lots of veins and things

anonymous asked:

I just came across one of your posts on love where you mention pride and prejudice in the tags- do you have any more explicit thoughts on what makes it good as a love story? I love p&p and I'd love to hear what you think if you have time!

I don’t have time at all but I can’t resist an invitation to talk about Pride & Prejudice.

P&P has tropes & plot structures that have occured plenty of times in romance before and since–the “misogynist with a heart of gold” that is Fitzwilliam Darcy, the general woman-rejects-man-then-later-accepts-him arc–but I think that it succeeds where a lot of other things with similar narrative structures fail.

the thing about this setup is that provides ample opportunity to showcase love as a transformative force. and fiction with this setup succeeds or fails, imo, on the strength of its success or its failure to do that. a lot of things written in this vein, including modernized or AU-style adaptations of P&P or things that were probably heavily inspired by P&P, fail because there’s no character growth and no transformation. the woman realises that she was silly to reject the man for her silly reasons (which were actually probably very sound) but doesn’t really change in any material way–the man is there to graciously accept her change of heart, but doesn’t change in any material way either. this, incidentally, is why I can’t get behind North & South in the way that I can Pride & Prejudice.

the appeal of Pride & Prejudice for me–and, presumably, the appeal of P&P to a lot of women who are into men, lmao–is that Darcy actually changes throughout the course of the book due to Elizabeth’s influence. we see this, of course, during the scene at Pemberley with the Gardiners, when he behaves w/ actual civility (in ways that are probably familiar to you and don’t need to be dwelled on), and Elizabeth is all,

Why is he so altered? From what can it proceed? It cannot be for me—it cannot be for my sake that his manners are thus softened. My reproofs at Hunsford could not work such a change as this. It is impossible that he should still love me.

but. okay. so what. anyone can change their behaviour for another person, anyone can act the way that they think they have to act to get the girl, so what? the real crux of this imo, and what makes it really compelling to me, is that I don’t think he changed for Elizabeth. because of her, yes, by his own admission, but from the time between her rejection and her arrival at Pemberley, I don’t think he ever thought that he was going to see her again. or at any rate I don’t think he planned to reform (or appear to reform) for the sole purpose of getting her to say yes to him. after she rejected him, he spent a lot of time, on his own, thinking about what she had said and looking back over his own behaviour:

The recollection of what I then said, of my conduct, my manners, my expressions during the whole of it, is now, and has been many months, inexpressibly painful to me. Your reproof, so well applied, I shall never forget: ‘had you behaved in a more gentlemanlike manner.’ Those were your words. You know not, you can scarcely conceive, how they have tortured me;—though it was some time, I confess, before I was reasonable enough to allow their justice.

so he realises, over a long stretch of time, that he was disrespecting Elizabeth, failing to pay attention to her actual feelings (during the proposal scene and before), and expecting his status to be sufficient in securing her acceptance. he realises this by reflecting on himself, at his own impetus, at some distance from Elizabeth, not expecting her to guide him through the process of becoming a better person, not expecting her to automatically love him at the end of this process. he examines himself, not because he’s being guided every step of the way by a Selfless Female Figure, and not because he expects reward, but because it’s the right thing to do. and I think that his behaviour and mindset would have changed even if he never saw Elizabeth again, even if she had said no to him again when he proposed for the second time. (which was a greatly improved proposal, btw–“one word from you will silence me on this subject for ever”? a vast improvement over launching into a proposal without noting the “cold civility” of Elizabeth’s manner. “you are too generous to trifle with me”? a far superior knowledge of her character to thinking that her refuseal was solely due to her “pride [being] hurt by my honest confession of the scruples that had long prevented my forming any serious design”.)

