the politics of light and dark are everywhere in our vocabulary…psa to writers: subvert this, reveal whiteness and lightness as sometimes artificial and violent, and darkness as healing, the unknown as natural
“The light can blind as easily as the dark conceals. The dark can protect as easily as the light guides. Neither are pure good nor evil, pure chaos nor order. The light and dark just are.”
Just a thing I put together while writing Clarke’s dream sequence in ABoFaS, the chapter in which Clarke and Lexa finally have a conversation bc we all know how long I’ve been drawing that out whoops.
Everything happened so fast. Like a dream she couldn’t wake up from. Like drowning. Like watching her life unfold before her eyes, screaming at herself to do something. Say something. Anything. It all happened so fast, but she couldn’t keep up. Her body didn’t listen; it couldn’t listen. There was a ringing in her ears. She could feel the Earth turning beneath her feet, time ticking away – tick, tick, tick – and yet, for her, time stood still.
“What the fuck is wrong with you are you trying to get us all killed?”
“I don’t know! She came at Clarke and I – I don’t know, okay, it just happened.”
“That doesn’t just happen!”
“I had to protect her.”
“Guys, I think–“
“From what?”
“What, exactly did you think she was going to do?”
“Everybody out of the way!”
Somehow, she ended up on the ground. Someone pushed her, but she… she didn’t – couldn’t – process it. There was a flash of light, a haze, and the taste of mud in her mouth.
Bellamy was on his back, Octavia slashing at his face with her hands, screaming at him as he covered himself with his gun. Raven had her arms on Octavia, wrapped around her midsection, trying –and failing – to pull her off of her brother.
Another haze.
She came too again and saw Lincoln kneeling over someone; his hands red. Monty pushing Jasper onto the ground. Jasper laughing this, high pitched, almost maniacal laugh. Someone large and muscular pulling Octavia away from Bellamy and hurling her across the field.
“Stay down, Blake,” she heard him demand, pointing a threatening finger.
Clarke heard Octavia shout back, “Float yourself,” but her senses were too out of focus to know where exactly her words were coming from.
Everything was spinning, blurry, and muffled; Jasper’s laughter, stabbing in her ears as high as the ring of gunfire that nearly deafened her. She could feel herself gripping at the mud; fingers clawing around tufts of grass as the taste of iron mixed with the mud she had earlier kissed. She spat something pink and looked up across the field again.
Lexa was laying on the ground, her body twisted so that Lincoln could press his palms against her shoulder. Her eyes were pressed shut with barred teeth and lines of agony etched into her features. She had one knee bent and her uninjured arm was pressed atop Lincoln’s hands. She hissed something in the mother tongue, Clarke’s senses still too scrambled to translate them in her head, and trembled under Lincoln’s pressure.
Clarke saw red. Red like rubies, like the cape draping down Lexa’s shoulder, like Luna’s hair, like the color of her hands when she killed Finn.
And then, Clarke saw nothing.
She dreamed a dark, disturbing dream of blood and broken promises; of Finn and Charlotte, and burned men. She dreamed of the skull kid, the iron bones, of Luna and Niylah and Lexa.
In her dream, she stood in a forest where trees stood charred and lifeless and covered in snow. Everything was black or white and crystals cried for the dead. Whether it was for the death of the forest or the burned men whose corpses piled around her like walls, she did not know. Shadows of people she used to know danced around her, the ground lighting up like embers under the black mist of their feet.
Above, stars blazed like fire, raining down and crashing to the Earth. They were screaming as they fell – voices all too familiar to her – pleading, begging, and dying. At her feet was a trail of crimson splattered in the snow and in front of her, she saw Finn tied to a log with a sword plunged in his heart. He was looking at her, but his eyes were not the deep brown she remembered. They were green: the greenest and brightest eyes she had ever seen, like glowing emeralds in a sea of fire and winter and death.
To her left was a woman with sticky crimson matted against yellow hair. She was a wraith of grey mist; a shadow of the woman who loved her – whose fate she did not know. To her right, was another shadowed wraith with hair of fire that flowed like the ocean. A glass dagger lifted from the arms of the shadow left of her, pointing to a bundle of red fabric laying in the snow at Finn’s feet while the shadow right of her pushed her forward with whispered urges; towards the boy she had loved so long ago with eyes of emerald in place of bronze.
