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mikaharuka · 2 years ago

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Last Words... for Feb 21, 2023

I finally returned with a regular 'last words' post without being tied to a tag game, so I'm keeping the intro simple. I have more stuff to post, after all, since the forest god finally made his presence known, so...

There isn't anything 'NSFW' in the excerpt, but it is from Prithvi-Chandra, so it comes with the usual horny energy and context. And as usual, this is a raw draft with only a few obvious edits, so SPAG errors, repetition, awkward wording, etc. are definitely present.

@mrsmungus @udaberriwrites - since you might be interested, but also so you can see the mess I wrote while you were asleep XD

[From Prithvi: Chandra]

After a few silent moments, Beau slowly opened his eyes and turned towards the voice.

The man… no, the forest god was quite unlike the man he met the previous night, but he was undoubtedly the same person. Even if his appearance was different and far more grandiose, he was the same, incredibly handsome man with a similar, but more powerful and commanding presence, befitting the Horned God of the Wood.

His eyes were gold - but rather than the softer, bright gold that Beau was very familiar with, they were a vivid white-gold. Similar to the electrum-tinted eyes from the previous night, they carried a sharper edge, cutting right through his red veil to meet his eyes.

Of course, the man had that same brilliant blond hair that drew everyone’s eyes, but instead of the shorter hair that framed his face, it was incredibly long - far longer than Beau’s own hair, reaching well beyond his lower back. The new addition that stood out were a pair of thick, branched antlers that easily extended a foot, perhaps even two feet, above his head. Vines of English ivy intertwined throughout, with leaves blooming from the razor-sharp edges and points, dipping low enough to trace along pointed ears.

Those bright-green, star-shaped leaves also adorned the long, sleeveless black robes he wore, showing off muscled arms and pale skin marked by dark geometric patterns all along their length. The robes were also left open in front, showcasing a similarly toned chest and intricate, tattoo-like patterns. Beau’s gaze followed further down, along the length of his body, noting similarly loose-fitting dark pants that reached half-way down his calves, that left his tattooed ankles and feet bare. After noting the densely-packed patterns that nearly left the forest god’s feet nearly ink-black, Beau returned his gaze to the lines and curves adorning the man’s ink-stained musculature.

As if caught in a hypnosis, Beau found his hand raised, fingers reaching out to trace along the same patterns his eyes followed. Much to his surprise, his fingers made contact with a cool, hard surface and followed along the inked pattern just as a burst of that intoxicating blend of sandalwood, vanilla, and black cardamom hit his senses. Except this time, it was far more potent than the scent lingering in the chiffon veil and carried a slightly different undertone to it. The artificial edge of disinfectant wasn’t there, and it felt warmer somehow - which made sense, given the forest setting.

Beau leaned closer to the origin of the scent and a stronger burst of the aroma soon diffused through the red fabric. He closed his eyes, in the hopes that it would help him identify the different note much more quickly. It had a more rounded, natural feeling like the earth, but still felt sharp somehow, so what was… ah.

An undercurrent of pine. That was the new, sharp edge… but it blended perfectly with the other tones, and-

‘You seem rather enthusiastic, meliculum’ [little honey]

Beau startled at the amused voice echoing rather loudly by his ear, before realizing that he was the one who moved - right into the man’s space, at that, without even realizing it.

Despite knowing the world was his dreamscape, Beau felt his face heat up even more at his brazen forwardness. Before he could instinctively step back, however, cool arms wrapped themselves around him and pulled him closer, with one cool hand cradling the back of his head and the other trailing down to the small of his back.

‘I did not say I disliked it, dulcissime’ [most sweetest, male-oriented]

#mizuka last lines #mizuka's famous last words #my daily last lines #winter light excerpts #my excerpts #my writing #carlisle x beau #bellisle

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bigskydreaming · 6 years ago

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Okay, last random post for the day, then I gotta work. But something else I’ve been thinking a lot about lately, is that kinda weird feeling when you don’t like a writer or how they handled stuff and would have preferred someone else write it, BUT at the same time, you also really like something that came out of their writing and probably wouldn’t have happened if not for that writer making it happen.

