to be or not to be (frodo)

A little while ago this post crossed my dash in tumblr, and I kept it in my drafts because something in it struck a chord: it reminded me of one of my oldest OCs.

Now, here’s the thing with LOTR: I only read it this year. It was one of the maaaaany newsletters of classic books I’ve subscribed to since the first round of Dracula Daily started that boom. For anyone interested, I’m pretty sure the LOTR newsletter will get a second round, starting September (you can look up the organiser’s tumblr, @sindar-princeling).

I have mixed opinions about the saga. It’s an incredible, insurmountable labour of love and passion on the part of the author. As someone who loves descriptive prose, I definitely have NO issue with Tolkien going on and on about the scenery (in fact, I wouldn’t have minded even more tree descriptions!), and his style works for me. I think he created a fascinating setting that pleasantly surprised me despite my overall saturation with medieval fantasy, and that he knows how to craft endearing characters quite well. I have… complicated feelings regarding how he writes women. Mostly though, I feel- temperate, about the trilogy. I don’t LOVE the world of LOTR; I didn’t hate the experience, and actually enjoyed it more than I thought I would, but I don’t think I’ll repeat it (although I might end up reading “The Hobbit” and “The Silmarillion” at some point).

With that out of the way... about my OC.

( Read more... )

In case anyone’s interested, in a moment I’m going to post a little excerpt from “All About Eve(s)” that I wrote & post in a now inactive tumblr a long, long time ago. I’ll leave it as is, if unpolished, because although it definitely needs a rewrite (I’ve since decided on certain changes regarding the narrative’s voice, for one), it shows a little insight into old!Eva & Aemilia’s  relationship, so I wanted to put it out there ^^.

ETA: here it is! With another bonus short excerpt.

"All About Eve(s)" excerpts

Just as promised: a little excerpt that shows a bit about one of the central relationships from that WIP.

The girl had earned herself a reputation as a model prisoner. In almost half a decade, she had shown no signs of resistance; she had not fought back, she had nor argued or pleaded or cried, not even when she was but a child; she barely spoke out loud and only if she was spoken to first. And she had never, ever attempted to escape.

It only got you punished, that she knew. Against the common knowledge of the place, information, not blood, was the most valuable commodity between those walls. Precious few kernels of it ever made it to the prisoners, each alone and isolated from the others; but a lot of people, she’d found, forgot to keep silent in front of someone that had made herself as unremarkable and as unnoticeable as she had.

One of those kernels was about the punishment. It was never physical, that was always clear -what a waste of cattle and sustenance that would have been-; at first she found that a comfort, for she had always built her life around the goal of avoiding pain. The relief hadn’t lasted, once she crossed paths with those suffering it.

Legend said all fae had the ability to mess with humans’ minds, but that vampires excelled at it and surpassed all others. Life had left her with no refuge beyond her own thoughts, and she had no intention of given them a chance to breach them.

She was patient. She knew if she waited and paid attention, the perfect moment and the perfect plan would come to her, and she would take them when they did. She would not waste her one shot on some desperate Hail Mary; there would be no attempt to escape, because she would succeed. She would leave this place free, unbound, as powerful and bloodthirsty as any of her captors and out of their reach for the rest of eternity.

She had no way of knowing this, for she’d lost awareness of the passage of days long before, but the first part of her perfect plan arrived on the exact day of her fifteenth birthday, in the form of a guard.

The girl never noticed guards. She made a point of it; dehumanization could go both ways, and one did not need to be human to be its target. But she noticed this one, because after she served her food and arranged the wooden spoon next to the plate with compulsive neatness, she became the first guard in all her years as prisoner that looked her in the eye.

Once she became aware of the other’s presence, everything about the woman became noteworthy. Her uniform didn’t fit quite right, and it raised the suspicion that it wasn’t her own, but she was so abnormally and worryingly thin it might’ve as well had other causes. She was older than her, but one could never know how old the fae were. And she had a gnarly scar across her face the girl chided herself for not seeing sooner.

The next incongruity was that she had a kind smile. Yet another, that she knelt down until their eyes were at the same level, equals despite one’s chains and the other’s sword. The last was when she pulled a key from inside her uniform and, to her horror, knew her carefully concealed hiding spot and left it there, her eyes never leaving the girl’s.

