you want to know?”

“Was it about me then?”

“Yes”

“Then I want to know” you said decisively.

He let out a low hum that vibrated through your body and you tried to ignore what that was doing for you.

“I told her that I love walking up behind you because I get a great view of your hips and ass, and if I was less disciplined I’d probably be hard from that alone. Oh, and I’d love to see that same sight bent over a table”.

“Oh” you said softly.

“Now that can’t be too surprising, don’t tell me I’ve been too subtle” he teased, “And don’t tell me you haven’t been curious about trying things with someone who isn’t human?”

You hated that he was not wrong. The thought had crossed your mind many times over the weeks, wondering how much of a difference it could be.

“Or maybe you’ve already had your fun, took a minotaur for a ride perhaps?” he continued.

“No, nothing like that”.

“No? That you haven’t tried anything? Or no that you’re not even curious?”

You stayed quiet, unable to admit to him that you really were curious.

“Because I’m very interested in fucking a human and I happen to think you’re incredible tempting” his hands wandered to the front of your bare thighs and he pulled you tighter against himself so you could feel his cock throbbing against your back “So tell me, am I really that bad of an option?”

“You’re insufferable” your heart was threatening to beat out of your chest. His touch on the sensitive skin of your thighs was almost too much, the way he kept you pulled close to him, the exposed skin on your back and shoulders against the bare skin of his chest. But his words, those were the worst. They way he had complimented you, the way he called you “good girl”, how forward he was with his desires, it lit a fire in your belly.

“And why is that now?”.

“You’re loud, annoying, crass, and overall just a cocky asshole with no boundaries. And Bira told me quite a bit about you”.

“Oh I’m sure she’s had a lot to say, all unflattering and mostly true, but for just one time, no strings or commitment am I really the worst you can do?” he murmured in your ear, “I’ll make sure it’s good, I promise”.

His hands wandered towards the insides of your thighs. You stammered, not being able to form words as your thoughts raced faster than your mouth could keep up with. “I don’t- it’s just- I”

He turned you around to face him, still holding you against himself. “I need a clear answer” he said as he placed a finger under your chin to tilt you face up so you had to look at him, “If you can look me in the eye and tell me truthfully that you aren’t even the smallest bit interested then I’ll walk away now. I’ll leave you alone, no more trying to get your attention, no more calling after you. But if the thought’s crossed your mind, consider me, even if it’s not now”.

It should have been so easy just to lie, to tell him that you were not interested in trolls, or, orcs, or minotaur. Or him.

You do not know why you never went to Bira or Zen’jan and told them that Ba’tual was being a nuisance over the weeks. He was loud, and cocky, and always seemed to startle you stepping out of the shadows, yet having his attention they way you did felt good. It felt good to be desired.

In Brinedeep you often felt overlooked, there was always someone smarter, from a better family, prettier. Thinner. You had no problems with who you were, but never being the first to be picked for anything weighed heavily over the years.

But now you had the attention of one of the personal guards of the king, someone accomplished, and important, and handsome not only to your human eyes but to most everyone else too. His reputation preceded him, both the good and the bad, as a fighter without match and as flirt who rarely bedded the same person twice.

That did not matter now though. You had no plans to stay in Kor’mal permanently, you would return to Brinedeep eventually with your research and assist with cataloguing your notes for the archivum. And it would be a shame to not experience all the city had to offer while you were here.

“Yeah” you managed, your voice barely a whisper.

“Yes, what?” he asked, leaning down farther, his face level with yours and his tusks brushing your cheeks on either side.

“I want to see what it’s like, with you” your face burning up, and admitting it loud sent a pulse of warmth down through your core and between your thighs.

“I’ve been waiting to hear that for a while”.

It was an awkward kiss that he pulled you into. Your face wedged between his tusks, unable to tilt your head much, still he swiftly parted you lips and his tongue filled your mouth.

He pulled away with a sly smile, “Not really a troll thing, you’ll have to help me practice”.

————

Part 3

#monster fucker #monster lover #teratophillia #terato #monster x reader #monster smut #monster boyfriend #monster husband

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historicity-was-already-taken · 4 months ago

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Actually, you know what? To hell with it. I am soft with Zionists here. Because as a Jew and a historian of Jewish history, I understand the very specific cultural and trauma-informed place those views are coming from, and I want to work with these members of my community mindfully and compassionately.

No one will ever unlearn or think critically about their beliefs if you scream FUCK OFF ZIONISTS DNI ZIONISTS NO ZIONISTS ALLOWED. Moreover, that messaging will make non-Zionist Jews have a hard time trusting you, while pushing Zionists further into defensive politicking. Do what you want on your own blog, but I'm not bound by your praxis, and there's no place for it here.

Palestinians, Israeli Arabs, and individuals with those identities are welcome here. We are not enemies, YOU are not my enemies, and of all the groups who have been rude to me as I carry out this work, it's never included any of you. I would suggest, however, that if you're actively coping with trauma and loss as a direct result of Israeli State and/or military policy, that this might not be the right place for you; I work with (primarily) US American Zionists to assist them in unpacking their trauma-induced reactions, unlearning, and relearning our pasts, and that process could be traumatic for you to witness in real time. And you shoudn't have to! For all the historic trauma my people are coping with, y'all didn't have anything to do with it.

Anyone who doesn't like how I perform this work as it is asked of me may unfollow. And, regardless of your religion, nationality, ethnic identity, etc. I will not tolerate rudeness and abusive speech towards myself or others in my intellectual space.

Here is some reading material: The Holocaust and the Nakba: A New Grammar of Trauma and History.

#memory studies #generational trauma

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plushiesssforcrying · 1 month ago

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a little treat for you all is the courses each of the members take, with some in universe and out of universe reasons / facts under the cut yippee [ probably won't be too lore important but yeah ] ignore how six's book is blank

mono

pretty self explanatory. tv host things whatever

in universe, he takes after his father

he's one of those hard working students unlike six [ will get into that more in the relationship chart ]

not a lot of notes !! he's pretty good at what he does

one, became he's a hardworker and two, because he's had personal experience from his dad's job

rcg

an arts course for a few reasons !!

one, i thought it would be silly and i couldn't think of anything else

two, because she's canonically the most mysterious character among the whole cast

so i thought using a form of art could represent that mysterious individuality

in universe, she does have trouble with expressing herself and uses art as a form of coping mechanism

might get into her character more in the relationship chart later

this is a little far-fetched ...

literally the only reason i chose this is because of the water level with the granny

i forgot the dlc by now but i think most of the levels are water based anyway??