And I think this also traces back to that post the other day about not settling for substandard representation and holding creators accountable for not doing more, and when its not the creators’ fault but the higher-ups, holding them accountable, etc.

Like, Scott McCall and Jeff Davis is a great example of this, I think. Obviously, he’s one of my favorite characters of all time. And as much as I hate how Davis and co. wrote him a lot of the time, obviously they also wrote him in ways that established all the core reasons I love that character so much, and there’s no guarantee that if another writer had launched a TW reboot, their version of Scott would be remotely like the one that I latched onto.

And obviously we’ve all talked a lot about how Davis could have done more with Scott’s Mexican heritage and identity as biracial and latino, even though there’s a large chance he would have just been white if another creator had been in charge. I raise that just as another example of what I’m talking about, not one that I myself am looking to weigh in on, I leave that to latine fans. For myself, I’ve obviously talked a lot about how I project onto Scott and identify with him so much as a survivor and see a lot of parallels between his story and my own experiences and the identity they’ve shaped for me. And on that front at least, I’ve ranted just as much about how I personally don’t give Davis any credit for this stuff, because I think it happened in spite of him not because of him, that he was oblivious to the undertones of his own material, or at least the ones that could easily be read into it.

And then there’s Devin Grayson, the Nightwing writer I rant about a lot. The one who wrote him being raped, which obviously is also a large part of why I identify with Dick, and just like Jeff Davis, something I think is in spite of her writing, not because of it, as she too was irresponsible and oblivious in a lot of her handling of her own material. And at the same time, she’s also the one who introduced Dick’s Romani heritage and made that canon, while being very heavy-handed and stereotypical with the way she wrote things herself, and a lot of Rom readers being very critical of her choices there, while at the same time celebrating Dick’s Rom heritage and happy to have him as representation now. And given how few writers have even referenced Dick’s rape since it happened or how few actually acknowledge that he’s Rom, an argument can bemade that neither of these things would have happened if not for her.

And then we’ve got Bobby Drake, who I identified with long before he came out in the comics, and even moreso now that he’s actual gay rep I can point to. But obviously I rant a tooooon about Bendis and his handling of all this, probably even more than I ever have about Davis or Grayson specifically, and I think the difference here is that making Bobby gay WASN’T something that only he would’ve written. Given that multiple writers going back over twenty years have wanted to and even tried to write Bobby as gay or bi, but Marvel told them no, this is a definite area where the higher-ups are as much to blame for my issues with the comics as Bendis himself. Because Bendis is responsible for the writing choices I dislike so intensely in this matter, but Marvel’s higher ups are responsible for Bendis being the one who got to make the writing choices in this matter, even though other writers were willing and able.

I’m honestly not sure where I’m going with this, lmao, and don’t really have a point, sorry if you thought I did. I’m more kinda just thinking out loud. Except...in text. Whatever.

Anyway. All of this I think goes to show one of the best things about storytelling IMO....which is that stories grow with the telling. Always. Storytelling is like one giant, never-ending game of telephone. Where every time a story is retold, or adapted, or even just passed along from one person to another via a summary of the events - something gets added to it. The last person to pass it on in some fashion added a little bit of themselves to it, their own personal experiences and perspectives and priorities helping to further shape or flesh out the story even further.

Sometimes by adding little details or context that maybe weren’t even in the original source material, but that we unthinkingly add in, maybe because those details are things that came to mind when reading or watching the story since they go hand in hand with why the story appealed to us in the first place. Like we add them in without realizing it because it seems so obvious that there are little holes and gaps in the story and these are the things that SHOULD go there, should’ve been there from the start.

And other times, we add to and grow stories in the telling, somewhat counter-intuitively, but by ERASING little details about the stories or elements that feel like they don’t belong. Like filing away the rough edges to leave a more finished, polished piece before we hand it off to the next person, our audience for our retelling or recounting of it. Again, often not something we’re even consciously thinking about, our minds automatically leaving out the parts that we take for granted don’t fit or shouldn’t have been there in the first place.

