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tanadrin · 23 days

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RE "revolutionary leftists are revolutionary because they know they can't win electorally."

It astounds me a little that there are leftists who think that a communist revolution is more likely to work than, like, fifty years of community-building and electoral politics. Sewer socialism, union activism, and other boring activities have brought much more success in the U.S. than agitation for a revolution.

What I mean is, setting aside the moral concerns (violence is bad, even when it's necessary, and if there are practical alternatives then we should pursue them), I am not a revolutionary leftist because I think we would lose a revolution. For one thing, there is a considerable right-wing element in the country that is much better prepared for this kind of thing, and I think that the majority of the institutions in the U.S. would pick fascism over communism if they had to choose, but also, prolonged violent action is ripe for breeding authoritarianism.

Goatse is concerned that "the party" might "abandon or neglect its primary ends," but what is leftism if it is not, at bottom, an attempt to improve the living conditions of all people, et cetera et cetera? To the extent that social democratic parties successfully pursue this end to some degree, they're better than than an ostensible communist party that talks the talk but commits human rights abuses. And, more than the fact that U.S. leftism has some pretty fierce opposition that would probably fare better if The Revolution happened tomorrow, I think that, even in winning, we would lose, because what came out the other end would look a lot more like Stalinism.

I think one thing the hardcore revolutionaries in OECD countries don't realize is that the reason they can't marshal support for their revolutions is that the socialists won most of the issues that were salient in the early 20th century--workers got more rights, better pay, unions were legalized, etc., etc. But it didn't take restructuring the whole political economy to do it, which is immensely frustrating if you believe that any society without your ideal political economy is inherently immoral and impure, so in order to justify an explicitly communist platform you have to rhetorically isolate it from the filthy libs and feckless demsocs who it turns out have been pretty effective within the arena of electoral politics in which supposedly nothing can ever get done, and treat them as of a piece with the out-and-out fascists and royalist autocrats of the 1920s and 30s.

Which, you know. Is not persuasive to most people! Most people understand intuitively the vast gulf between the SPD and the Nazis; they see that, milquetoast and compromising though they may be, the center-left can deliver substantive policy improvements without the upheaval of a civil war or political purges, and this is attractive to people who are not of a millenarian or left-authoritarian personality.

Which isn't to say that communists don't often make important points! It sucks having to fight a constant rearguard action against the interests of capital rolling back the social improvements of the 20th century, and it sucks that liberal governments in Europe and North America have historically been quite happy to bankroll and logistically support fascists and tyrants in the third world against communist movements (which invariably only exist as communist movements because these same fascists and tyrants have crushed more compromising movements and only the most militant organizations have managed to survive).

But I agree with you: communists also talk a big game about how liberalism is the real fascism (what's that line from Disco Elysium I see quoted everywhere about how everybody is secretly a fascist except the other communists, who are liberals?), while also being awful at democracy. Suppressing dissent because your small clique of political elites is the only legitimate expression of the people's will (which you know, because you have declared it to be so) really is some rank bullshit. A system with competitive elections is still, well, a system with competitive elections, even if those elections are structurally biased in certain ways; all the bloviating that attempts to justify communist authoritarianism cannot really obscure the fact that authoritarian systems are cruel and brittle, regardless of the ideology being served.

#world's worst leftist #i'm not a huge fan of capitalism #but i am a huge fan of democracy #liberalism rules actually #and its highest expression is probably democratic socialism

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joy-returns-in-the-morning · 1 year

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Okay just finished watching all of Downton Abbey!! here are some thoughts. sorry for the length but I need to get this out of my system this has no particular order or reason I am just wringing out my mind like a dirty washcloth.

I feel like everybody here looooves Thomas. Probably like 90% of the Downton Abbey fanfiction on Ao3 are about Thomas. Um you guys know there are other characters in this show right? So I know it's unoriginal. But. I have to admit it. Thomas is my favourite and i love him <3

like they would be talking at dinner about Important Plot Things and Thomas is in the background serving appetizers and I'm like lol. there's Thomas. Then I'd have to rewind cuz I wasn't paying attention

but man he is so nasty at the beginning haha I think people forget that sometimes

I told my (blissfully offline) friend that I like him and she's like, why??? He's so mean???

IDK I like him BECAUSE he is mean! He's terrible and nasty and I like him for it!!

because like why should he be nice anyways? Should he be GRATEFUL to have the immense privilege of holding the door open for someone?? he's been handed an unfair lot in life and why should he be happy about it? poor little meow meow <3 <3

the costumes are sooo pretty. So glamourous! So beautiful! A real feast for the eyes. But like, it does seem all rather silly sometimes lol. Do you really need to wear a special outfit just to dinner. Do you really need so many staff to wait on five people XD

So I actually quite liked Tom's relationship with the family by the end of the series (especially him and Mary) their friendship is very sweet but Tom's arc still frustrates me soooooo much. Like oh yeah suuuure you're all about socialism and equality when you have to drive people around for a living but then you happen to marry a lady and suddenly you're all about upholding the same classist structures that once held you down. 🙄 What ever happened to your PRINCIPLES man?!! He has all the political backbone of a jellyfish.

And like, Miss Bunting and even Miss Braithwaithe were RIGHT about Tom but they were made out to be SOOO obnoxious, like they were unreasonably painted as villains but at the core of it they were RIGHT. He WAS getting uppity. He WAS forgetting his roots.

Lord Grantham’s like "ooooh it's so sad those terrible brutal communists have been killing those poor innocent Russian aristocrats, oooh how horrifying i do not condone violence and killing" Yeah, but like... it's not as if the Russian peasants weren’t dying brutally at the hands of the rich and powerful for centuries. You weren't crying about it then.

Vera and Lavinia were like the same character to me. The same except so far the opposite it swung around to being the same. Vera was absurdly evil and Lavinia absurdly good and they both served no purpose except to be the obstacle to the One True Pairing 🙄

also Mr. Gregson's wife! Do we even learn her name? Poor lady is having a terrible time of it imprisoned in a mental hospital and literally nobody cares. :/ So much for those wedding vows, "in sickness and in health"

I think! Thomas and O'Brien's friendship is cute! so under-rated. partners in crime. they're in cahoots. >:3c Too bad it had to end like it did :(((

I think the plot with Jimmy would have been more interesting if Jimmy actually HAD led Thomas to believe he had a chance. Like if Jimmy's maybe having some weird feelings he doesn't know how to deal with. But then when push comes to shove Jimmy decides he just doesn't want to risk it and acts all offended to save his own reputation. Because as it is it felt like... a little too sudden. Or maybe I just feel too embarrassed on Thomas's behalf that he made such a mistake.

Anna and Mr. Bates. Ugh. I found their romance SO boring and tedious, so many obstacles were thrown in their way I forgot why they even wanted to be together in the first place. one of the worst subplots and they NEVER let it go

Daisy was saying a lot of nasty things too by the end of the show honestly. But nooo Thomas is the mean one

I feel like there is some sort of parallel that could be drawn between Ethel and Thomas. Or I'm not sure if it's a parallel but... how do I put this. If you think that Thomas's lot is unfair, then what happened to Ethel was also unfair. Because what did she do, really? The same thing I bet everyone on here wants Thomas to do. We all love Thomas but nobody really cares about Ethel. :/ idk I thought she had spunk and ambition and it's a shame they had to reduce her to a "fallen woman" subplot

it's so stupid that everyone had to get paired off at the end. Personally I don't see why Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes had to get married. oh the amatonormativity

on the other hand I think Mary and Carlisle should have married lol. XD Yeah they'd be unhappy. but they are suited for each other and it would certainly be INTERESTING haha (dunno how serious i am about this)

Edith’s outfits were always the nicest in my opinion. loved her colour scheme!

everyone's always like "oooohh noo our way of life is dying this is so sad" :((( I mean I guess?? It's sort of sad??? But ultimately. I Do Not Care about the lives of the British Aristocracy.

fun show all round

#downton abbey #thank you for coming to my ted talk

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landofwindandskyscrapers · 3 months

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3/52 How To Be Lied To By Statistics

"How to lie with statistics" by Darrell Huff in 1954, is the best-selling statistics book of the second half of the twentieth century, possibly the most popular book on statistics ever published, according to Wikipedia's sources.

Let's tear it apart.

***

Some years ago, inspired by my own father who keeps a similar list, I started keeping track of each book I read over the years.

I recommend this; it's very interesting to see how much - or how little! - one actually reads, year over year.

It's also a great way to push one's own self to read better things, and to actually start reading things one "always wanted to have the time to read".

It was in this way I started and finished "How to lie with statistics"; something I saw mentioned over and over in my statistics classes - this is a very famous book - which always piqued my attention, but was always optional reading at best.

Since my opinions on it are a bit complicated, I'll try to give them a bit of structure.

***

The good, the mostly objective, the positive things

This is a very short, breezy book. I think it took me less than a week to read it, and it was a delight to do so. You'd think that this wouldn't be such high praise, but if a book is going to take 500+ pages to make me realize I should never have started reading it, I'm going to hate it deeply (btw, fuck you very much, War & Peace)

It’s also engaging and very much for general audiences; if I’d picked it up during elementary, I would’ve enjoyed it immensely.