in universe, his mom was a marine biologist before she died

he wanted to honor her by becoming one too but ,,,

he's having a bit of trouble with it ,,,,

six

another far-fetched one ,,,,

i thought of giving her culinary, or marine biology too

but i thought ehhhh and said fuck it, she's gonna be a historian

why? idk six is the lady theory ig

in universe, she's a prodigy and does whatever she wants for a multitude of reasons

think like, sheldon from the big bang theory but more self aware and less autistic [ jk but she's pretty prideful about it ]

she actually originally chose an arts course but then switched to a history course about a few weeks after

#🎨 ;; ray arting #little nightmares #little nightmares six #ln #ln six #ln seven #ln rk #ln runaway kid #ln au #ln band au #little nightmares au #little nightmares mono #ln mono #ln2 #ln2 mono #ln2 six #vln #vln raincoat girl

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french-toast-enjoyer · 9 months ago

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Venom essay baybey!!!!

as promised, here's my essay on symbrock as a dynamic! thank you to my contributors @symbiotic-slime

@bridoesotherjunk

@x-jean

@cannibalhellhound

@funkycave

@eddiebrockx

@bloodyaliens and @shiningstardan for helping me gather resources and testimony! the paper is a bit amateur but i hope it's an okay read! please let me know if I forgot to tag you!

Symbrock– or, A Complex Love Affair Between Parasite and Host

23 April, 2024

Abstract

An investigation into “Symbrock,” or the bizarre emotional relationship between Eddie Brock– a struggling journalist and Spider-Man villain– and Venom– the parasitic alien symbiote that lives in Eddie’s body. Herein will discuss the themes, appeal, and complicated nature of the dynamic. This is a dissertation, this is an analytical dissection, but above all, this is a love story.

Keywords: Symbrock. portmanteau of “symbiote” and “Brock.”

In the fall of 2018, Venom had his individual film debut to millions of Spider-Man fans and casual movie-goers. The movie was critically panned. Fans of Spider-Man and critics of pop culture media united to declare that they hated the "buddy cop" direction that writers Kelly Marcel and Ruben Fliesher had taken the character of Venom. Many believed that Marcel (most known for screen adapting Fifty Shades of Grey) wasted the film's grizzly horror potential exploring the getting-together of Eddie and Venom. The majority had spoken, the movie had failed. So why was the fandom exploding? Within days, there were threads, blog posts, and video essays, all delving into a new obsession with this chummy characterization of Eddie Brock and the Venom symbiote. Intrigued by it, turned on by it, and desperate for more content of it, this mysterious fan base began to go through nearly forty years of lore for more of the duo they loved. What they found changed the perception of Venom as a character. Venom historians, fans, and even comic writers declared that Eddie Brock and the symbiote were in love. But the question remains, why these two? What was the evidence, what was the response, and why did this relationship appeal to the queer audience it'd captured? In short, why had Venom become a queer icon?

Symbrock– or, A Complex Love Affair Between Parasite and Host

When “I” became “We”

There is groundwork to lay in regards to proving the nature of this dynamic, and it begins with understanding what binds the two physically and spiritually, requiring readers to go back to the beginning.

While originally brought together by a mutual hatred of Spider-Man (read, The Amazing Spider-Man #300, 1988) the earliest example of a deeper bond between Brock and Venom comes to us in Venom: The Hunger (1996). Within the comic itself, Eddie Brock and Venom’s dynamic is threatened by the symbiote’s cannibalistic desires, which Eddie can not cope with.

If we blur our eyes and look at The Hunger, we see a story about Eddie coming to terms with the inherent violence and needs of Venom. Specifically, he sees how the symbiote needs a chemical compound called phenethylamine to survive– a fact that often leads him to eat human brains to get his fix. A trait that disturbs Brock so much that it drives the symbiote away, leaving the man without powers. In a straightforward manner, the story follows Eddie's journey to accept this hunger in order to remain bonded to Venom. In the final pages of the comic, Eddie brings the symbiote a vial of phenethylamine, as well as promises to share his own. The two reunite to create something stronger once again. From a distance, it's an exploration into what binds the two physically, but it’s not a fair one. Upon closer inspection, The Hunger is much more than a story of compromise.

The deep eroticism of Venom, to most, begins with the very chemical that the symbiote subsists on. For the purposes of Eddie and Venom's connection, it's important to know that phenethylamine is chemically similar to phenylethylamine– commonly referred to as “the love hormone.” According to the National Institute of Health (NIH), when concentrated, the compound has similar effects on the brain to amphetamines. Broadly, it is considered a “feel-good” chemical, and is associated with sensations of intense euphoria and gratification due to its releases of dopamine. (read: NIH). Including a chemical associated with love, sex, and even chocolate is obviously an intentional decision on the writer's part. There are thousands of compounds that comic creators had to choose from. Fear hormones, rage hormones, all things that could've related more to the brutal nature of Venom as a villain.

But the writer, Len Kaminski, chose love. And so was born Venom’s obsession with the chemical, leading him to chase it in all its forms, from human brains and nerve endings– to, as seen in the last panels of The Hunger, a heart-shaped box of chocolates, which the symbiote says is a great source of phenethylamine. There it is, a scientific explanation of why Venom feeds on love. But even with this justification of the phenomenon, Kaminski refuses to pull punches, refuses to make this platonic.

All I Ever Want Is Just A Little Love

Kaminski’s reading of Brock is far beyond romantic, and it bleeds into how writers would interpret the character even decades later (most notably, Mike Costa’s Venom run from 2016-2019). In the first volume of Hunger, Kaminski writes a heartbreaking scene in which, after eating a man’s brain, Eddie shows a deep remorse that drives Venom to separate from their bond. This was mentioned above, but what was not mentioned was how the symbiote left Brock; naked and trembling in a back alley, begging “the other” not to abandon him. The man is left in a state of temporary psychosis without Venom, his brain leached of all phenethylamine. After a stint in a tortuous sanitarium, he chases the symbiote down and reunites with it, claiming proudly “It’s not human, but it’s given me things no girlfriend ever could,” and declaring that he finally has enough love to sustain the titular hunger.

This wouldn’t be the last time Eddie would be written as captivated by his love for Venom, but it would go on to influence later iterations of the character, from the aforementioned Costa run to directorial notes of the films that’d launched the character into infamy.

In Venom #150, Mike Costa compared the bond between Brock and Venom to marriage. The interaction is a chilling one, taking place within the church where the two originally bonded, and where Eddie angsts about the nature of their relationship. He confesses, in vague terms, to a priest, that he loves his “other,” but that he’s been driven to do things he never would have done before. When the father implies that the dynamic isn’t healthy, we see a violent, possessive side of Venom. The symbiote overtakes Eddie’s body and nearly kills the priest– an action he later repents for the very same priest. He vows to try to be better in the name of devotion to his other. This marks a shift in Venom’s character and a complex arc into a more open and honest relationship between the two. And, as stated previously, this interpretation would grow to be popular with an audience of queer people, but the question remains as to why.