She inched forward, letting the earth singe her feet as the pressure of her steps turned the ash and dirt into smoldering embers. The earth blazing in fire beneath the snow. She kneeled over the blankets and raised a babe from the ground; not a shadow of an infant, a babe as known and remembered as her own face, as real as any person Clarke had ever known. The infant cooed at her touch, reaching towards the blazing stars with twinkling eyes – the same eyes as Finn – a vibrant, unforgettable green.
Clarke pulled the babe closer to her chest and rocked back on her heels, spying up at dead man before her. He was looking down at her now: eyes black as coal and skin rotten with maggots. As the flesh fell from his bones what remained of his face twisted into a smile and said in a voice far too deep and sinister to be his own, “Jus drein, Jus Daun.”
A flame burst in her arms, the infant – ever smiling – burning away into ash leaving behind a smoking gun in her blood-soaked hands.
“Is she,” one of the shadows asked the other, “dying?”
“No,” the other replied, the mists of their form beginning to wisp away. “She’s waking up.”
Clarke dropped the gun, watching as it melted into the snow and ash at her feet. She stumbled back, twisting around to get away but she was grabbed by something; her neck tightening under pressure as she was lifted off her feet. She thrashed against the hold, her fingers wrapped around the hold on her neck while her legs kicked at the mist wraith in vain.
“Clarke,” A voice echoed from the sky.
Raised high above the wraith, where a silver glimmer curled around its hazy head, Clarke peered into the swirling shadowed eyes. Grey turned blue – bluer than blue Clarke had ever seen before; a deep, frozen blue that burned her own eyes look upon. It hissed something low and incognizable, shaking her as it spoke.
“Promise me,” It howled, a roar that blasted winds of ice and frozen agony against her face.
Vagrants Rhapsody Clexa Train-hopping AU Moodboard
this fic is coming together nicely and I make these a lot now when i am procrastinating my homework so here ya go. The first look at the AU literally no one asked for. but I’m writing anyway.
Just a quick teaser from the Tyzula portion of my in progress ATLA Dark!verse/ Fire Nation Victory AU.
When the cycle is broken by Azula’s hand, she passes that victory on to her brother and restores his honor on the condition that she become the successor to their Fire Lord father, Ozai. But, Zuko finds the guilt too much to bear, and his honor more tainted than when he was banished years past. With no Avatar to rise and face the Fire Nation, Zuko seeks to right his wrongs while Azula searches for new methods to fill the depressive void that threatens to overwhelm her. But as time passes and the war draws ever closer to Fire Nation Take over, the Royal Siblings begin to see true effects that fire and anger have had, not only on the world but on themselves.
Chapters alternate between 4 key perspectives: Zuko, Azula, Ty Lee, and Katara.
* Please note this is currently unedited
Projected Rating: M
Tags: Azula/Ty Lee, Zuko/Katara, major character death, friends to lovers, enemies to lovers, canon divergent, fire nation victory AU, dark!verse, dubious consent, slow burn, mild smut, abuse, mentions of abuse, past abuse, zutara, Tyzula, azula is super gay, fight me
Azula always got what she wanted and Ty Lee got the feeling that tonight, Azula wanted her.
The Crown Princess had grown more assertive with her desires following the death of the Avatar. Well, Azula had always been assertive. The appropriate word was “aggressive”. She made her wants as important as her needs and proclaimed her intentions towards every action she took as if she had something to prove. As if she had to remind people that she was still superior to her brother in every way.
Zuko had become something of a celebrity after killing the avatar, no surprise. And Azula become more and more irritable over Zuko’s newfound fame by the hour, also no surprise. And so, when Azula confessed to Ty Lee that she had actually killed Avatar Aang and not her brother, things finally began to make some sense.
“I have nothing to gain from killing the avatar,” she had said. “and Zuko makes a better ally than he does an enemy – and he is my brother – for however little that’s worth.” And that was all she ever said about it. It didn’t do much to cure her irritation or swelling aggression, however. It just gave Azula a new outlet. Not that Ty Lee had never been an outlet for Azula before, but, things had changed after that.