In essence, there’s nothing outright objectionable to it – it’s all factual, and it does give one the tools to spot the most common forms of statistical manipulation – although I expected it to get much more in depth than it did, since I didn’t actually learn anything new.

(On the other hand, I’m not an average member of the public – for one thing, I’ve had multiple statistics classes, have a degree in Chemistry and am a member of Mensa)

(Humblebrag)

At another point in my life, it’s likely I would’ve recommended this book.

And it does teach you the basics of how to spot the ways people, organizations & media use numbers to bamboozle you!

It absolutely does do that!

And yet.

***

The bad, the gut feelings, the bad aftertaste. The lack of positive things

It foster cynicism.

This is a bigger problem than it sounds; if people become convinced everybody lies, they're going to do whatever they wanted to do anyway, and damn trying to adjust your beliefs based on reality.

It's actually one of the big problems of the 2000s - when nobody can be believed, you know nothing, which lets you be a horrible person because hey - everybody else is doing it.

There's also the fact that Darrel Huff's Wikipedia page, he had connections to the tobacco industry - at a time in which smoking and tobacco weren't yet linked.

As a matter of fact, the tobacco industry had commissioned a book from him - How to lie with cancer statistics - and even though it was never published it's not a good look.

The book is also old; this is not necessarily a bad thing, but the past is a foreign country - the culture, the way of thinking and speaking, the issues of the time that the author mentions offhand - they're not things you or me can relate to effortlessly.

And…it low-key felt bad, reading.

Perhaps I shouldn't have spoiled myself by looking it up on Wikipedia but….more information is nearly always good.

#statistics #how to lie with statistics

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bao3bei4 · 3 years

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fan language: the victorian imaginary and cnovel fandom

there’s this pinterest image i’ve seen circulating a lot in the past year i’ve been on fandom social media. it’s a drawn infographic of a, i guess, asian-looking woman holding a fan in different places relative to her face to show what the graphic helpfully calls “the language of the fan.”

people like sharing it. they like thinking about what nefarious ancient chinese hanky code shenanigans their favorite fan-toting character might get up to⁠—accidentally or on purpose. and what’s the problem with that?

the problem is that fan language isn’t chinese. it’s victorian. and even then, it’s not really quite victorian at all.

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fans served a primarily utilitarian purpose throughout chinese history. of course, most of the surviving fans we see⁠—and the types of fans we tend to care about⁠—are closer to art pieces. but realistically speaking, the majority of fans were made of cheaper material for more mundane purposes. in china, just like all around the world, people fanned themselves. it got hot!

so here’s a big tipoff. it would be very difficult to use a fan if you had an elaborate language centered around fanning yourself.

you might argue that fine, everyday working people didn’t have a fan language. but wealthy people might have had one. the problem we encounter here is that fans weren’t really gendered. (caveat here that certain types of fans were more popular with women. however, those tended to be the round silk fans, ones that bear no resemblance to the folding fans in the graphic). no disrespect to the gnc old man fuckers in the crowd, but this language isn’t quite masc enough for a tool that someone’s dad might regularly use.

folding fans, we know, reached europe in the 17th century and gained immense popularity in the 18th. it was there that fans began to take on a gendered quality. ariel beaujot describes in their 2012 victorian fashion accessories how middle class women, in the midst of a top shortage, found themselves clutching fans in hopes of securing a husband.

she quotes an article from the illustrated london news, suggesting “women ‘not only’ used fans to ‘move the air and cool themselves but also to express their sentiments.’” general wisdom was that the movement of the fan was sufficiently expressive that it augmented a woman’s displays of emotion. and of course, the more english audiences became aware that it might do so, the more they might use their fans purposefully in that way.

notice, however, that this is no more codified than body language in general is. it turns out that “the language of the fan” was actually created by fan manufacturers at the turn of the 20th century⁠—hundreds of years after their arrival⁠ in europe—to sell more fans. i’m not even kidding right now. the story goes that it was louis duvelleroy of the maison duvelleroy who decided to include pamphlets on the language with each fan sold.

interestingly enough, beaujot suggests that it didn’t really matter what each particular fan sign meant. gentlemen could tell when they were being flirted with. as it happens, meaningful eye contact and a light flutter near the face may be a lingua franca.

so it seems then, the language of the fan is merely part of this victorian imaginary we collectively have today, which in turn itself was itself captivated by china.

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victorian references come up perhaps unexpectedly often in cnovel fandom, most often with regards to modesty.

it’s a bit of an awkward reference considering that chinese traditional fashion⁠—and the ambiguous time periods in which these novels are set⁠—far predate victorian england. it is even more awkward considering that victoria and her covered ankles did um. imperialize china.

but nonetheless, it is common. and to make a point about how ubiquitous it is, here is a link to the twitter search for “sqq victorian.” sqq is the fandom abbreviation for shen qingqiu, the main character of the scum villain’s self-saving system, by the way.

this is an awful lot of results for a search involving a chinese man who spends the entire novel in either real modern-day china or fantasy ancient china. that’s all i’m going to say on the matter, without referencing any specific tweet.

i think people are aware of the anachronism. and i think they don’t mind. even the most cursory research reveals that fan language is european and a revisionist fantasy. wikipedia can tell us this⁠—i checked!

but it doesn’t matter to me whether people are trying to make an internally consistent canon compliant claim, or whether they’re just free associating between fan facts they know. it is, instead, more interesting to me that people consistently refer to this particular bit of history. and that’s what i want to talk about today⁠—the relationship of fandom today to this two hundred odd year span of time in england (roughly stuart to victorian times) and england in that time period to its contemporaneous china.

things will slip a little here. victorian has expanded in timeframe, if only because random guys posting online do not care overly much for respect for the intricacies of british history. china has expanded in geographic location, if only because the english of the time themselves conflated china with all of asia.

in addition, note that i am critiquing a certain perspective on the topic. this is why i write about fan as white here⁠—not because all fans are white⁠—but because the tendencies i’m examining have a clear historical antecedent in whiteness that shapes how white fans encounter these novels.

i’m sure some fans of color participate in these practices. however i don’t really care about that. they are not its main perpetrators nor its main beneficiaries. so personally i am minding my own business on that front.

it’s instead important to me to illuminate the linkage between white as subject and chinese as object in history and in the present that i do argue that fannish products today are built upon.

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it’s not radical, or even new at all, for white audiences to consume⁠—or create their own versions of⁠—chinese art en masse. in many ways the white creators who appear to owe their whole style and aesthetic to their asian peers in turn are just the new chinoiserie.

this is not to say that white people can’t create asian-inspired art. but rather, i am asking you to sit with the discomfort that you may not like the artistic company you keep in the broader view of history, and to consider together what is to be done about that.

now, when i say the new chinoiserie, i first want to establish what the original one is. chinoiserie was a european artistic movement that appeared coincident with the rise in popularity of folding fans that i described above. this is not by coincidence; the european demand for asian imports and the eventual production of lookalikes is the movement itself. so: when we talk about fans, when we talk about china (porcelain), when we talk about tea in england⁠—we are talking about the legacy of chinoiserie.

there are a couple things i want to note here. while english people as a whole had a very tenuous knowledge of what china might be, their appetites for chinoiserie were roughly coincident with national relations with china. as the relationship between england and china moved from trade to out-and-out wars, chinoiserie declined in popularity until china had been safely subjugated once more by the end of the 19th century.

the second thing i want to note on the subject that contrary to what one might think at first, the appeal of chinoiserie was not that it was foreign. eugenia zuroski’s 2013 taste for china examines 18th century english literature and its descriptions of the according material culture with the lens that chinese imports might be formative to english identity, rather than antithetical to it.

beyond that bare thesis, i think it’s also worthwhile to extend her insight that material objects become animated by the literary viewpoints on them. this is true, both in a limited general sense as well as in the sense that english thinkers of the time self-consciously articulated this viewpoint. consider the quote from the illustrated london news above⁠—your fan, that object, says something about you. and not only that, but the objects you surround yourself with ought to.

it’s a bit circular, the idea that written material says that you should allow written material to shape your understanding of physical objects. but it’s both 1) what happened, and 2) integral, i think, to integrating a fannish perspective into the topic.

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japanning is the name for the popular imitative lacquering that english craftspeople developed in domestic response to the demand for lacquerware imports. in the eighteenth century, japanning became an artform especially suited for young women. manuals were published on the subject, urging young women to learn how to paint furniture and other surfaces, encouraging them to rework the designs provided in the text.

it was considered a beneficial activity for them; zuroski describes how it was “associated with commerce and connoisseurship, practical skill and aesthetic judgment.” a skillful japanner, rather than simply obscuring what lay underneath the lacquer, displayed their superior judgment in how they chose to arrange these new canonical figures and effects in a tasteful way to bring out the best qualities of them.

zuroski quotes the first english-language manual on the subject, written in 1688, which explains how japanning allows one to:

alter and correct, take out a piece from one, add a fragment to the next, and make an entire garment compleat in all its parts, though tis wrought out of never so many disagreeing patterns.

this language evokes a very different, very modern practice. it is this english reworking of an asian artform that i think the parallels are most obvious.

white people, through their artistic investment in chinese material objects and aesthetics, integrated them into their own subjectivity. these practices came to say something about the people who participated in them, in a way that had little to do with the country itself. their relationship changed from being a “consumer” of chinese objects to becoming the proprietor of these new aesthetic signifiers.