All Guts and Heart. There's an air of nuanced relatability to Venom as a unit. On online forums, users within the fandom each have unique reasons for loving the ship. Some enjoy that both characters are relatable outcasts, some are enthralled with the trope of “idiots in love” present in their dynamic, and some are just plain attracted to Venom.

But for a more devoted sect of the fan base, the intrigue lay in the intense physical proximity between symbiote and host. The potential for intimacy that comes with literally sharing a mind and body is intense. Venom, according to both the comics and films, sees every thought, compulsion, desire, and regret Eddie has, and Brock can do just the same to Venom.

One example of this is an excerpt from Marvel Comics Presents #5 (2019), which recently became circulated for its dark, provocative, and tense language. In the comic, Venom is handling the man with their tendrils while speaking in his mind. “We can feel every dirty curve of Eddie's intentions. All that lust entangled with terror.” and later, “We enjoy the taste of Eddie's heartbeat. Strong, solid, sweet … Should we make it go faster?” To which Eddie responds, “Watch the teeth.”

Fans were stunned by the sensuality of these panels; particularly on Tumblr, a popular blogging website. One fan claimed to have even seen a phallic shape in the dreamscape of flesh and teeth that the scene was set in. Many more declared the scene was a sex act.

It seems almost like an intentional callback to the “It's not human,” line. As though the writers are willing to explore the dynamic in a romantic and psychological context, and fans love getting to see this dimension of the characters– even when the subject matter is dark.

As with any piece of media, fan interaction is integral to the longevity and survival of a fan base, so it'd be an obvious point to investigate opinions of Venom within the fandom.

Fan testimonials. When asked why the ship appealed to them, popular Symbrock blogger @symbiotic-slime responded, “I guess I would describe it as the intimacy of being known? Having your self laid bare and someone else seeing and knowing everything about you and still choosing to stay is very romantic in my opinion.”

Regarding personal relation to the individuals: “It's partially because of being the weird neurodivergent queer kid. People think they're weird, their relationship is wrong, or something like that. Kinda hits a little too close to home.” says user @cannibalhellhound. The community in general seems to relate deeply to the outcast nature of Eddie and Venom, a point that comes through as well in discussions of the characters’ presentation and gender, as well as their “loser” status. Symbiotic-slime described a sense of connection to the devil-may-care attitude the symbiote takes with their pronouns and appearance, and user @just-anti-heros-things states succinctly, “Together they make a whole idiot who can fight battles and save the world. Or just fuck around and find out.”

A handful of aspec (asexual spectrum) fans even described connecting with the alien nature of their relationship, with user @bridoesotherjunk saying quote, “They’re not putting on a performance to please anyone- they’re just… them. And they love each other for it! That’s what I want for myself,” and @shiningstardan comparing the relationship to their own experiences with attraction towards other people.

No matter the sentiment, most fans agree that despite being outlandish and extraterrestrial, Venom and Eddie have a character more grounded than many an idealized hero in the Marvel universe. From holding hands in a movie theater to raising a child together, the two are never alone, and fans crave that proximity.

Discussion

While not a universally beloved franchise on its own, Venom has achieved cult status among a number of internet users for its raw, vulnerable, and often camp portrayal of a complicated relationship between two flawed characters. It's a fanbase that breeds creativity, exploration, and catharsis through the fantasy of a love foretold in stars. A place to make art, write fanfiction, and bond with other outcasts.

References

Kaminski, L., Halsted, T., Koblish, S., Lopez, K., & Smith, T. (1996). Venom, the hunger (Vol. 1–4). Published by Marvel Comics.

Lee, S., Ditko, S., Yanchus, A., Rosen, S., Simek, A., & Lord, P. (1988). Marvel masterworks presents the amazing spider-man: Reprinting the amazing spider-man, nos. 11-20. Marvel Comics.

Ryan, M. (2021, September 27). Andy Serkis on eddie and Venom’s “Love affair” in the new Venom sequel. UPROXX. https://uproxx.com/movies/andy-serkis-venom-let-there-be-carnage-eddie-venom-love-affair/

U.S. National Library of Medicine. (n.d.). Phenethylamine. National Center for Biotechnology Information. PubChem Compound Database. https://pubchem.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/compound/Phenethylamine

Pak, G., Nocenti, A., Waid, M., Lapham, D., Lapham, M., Aydin, A., James Monroe Iglehart, Kibblesmith, D., Percy, B., Claremont, C., Williams, L., Seeley, T., Brisson, E., North, R., Pierson, D., Sacks, E., & Emily Ryan Lerner. (2020). Tales Through The Marvel Universe. Marvel Entertainment.

#symbrock #venom #french toast rambles #my writing #veddie #writeblr #eddie brock #sincerely hope you enjoy!

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sjsmith56 · 1 year ago

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Novels / Collections

A Private Man - Rated for readers aged 18+ only. Minors DNI. 28 part story. Bucky stays in Brooklyn with his sister, Rebecca Barnes Proctor, to make up for all the years they were separated. With his job on the docks, and their pensions, they make do but it’s hard and he’s lonely. Then a public health nurse, sent to check on Rebecca’s well being, changes everything.

Assignment Bucky Barnes - Rated for readers aged 18+ only. Minors DNI. 35 part story. A time travelling historian from the future is sent to 1940 to observe and interact with the young James Buchanan Barnes in a quest to learn more about him. When they fall in love it not only endangers the timeline but it makes her a target of the future version of HYDRA.

Eyes of the Father - Rated for readers aged 18+ only. Minors DNI. 30 part story beginning with Bucky on the run after the fall of HYDRA, a chance meeting with a woman writer, then their long-distance relationship. Some sexual content, violence, angst.

Finding Jade - Rated for readers aged 18+. Minors DNI. 16 part story. An alien invasion of Earth has isolated humanity as larger cities were evacuated. A telepathic woman searches out the Avengers in their bunker in New Mexico with an idea of how to defeat the aliens. She and Bucky fall in love.

Lord Buchanan - Rated for readers aged 18+. Minors DNI. 43 part story. Set in an alternate universe where James Buchanan Barnes is Lord Buchanan, right hand of King Steven in the Kingdom of Broken Lands. This is set in a medieval / Middle Ages society where magic exists and women from modern worlds appear, finding their true love and destiny. The truth of their world and the threat it faces explains why modern women are being drawn to this world.

From There to Here - Bucky Barnes One Shots - A collection of 24 one shots connected by a common thread, that go through Bucky’s past with occasional visits to the present as Bucky becomes involved with a librarian.