I can’t resist quoting this entire speech as an illustration of my point:

Painful recollections will intrude which cannot, which ought not, to be repelled. I have been a selfish being all my life, in practice, though not in principle. As a child I was taught what was right, but I was not taught to correct my temper. I was given good principles, but left to follow them in pride and conceit. Unfortunately an only son (for many years an only child), I was spoilt by my parents, who, though good themselves (my father, particularly, all that was benevolent and amiable), allowed, encouraged, almost taught me to be selfish and overbearing; to care for none beyond my own family circle; to think meanly of all the rest of the world; to wish at least to think meanly of their sense and worth compared with my own. Such I was, from eight to eight and twenty; and such I might still have been but for you, dearest, loveliest Elizabeth! What do I not owe you! You taught me a lesson, hard indeed at first, but most advantageous. By you, I was properly humbled. I came to you without a doubt of my reception. You showed me how insufficient were all my pretensions to please a woman worthy of being pleased. (emphasis mine)

my only quibble with this is that I would have wished this apology to occur before Elizabeth’s acceptance, but oh well.

of course, Elizabeth changes as a result of all of this too, and that’s part of the point of the book (Darcy’s is the Pride, but hers is the Prejudice). after she realises that she was wrong about Wickham:

She grew absolutely ashamed of herself. Of neither Darcy nor Wickham could she think without feeling she had been blind, partial, prejudiced, absurd.

“How despicably I have acted!” she cried; “I, who have prided myself on my discernment! I, who have valued myself on my abilities! who have often disdained the generous candour of my sister, and gratified my vanity in useless or blameable mistrust! How humiliating is this discovery! Yet, how just a humiliation! Had I been in love, I could not have been more wretchedly blind! But vanity, not love, has been my folly. Pleased with the preference of one, and offended by the neglect of the other, on the very beginning of our acquaintance, I have courted prepossession and ignorance, and driven reason away, where either were concerned. Till this moment I never knew myself.”

similarly, she attends to her shortcomings without outside guidance, and she doesn’t change for anyone in particular. this is important to talk about when discussing how P&P showcases the possibility of transformation, and the transformative power of love. of course, she doesn’t love Darcy at this point, and I’d argue that Darcy didn’t love her at the time of his first proposal either (he was perhaps passionate or infatuated, but real love involves respect for someone and a knowledge of them, and Darcy had neither). what’s really compelling about this for me, what really makes me care, god help me, about this straight white British couple, is that they don’t just go on loving each other w/o changing, they don’t even change because of their love for each other, but they arrive at loving each other through the ways in which they change because of their experiences with each other. and I think that this novel gets at, in a way that a lot of fiction based in the same general premise fails to get at, the concept of love as action, love as respect and mutuality, love as process, and love as transformation.

Stop using “psycho” and “psychotic” as insults to a character.


pairing: daveed diggs x reader

request:  Can you write a FIC where Daveed has feelings for his best friend (reader) n she finds out while playing truth or dare n then she gets mad that Daveed never told n then they end up having hot passionate angry sex ?

summary: reader and daveed and rafa have been friends since college. they’re at a party. this is what happens.

warnings: lots of swearing, lots of alcohol, lots of sex. like, kind of kinky sex. a little bit of choking. if you’re not into that probably don’t read this.

word count: 3,989

a/n: i really wanted to post this before i had to leave my house tonight so there may be errors as i didn’t have time to read it over. this request revived my soul, thank you @mynanimmous for sending it in. AS always, my inbox is open for comments or questions or requests!

“We are not having the party at my place again,” Rafa groans. “There’s no way. I just got the stains out of my carpet from the fourth of July party where someone,” he pauses to glare at Daveed, “dropped an entire tray of cherry and blue raspberry jello shots.”

“Dude, I’ve told you a million times I’m sorry.” Daveed groans.

“Sorry doesn’t get me back my security deposit!”

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anonymous asked:

Do you have any tips for people wanting to start a webcomic? I'm entirely self-taught as an artist (I'm 20;serious for abt 5 years?) and outside of random tutorials/tips online, I really know nothing... Are there even courses for this? Idk but yeah... I have so many stories I want to start but I just... I lack any confidence and I can barely do a single page without my anxiety stopping me. So all I have are pages upon pages of notes and drafts and characters but I have no idea what I'm doing. 💦

Shia aside, you gotta push through that anxiety and make a page! It’ll probably suck, at least at first, but you at least have SOMETHING! That’s always the struggle- but until you take that first step, it can only ever be ideas in your head, and you won’t be able to share it with anyone. That’s my advice for art in general: you’re going to suck at it at first, and it’s going to be really hard, and it might take a long time to improve. But there’s no easy way to just skip to being good at it! You gotta….. DO IT.