--------------------

i want to talk about this through a few pairs of tensions on the subject that i think characterize common attitudes then and now.

first, consider the relationship between the self and the other: the chinese object as something that is very familiar to you, speaking to something about your own self vs. the chinese object as something that is fundamentally different from you and unknowable to you.

consider: [insert character name] is just like me. he would no doubt like the same things i like, consume the same cultural products. we are the same in some meaningful way vs. the fast standard fic disclaimer that “i tried my best when writing this fic, but i’m a english-speaking westerner, and i’m just writing this for fun so...... [excuses and alterations the person has chosen to make in this light],” going hand-in-hand with a preoccupation with authenticity or even overreliance on the unpaid labor of chinese friends and acquaintances.

consider: hugh honour when he quotes a man from the 1640s claiming “chinoiserie of this even more hybrid kind had become so far removed from genuine Chinese tradition that it was exported from India to China as a novelty to the Chinese themselves”

these tensions coexist, and look how they have been resolved.

second, consider what we vest in objects themselves: beaujot explains how the fan became a sexualized, coquettish object in the hands of a british woman, but was used to great effect in gilbert and sullivan’s 1885 mikado to demonstrate the docility of asian women.

consider: these characters became expressions of your sexual desires and fetishes, even as their 5’10 actors themselves are emasculated.

what is liberating for one necessitates the subjugation and fetishization of the other.

third, consider reactions to the practice: enjoyment of chinese objects as a sign of your cosmopolitan palate vs “so what’s the hype about those ancient chinese gays” pop culture explainers that addressed the unconvinced mainstream.

consider: zuroski describes how both english consumers purchased china in droves, and contemporary publications reported on them. how:

It was in the pages of these papers that the growing popularity of Chinese things in the early eighteenth century acquired the reputation of a “craze”; they portrayed china fanatics as flawed, fragile, and unreliable characters, and frequently cast chinoiserie itself in the same light.

referenda on fannish behavior serve as referenda on the objects of their devotion, and vice versa. as the difference between identity and fetish collapses, they come to be treated as one and the same by not just participants but their observers.

at what point does mxtx fic cease to be chinese?

--------------------

finally, it seems readily apparent that attitudes towards chinese objects may in fact have something to do with attitudes about china as a country. i do not want to suggest that these literary concerns are primarily motivated and begot by forces entirely divorced from the real mechanics of power.

here, i want to bring in edward said, and his 1993 culture and imperialism. there, he explains how power and legitimacy go hand in hand. one is direct, and one is purely cultural. he originally wrote this in response to the outsize impact that british novelists have had in the maintenance of empire and throughout decolonization. literature, he argues, gives rise to powerful narratives that constrain our ability to think outside of them.

there’s a little bit of an inversion at play here. these are chinese novels, actually. but they’re being transformed by white narratives and artists. and just as i think the form of the novel is important to said’s critique, i think there’s something to be said about the form that fic takes and how it legitimates itself.

bound up in fandom is the idea that you have a right to create and transform as you please. it is a nice idea, but it is one that is directed towards a certain kind of asymmetry. that is, one where the author has all the power. this is the narrative we hear a lot in the history of fandom⁠—litigious authors and plucky fans, fanspaces always under attack from corporate sanitization.

meanwhile, said builds upon raymond schwab’s narrative of cultural exchange between european writers and cultural products outside the imperial core. said explains that fundamental to these two great borrowings (from greek classics and, in the so-called “oriental renaissance” of the late 18th, early 19th centuries from “india, china, japan, persia, and islam”) is asymmetry.

he had argued prior, in orientalism, that any “cultural exchange” between “partners conscious of inequality” always results in the suffering of the people. and here, he describes how “texts by dead people were read, appreciated, and appropriated” without the presence of any actual living people in that tradition.

i will not understate that there is a certain economic dynamic complicating this particular fannish asymmetry. mxtx has profited materially from the success of her works, most fans will not. also secondly, mxtx is um. not dead. LMAO.

but first, the international dynamic of extraction that said described is still present. i do not want to get overly into white attitudes towards china in this post, because i am already thoroughly derailed, but i do believe that they structure how white cnovel fandom encounters this texts.

at any rate, any profit she receives is overwhelmingly due to her domestic popularity, not her international popularity. (i say this because many of her international fans have never given her a cent. in fact, most of them have no real way to.) and moreover, as we talk about the structure of english-language fandom, what does it mean to create chinese cultural products without chinese people?

as white people take ownership over their versions of stories, do we lose something? what narratives about engagement with cnovels might exist outside of the form of classic fandom?

i think a lot of people get the relationship between ideas (the superstructure) and production (the base) confused. oftentimes they will lob in response to criticism, that look! this fic, this fandom, these people are so niche, and so underrepresented in mainstream culture, that their effects are marginal. i am not arguing that anyone’s cql fic causes imperialism. (unless you’re really annoying. then it’s anyone’s game)

i’m instead arguing something a little bit different. i think, given similar inputs, you tend to get similar outputs. i think we live in the world that imperialism built, and we have clear historical predecessors in terms of white appetites for creating, consuming, and transforming chinese objects.

we have already seen, in the case of the fan language meme that began this post, that sometimes we even prefer this white chinoiserie. after all, isn’t it beautiful, too?

i want to bring discomfort to this topic. i want to reject the paradigm of white subject and chinese object; in fact, here in this essay, i have tried to reverse it.

if you are taken aback by the comparisons i make here, how can you make meaningful changes to your fannish practice to address it?

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some concluding thoughts on the matter, because i don’t like being misunderstood!

i am not claiming white fans cannot create fanworks of cnovels or be inspired by asian art or artists. this essay is meant to elaborate on the historical connection between victorian england and cnovel characters and fandom that others have already popularized.

i don’t think people who make victorian jokes are inherently bad or racist. i am encouraging people to think about why we might make them and/or share them

the connections here are meant to be more provocative than strictly literal. (e.g. i don’t literally think writing fanfic is a 1-1 descendant of japanning). these connections are instead meant to 1) make visible the baggage that fans of color often approach fandom with and 2) recontextualize and defamiliarize fannish practice for the purposes of honest critique

please don’t turn this post into being about other different kinds of discourse, or into something that only one “kind” of fan does. please take my words at face value and consider them in good faith. i would really appreciate that.

please feel free to ask me to clarify any statements or supply more in-depth sources :)

#x #-__- another fandom essay sorry

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writingwithcolor · 3 years

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Space based story with prison camps: problematic parallels?

Trigger warnings:

Holocaust

Unethical Medical Experimentation (in the post and resources)

ivypool2005 asked:

I'm writing a sci-fi novel set on Mars in the 25th century. There are two countries on Mars: Country A, a hereditary dictatorship, and Country B, a democracy occupied by Country A after losing a war. Country A's government is secretly being puppeted by a company that is illegally testing experimental technology on children. On orders from the company, Country A is putting civilian children from Country B in prison camps, where the company can fake their deaths and experiment on them. (1/2)

My novel takes place in one of the prison camps. I am aware that this setting carries associations with various concentration camps in history. Specifically, I'm worried about the experimentation aspect, as I know traumatic medical experimentation occurred during the Holocaust. Is there anything I should avoid? How can I acknowledge the history while still keeping some fantasy/sci-fi distance from real experiences -- or is it a bad idea to try to straddle that fence at all? Thank you! (2/2)

We are far from being the only people to have suffered traumatic medical experiments..

--Shira

TW: Unethical Medical Experimentation (in the post, and all of the links)

Medical experimentation in history

Perhaps without intending to, you have posed an enormous question.

I will start by saying that we, the Jewish people, are not the only group to have unethical, immoral, vicious experiments performed on our bodies. Horrific experimentation has been conducted on Black people, on Indigenous people, on disabled people, on poor people of various backgrounds, on women, on queer people... the legacy of human cruelty is long. Here are some very surface-level sources for you, and anyone else interested to go through. Many, many more can be found.

General Wiki Article on Unethical Human Experimentation

US Specific Article on Unethical Human Experimentation

The early history of modern American Gynecology is largely comprised of absolutely inhumane experimentation, mostly on enslaved women (with some notable exceptions among Irish immigrant women)

An Article on Gynecological Experimentation on Enslaved Women

I also recommend reading Medical Bondage by Deirdre Cooper Owens

The Tuskegee Experiment

First Nations Children Denied Nutrition

Guatemala Syphilis Experiment

Unit 731

AZT Testing on Zimbabwean Women

Project MKUltra

Conversion Therapy

Medical Experiments on Prison Inmates

Medical Interventions on Intersex Infants and Children

Again, these are only a few, of a tragic multitude of examples.

While I don't feel comfortable saying, as a blanket statement, that stories like this should never be fictionalized, it feels important to emphasize the historicity of medical experimentation, and indeed, medical horrors. These things happened, in the real world, throughout history, and across the globe.

The story of this kind of human experimentation is one of immense cruelty, and the complete denial of the humanity of others. Experimentation was done on unwilling subjects, with no real regard for their wellbeing, their physical pain, the trauma they would incur, the effect it would have on families, or on communities. These are stories, not of random, mythical "subjects," but of human beings. These were Black women, already suffering enslavement, who were medically tortured. These were Indigenous children, who were utterly powerless, denied nutrition, just to see what would happen. These were Black men, lied to about their own health, and sent home to infect their spouses, and denied treatment once it was available. These were Aboriginal Australians, forced to have unnecessary medical procedures, children given brutal gynecological exams, and medications that were untested.. These were inmates in US prisons, under the complete control of the state. These were prisoners of war. These were pregnant people, desperate to save their fetuses, lied to by doctors. These were also Jewish people, imprisoned, and brutalized as part of a systematic attempt to destroy us.