So any time we interact with a story, have some kind of personal relationship with it or connection to it, its like that story exists on two levels, in two separate ways. There’s the story as it was originally told, initially laid down, the story a creator constructed based on their own personal experiences, lens, and priorities, the story both as they intended to write it and as they actually wrote it, what ended up on the page. And then there’s the story as it exists once distributed to a wider audience, the story as its retold and recounted and transformed and shaped and honed and added to.

And you can’t divorce that second, larger version of the story from the initial ‘baby’ story it grew from. Not to get too precious here, but as with anything that grows, either physically or metaphorically, there is a sense in which its alive, and can be compared to other living things. Like take any person you meet. That person grew from a baby. The baby they were is fundamental to the person they are now. Who they are wouldn’t exist if it weren’t for who they were.

But how much does the baby they were actually matter, when interacting with the person they are now? No, you can’t separate the two, the one wouldn’t exist without the other, but in every way that actually matters, its only the larger, more grown version of that person that you’re actually interacting with, engaging with, INTERESTED in engaging with in the first place. How much credit do you actually owe whatever they were like as a baby or young child, for them growing up to become someone you like and value as a person now, someone who adds something to your life?

I think its something similar, with the way we interact with stories, and I think that’s part of why I have such a problem with the way we’re...encouraged to give proper credit and even show gratitude to storytellers for giving us certain stories in the first place. And I say that as a writer myself, and one who LOVES feedback, and loves interaction, and collaboration, and for whom a large part of the appeal of writing is seeing what someone makes of something I’ve written, or what they go on to do with it.

But I mean.....there’s no doubt that however these things originated, Dick Grayson’s existence as a male rape survivor means a ton to me, as one myself. Just like him being Romani means a ton to a lot of Rom fans, and the way Scott McCall being Latino means a ton to a lot of latine fans and how he means a lot to survivors in other respects and how Bobby Drake being gay means a ton to a lot of LGBTQ+ fans.

But in a lot of those cases, these characters mean so much to us more as a result of what other people have done with them SINCE those initial stories laid out these aspects of identity. It’s not Devin Grayson’s fumbling attempts at writing Dick as Romani that most Rom readers I know celebrate and enjoy his character, its for what others have done with that heritage on their own. Adding to it with their own personal experience, or at least researching attentively and with proper credit and deference paid to people whose experiences they listen to and learn from, etc. Just like, its not her issue with Nightwing and Tarantula I would actually cite as the reason I identify so strongly with Dick Grayson, but all of the fics and meta and headcanons written about that issue by other survivors who added to it and fleshed it out and made it real and lived with their own experiences and takes, while filing away the parts that just didn’t work for them.

Then again, we could argue that at least we still owe something for having that opportunity in the first place, right? That there was even that seed planted, that other people cultivated and grew into the story we actually like and engage with.

Except, idk. Like, intent doesn’t matter in terms of harm done, we say that a lot and its true. The fact that you didn’t intend to hurt someone with something doesn’t mean that they weren’t hurt. But that doesn’t mean that intent doesn’t matter, that it doesn’t make a difference in how something comes across. That sometimes it isn’t THE difference, in and of itself.

I rant about non/con fic and hurt/comfort fics all the time, fics that are really just an excuse for torture porn, even as I write stories that deal heavily with rape and abuse. And I don’t find this remotely hypocritical, because for me, this part traces back to intent. I’ve got zero interest in people using trauma such as rape or abuse for a narrative REASON. Like when writers talk about using rape as a tool to reveal something about a character, to change them in some way or develop them, to show what they’re capable of surviving or toughen them up, anything like any of that, I have an immediate and visceral reaction of FUCK NO. That train of thought is basically a dealbreaker right there, because I’ve got a deep-seated hostility to the idea that rape or any kind of trauma can be a tool. Even in fiction. Because no matter how you frame it, that tacitly perpetuates the idea that rape or abuse can have a purpose, a reason for existing, for happening to a character or a real person, and from there it’s only a few small steps to justification of it happening. The idea that being raped or abused can make a person better, can change them into a better or stronger or person in ways no other experiences or circumstances can manage - that’s deeply abhorrent to me, and I’ve got no respect for stories that go this route.