The Duality of Nature - coming soon. A mission gone wrong sends Bucky’s soul to another universe, leaving behind the soul of the Winter Soldier, still inhabiting Bucky’s mind and now body. As the Avengers try to recover Bucky, both learn to cope with their new reality.

Tumblr Masterlist

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #buckybarnes original female character #medieval bucky #alien invasion #Bucky Barnes past #james buchanan barnes #james buchanan barnes fanfiction #james buchanan barnes au #bucky barnes au #long fic #buckybarneslongfic

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saturdaysky · 10 months ago

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So… the God of Curiosity! How does he relate to the Lords of the Golden Hill? Is he invited in, is he seen as an interloper or usurper? Absolutely adore these two!

What a great question! I spent the morning refreshing myself on the Lords of the Golden Hills, which is the 5e gnomish pantheon, if anyone's unfamiliar. They are more active in the lives of their followers than other gods.

Also, sorry, this is where I reveal my superpower of being unable to write short answers to anything.

what's a god to a mayhew

Mayhew's parents are historians who take the name "the Forgotten Folk" as a personal insult, so he was weaned on myths and histories of the Lords of the Golden Hills. The Lords set Mayhew's expectations for what gods should be: invested and actively working to make things better.

(couldn't resist drawing mayhew and mamahew)

In game, Mayhew ran into many awful situations that he thinks good gods could have fixed, but didn't. Refugees slaughtered for sport, children locked in Cazador's dungeons for eternity, families enslaved and used as hostages, children murdered by Gortash's Steel Watch, you name it. These people surely prayed, but gods did not save them. Do gods who do nothing deserve worship?

Not to Mayhew. He was FULLY on board with Gale's astral boat scene logic of "we will be gods but BETTER because we CARE and DO STUFF." Mayhew is not a long-term thinker, especially if people are hurting right now, right in front of him. He sees only trees, never forests.

He views himself and Gale as being on their own side. All of his post-ascension decisions are based on them being an inseparable pair shaking up the system. He's not interested in being part of Lords of the Golden Hills.

what's a mayhew to a god

The Lords probably have mixed feelings about him. They would not invite him into their brotherhood. However, his goals often align with theirs, and as long as Mayhew didn't rock their boat too much, they'd be tenuous allies. More about Godhew and other gods under the cut!

Mayhew himself has many Glittergoldian qualities about him -- he's an elusive tale-teller and a sneak, and if you pried his coping mechanism sense of humor from him, he'd probably die on the spot -- so I think he'd get on with Garl Glittergold and Baervan Wildwanderer. Mayhew's not easily flustered, and he'd find it a hoot to be pranked by Garl, so I expect he'd pass any test of character Garl might run an upstart godling through.

Baravar Cloakshadow, god of illusions and deceptions, would be interesting. Mayhew is a born liar (deception is his second-highest skill after history) who cares deeply about protecting others, so on paper they're aligned. However, Baravar counts Mystra among his allies, so this alliance would be a strained one.

But the biggest reason Mayhew isn't interested in becoming a Lord of the Golden Hills? They're concerned primarily with the welfare of gnomes. As a god, Mayhew has broader designs than that.

a god for whom?

Mayhew cares about everyone, especially people who are unimportant. He was a latchkey kid who wandered all over the city from a very young age, poking his nose everywhere it shouldn't be and talking to people just to hear their stories. He probably even made friends with the sewer kobolds, despite historical bad blood between gnomes and kobolds. Most of the alliances Galehew make after ascension are Mayhew's doing. Gale is always grander and more powerful, but Mayhew is better-liked and better-loved by gods and mortals.

In particular, bleeding heart Mayhew is an ally and protector of children. Troublemakers, especially. The most common name he ends up being known by is the Children's God. In 5e, there doesn't actually seem to be a god FOR children, simply gods with "family" as part of their portfolio. To me, that reads as a god for parents. But Mayhew adores kids! In game, he looked out for all of them and spoiled them shamelessly via the barter menu. All the urchins got cash, clothing, trinkets, snacks, protective magical items, etc. He bought soup from Yenna every day. He gave Mattis 2000 gold (😭) for a key he never even used (😭)...and gave the amulet of greater health (😭)...and some grenades because all children should have a chance to make bad decisions...

To kids, he's like an imaginary friend who'll help you out of a tight spot, aid your capers, and shield you from terrors. When a child ages out of needing an imaginary friend, he's there as the God of Curiosity -- and what is curiosity without drive? Perhaps they'll follow their dreams in the footsteps of his partner, the God of Ambition. Completely unintentionally, Mayhew probably ensures the longevity of the Galerian religion this way.

Not all of Mayhew's ideals survive ascension, though he goes in with good intentions. He loses some of himself, but his love for people is the core of him. It doesn't change.

#asks #mightymizora #i am so sorry you asked one question and i answered like ten #i just have SO many thoughts!!!#mayhew #galehew #my art #bg3 #'mayhew sounds like a CHA character but he's a wizard?' yes. also criminal & warlock. he failed repeatedly at wizardry til he got tadpoled #he resented gale 'jsyk i am a wizarding prodigy' dekarios for a while. while falling for him. stupid wonderful gale. hate that guy #galehew was secret rivals to lovers from mayhew's POV. gale had no idea. he was on the colleagues to friends to lovers train #why is mayhew forever ride or die for god gale? mayhew sacrificed himself to be illithid but could not live that way #god gale turned him back and turned him divine. he gave mayhew back to himself. gave him back his heart. a happy ending despite it all #nothing will ever turn mayhew from gale now. not even if gale turned evil

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mangora · 9 months ago

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Have ROTI cast brain rot so here are my favorite facts from their character bios:

•Anne Maria used to work at a clothing store

•Brick’s favorite movie is M.A.S.H., which is an anti-war film

•Cameron speedrun: he isn’t allowed to listen to music, one of his favorite colors is purple, he’s only left the house alone once but he does go to school (mentions that he forgot his lunch), and he brings up butterflies multiple times. Oh to study this guy

•Dakota was in pageants as a kid

•Dawn likes Celtic new-age music (brings up a parody of Enya Brennan) and her favorite movie is The Craft. She also wants to be a historian. And she controls her own dreams. Once again I need to study this guy

•Jo’s favorite movie is Charlie’s Angels

•Lightning doesn’t have any embarrassing memories

•Mike says he has a bad memory and can’t remember his dreams. He also has a hard time recalling memories throughout the interview

•Vito mentions having an Uncle Vinnie and Manitoba mentions having a wife; whether Vinnie and the wife are real people or not is unclear, but I’m inclined to believe that Manitoba’s wife is not