The story of medical torture, of experimentation without any meaningful consent, of the removal of human dignity, and human rights, is so vast, and so long, there is no way to do it justice. It is a story about human beings, without agency, without rights, it's the story of doctors, scientists, and the inquisitive, looking right through a person, and seeing nothing but parts. This is not some vague plot point, or a curiosity to note in passing, it is a real, terrible thing that happened, and is still happening to actual human beings. I understand the draw, to want to write about the Worst of the Worst, the things that happen when people set aside kindness, and pick up cruelty, but this is not simply a device. This kind of torture cannot be used as authorial shorthand, to show who the real bad guys are.

On writing this subject - research

If you want to write a fictional story that includes this kind of deep, abiding horror, you need to immerse yourself in it. You need to read about it, not only in secondhand accounts, and not only from people stating facts dispassionately. You need to seek out firsthand accounts, read whatever you can find, watch whatever videos you can find. You need to find works recounting these atrocities by the descendants, and community members of people who suffered.

Then, when you have done that, you need to spend time reflecting, and actively working to recognize the humanity of the people this happened to, and continues to happen to.

You have to recognize that getting a stamp of approval from three Jewish people on a single website would never be enough, and seek out multiple sensitivity readers who have personal, familial, or cultural experience with forced experimentation.

If that seems like a lot of work, or overkill, I beg you not to write this story. It's simply too important.

-- Dierdra

If you study public health and sociology, it is often a given that the intersection of institutional power and marginalized populations produces extreme human rights abuses. This is not to say that such abuse should be treated as an inevitability, but rather to help us understand, as Dierdra says, how often we need to be aware of the risk of treating our fellow humans poorly. Much of modern medical history is the story of the unwilling sacrifices made by people unable to defend themselves from the powers that be. Whether we are talking about the poor residents of public hospitals in France during the 18th century whose bodies were used to advance anatomy and pathology, to vaccine testing in the 19th century, to mental asylum patients in the 20th century who endured isolation, lobotomies, colectomies and thorazine, one can easily see this pattern beyond the Holocaust.

Even when we shift our focus away from abuse justified by “experimentation”, we have many such incidents of institutionalized state collusion in abuse that have made the news within the last 20 years with depressing regularity. Beyond the examples mentioned above, I offer border migrant detention centers and black sites for America, Xinjiang re-education sites and prisoner organ donation in China, Soviet gulags still in use in Russia, and North Korean forced labor camps (FLCs) for political prisoners as more current examples. I agree with Dierdra that these themes affect many people still alive today who have endured such abuses, and are enduring such abuses.

More on proper research and resources

Given that you are going to be exploring a topic when the pain is still so fresh, so raw, I think you had better have something meaningful to say. Dierdra’s recommendation to immerse yourself in nonfiction primary sources is essential, but I think you will also want to brush up on many established works of dystopian fiction featuring themes relating to state institutions and the exploitation of vulnerable populations. While doing so, read about the authors and how the circumstances of their environments and time periods influenced their stories’ messages and themes. I further recommend that you do so both slowly and deliberately so you can both properly take in the information while also checking in with your own comfort.

- Marika

#holocaust #holocaust tw #prison camps #oppression #tragedy exploitation #torture tw #resources #death tw #abuse tw #asks #history

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themoontaxi · 2 years

Note

turns out the snacks were more filling then i thought (because that extra large cupcake was phenomenal!), and i know that this cafe is getting more and more customers by the day. so, i decided to get one more thing before i make my official leave:

🍿 - where does the universe end?

i understand that popcorn takes awhile to pop, so please take your time and know that i’m in no rush at all! ;)

harley… it’s so good that you weren’t in a rush because this literally took me centuries… or should i say light years? 💫

but, to be fair: this was such a hard question, seriously. first off, no one has a definitive answer to that, and secondly, who the fuck talks about that in their songs except me probably if i ever were to write one? well, these people apparently. (wasn’t that the best transition you ever heard?) okay, so you’ll notice that not every one of these lines is in direct correlation to your question, but there is a connection and i thought you would appreciate some of them being here on the list. i also didn’t know all of them before this, because at one point i was so lost i typed “universe” into lyrics.com and searched through like 100 pages of lyrics containing the word… yes, i am fine, thank you. so to sum it up, i really loved your interest in the question and was eager to find an answer, but i’m happy to finally not have to think about this anymore hahha. anyway, i hope you enjoy! :)

oh, and the first one i’m dedicating to you <3

✨✨✨🌜⭐️🌕🌟🌎🌗🌏🌟🌑⭐️🌛✨✨✨

girl, i travel ‘round the world and even sail the seven seas // across the universe and all the other galaxies // just tell me where to go, just tell me where you wanna meet // i navigate myself, myself to take me where you be / Meet Me Halfway - Black Eyed Peas

let’s talk about love // is it anything and everything you hoped for? // or do the feeling haunt you? // i know the feeling haunt you // this may be the night that my dreams might let me know // all the stars are closer / All The Stars - Kendrick Lamar, SZA

i’ve looked a long time to find you // i drifted through the universe, just to lay beside you / Dark Star - Jaymes Young

give me all - keys of eternity // so i can hide my youth // in the infinite universe / Falling Asleep - Alogia

the universe itself keeps on expanding and expanding // in all of the directions it can wiz // as fast as it can go, the speed of light you know // twelve million miles a minute and that’s the fastest speed there is / Galaxy Song - Monty Python

just remember you’re a tiny little person on a planet // in a universe expanding and immense / Galaxy DNA Song - Eric Idle

you’re my earth // you’re the planet // you’re the grass // the wind and tides // and now that you’re gone, i feel so out of place // and now that you’re gone, i’m just drifting through space / you’re my world - atlas

to the center of the earth // where the wild darkness grows // to the edges of the universe // is there anyone who knows / Oh Yeh - Leonardo’s Bride

it’s you my lover // i’ll thank my lucky stars // in this space and time // to have crossed with yours // no matter how far away // to another galaxy // there’s no time to waste // i won the cosmic lottery / Cosmic Lottery - Evergreen

i’m lying on the moon // my dear, i’ll be there soon // it’s a quiet and starry place // times were swallowed up in space // we’re here a million miles away // there’s things i wish i knew / The Moon Song - beabadoobee, Oscar Lang

i won’t wait for you, i’m already gone // like moonlight leaves with the dawn // i won’t wait for you, the night’s too long // i’m a voyager, and i voyage on / Voyager - Birdy

in the california of my mind // one night i was out walking // looking for the star that fell to earth // all the palm trees bending to my will // all the red tails circling the kill // in a big black hole where the universe gave birth // i’m changing, i'm changing, my dear // getting stranger and stranger, i fear / Learning How To Disappear - Milow

i got the good side of life // travelled the universe twice / The Good Side - Troye Sivan

the world is so small, ‘til it ain’t // i’m building up a wall ‘til it break / Small Worlds - Mac Miller

door opens // three, four steps, different world // light shines blue // parallel universe // hug her and him // long time no see / Zeit Steht - Trettmann, KitschKrieg, Alli Neumann, SFR

i believe that you’re for me, i feel it in our energy // i see us written in the stars // we can go wherever, so let’s do it now or never // baby, nothing’s ever, ever too far / Levitating - Dua Lipa

far away // this ship is taking me far away // far away from the memories // of the people who care if i live or die / Starlight - Muse

deep inside of a parallel universe // it’s getting harder and harder to tell what came first / Parallel Universe - Red Hot Chili Peppers

and in a burst of light that blinded every angel // as if the sky had blown the heavens into stars // you felt the gravity of tempered grace // falling into empty space / Iridescent - Linkin Park

with shortness of breath, you explained the infinite // how rare and beautiful it is to even exist / Saturn - Sleeping At Last

two words in your hands, in your heart // it’s one universe // you are always here with me / Here with Me - Susie Suh, Robot Koch

you might have lost yourself in thoughts // no faith to help you grasp the universe // but once you have accepted it // you will find that life is ok / Pray To Fall Asleep - D’Sound

✨✨✨🌜⭐️🌕🌟🌎🌗🌏🌟🌑⭐️🌛✨✨✨

let me know your thoughts! <3

(also congrats on getting engaged… with me haha ❤️)

#harley 🧸#that was so much fun :)#but it also wrecked my brain haha #philosophizing popcorn 🍿#café lounge

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marginalgloss · 3 years

Text

It occurred to me recently that I haven’t posted here for about nine months, and that if you knew nothing about me except for this blog, you might think that it something of a cliffhanger that I ended it on a post about expecting the arrival of my first child. (Or perhaps that would have been an entirely fitting way to end it.) Either way: I am fine, and we are fine, and last November brought the arrival of my son Robin into my life. I have been very busy almost every day since.