But at the same time, I do write stories about rape and abuse and read and engage with stories about this stuff, like various stories about Dick or Scott. And for me, the difference in these stories, the reasons why I’m interested in these but not those others, is because of the intent behind their writing, or at least what I perceive that intent to be, based on the writing. I’m interested in the stories that aren’t about writing rape/abuse to tell a story about a character, but stories about characters who have been raped/abused. Stories that are about the PEOPLE affected rather than the events that affect them. That treat rape/abuse not as a narrative or plot device or a thing that happens with purpose or for a reason, but rather just as things that happened to the people the story is about. Treating these things as lived experiences rather than part of an author’s grand design, or the real-life version of these things as part of God’s grand design. I don’t read/write stories about rape or abuse, I read/write stories about survivors. The difference is in the intent. Writers who are trying to make something horrible into something useful versus writers who are trying to make something out of the aftermath of something horrible. The latter value the survivor’s pain; the former don’t value their pain enough not to subject them to it in the first place.

And this of course relates to writing identity as well as experiences. With writers like Davis and a Latino character like Scott or writers like Bendis and a gay character like Bobby. It comes down to intent. Why are they making these choices, giving these characters these identities. Are they doing so for a purpose, because they think it says something about that character or will result in something? Or are they doing it to tell stories about a character with this identity? Because just like with certain lived experiences, I’ve got no respect for writers who treat real life identities as a tool, as something that can be chosen with purpose, to achieve specific goals.

Most latine fans who are dissatisfied with Davis’ handling of Scott as a biracial or Latino character specifically, IME they cite the problem being how little interest Davis showed in actually expanding on that or doing anything with that aspect of his identity, even while happily taking credit for casting a Latino actor in his lead role. The vast majority of my complaints with Bendis and his writing of Bobby’s sexuality go back to how little interest he ever showed in writing Bobby as a character, having him explore his sexuality rather than just treating his coming out as a character benchmark or milestone that would forever have Bendis’ name on it, and that’s all he needed or wanted out of that. Why would anyone owe a writer credit or praise or gratitude for using someone elses’ identities for personal achievements?

The flipside though is what about writers who write outside their lane in an honest and sincere attempt to tell stories about people who have these identities, stories about the experiences that come with them, stories about these people as people. Okay sure, that’s different, that’s great. But I mean, its not THAT great. As a white dude, I don’t ever think, gee I sure am grateful that this writer sat down and decided I’m gonna make this character a white guy because I think white guys have stories worth telling. LOL. Nah. So why should I be like, well gee, I sure am grateful that this writer sat down and decided I’m gonna make this character gay or bi because I think gay or bi guys have stories worth telling? I wouldn’t. I shouldn’t. Congrats on seeing me as a person whose identity and experience has value, same as I am and do because of my whiteness or my maleness? I’m....grateful? Nah. I mean, yes, this is better than writers like Davis or Bendis who are only writing outside their lane to get credit and praise for doing so, but just because its not ACTIVELY bad, doesn’t mean its like....ACTIVELY good or worthy of gratitude instead of just....hey, here’s a thing a writer did, they wrote a story with someone who’s like me in these specific ways. I’m a person to them.

Again, I have noooooooo idea where I’m going with any of this or what I was trying to say in any kind of cohesive fashion. This was just....stream of consciousness musing that I will now wrap up because I’ve run out of steam and/also I gotta get back to work. Make of it what you will, like, if you can find something useful in this, hooray and also, impressive, lmao, and if not....let your eyes glaze over and scroll past, lololol.

#long post #rape cw #abuse cw

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