Her heart pounded so hard inside her chest she could hear it loud and clear in her ears when the woman gave her the first gentle physical contact she had known in years, before she even knew of her prison’s existence. Both her hands enveloped her own and made the girl feel an illusion of the warmth she had thought long lost.

“I wish I could do more. But you would hate that, wouldn’t you? You need to do this on your own.” If the girl’s voice had worked, she might have tried to disagree. The woman’s smile turned sad and bitter for a second, before it cleared when she took a deep breath as she closed her eyes. She walked to the door before turning back once again, as if she couldn’t stop herself. “I wish you the best of luck, little Aemilia.”

And she walked away and left the girl alone.

Someone else might try to come with a logical explanation. They would been sure the woman had got it wrong, that she had helped the wrong prisoner. But despite never hearing those syllables before, she knew. She felt them as her own, and she knew she was Aemilia.

Or, well. Maybe not quite yet. But she would be.

And I just decided to add a shorter one, this one about Eva's childhood, that shows a little bit of the fae worldbuilding of the 'verse.

The first decade or so in the life of a forest fae was a most confusing time for such an unformed creature. Since the moment they surged from the soil as a blank canvas, fed by the magic the clan’s very presence instilled on the ground, they absorbed energy just as well as they soaked up information about the world at rapid speed. That magic pulsated under their coarse skins, an iridescent glow accompanying the musicality of their laughter that shone with every chime of their bell-like voices.

Sooner or later it overwhelmed their little bodies, and that’s when the transformation began. A chrysalis enveloped them, hardening and protecting them until they were ready to emerge in their true forms, beautifully shaped by their own will and power, so that they could celebrate their Naming ceremony.

Eva’s unfolding had been a memorable occasion for her clan. At twelve springs, she was a bit of a late bloomer in this like she was in every other aspect. The fae she grew with were almost as excited to see their little caterpillar shed the skin of childhood away as she was. Stepping out of the cocoon, butterfly wings extended way past her arms, antlers sprouting proud from her mane, lynx claws retracted at the end of her extremities, her Name in the tip of her fox tongue, Eva had experience a singular instant of catharsis.

Not three months passed since the ceremony when the war erupted, soon reaching the deepest hideouts of their woods and forcing the survivors of their clan and their neighbours into exile.

dc-related nitpick #416

Batman Annual #11 (1987)
 

As I mentioned, I've started reading DC comics again, more specifically Jason Todd comics. Some new ones (or at least new for me), as well as rereading old ones like this one.

And oh, if this doesn't bring on a spiral of Jason-related thoughts and FEELS... and frustration at how little effort DC makes sometimes when it comes to develop his values & morals. My issue isn't with the fact that they change from time to time -he's young, he's developing, and that's natural. But at how little though there seems to be behind the process, beyond "yeah that'll do for this one run", and especially with the lack of intent to fully develop it. Jason can think there are situations that require killing (The Joker!!) AND that some other people can be reformed, especially as a kid who grew in Crime Alley and as such, saw first hand how a lot of crime is born out of inequality and social disparity.

Just sayin'.

#relatable

One miss Elizabeth Bennet:

"There are few people whom I really love, and still fewer of whom I think well. The more I see of the world, the more am I dissatisfied with it; and every day confirms my belief of the inconsistency of all human characters, and of the little dependence that can be placed on the appearance of merit or sense."

And one Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy, earlier in the novel:

"I have faults enough, but they are not, I hope, of understanding. My temper I dare not vouch for. It is, I believe, too little yielding—certainly too little for the convenience of the world. I cannot forget the follies and vices of others so soon as I ought, nor their offenses against myself. My feelings are not puffed about with every attempt to move them. My temper would perhaps be called resentful. My good opinion once lost, is lost forever."

I must say, I feel very Seen by these particular speeches LMAO.

(Even if at the moment, I'm kind of annoyed with Darcy. I KNOOOOOOW you're meddling in Jane's romantic life, and even then she's the only one in town still trying her hardest to think the best of you regarding Wickham's bullshit. It's infuriating!! xDD)