There are a couple of cliches about parenting that remain indisputably true. The first is that they grow up so fast. And the second is that nothing prepares you for it. We thought we were entirely ready and pretty well informed but from his delivery onwards nothing went as planned. We thought we’d feed him when he was hungry, and we’d put him to sleep when he was tired; and change his nappies, and play with him, and love him; and what else was there to it, really?

It turns out there is a lot more to it than that. Before Robin I never realised how polarised, how strained and how political people’s feelings are about matters of childcare. We’ve ended up raising him in ways we had never previously considered, partly out of necessity, and partly out of the kind of habits that grow into paths of desire across the days. Consciously or not I judge people who do things differently, and no doubt they judge me too. In spite of the reams of available literature it turns out that for many things — perhaps even most things — there isn’t necessarily a right or a wrong way to proceed.

Here is a third cliche that turns out to be extremely valuable: every baby is different.

The question of literature is a tricky one. In search of assistance I read a few parenting manuals; some of these turned out to be better than others, but I’ve yet to find a good book about what it means to be a father. Most books aimed at new dads are of the ‘pull your socks up’ variety — the kind of thing where the author imagined it thrust upon some feckless deadbeat by a weary spouse. But, being reasonably conscientious, and looking for something with a bit more depth than a guide to how to change nappies, I’ve found most books about parenting have little of interest to say to new fathers.

Being a dad is an odd thing to write about. I’ve read and heard people talk about how new mothers ought to be proud to be joining a kind of grand universal maternal tradition, one which predates even humanity itself. (Animals surely know about babies; witness my cat Louie’s endless patience with Robin’s various attempts to pull his ears off.)

People do not generally talk about the grand traditions of fatherhood in this way. And for good reason: a lot of men today wouldn’t be happy to follow the example of their own fathers, let alone imitate the conditions of detachment and distance that defined fatherhood for centuries. I want to say that expectations of fathers today have never been higher; but this is only because for most of recorded history, we had no expectations of fathers at all. In the space of perhaps two or three generations we have gone from the idea that a father should only have to provide for a child’s upkeep (and not slap them around too much) to a very immediate understanding of dadhood as a central plank of parenthood.

Perhaps a lot of this speaks more to my own insecurities than it does to anyone else’s. Still, I feel like there’s an easy camaraderie between mothers that isn’t apparent between fathers. My wife has developed a little circle of local mums with whom she’s in constant communication, whereas the WhatsApp group we created for the fathers in our NCT group has languished in silence. I don’t really have anyone with whom to compare notes. And what would we say if I did?

The pandemic has put us in an unusual situation. Ordinarily I would have had two weeks’ paid paternity leave, plus any holiday time taken alongside that. So I took three weeks off work — but I’m still working from home every day, as I have been since March 2020. This means that instead of watching me disappear to work five days a week, my son has spent every day of his life together so far with both his parents. I don’t even know where to begin with writing about the way this has changed us; perhaps I won’t know how to talk about it until it comes to an end.

It does mean that parenting feels like it has consumed my life in ways that might not have otherwise been the case. Being at home for so long with a new baby was a remarkable opportunity, and in the early days — through winter and the Christmas lockdown — it didn’t feel like I was missing out on much. Things are a little different now. Every absence independent from my family feels like it requires a negotiation as much with myself as with anyone else. And I don’t only mean literal absences. Someone new has come into my life and they have no tolerance for anything else that might be meaningful to me. So many of the things against which I used to define myself have necessarily had to be neglected.

It goes without saying that I haven’t written much. Whatever free time I have at the moment is normally spent collapsed in an exhausted heap on the sofa, watching TV. I can count the number of books I’ve actually finished in the last eight months on one hand; I have started and set aside perhaps two dozen. I feel very remote from the person who spent several years documenting here every book he finished.

Games have fared a little better. In the early days, when I found myself with some late night hours to myself, I picked up the remastered Bioshock collection. It took me months, but I eventually finished all three: the first game is a masterpiece, the second is a very decent sequel, and the third is probably the greatest missed opportunity in all of gaming. (I ended up writing several thousands of words about the games, over the course of weeks — the only thing of substance I’ve written since Robin was born, in fact — which I since abandoned, in a fit of self-doubt and impatience with my own tortuous style.)

But I mean it when I say that the first game is a masterpiece. I had forgotten just how immensely absorbing it is — a journey into another world that’s less realistic than it is gloriously theatrical. Every time I think about it I feel like I want to replay it again. And it never really occurred to me before that Bioshock is about parenting as much as it is a picture of Objectivism in decay. It hits different now, as the kids say.

While driving over the weekend I passed the word ‘DADDY’ outlined in rich pink flowers, laid in memorial at the centre of a roundabout. It made me flinch. Every time I see that word in whatever context it seems to come with an intimation of departure. And in the same way every time I think about this game it seems laden with the feeling of a dying fall that nobody ever really seems to talk about. You play as a kind of genetically modified clone, returning home to his unwelcoming father and near-absent mother in a demented inversion of the Odysseus tale; and the only good you can do in this world is to rescue the handful of innocents left within it. You have to become a father yourself, in a sense. But your days are numbered.

The ending of the original Bioshock is often written off as a bit of a joke. You fight a deliriously incongruous final boss, and then depending on your actions through the rest of the game, you get to see one of two final sequences. In the bad ending, the denizens of Rapture somehow steal a nuclear submarine, and it’s implied that something very bad follows. But the good ending has more to it than that. You return to the surface, and it’s implied that you adopt some of the Little Sisters you rescued down there as though they were your daughters. There’s a brief montage of scenes from an assortment of lives. A graduation. A marriage. A child reaching for a parent’s hand. And then a death bed. The hands of your daughters reach out for you one last time.

After perhaps twenty hours of gameplay this sequence is perhaps less than a minute long. It feels rushed, awkward, sentimental. But as a coda, it also has the outstanding benefit of being perfectly real.

#robin #personal #fatherhood #video games #bioshock

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heliosthegriffin · 3 years

Text

Jaune “Mean Bastard” Arc AU.

The Arc family is a family stapled into history with their deeds of heroism, their immense physical strength, willingness to accept others into their clan at the drop of a hat, fighting against insurmountable odds for no apparent reason other than it being the right thing to do.

...That was only half the story however.

Ozpin thought to himself as he watched a tall, very lean blonde strut off the airship.

“Please, please don’t make scene today, Mr. Arc.” Ozpin said to himself, but the tone lacked hope, and most of all was riddled with fear. “Your not even a student here! You didn’t even send in transcript! How’d you even get onto the airship!”

But, deep down Ozpin knew, he always knew, he was an Arc, and Arc’s found a way, one that most people wouldn’t call ethical, sane or even reasonable.

Ozpin shivered, the Arc clan had been much too quiet in recent years. Was he the reason?

What terrible reason could this new Arc have to come to his school.

“Gods help us all, gods help every one of us.”

“So, much for a warm welcome to Beacon.” Ruby muttered to herself in her crater.

“Need a hand?” A warm voice asked her.

Ruby looked up into the two bluest eyes she’d ever seen, and blushed deeply.

“You ok? Looking a little hot under the collar.” The man before her asked with concern.

Ruby could hardly speak, he looked like a modern day fairly tail knight. WIth long blonde bangs, sapphire eyes, handsome face, dressed in all white, blue, and gold.

“I..I”..I”m fine!” Ruby squeaked out.

The blonde boy reached out to grab a flailing hand and pull her to her feet. Ruby wasn’t ready for that however and ended up face to abs with him.

‘So warm, so firm, I could stay here forever.’ Ruby thought to herself. Before going atomic on her blushing, and Rose Warping ten feet behind herself.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you, just thought you could use a hand getting up.” The man said with remourse. “I’ll let you go about your buisness now.

“RUBY ROSE!”

“Hmm?” “MY NAME IS RUBY ROSE! THANK YOU VERY MUCH FOR HELPING ME!”

The blonde man reeled back from her sudden outburst of thanks.

A smile graced his face.

“Jaune Arc.”

“So I got this.”

*Unfurls Crescent Rose*

“Neat.”

“So, you got anything?”

“Hmm. not here.” “Oh, did you send it ahead?” “Nope just didn’t feel like bringing it from home. Didn’t think I need a weapon for this.”

“What! How are you going to fight any Grimm if you don’t have a weapon!? Even my sister needs Ember Celica before she goes punching Grimm out!” Ruby said doing so painfully bad shadow boxing.

“Oh, I didn’t come here to fight Grimm.” “What? Why are you here then, if you’re going to be a hunts-man in training you need to fight Grimm.” “Bold assumption, I’m not already a huntsman.” “Oh, yeah right, you look pretty strong and stuff...” “But, a correct one.” Ruby could only pout at being played like she had. Eye little eyes then spyed two blocky pouchs on his waist.

“What are those?”

“Oh those, one is my journal that take notes in, and the other, well, hehehe, I guess you could say it’s ledger.” “A ledger for what?” “Oh, for keeping track of debts and stuff.”

SIlence filled the space between the two.

“Are you a kneecapper?”

“Of sorts.” “I don’t think we can be friends.” “That is fair.”

“Do you work for the mob, or like, Torchwick.” “Nope, I work for me.”

“Freelance?” “All of my debts relates not to money, but personal experiences.”

“Oh, kinda like when you help some move, and they drive you across town?”

“Close enough, and looks like we’re at the auditorium, I’d say see you around, but since we can’t be friends, bye forever.”