As far as classes go, I know that there are a few colleges in the US that have Comics majors now, including the school I went to, CCAD, but I don’t know about any online courses for it. I would highly recommend reading Scott McCloud’s Understanding Comics and Making Comics- they cover a lot of the  things outside of the How to Draw Good vein of tutorials. I also like Brian Bendis’ Words for Pictures, which covers more of writing related stuff and also business. Also just read lots of comics! Discover what you like and what you don’t, and figure out why that is and how you can replicate it in your own work! Also, if you do have ideas, be sure you’re writing them down, because even if you’re not ready to make them yet, they’re no good if you forget them!

The good thing about Webcomics is that they’re pretty low risk. You don’t have to pay to put them on the internet, you don’t have to have them approved by editors, and you don’t necessarily have to keep a schedule! So yeah…. if you’ve got an idea for a webcomic, just…. DO IT. If you still like the idea and as you improve want to change how you started it, that’s a real easy thing to do! Hope that helps!

anonymous asked:

darkling/alina + 7. “I’ve missed you” kiss :)

Alina doesn’t mean to keep living.

Or - no, that’s morbid. She doesn’t mean to keep living like this.

It takes them a few years to realise. After all, there’s nothing to hold her health back now, no power to suppress to keep her ill. But she hits thirty and still looks like a teenager, and Alina stares at her reflection in the mirror with a sardonic smile, thinking:

What is infinite? The universe, the greed of men, and me.

Mal slips away from her, and then Nikolai. It takes the Grisha longer, but even they find an escape. Zoya stays the longest, and bitches about wrinkles and grey hair like Alina isn’t terrified of her dying and Zoya isn’t terrified of leaving her.

There are no children. She couldn’t bear it, in the end.

In the end, she is alone.

“Perhaps now, you understand.”

There is a little hut on the edge of a forest that children scare themselves with stories about, and Alina is in it reading. There are so many ghosts in her life, it takes her a moment to realise that this is one she has not heard in a while.

She turns a page, hands pale and unlined.

“Nearly two centuries dead, and the only thing you have to say for yourself is ‘I told you so.”

The footsteps freeze her blood in her veins, because ghosts have been a lot of things over the years, but accompanied by ambient sound isn’t one of them. She stares at her book, at her hand on the page, at a bare wrist that had once contained the power to match him.

The footsteps stop. And a hand covers hers, cool but not cold, just as pale. Her fingers curl around the wrist. There is a pulse.

“Tell me,” she whispers. “Tell me you didn’t wait all this time just to teach me a lesson.”

The barest brush of knuckles tilt her chin upwards, and the thing that used to be her heart slips out of her chest cavity, splatters on the ground. That face, his face is there before her, the hint of a smile carved into chiselled features, the satisfaction of a game well played. She could still cut herself to pieces on those cheekbones.

She could cut him to pieces, period.

“You were an apt pupil, Alina,” he says, and his voice is soft, soft. “But there is only one way to learn this.”

This. The gaping chasm of eternity. The aching, pitiful loneliness. The missing. She should kill him. She wants to kill him. Her book hits the ground and she is on her feet and her hands are in his kefta because of course he’s wearing one, the black fabric slippery in abruptly sweaty palms–

Alina kisses him. It’s as broken and as ugly as the jagged pieces left of her, and he crushes her to him in kind, his fingers digging into her waist, hers grasping at his hair. The hate rises up her throat and she bites at his lower lip until the iron tang of blood blooms over her tongue and soft laughter rolls through her. His or hers? There’s no telling. She’s not sure she wants to know.

“Don’t leave me alone,” he murmurs into her mouth, and a thousand memories flood her mind, and then just one.

“I hate you.” Her nails dig into his scalp, body pressing closer to his. Don’t leave me alone. “I hate you.”

He doesn’t offer to go. She can’t decide if that is another cruelty, or a blessing.

I’m in love. It isn’t beautiful, and it isn’t perfect, but it’s real.

My god, is it real.