•Sam wants to be a game developer

•Scott likes Kanye West. He also talks about making his parents argue, guilting his neighbors into buying lemonade, and being embarrassed about cooperating with someone. He also likes whittling and wants to be a CEO. God he’s such a bastard

•Staci’s favorite band is Simple Plan. She also repeatedly references lying in her biography and how much she hates liars, which is really interesting considering how she’s obviously lying about her family. She also worked in a hair salon before and wants to work in forensics. Girl you are so tragic help. Also her aunt’s name is Mildred and Richard Nixon is canon in the TD universe

•Zoey says she gets along with everyone, which, considering how she didn’t have friends before TD, is either a lie or her coping. She also likes tutoring, her favorite band is a mix of The Beatles and The Turtles, and her dream date is going on tour with a band (Zoey’s the closest we have to a 1D Wattpad girl in the TD universe)

•Brick, Lightning, and Sam’s dream dates are all with men so jot that down

#alex’s td rambles

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mariacallous · 2 months ago

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When Angela Merkel stepped down in December 2021 after four terms in office, many Germans wondered how on earth they would cope without her. An entire generation had grown up knowing only this reserved woman from the east as their chancellor. She had brought them prosperity, something they took for granted, and stability, something they regarded as indispensable.

Weeks later, as Olaf Scholz and his three-party coalition were still finding their footing, Russian President Vladimir Putin invaded Ukraine. All the assumptions that voters had made about their country and the world came crashing down. And so, soon after, did Merkel’s reputation.

Three years into her retirement, having said almost nothing about her record, Merkel has finally had her say. Her much awaited and heavily marketed autobiography, titled Freedom, hit the shelves simultaneously in dozens of languages in November and revealed … very little. It is a stunning disappointment.

Celebrity interviewers from several countries were given 30-minute television and radio slots to speak with Merkel. Selected newspapers were given extracts. Yet no matter how hard they tried, the best they got were a smattering of predictable thoughts about U.S. President-elect Donald Trump and a few other crumbs from the table. As for the book itself, some of the episodes that Merkel recalls are tamer than those already in the public domain.

Despite the slim pickings, these 700 pages of recollections do provide some insights for historians and political scientists. The tome is not an entirely fruitless endeavor for the general reader. It provides an insider’s guide to most of the major global events during Merkel’s 16 years at the top, with sometimes amusing snapshots about her interlocutors.

The tensest negotiations are recounted in a contemporaneous style: She describes her refusal to loosen the European Union’s and Germany’s fiscal rules surrounding the euro, to the consternation of the Greeks, as well as her refusal to give early and immediate NATO membership to Ukraine, to the frustration of the Americans.

In these cases and more, however, Merkel provides only the most superficial explanations for her actions—she confines herself to saying that she feared the demise of the single currency and that she feared that Russia (a nuclear power, as she keeps on repeating) would respond violently.

Her relationship to Putin has long been considered the most complex. As I wrote in my book Why the Germans Do It Better, she believed that she understood his mindset better than any other world leader could. That was by virtue not just of language (both his German and her Russian were fluent), but also by shared communist upbringings.

Apart from letting it be known that the Kremlin leader has a penchant for Radeberger beer and—in a needy “don’t you know who I am” kind of way—likes to keep his interlocuters waiting, she reveals nothing else of particular interest. The infamous January 2007 incident of Putin bringing his labrador Koni into the room during a meeting, despite reportedly knowing about her phobia of dogs, has been told many times—and, in fact, is more sparsely detailed in her account.

Given that Merkel describes Putin as a pathological liar and says that she has never been under any illusions about his obsession with grievance as well as his contempt for democracy and the rule of law, then why did she cling to the belief that mutual economic dependency (the two Nord Stream gas pipelines being the most egregious case) would make him behave better?

“Two decades of mutual encounters lay behind us, an era during which Putin, and with him Russia, had changed from an initial position of openness to the West to one of alienation from us, culminating in a total hardening of its stance,” Merkel insists in the new book. “With hindsight, I still believe in spite of everything I was right to make a point, to the end of my tenure, of preserving our contact with Russia.”

Merkel gives only the most perfunctory answer to the central question of why her accommodation of Putin, and pursuit of cooperation with him, was a defensible policy—she suggests that to have done anything else would have enraged him further. Plus, it was good for German business; plus, it provided cheap energy, and nobody in her cabinet was arguing for any other approach. Is that the extent of the analysis, after all the time that she has had to ponder further a question that has become her country’s most vexing?

At least as egregious is her unwillingness to engage in discussion of the big decisions that she took—or didn’t take—on the economic front. Germany’s lamentable digital record, its refusal to diversify and modernize much of its industry, the failures of the auto sector, and the overdependency on trade with China barely merit much more than throwaway lines.

Perhaps I’m being too harsh. If so, it is because I have always held Merkel up as an exemplar. Even when her reputation went from hero to zero, I still regarded her type of rationalist, deliberative politics as better than all the others that were on offer around the world.

And I still do. Indeed, as the narrative sweeps the reader from one global crisis to another, almost on a weekly basis, you understand better just what Merkel faced and how so many of the other leaders came to depend on her calm.

Of all the challenges that she confronted, the one that—by Merkel’s own admission—defined her chancellorship was the influx of refugees in 2015. Curiously, she devotes an extended section to quibbling with journalists’ use of her phrase wir schaffen das, “we can do it.” She writes that this was not meant to be interpreted as a catch-all statement of national self-confidence.

Yet Germany did do it. It displayed an enviable mix of compassion and organization. Its record of assimilation of refugees—and the proportion who are in employment or training—is far better than it is portrayed in the orgy of retrospective denunciation in the increasingly fickle media. In any case, as she points out herself, what else was she supposed to do? Germany did not have legal standing to shut its open borders; nor, for reasons that do not require spelling out, could it build camps.

The rise of the far right and population flows from poorer to richer countries are here to stay. And they cannot be reduced back to this one moment in history. In my view, irrespective of the clamor of post hoc denunciation, 2015 was Merkel’s finest hour.

As I write this, I wonder whether I’m doing a more passionate job than she did in defending her legacy—or at least, those parts of her legacy that deserve defending.

Why, I wonder, does she manage to be so pedestrian in her attempts at explaining her actions? One prosaic explanation is the book’s style—it has all the hallmarks of a ghostwritten narrative, ironed out incessantly to remove any creases, thereby removing passion.

Another possibly more interesting explanation is that this was Merkel’s chosen approach to shaping the narrative. She quotes the late British queen’s nostrum, “never complain, never explain.”