“Wait, wait, I take it back!” But Jaune was gone into the crowd.

“Ahh, fiddle sticks.”

Ozpin looked calm and composed on the outside, but he was freaking the hell out on the inside. He lost track of the Arc, he fucking lost him! He could be anywhere doing anything!

He hasn’t even told Glynda, or anybody else, oh, gods this is going to be a blood bath.

He gave a inperceptible sigh, and decided to give his speech. “Hello, children-”

Warm breath behind him caused him to freeze.

‘When did he get behind me!?’

He could see the children murmuring at the unexpected guest.

“Hi, you must be Ozpin!” The warm voice said behind him. “I’m Jaune Arc lord patriarch of the Arc Clan, and you have been at the top of our shit list for five decades, you have a one day to prepare your last will and rights. Tah-Tah see you in twenty four hours.”

“What are you doing here young man! Get off the stage!” He heard Glynda yell at the Arc behind him.

He would stop her, but he needed to right his will again tonight.

Jaune Arc seemingly did nothing to react to Goodwitch but stare at her.

“Are you obstructing me?”

“Why yes I am, you are interrupting the initiation!”

“I see then.” Jaune brought out his note book.

“What are you doing!?” “Adding you to my shit-list ma’am, and if you don’t stop talking I’m going to just put you further up there.” Jaune said as if it was the most casual thing in the world.

“What I, I never, you, you miscreant!”

“Just keeping talking sugar tits, just keep going up my to-do list.” He shot a Glynda a smirk. “I changed my mind I want to break you into the Arc clan, we like ‘em feisty.”

She went Nuclear with rage and leveled her wand at him and fired a telekinetic wave at him.

“Oops,” Jaune said as the wave hit him, sending him out of the room and into the courtyard.

“That’ll teach him, the arrogant miscreant, should have been smarter to pick a fight here.” Glynda said proudly, “Someone get him off this campus and into a hospital.” “Ah, so kind. You do care, too bad you hit like a child.” Jaune said from behind Glynda picking her up in his arms like a princess “Well, fix that later.” Shooting her a wink in his arms.

‘So strong, and comfy.’ Glynda thought gobsmacked in his arms.

He then looked at Ozpin. “Remember old man, a day and no more.”

It was then that Jaune remembered a legion of students looking at him. “The fuck you all looking at, never seen a man take care of business before?”

The student shuffled around awkwardly.

“Yeah, I damn well thought so. Why are you all dressed so damn weird? Am I at a Anime con or a huntsman academy, Ozpin your standards suck.”

‘I like him more already.” Glynda thought. ‘Standards have been dropping for years.’

“Alright, I know whats happening next.” Jaune said proudly. “I am going to walk my happy ass out of here, and if anyone of you can so much as inconvience me, I will personally train or find someone to train you at the Arc compound.”

The student started looking very nervous, the man took down Glynda Goodwitch with no effort. What chance did they have?

Yang thought differently and launched a flying punch at him, Jaune bent his waist and launched a brutal kick straight into Yang's midsection and sending her through the ceiling.

Ruby came next like a rose petal reaper for his bent over next. Jaune grabbed it with his teeth and threw her aside like a puppy with just neck power.

Weiss not to miss a opportunity, speeds forward on glyphs to skewer him also while shoot a wave of ice at his feet, and a stream of fire at his face.

Casually he flexed his legs and shattered the ice, and kicked his leg out hard enough to send a shock-wave that knocked over idle students and killed Weiss flames.

Weiss however sped through the shock wave, and went to stab Jaune. The blade mere inches from his heart, Jaune leaned down to head butt Weiss while dodging the blade. Weiss went down like a sack of potatos.

Nora went down with hammer at Jaune, but he moved and let her fall on his knee, then grab her by the neck with his teeth throwing her through a wall. Jauen followed up with a kick behind him hitting Ren rag dolling him.

Pyrrha appeared last, an launched a series of precise shots and then strikes at Jaune, only for him to dodge each one, and knee her when she over extended by the millimeter.

WIth that the last of the challengers fell unconscious. All within twenty second, All with Goodwitch in his arms.

“Nice try, I’ll come collect the one’s who tried tomorrow, but first.” Jaune grabbed a handful of Goodwitch’s ass, causing her to gasp out. “I got break in the new Arc.”

“It’s Goodwitch..” She muttered weakly.

“Not anymore.” “...Ok.”

“Ozpin, anyone else that wants to try can do so tomorrow when I merc’ you ass.”

And with that the Arc left, taking Ozpins secretary with him.

That was the other side of the Arc clan, one of maruding madmen who recorded their grudges and never let them go, holding onto any slight for centuries, training their young to perfecting and taking fresh blood to increase their grudge spilling power.

Destroying Grimm Hordes because they killed a family pet.

Killing Tyrants for increasing taxes.

Cucking buisness men, because they heard they them demean their name.

The list goes on. But the fact is the Arc Clan is petty beyond reason, and always looking for more members... If you meet their interest that is.

AN: Added a drop of smut in there, don’t know how I feel about it. Hope it turned out ok. Then again it’s crack.

#Jaune Arc #Ozpin #Team RWBY #Crack #Really don't take it serious.#The Arc Clan holds grudes.#Glynda Goodwitch #Team NPR

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pyrajanison · 3 years

Note

Hey PJ, I was wondering how do you get along with the people in Thorney Towers?

“I would say that I get along with everyone relatively well. When I can recall who everyone is, that is...”

“I’m not always allowed to go to the lower levels of the asylum, but when I am, I always say hi to everyone there. There is the actress, Miss Gouton. She has a lovely singing voice and informs me I do to. She has elected me to be her understudy, so long as I do not hog the spotlight. She can be quite temperamental, but I know it’s best to leave her alone when she’s in a bad mood. When that happens, I always try to find a way to cheer her up. I’m not always successful...”

“Then there is the artist Edgar! Edgar is very sweet, despite his temper. We are kindred spirits, given we both enjoy artistic pursuits. He lets me work in his studio every now and again. What really draws my interest, besides his beautiful paintings, are his tattoos. They are the coolest things! Also his beefy arms make me envious. He’s informed me that on many separate occasions I’ve dared him to an arm-wrestling match, all which I lost.”

“Fred is... well I wouldn’t say intimidating because of his stature, though I do admit it is rather imposing. No, it’s more the fact that he seems so absorbed in his conversations with Napoleon. I can’t always know whom I am talking to when I address him, or whom I should be addressing. On one hand, Napoleon is a bit rude and just talks about fighting all the time. On the other hand, Fred is a wet blanket. I’ve had Crispin remind me once or twice that trying to play Waterworld, or whatever it’s called, with Fred is a bad idea, so I mostly avoid him.”

“Boyd is another odd one. I could swear he used to be in here with the rest of us at the asylum. A fellow patient I mean. Certainly seems like it with how he carries on, rambling all the time about conspiracies. But he always tells me he’s the night guard, and that he has always been the night guard. Doesn’t let anyone but the staff and the Coach leave the premises. He’s not that good at his job, however. He doesn’t know how I keep doing it, and I don’t know how either to be honest, but I somehow slip past him on occasion. He’s found me in the reeds by the lake once or twice, sleepwalking apparently. I always tell him that I don’t remember doing it, even bring him more chalk as an apology when I can, but I don’t think he believes me.”

“And of course there is Crispin. Ol’ Crispy Crispin. Crispy Creme. He seems all grumpy on the outside, and on the inside he is mostly grumpy too, but I finally managed to find his soft side. It’s the Doctor. ‘Course it is. Who wouldn’t be enamored by Dr. Loboto, the greatest dentist and scientific mind in our century! I can remember talking for what felt like hours about him with Crispin. We both know he’s mad, but still we adore him. And... well... I adore Crispin too. He has a witty personality, and such a wonderful laugh. He’s still has a bit of animosity towards me, but I’m slowly chipping away at it.”

“.... Sheegor... I unfortunately don’t give her enough credit. She’s been caring for me since the beginning, being the one that found me. I would compare her to an aunt or a big sister. Being the cook, the caretaker, the cleaner, the laundry maker, and Dr. Loboto’s assistant all at once makes her really busy, yet whenever I come to after a spell and don’t know where or who I am, she is there to remind me and calm me down. I try to help her with chores when I can. But unfortunately, if she has the tur... hmm... that THING, with her, I avoid them both. I can be... a bit rude, when it’s the two of them.... I’m sorry, that THING freaks me out.”

“And finally, there is the Doctor. What can I say about him that I haven’t said before. The man is a genius! He’s both intimidating and enamoring. Despite his demeanor, he’s a good person, one I care for immensely. And he is so kind, helping me with my memory and my psychic powers. I have daily appointments with him, and he says we are making real progress. Says a cure for my condition might be just around the corner! I’m so excited! He’s wonderful! He’s astounding! He’s... He’s....

HE’s... A MANIAC!!!

A QUACK! A BUTCHER! He doesn’t care at all for me! For Pyra. All the bastard wants is to stick our brain in a super weapon and sell us off to the highest bidder! But I foresee it’s more likely that he’ll just end up killing us, either intentionally or not! What’s worse, Pyra is so blinded her hero worship of this monster that she has chosen to live in denial of his true nature. I have to get us out of here soon, I fear time is running out. It could be any day now, the Mad Doctor will start his procedure...