Sometimes Ty Lee wondered if she had really given Zuko credit because she wanted him around. Azula was definitely nicer with her brother in tow, and Zuko always made everything more fun. But, there was a part of Ty Lee that wondered if Azula had been more selfish than that. If she had been more paranoid than that.
The avatar had managed to elude the Fire Nation for a hundred years. Somehow managing to survive a direct lightning blow to the chest while in that weird, all-powerful glowing state wasn’t entirely out of the realm of possibility. Or it wouldn’t be if Azula hadn’t personally escorted a roting head to the Fire Nation to present to her father.
But, Azula had killed the Avatar, and Zuko got the credit.
Ty Lee could feel Azula’s eyes watching her, her silhouette, as she changed out of dress attire the Crown Princess had ordered to be made especially for her. It wasn’t a strange feeling. Azula had watched her for years: curious, envious, lustful. She knew the feeling of each of those golden glares. The way they searched, the way they challenged, the way they desired. Especially, the way they desired. She didn’t mind it. Azula never overstepped her personal boundaries. Despite all her flaws, all her entitlement, Azula knew to respect certain things – no matter how badly she wanted something.
Ty Lee poked her head out from the side of the paper-walled room divider “Hey, Azula?” She asked, almost sheepish. “Can you give me a hand? I don’t really know how to get this thing off.” she shook her arms violently to represent her struggles and flashed a wide, cheeky grin.
“You’re a woman of noble birth, Ty Lee,” Azula said. “You should be well acquainted with intricacies of noble dress attire.”
Ty Lee wined. “’Should’ is a really strong word, Azula.” She knew she was pouting, even before she threw her arms and stomped her foot into the ground. Just like she knew Azula was deflecting her – not out of pride – but self-restraint. She knew Azula prided herself on her willpower and would never overstep her boundaries no matter how enticing Ty Lee made herself to be. Not that she was trying to entice the Princess. At least, not intentionally. “Will you please just help me?”
“No,” Azula protested. “Why would I help you with such a simple task? What sort of noblewoman doesn’t know how to remove her own dress silks? “
Ty Lee frowned and ducked her head back behind the paper divider. “Okay, then I’ll just find Mai and ask her to help me.”
“Mai will think you’re more pitiful than I do.”
Ty Lee mused, placing her index finger below her bottom lip. “Zuko,” she exclaimed with a snap. “I’ll ask Zuko.”
“You will not ask my brother.” Azula’s shadow hadn’t moved. Not once. She was still standing in the doorway with arms crossed over her chest and her golden eyes staring as if trying to Firebend by sight and sheer, intensive determination alone. But, Azula's pride was too important, and she refrained from setting the divider ablaze simply because she had the power to do so.
She turned her back to the divider and began to pull at her silks. “If I rip these trying to get them off, you’re not allowed to get angry,” she said, but, Azula didn’t answer. She half expected her to snap back, daring Ty Lee to see what she would do if she ripped the expensive silks she had so kindly provided to her dear friend. She half expected Azula to laugh at her when she did rip the silks, poking fun at if she was going to cry over something as meaningless as silks or not because Azula never understood that it wasn’t the object itself that meant so much to her. But there was nothing. Azula hadn’t said a thing.
She stepped back and started to turn towards the divider, but her back pressed into something and it took everything she had not to yelp in surprise.
“Hold still.” Azula’s clawed fingers pulled at the knotted laces of her dress silks. She yanked at them, forcing the laces to separate and Ty Lee had to grip at the silks to keep them pinned against her breasts as the fabric rolled down around her hips. “I swear Ty Lee, sometimes I wonder if you really are better off sleeping on the ground with peasants and bears.”
She was talking about the circus, of course. Or maybe she was referring to their time living in a too-small tent hunting for the avatar. That sort of thing was always easier for Ty Lee than it was Azula or Mai. “Just because I don’t like dress silks doesn’t mean I’m uncivilized.”
“No, the fact that you walk on your hands and hold chopsticks between your toes makes you uncivilized.” She yanked another knot free, this one against her waist. “The fact that you can’t untie knots makes you annoying.” She pulled away another tangle.