Maybe it has more to do with psychology and her early political life. This is where her memoir is at its most revealing—the young, unassuming woman scientist from the communist East Germany maneuvering her way to the top job, to the consternation of her predecessor Helmut Kohl and the physically domineering men around him. Once there, she had to put up with incessant, if low-level, condescension. Perhaps she has not been able to shed the restraint that she felt required adopt throughout.

The Merkel memoir and the Merkel record are cast into a particularly sharp light with the advent of a renewed Trump administration and his second and more dangerous wave of populism.

In December 2015, as he prepared to depart the White House, then-U.S. President Barack Obama went on a short farewell tour. Over dinner in Berlin, Merkel told him she was thinking hard about standing down. I was told by her close advisors (and have subsequently written it several times) that he begged her to stay. With Trump preparing to enter office, the Brexit movement gaining steam, and France’s Marine Le Pen on the horizon, Europe needed a grown-up in the room. (Strangely, her version of the story is more limited in its recollection).

Whatever Obama actually said, Merkel concluded that she needed to carry on. And when she did finally leave, she recounts the Nina Hagen song about East Germany, “They Forgot the Colour Film,” that she requested as one of the songs for the military parade that marked her departure, and the meatballs and potato salad and sparkling wine that she shared with friends before being driven away into retirement.

It was this final period of office, between 2016 and 2021, that would be her undoing. This is the era that is now retrospectively so denounced: the continued insistence on the Nord Stream pipeline, the continued line of communication to Putin, the continued trade dependence with China, and the continued inability to meet NATO defense spending targets.

Had she left office at the time of the previous election, her place in history would have been altogether different. So might have been any book she had chosen to write.

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transfaguette · 7 days ago

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On social media, I keep seeing Americans talking about how we need a another revolution so I wanted to ask: do you think that a revolution will actually happen? Or not at all?

Honestly, I believe that if a revolution does happen then it’s not gonna be anytime soon.

im not a political scientist or a historian im just A Guy but I think a lot of people say we need a revolution because the world seems really bad and its overwhelming and the only way it could get better is if the slate was wiped clean. I think that line of thinking is more of a coping mechanism than anything.

I guess it depends what you mean by revolution but I don’t think like, we are gonna see a fundamental shift in power or anything like that. not even because the Regime is too powerful or something, just because the reality is the country is not in the kind of instability where revolutions take place. I think drastic changes can and will happen. but I think its easier to sit and think about the magical post revolution future and argue with your overeducated friends about socialist theory than it is to put in the work to resist and fight for change in the now, no matter how small that change is.

#srry for the jab at ppl who read theory #asks #uspol

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qqueenofhades · 1 year ago

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thank you for your post i’m doing my best to stay informed on the conflict and i’m very young. i feel guilty being quiet as i understand to uplift voices helps prevent their silencing but this has lead me to not critically think about what i’m spreading

it’s been a long month. i’m only a kid and watching the world go to shit like this has been awful, I always wondered how millennials who lived through post nine eleven imperialism coped and god i’m still not sure how.

I am as a white gentile in a position of privilege and mostly my own person is unaffected by the uptick in violence and evil in the world right now. But my friends who i see every day are in more danger due to this conflict and i feel awful that i cannot ever fully understand or fix the deaths of people.

Right now I’m being a bit too reactionary. I’m doing my best but in the end I am not immune to fearmongering and propoganda, especially in these last couple sleepless weeks.

So thank you and everyone who is keeping level heads and desconstructing what’s happening. I’m sorry and i strive to be better. Thank you.

To anyone living in fear right now i’m so sorry. I will listen when you speak.

Once again I just want to say that I am a busy and uninformed student, and I wish that i had more teachers and authority figures that had objective facts to tell me. It’s suffocating to have fake news everywhere but feel powerless if you don’t know anything

it’s ok if you don’t respond to this

Thank you for your post

Thanks for this message and for taking the time to put it into words and to reflect on your own actions and rhetoric. It takes a lot of courage and self-awareness to admit that you were wrong and that you want to do better, and I'm not going to rip into you or blame you or otherwise shame you for it. So I hope this gives you the confidence to read on without feeling like you'll be raked over the coals for it, and open you to hear some ideas for doing things differently.

First, I do have a ton of sympathy for you as a young person who feels overwhelmed and exhausted by all the evil in the world, and is wondering how to get through it, react to it, or otherwise make some kind of moral response in the face of this soul-crushing trauma. I will say here that I am a little bit older than your average Tumblr user (the majority of this site is in their early-mid twenties), I do personally remember 9/11 and its aftermath when a lot of people here weren't even born yet, and I am an academic historian with a doctorate. That does not mean I am better or smarter or More Perfect or whatever at what I say, but it means that I do have a considerable amount of institutional, formal, and professional practice at analyzing a lot of complex information, putting it into words, breaking it down for less-specialist audiences, pointing out logical fallacies, and so forth.

That is not a skill that everyone has, and in the face of nonstop 24-hour news-cycle social media information overload, it can be incredibly difficult to parse it or understand how you're supposed to respond to it or what your moral obligation in response to this knowledge might be. I wrote this ask the other day in response to someone else asking how to improve their critical thinking skills and be more discerning about what they understood, shared, and analyzed. I strongly encourage you to read it, as it addresses a lot of what you're saying about feeling negative, depressed, panicked, angry, and all the other emotions that are naturally evoked in you from reading this stuff nonstop and feeling like the only thing you can (or should) do is immerse your brain in it at all times. In short, that is absolutely the worst environment to do actual substantial analysis or critical thinking, and it is designed so on purpose.

It has been said before, but it bears repeating: the human brain simply is not designed to be constantly aware of all the atrocities in the world and thus (thanks to social media) feeling as if the only way they can do anything about it is to then post the Correct Opinions on social media (regardless of whether these are informed or relevant or otherwise useful). Especially now, the rush to demonstrate Correct Thinking has warped a lot of otherwise well-meaning young people into becoming eager disinformation mouthpieces. There are a TON of explicitly bad-faith actors and far-right fascists who are posting pro-Palestine content (factual or uh, otherwise) because they know that's an instant way to get an audience of said young left-leaning people who will then be suckered into and exposed to their far more dangerous content and mindset, because that is how radicalization works. Even in the support of an obviously worthy cause, you and everyone else ARE NOT IMMUNE to fearmongering, disinformation, and virulently anti-Semitic propaganda, especially when it's being eagerly and constantly offered in a deliberate attempt to radicalize you further into violence and conspiracy theories, turn you against other vulnerable groups and people, and explicitly disengage you from the electoral/political process, which will harm the Democrats and other liberal establishment parties in favor of more far-right radical fascist theocrats and otherwise make everything, everywhere, many orders of magnitude worse.