......

“Ow... my head... what... oh right! So, I would say that I get along with everyone relatively well. When I can recall who everyone is, that is...”

@sparkling-chi-64

#psychonauts #psychonauts oc #pj #pyra janison #ask #long post #answer #pj deær #Gloria Von Gouton #edgar teglee #Fred Bonaparte #boyd cooper #crispin whytehead #sheegor #caligosto loboto #dr loboto #sparkling-chi-64 #the coin is a callback to my entry one short story

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rubik-ashala · 3 years

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Let Alucard have nice things!

This doubles as both a headcanon description and a rant so here goes:

I just got done watching the 3rd season of Castlevania and I am not happy. I have two things two say about it. This contains spoilers for the series so you have been warned.

First complaint and observation:

Did anybody get the feeling that the show was supposed to end after the second season but didn't? That everything was wrapped up nicely, Dracula was dead, the big world destruction war was halted, we were shown what the trio would be doing after everything etc. Like it was meant to end there but then a conversation like this happened:

Castlevania team: And that’s a wrap everybody! The good guys took down Dracula in an epic fight, the world was saved, Job Done! Time to move on to new things.

Shareholders, producers, etc: Uhh, actually we already signed you up for a 3rd season. So you might want to get on that.

Castlevania Team: What! But we weren't prepared for a third season! The whole plot is wrapped up! What are we supposed to do?

Shareholders, producers, etc: Don’t know but you better get to figuring it out.

Castlevania: I guess we will just game of thrones it terribly then and hope we make it through.

Because that is what it felt like happened. There seemed to be no overarching plot, just four separate ones and only two of them is even remotely together. They take two side characters Issac and Hector and give them there own plotlines. Issac gets the Denarius treatment for no real reason other than to seemingly follow in Dracula’s footsteps and Hector gets dragged to Camilla’s realm because, she needs a forge master to grow an army so she can take over what has been fractured. They split up the trio, suddenly giving Serphia and Trevor a romantic relationship with little to nothing building up to it and throw them in a quest to keep Dracula from coming back after some crazy monks due some occult doctor who style shenanigans to open a portal to other worlds. And while that is going on, Alucard aka Adrian Tepes gets left alone guarding his fathers now broken castle and the Belmont’s treasure trove for months after everything has happened.

Which flows into my Second point:

Alucard got done dirty in the third season!

We watch as Alucard deals with the mental repercussions of what he did, alone. We watch as he deals with the loneliness of being out in the middle of nowhere alone for months with none to talk too. And we see the toll it is taking on him albeit comedically.

Then the siblings come in.

They come to him for help and education on fighting vampires back in their homeland, something that Alucard is more than happy to help with. One, because he has company again and Two, passing on the knowledge to the new generation seemed fitting.

During the time they stay he grows fond of them and they him. You see them training and horsing around, eating meals together and other wholesome shenanigans.

You get to see a conversation where the sibling talk about how they notice how lonely he has been and how they believe he stays out here to punish himself and maybe they should do something for him before they move on. And it’s all like “aww that is so sweet!”

Then you see Alucard trying to sleep and failing miserably in his bed. Even so far as wondering if he should get a coffin to sleep in. Then you see the siblings show up in the door way and begin walking towards him in the bed saying , in a very sultry voice, how alone he must have been, how he should deserve a reward, ectera. Followed by them getting all hot and steamy with him.

The scene makes a point to show how much Alucard is enjoying this attention, and how happy it is making him. Your watching it and it’s like “Maybe it's gonna be one of those fond memories he will be able to look back on after their gone.” or “Maybe they will become some Badass monster hunting thruple and Alucard wont be alone anymore.”

Nope! Not today in my Grim Dark Gothic Fantasy World!

They instead, after giving Alucard the night of his life, put these metal cuffs on him that shoot out a bunch of ropes that tie him in classic Jesus on a cross position and then proceed to try and kill him.

Why?

Because the were under the belief he was lying and holding things back from them, and in particular about the castle not being able to move. And they were tired of being lied to.

Luckily for Alucard they didn't realize his sword could move on its own and they weren’t alive for much longer because of it but...Really?

Why? Why do this to him?

He lost his mother to a witch hunt, he had to kill his own father and now this? All in little over a year? What the Hell man!?

Let the Dhampire have nice things! He deserves better than this!

So, I made a headcannon to soothe me angry brain.

I took a fantasy race of mine that was inspired by the Crusnics of Trinity Blood and added them in to Castlevania. In Particular one specific one.

Name: Floki

Age: Around Adrian’s age give or take a few months.

Hair: Black

Eyes: Mismatched blue/green

Height: About the same as Adrien’s perhaps a little taller.

Personality: Mischevious, HArdworking, Loves deeply, Fiercly but wisely protective, loves to work with his hands, loves to learn more about the world and how it works. Deeply fond of Adrian even though he hasn’t seen him in a few years. Also, a smidge psychotic, but just a smidge.

Floki is part of a race of beings referred to as “The Old Ones”. They are a race similar in habit to the Vampire but they feed off vampires, night creatures and other supernatural beings over humans. They are immensely powerful, even at young ages and have been rumored to be the source of some of the gods of Ancient Mythology.

Floki’s father (Yet named) was Dracula’s mentor and where he got much of his scientific knowledge from in his early years. They became friends during his teaching and even after parting ways, would still occasionally see each other every few half centuries or so to trade information and chat.

During this time, Floki’s father was desperately trying to have children of his own and failing. At one point believing that he was sterile and unable to father children. Something Dracula knew as well and so hid Lisa’s pregnancy from him for fear of making his sadness worse.

However, a few months later, It was revealed that his current love was with child and Floki was born accompanied by much drunken Norse revelry.

When the two men met again a few years later, Floki was brought with his father to show to Dracula that he finally had a child. A moment where Dracula also revealed his son and Where Floki met Adrian.

Floki showed Adrian what it was like to play and horse around. They would play pretend out in the woods, get dirty, skin thier knees, the works. And where one was, you would find the other close by.

The visits between the two powerful men became more frequent due to the boys wish to see each other, not that the parents minded all that much.

Over time Floki’s affection for Adrian would change and deepen. His longing to stay by his friends side would get stronger and one fateful afternoon when Adrian got hurt, FLoki would realize how he had fallen in love with him.

Adrian would never know this however, due to Floki’s unstable powers at the time, his sub par control of his hunger and the fear of hurting him.

As they got older, and partly to the above, their visits to see each other would lessen and by the time they were full grown, had stopped entirely.

That is until Floki Heard of Lisa’s death at the hands of the church.

Even with his incredible power to teleport far distances it took him several months to reach Wallachia. He didn’t seek out Adrian immediately though, too curious to see the truth of what happened.

Each of “The Old Ones” Has a unique skill that is developed and evolved over time, according to personality, interest, skill and homeland. Due to Floki’s curiosity, his love for history and his desire to see how it all works together, he developed what he liked to call, memory recall.

His skill allowed him to see memories of the past through people, objects or locations where something that evoked strong emotional or magical reactions in the area happened. And if there was no such thing, if the event was more recent, if he had access to people that were there and stood on the location, he could see and feel the event as if he lived it.

Lisa’s death held him up in an inn for several days trying to chase the feeling of flames on his skin. Dracula’s anger and grief laid him up for even longer as he cried himself sick.

Gregit was better though, seeing the man who did the deed getting called out by a demon and then eaten gave him a bit of satisfaction.

Briela was fascinating though. He had to meet whomever managed to capture the ever moving castle.

By the Time Floki would arrive at the now defunk castle and underground hold, the siblings bodies are already outside on pikes.

This doesn't scare him away of course, and to find out why they were there he uses his memory recall. Where he sees through there eyes what they did to Adrian, albeit a little fuzzy. But is able to hear what the twins were thinking in that moment and see, just for a short time, Adrian tied to the bed afraid and hurt.

This causes him to snap his fingers and cause the corpses to burst into flames.

An action that draws Adrian’s attention causing a little bit of a fight before they recognize each other.

Over the next while Adrian allows Floki to stay and fix the castle as well as the Belmont estate and work towards getting the transportation engine online again. Eventually.

Overtime, all of Floki’s feelings come back with a vengeance and he gives as much attention and TLC to Adrian as he allows. Eventually getting Adrian to allow him close enough to see though his memory what the siblings had done to him

A scene that will either start a few revelations with both Adrian and FLoki or lead to a very steamy situation. Possibly both.

But it all ends in Adrian getting all the Love and TLC that man deserves after the hell he was put through.

I just hope they aren’t trying to set him up to become an antagonist later...

#castlevania #adriandeservesbetter #adrian tepes

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cosplayswitzerlandaskblog · 4 years

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Unlike last time Hetalia got a new season, the response has not been particularly positive, and I’m seeing a lot of twisted feelings towards the show and the fandom to a point where it seems long time content creators are stepping away from it. I know anyone still active who follows me either are or were fans of Hetalia, so it should be relevant for all y’all.

As a fan who never fell out of the show, I find the response sad though healthy, and even if I know I ghosted you all on tumblr (sorry) because of time constraints and mental health, I still make the occasional CMVs. Fact is, I do not let go of special interests very easily. It seems a lot of you all started watching the show at 10-14 years old, where I myself was a bit older – 17 – and had grown a bit more. Long story short, my Naruto phase was your Hetalia phase, and no, it’s not pretty. You’re young and stupid and don’t know much critical thinking and make mistakes, and you have to forgive yourself for those mistakes, especially when the content you consume is associated with the real world in a sensitive subject.