I’ve been trying to find the right way to say it to you, because I didn’t want to hurt your feelings and the first time I saw you cry was the last time I felt your heart beating against mine and the only time your scent lingered between my collarbones after you pulled away.

I don’t know why I care about you. I don’t know why you stopped caring about me. Unless you didn’t. But it’s hard to tell when you look at me with glass eyes and try not to brush your fingertips against my skin. It’s hard to think about the way you loved me.

And I’m sure you did. Love me, that is. Because something that makes your heart feel the way mine did can’t be unrequited. And please don’t try to convince me otherwise.

I don’t know why you didn’t kiss me. I don’t think it was because you didn’t want to, but maybe I’m making assumptions to coax the tears back into my veins. There are a lot of things about you I don’t know: why you so easily let me go; why you didn’t fight for me like you promised you always would; why you let me forget the way your name tasted on my lips when all I could think about was my body against yours.

You tried to paint me like a failure. Like I oozed desperation. I wanted to tell them what really happened, but they didn’t believe me. I read out conversations and I recounted midnight calls and I even showed them pictures. Nobody believes the anti-stereotype. The girl who insisted you stay with her and try again. Who never asked you to whisper the things you did behind closed doors. Who never begged you to make those promises.

I have been trying to find a way to tell you that I’ve moved on without hurting you the way you hurt me. I don’t know why I still care about you. I don’t know why I always will.

You always said you had nothing to move on from, no feelings to push aside. I don’t believe you. I don’t believe that you never cried over everything you gave away.

I suppose this is my way of saying goodbye, even though we’ve done it before. I want to hurt you the way you hurt me, but I can’t. Thank you for teaching me all the ways I do not deserve to be loved.

What I mean is: I hope you’re doing well.


L.G. I Hope You’re Doing Well (Without Me)

I don’t usually write anything about my pieces, but I think this one is important. I’m not the kind of person who shows anyone writing that I don’t think is good enough. I like to present myself, or at least my writing, in a way that makes me seem a lot more put together and poetic than I am. But this piece is raw. This is something I typed up onto my phone at 11:30 last night because I couldn’t fall asleep. I haven’t changed a word. My emotions are something I don’t like to share unless they have smooth edges, but I hope you like this.

I hope you read this and feel what I felt. 

I’m going to be honest with you, the last week has thrown me for a loop. Before this much of the hate I saw was from the top down. It was from people with real platforms. The first directly acephobic thing I ever saw was a House episode, the second was Dan Savage’s old remarks. It was always generally a top down dislike or misunderstanding of asexuality. But both of those instances were years ago. Since than more and more national and international LGBT organizations are including or have already included asexuals under their umbrellas. And I was trying to reconcile how I could reassure you that the ace community is making progress when there is a lot of poison still in people’s veins. I’ve seen awful acephobic things from random people who always had a bias before. Attacking asexuality was a way to defend their fandom, or their headcanon, or just themselves in the most misguided ways. And I’ve realized that all of the hate I’ve seen this year hasn’t been from the top down, it’s been from the bottom up. It’s from people who aren’t active in the community apart from existing and labeling as such. It’s from people without a real platform, or change platforms every time they are called out. Hate isn’t more or less excusable if it’s from an institution rather an individual, but these bigots are trying to punch up at us now. They are uncomfortable with the light that you, that all asexuals, now collectively cast. There isn’t two sides of this argument anymore. There is a rock, and there is the bugs that squirm underneath. Those bugs are hard as hell to look at sometimes, but they are just that, bugs. They aren’t pushing for progress, they are pushing for assimilation. And I want you to remember that you never have to fall in their line to be accepted, respected, and welcome in the broader community. If the bigots are uncomfortable with you, let them squirm.

Six Sentence Sunday

Ok so I badgered Court into giving me a snippet of my Bday present she’s writing for me…. Its sort of inspired off that movie “The Town”!!! AHHHHH!!!

So the parts I have read so far look amazing, And I will be posting the whole thing after I read it on Thursday!!!!

But for now I hope you guys check this SSS out….Because AHHHHHH!

And the Banner is thanks to Ro Nordmann! 

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