I know the feeling that you need to do something, and since you're a long way from the conflict, it seems as if posting on social media is the best and/or the only way to go about it. In that environment, and especially right now, you will make mistakes. I know it is difficult in an online environment where popularity or acceptance by your peers often rests on never being wrong about anything (i.e. saying the same thing everyone else is saying), but it always helps to think about what you're doing, what you're saying, and if you actually need the approval of people who are conditioning you, implicitly or explicitly, into negative and violent ideological nihilism.

The hardest thing to understand is that yes, there is a lot of terrible shit going on in the world; no, you cannot personally fix it and you have to accept that as a limitation; yes, there are many multiple and complex causes and reasons for its existence and there is almost never a black-and-white simplistic moral solution that just hasn't been magically implemented yet; yes, it is always worth it to take the time to inform yourself and consider what you're saying, where it comes from, who it helps and who it hurts, and why you feel the need to say it in the first place. Of course you want to help. Of course you want to stop the needless suffering and death that has gone on in the world for millennia and unfortunately, as long as humans are humans, will continue to do so. But even so, take it away Gandalf:

#anonymous #ask

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ani-antiquities · 4 months ago

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The Melancholic Woman: Eva Hesse, Ennead (1965), and Trauma, De-strung

(source: ICA Boston)

I will open this essay with a line from art historian, Anne M. Wagner’s essay, Another Hesse, on her journal October, vol. 69 – wherein she writes of our subject, American sculptor Eva Hesse:

Hesse’s self-scrutiny, we learn once again, is a means of coping with “environment” – with the inheritance of the past. But it is also the measure – even the proud badge – of her “difference”, the difference, we remember, of being an artist. (p. 131)

Anne M. Wagner’s essay on Eva Hesse will be one of the main sources of this paper.

Here, we will be able to trace Eva Hesse’s art and its asymbolia to the artist’s melancholia and her journey of sublimation and working through. We will also thereby arrive at more questions to ponder Hesse’s life, and inquire about the connections among art, melancholia, and the semiotic – and possibly ponder a perspective that ties the end-goal of these Kristevan concepts together.

(Before I go on, I just wanna say that this essay may draw on similarities EVA HESSE: POST-MINIMALISM INTO SUBLIME, by Robert Pincus-Witten. I wrote this specific essay more than a year ago for my Cultural, Literary, and Critical Theory class, and I only found this essay just today, as I am writing and doing more research for this piece. LOL. However, I would like to justify that the content of my essay is to draw connections between Hesse’s art and Kristeva’s psychoanalytic theory. I did enjoy Witten’s essay, though!)

(Source: pbs.org)

Eva Hesse

At the height of Nazi Germany, Hesse’s family fled to America for protection from religious persecution, but it was not long until sanctuary proved to be fickle as well, in the land of the free. Due to trauma implicated by the Second World War that vehemently caused the deaths of Hesse’s extended family, the serious circumstances of (Eva Hesse’s mother) Ruth Marcus House’s bipolar disorder worsened. These events dominoed to Wilhelm Hesse’s divorce from Ruth Marcus, and Ruth’s suicide. Adding salt to the wound, Wilhelm would marry a woman named Eva. Upon the new marriage, the young girl and her step-mother would share the same name.

Identity crisis aggravated young Eva’s trauma – from the persecution of family whose faces she had never known, to losing her to suicidal mother at ten. It seemed like grief was her very being.

Graduating from Yale, she exhibited works whose style displayed that of Abstract Expressionism and paved the way for Minimalism.

Art historians speculate how these traumas were sublimated into her art. Her self-portraits showcase distorted images of faces and figures. They are almost like a child’s attempt at creating a figure painting, except that their tone is so somber that only an adult can express such a feeling.

(Untitled, 1965, oil on canvas: From: mutualart.com)

However, the most intriguing work of Hesse does not come from two-dimensions – but three. This includes Hesse’s sculpture, Ennead (1965).

(Ennead, 1965, oil on canvas. From: icaboston.org)

Eva Hesse’s Ennead (1965)

All that there is to the piece: acrylic, paper mache, some resin-coated strings, plywood, some plastic, and a title possibly referencing the Egyptian pantheon.

The Institute of Contemporary Art, Boston, describes the artwork as such:

The orderly, formulaic application of the threads devolves into an increasingly chaotic composition as they accumulate and tangle toward the floor. A few strands are affixed to the adjacent wall, cordoning off a wedge of space that becomes part of the sculpture itself. This gesture also draws the viewer’s attention to the corner of the gallery, activating this normally overlooked area. Additional material hangs to touch the floor, thus uniting three planes. “Ennead” means a group of nine, in this case referring to the nine points from which the strings extend.

How can we interpret art whose surface presence is devoid of any points from its meaning? Baroque art can be so interpreted by its gargantuan number of details that fit on a four-cornered canvas. Poetry can be dissected among its metaphors, language, and enjambments. How can we possibly describe a sculpture so bare of material and overly abstract in its form? Was it meant to be this way – stripped down and bare?

Asymbolia and Melancholia

Many of Hesse’s works portray a distinct use of asymbolia, and the stimulation of asymbolia to its audience.

It is impossible to speak of Ennead without speaking about Hesse – primarily because Hesse and her art are one. Hesse even says: “My life and art have not been separated. They have been together.”

Ennead is no exception – however, with absolutely little to no “initial and final'' interpretation of meaning when you see the sculpture. What can we then say about Eva Hesse through the piece? Even art historians themselves, up to this day, consider Ennead to be an enigma on its own – its minimalism minimizes itself, to the point of devoiding any meaning, making us doubt if there is any at all.

First, we must discuss the asymbolia in Ennead – the art itself. Though by instinct and intuition, the substance of Ennead is uninhabited on its own, I would like to shed a few pointers on the piece and its asymbolia through its deliberate absurdity.

The strings were meant to be orderly at first, until its tail-end, wherein Hesse describes them as a jungle. Hesse even took in the effort to dye the strings to possibly add more aesthetic depth to them. Hesse describes the process of this piece in one of her journals.

The further it went toward the ground, the more chaotic it got; the further you got from the structure, the more it varied. I've always opposed content to form or just form to form. (Quoted in L. R. Lippard, op. cit., p. 62)

However, even when Hesse describes her decision to irrationalize the hinds of the strings, the art still talks gravel to the path towards the most inane question: What does it mean?

So, we shall secondly address the audience’s confusion, that stems from the asymbolia of the audience themselves – the very inability to attach any familiarity or meaning to the symbols the art presents, because of the very fact that it lacks anything.

The only thing that makes sense of Hesse’s art is nonsense – the asymbolia found in Hesse’s art, that stems from dissecting, stripping down, and representing her trauma. Hesse states in one of her interviews: “There is no abstract art. You must always start with something… A painter paints to unload himself of feelings and vision.”