“I can work a knot,” Ty Lee protested with a smile. She spun around on her toes, keeping one arm pressed against the silks that hid her breasts. She let the fabric fall and reached to grab her own comfortable, pink top. “I just have to know where they are first.”
I was going to post the next chapter for ABoFaS but i dead ass wrote tyzula smut on another fic im working on and as much as i love it, it goes completely against the entire process and point of Azula’s character development at this stage and i have spent all week trying to figure out how i let this happen.
Just a thing I put together while writing Clarke’s dream sequence in ABoFaS, the chapter in which Clarke and Lexa finally have a conversation bc we all know how long I’ve been drawing that out whoops.
The Ice queen has been waiting twenty-two years for this moment. Plotting, planning, even playing nice. But Wanheda has returned, and Lexa will fall - one way or another. The fact that her soon-to-be killer also happens to be her lover, only makes things all the sweeter.
What’s in your character’s closet? And not the skeletons in their closet (although that’s fun, too). Like, their selection of clothes. How much thought have you put into what your…
What’s in your character’s closet?
And not the skeletons in their closet (although that’s fun, too). Like, their selection of clothes. How much thought have you put into what your characters wear?
Years later, I still remember reading a series of books where one character always wore loose clothing. He never wore anything tight around the neck. I hadn’t even noticed until several books in, someone else mentioned that he hated feeling tied down or restricted, and so that was reflected in his clothes. He didn’t want to feel collared.
It’s not necessary to go into intricate detail in describing the clothes your character chooses to wear each day, unless it’s something important to the plot. Typically, I think clothing descriptions should be brief and subtle. But at the same time, putting characters in their own style of everyday wear is another unique way to characterize who they are as a person. (Read More)
Subscribe to the Character Comma emailing list to get writing tips like these straight to your inbox :)
This essay is pretty long, so here are some key quotes I picked out. BY THE WAY, the article seems to mostly focused on writing essays and formal writing? I think many of the points can still apply to creative writing, too.
“The goal is to carefully consider the choices the author made and the techniques that he or she used, and then decide whether you want to make those same choices or use those same techniques in your own writing.” (73)
“You are reading to see how something was constructed so that you can construct something similar yourself.” (74)
“Reading like a writer can help you understand how the process of writing is a series of making choices, and in doing so, can help you recognize important decisions you might face and techniques you might want to use when working on your own writing. Reading this way becomes an opportunity to think and learn about writing “ (75)
About reading published work: “Remember that all writing can be improved … It’s worth thinking about how the published text would be different—maybe even better—if the author had made different choices in the writing because you may be faced with similar choices in your own work.” (78)
“It’s probably impossible (and definitely too time consuming) to identify all of the choices the author made and all techniques an author used, so it’s important to prioritize while reading. Knowing what you’ll be writing yourself can help you prioritize.” (78)
“Clare tries to figure out why the author might have made a move in the writing that she hadn’t anticipated, but even more importantly, she asks herself what she would do if she were the author. Reading the text becomes an opportunity for Clare to think about her own role as an author.” (79-80)
“Question whether aspects of the writing are appropriate and effective in addition to deciding whether you liked or disliked them.” (81)
“As you read, ask yourself what the author is doing at each step of the way, and then consider whether the same choice or technique might work in your own writing.” (81)
And finally, a list of questions that the essay’s author recommends asking yourself while reading: (79-81)
What is the author’s purpose for this piece of writing?
Who is the intended audience?
How effective is the language the author uses? Is it too formal? Too informal? Perfectly appropriate?
What kinds of evidence does the author use to support his/her claims? Does he/she use statistics? Quotes from famous people? Personal anecdotes or personal stories? Does he/she cite books or articles?
How appropriate or effective is this evidence? Would a different type of evidence, or some combination of evidence, be more effective?
Are there places in the writing that you find confusing? What about the writing in those places makes it unclear or confusing?
How does the author move from one idea to another in the writing? Are the transitions between the ideas effective? How else might he/she have transitioned between ideas instead?
What is the technique the author is using here? Is it effective? What would be the advantages and disadvantages if I tried this same technique in my writing?
Starting at page 82 (which is page 13 of the pdf), the essayist analyzes an example passage to show you how it works. If you want to see him break down step-by-step how to read that example passage like a reader, I recommend you check that part out!