Must her own “something” be from her depression – from the trauma of losing her mother, identity, and other factors throughout?

We take the theory behind this inquiry from Julia Kristeva’s illustration of asymbolia and melancholia in her book, Black Sun – “The negation of that fundamental loss opens up the realm of signs for us, but the mourning is often incomplete. Melancholia then ends up in asymbolia, in loss of meaning…” (p.42).

Hence, to study the bare Ennead is to study Hesse’s bare melancholia.

We may never have the opportunity to bear witness to Hesse’s trauma, as only she and herself can live it, so we turn to her journals,

Throughout her life, Hesse seems to be on good terms with working through with her depression, as she sublimates it with her art – if it means going against the conventions imposed on her by four-cornered dimensions of papers and canvases, and the one-platform norm of past sculptures (Ennead takes up two adjacent walls, and thereby two dimensions).

Asymbolia and the neglect of the pre-conceived semiotic can be seen in her journals – which instead of letters and intelligible words, consist of drawings that penetrate any dividers and lines.

Kristeva furthermore explains this psychoanalytic mechanism as she illustrates the control of the preverbal in aesthetic creation: “When the struggle between imaginary creation (art, literature) and depression is carried out precisely on that frontier of the symbolic and the biological we see indeed that the narrative or the argument is ruled by primary processes” (p.65) – explaining the subnormality of Hesse’s art and entries, and how the manifestations of obscurity stem from the mere struggle of Hesse’s melancholia.

(Figure 3: Hesse’s journal. From: sugarcandymtn.com)

Other than these, her excerpts write of her own feelings of depression and anxiety: “I must write, my sanity is involved. I cry and cry, the pages are wet. I have no one, to go to and the edge of hysteria and insanity is not far apart” (October 19, 1964).

Anne M. Wagner writes: “Anyone who wants to make a serious contribution to remembering Hesse will likewise have to speak about a wound. For what is striking about Hesse’s art is its utter inwardness, with artistic languages of the day: her imagery and effects are not learned by rote, only to be parroted back more or less unchanged” (p. 159)

With this: Must her melancholia still be the root of her asymbolic art? Or was this art a testament to her ability to self-scrutinize all along? Furthermore, will there be anything to self-scrutinize when there is no trauma?

Conclusion: The Futile Point of Interpretation

Hesse intended her work to be autobiographical, but never understood – and thus reflecting the paradox of identity: to know, but never understand. Even her journals were not meant for the purpose of understanding: “Hesse’s journals and their users have meant that it is no longer possible for viewers “not to know the artist” – or at least, not to feel they know her, and to prepare themselves accordingly when looking at her art.”

Yet, even when we have read Hesse’s journals, watched documentaries, and studied countless journals from art historians – the impossibility to fully understand still looms over her audience. So then we ask the question: What should we feel to know of Hesse? The illness caused by both personal and socio-economic circumstances of her time? Must her works be cursed with the fallacy of perpetually being tied to her trauma.

On Dostoevsky, Kristeva writes: “Works of art thus lead us to establish relations with ourselves and others that are less destructive, more soothing.” Hesse’s artifacts are therefore not records of her mania, but documentations of her survival from it. Her illness, therefore, is not what should be reflected of her life – but her sisyphean triumph over it.

Maybe it is for the better – as the point of art itself is to sublimate the traumatic aggression of the artist, and (like a monster) to never let it out of the cage of the canvas. Kristeva can even attest to this, saying: “Art seems to point to a few devices that bypass complacency and, without simply turning mourning into mania, secure for the artist the connoisseur a sublimatory hold over the lost Thing” (p. 97)

Hesse did this concealment well, so much so that it is said the artist herself might not have realized this. As Wagner would write: “If Hesse’s life did enter her art, it did so by a process that Hesse herself was in a position to describe. We would be looking for ways (Hesse’s unconscious) repeatedly configured. I think such imagery exists in Hesse’s art, and I take it to concern the artist’s feelings toward her mother above all” (p. 165) So much so, that even daring to question the trauma behind Hesse’s art, we do not only turn a blind eye to the artist herself, but arrive at a futile destination when we do: “Yet, in asking them [questions on Hesse’s art] we risk losing sight of the workings of Hesse’s unconscious – a notion that, after all, was the motivating impulse of this discussion. But the artist and her unconscious are not far away.” (p. 173)

Conclusion

I will close with another one of Wagner’s concluding lines:

“To claim that Hesse’s art aims to remember and express a common human quality or experience is not the same as attributing to it some universal force or purpose. It gives its own account of that experience.” (p. 186)

This aim of art is reminiscent to how beauty sublimates melancholia in the form of art, much like giving its own account of an experience. Kristeva writes:

“Beauty emerges as the admirable face of loss, transforming it in order to make it live. Melancholia to the point of becoming interested in the life of signs, beauty may also grab hold of us to bear witness for someone who grandly discovered the royal way through which humanity transcends the grief of being apart.”

(p. 100)

Hesse’s journey as an artist is proof that asymbolia – another result of melancholia – paves the way into sublimation. Art is therefore not rooted in the melancholic, its her way of forging a path deeper underneath it. Art is agency from the trial of inner-disagency. Art is therefore the artist’s most individual and subjective struggle, not of her depression, but one of working through. Precisely through this art, we unlock the beauty sculpted from the marble of melancholia. Hesse and Ennead are just among the myriad of melancholic beauty in the realm of art.

SOURCES

Kristeva Julia. Black Sun : Depression and Melancholia. Columbia University Press 1989. https://archive.org/details/blacksun00juli. Accessed 27 Feb. 2023.

Artincontext. “Eva Hesse - The Brief Life and Incredible Works of Eva Hesse the Artist.” Artincontext.org, 4 Apr. 2022, https://artincontext.org/eva-hesse/.

Branaman, Bianca. “Love - Eva Hesse.” Sugar Candy Mountain, Sugar Candy Mountain, 4 Sept. 2018, https://sugarcandymtn.com/blogs/the-brand/love-eva-hesse.

“Ennead.” EVA HESSE, https://www.christies.com/en/lot/lot-315751.

“Ennead.” Institute of Contemporary Art, Boston, https://www.icaboston.org/art/eva-hesse/ennead.

Evemy, Benjamin Blake, et al. “Auctions, Exhibitions & Analysis for +500K Artists.” MutualArt, MutualArt, 17 Feb. 2023, https://www.mutualart.com/.

“The Sickness of Being Disallowed: Premonition and Insight in the 'Artist's Sketchbook'.” O A R, https://www.oarplatform.com/sickness-disallowed-premonition-insight-artists-sketchbook/.

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