But after seeing all these posts explaining all the bad we see from Hetalia, I wanted to make a post explaining what I learned from it – all the good that can come with a show like this if you stay aware of perspective. I am not excusing all the bad that came with it, for WWII is a serious event in history that should never be forgotten nor made fun of, but here goes:

I went from a ‘war-is-cool’ history buff to one who truly delved in and learned the intricacies of history, being fascinated with the ‘hows’ and the ‘whys’ as well as getting an excuse to look at the histories of nations which I’d never otherwise be interested in, and I know a lot of other people in the fandom did the same. This is how history should be known, as that is how we can truly apply it to the real world.

I learned to separate people from their countries. To give an example that’ll hit close to much of tumblr, when I started Hetalia I hated Americans with a passion because of the road “you” had put the world on, and I considered all y’all dumb and bad as a cause of it. Getting that excuse to take an ACTUAL look at how your nation functioned and what communities truly hid behind the borders, I learned instead that your government is corrupt as shit, your society is rigged against you and you have been forced to stand by and watch as chaos happens. It got applied to the world as a whole, where I considered other nations being as dynamic as my own, with people both good and bad, and the actions of the nation is even less of a reflection of the people in the cases of corrupt democracies or dictatorships.

I separated from Colonial world views. I was never actively racist, brought up in a proper home, and already before Hetalia I fiercely protected the rights of Muslims who are often mistreated in my nation and tried to hear them out when possible. But I was a Westerner, and even if the nation I came from had barely participated in invasions, I had learned to consider my culture ‘correct’ and native and African cultures ‘primitive’. While the journey was long, a step wise process of realizing things like there was nothing inherently ethically wrong eating dogs or partially incubated duck eggs, only in how the animals were acquired, that cultural progress is heavily dependent on perspective and that fucking genocide of native peoples still happen in this damn century, Hetalia was the stepping stone which gave me the interest in other nations to expand my world view. I probably ain’t done here – I have a whole life of outside influences to unlearn – but I’m further than most people I know in my near surroundings, and I’ve even managed to move my parents who originally taught me to respect people of all kinds in the first place.

I learned Nazis were people. This is a conversation which often comes up here on tumblr, and the demonization Nazi Germany and its government directly allows actual Nazis and fascists like Richard Spencer a free pass because they look groomed and proper. Until then, I’d simply assumed no one was ‘stupid enough to be a Nazi’ because of the atrocities of WWII and therefore looked at the world naively. Realizing how little true support Nazis had during WWII and similarly anyone could end down that pungent rabbit hole, I became careful of what I excused on social media and allowed myself to doubt seemingly normal people if their behaviour was alarming – such as the police man who is supposed to be a damn ‘hero’ of society.

I learned how to deal with material sensitive to others. A common problem in the fandom has always been the cosplaying and portrayal of Nazis, especially at cons and the like, and in a similar vein – I did blackface once because of Hetalia. The horrible thing about this is that blackface is immensely common in Europe – at least my own country – and blackface frequently happens at schools during ‘international’ events, where whole classrooms are assigned to portray a designated country. A whole of two times – in 6th grade as well as 2nd grade of high school – I was exposed to blackface as my class was given an African nation to portray – Somalia the first time, Kenya the second. No one, adult, teen or child, are aware of the history of race imitation in my country, but by the second time I was supposed to participate in dressing up as an African tribe, I’d understood the issue – thanks to Hetalia. My friend group of white, privileged, European teens discussed what symbolism was appropriate at cons or in videos – could we wear the Iron Cross? The Nazi flag? What if we burned it during the video? These thoughts are not usually a part of the mind of European youth, and I consider that a grave problem which leads to people making fun of ‘triggers’, downplaying racial issues and the like.

It offered me a means to make history personal. The biggest struggle for good history teachers and the reason we are often made to read and write letters from the periods we study is to make it seem real and get a emotional connection to these past, lost peoples. Hetalia offered puppets for me to place into historical contexts to make them truly real – the main driver pushing me away from mere fascination of war, since I suddenly felt the horrors of warfare through the characters that I loved. Things like Elizabeth I’s court, the conquests of Rome, the dissolution of the Kalmar Union, the battlefield of Somme, the invasion of America, damn slavery becomes different when something you already know is a part of it and you can see them in there. Hearing of people of the past should in itself be enough, and for the closest parts of history (WWII and afterwards) it always was for me, but we are human. We cannot understand the size of a billion, and we struggle understanding the lives of those living centuries before us, unless we are offered context.

I’m not blind to the issues of the fandom or the show. I was here for ‘the r*pist, the pervert and the p*dophile’, I know of South Korean and Chinese issues with the show, and I heard the gassing joke in the show’s dub and got nauseous from discomfort and anger. I’ve always been in the fringe of the fandom due to my social disabilities, so I don’t know everything that happened, but I’ve seen many racist OCs and disrespecting of historical sites. It’s not pretty, but I will believe these people, who were likely young, likely learned in time. And I may have been able to learn these things by other means, but not in the same way, and not through personal interest and research that’s helped me become sceptical and analysing of the world around me.

At its core, Hetalia is about watching a normal, nerdy guy learn how to draw, using stereotypic country personifications mainly from the perspective of Japan. It’s natural he chooses Japan, since he’s Japanese, and WWII is unfortunately the automatic historical event for most common people to focus on – but Hetalia doesn’t even solely focus on that, but is an amalgamation of vaguely correct historical situations played out by the characters, and often it is with the intent of comedy rather than the grimness often associated with historical settings which allows a wider audience than merely history nerds.

What I want you all to do is learn from your mistakes and forgive your younger selves for not knowing better. Maybe reflect on what you got from the show, rather than what you lost. A new generation of young Hetalians is likely coming with the new season, and us old timers might be able to help them avoid pitfalls if we stay around to teach them. The best of the show is compassion towards the people of the world combined and love of history, as I believe Hima wanted it – the worst is Nazi apologetics and racial stereotyping. We decide in what direction we take it, and what lessons we bring into the future.

TL;DR: As a lot of media intended for older audiences, Hetalia is a show which has to be watched critically, which makes it dangerous for young people to watch unhinged, but it also opens up for interest in the world beyond the borders you live within. We should be aware of the issues and learn from them, but in and of itself the show has a lot of good to offer in learning compassion for other nations and cultural groups.

#impressive how active I've become these last weeks #I kinda feel embarrassed #but Hetalia is coming back #and a lot of people are feeling dread because of it #my own feelings are mixed #but Hetalia is was gave me friends and started expanding my world view #other people might get a similar benefit from it #and I want them to have the chance #I'd love to hear the opinions of others tho #also #welcome to my usual iconic long posts

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theoutcastrogue · 4 years

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Parallels: Olidammara the Laughing Rogue / The Cynics Diogenes and Menippus

Olidammara the Laughing Rogue (Deities & Demigods, 2002, illustration by M. Cavotta) / Diogenes bites Plato (Existential Comics #219)

1. Hecate’s Supper

Diogenes of Sinope (c. 412 – 323 BCE) was like the Oscar Wilde of his time. His snark was immensely popular, and for centuries after his death, if you wanted to say something sarcastic and make people pay attention, you'd just go ahead and say it and attribute it to him. (Which is why it's so hard today to determine what Diogenes actually said and what he didn't.) Alternatively, you could write a book with Diogenes as the protagonist, maybe another Cynic as well, and use them as your snarky mouthpieces.

That's what Lucian of Samosata (c. 125 – 180 CE) did, in his Dialogues of the Dead. These take place in Hades, and feature the philosophers Menippus of Gadara (3rd century BCE) and Diogenes, now dead, snarking from the Underworld and pumping the cynicism to eleven. And I remembered this wonderful satirical work while I was reading an old article in Dragon Magazine about Olidammara the Laughing Rogue, the classic D&D deity (in the Greyhawk pantheon) of thieves, beggars, and bards. It says:

"Shrines of Olidammara's faith are far more common than temples and may be found in urban or rural areas. Usually the shrine is just a pile of stones or an outdoor alcove bearing his mark where worshippers can pour an offering of wine or leave a bit of tasty food and a few copper coins. It is not considered an affront to the god for someone truly poor to take these coins, although stories exist of misers being punished for daring to take what is not their due."

A humble shrine to Olidammara, illustration by Andrew Hu (Dragon #342)

This bit about poor people pilfering offerings from a god's shrine was familiar. In Dialogues of the Dead, when Menippus dies, he gets immediately in trouble with Charon, the boatman, because he's supposed to have coins for the fare and he emphatically doesn't. (He's a Cynic, being penniless is his thing.) When Charon insists to be paid, Menippus wisely explains that he cannot give what he doesn't have, and when he gets frisked, all he has to show are lupin beans and a “Hecate's supper”. Now lupin beans are basically livestock food, humans only resort to them when destitute. And Hecate's supper? Well Hecate was the goddess of roads among other things, and she had shrines in street corners (particularly where three roads meet). People left offerings there every month “and these offerings were at once pounced upon by the poor, or, as here, the Cynics.”

It's not clear what Hecate thought about this plundering of her shrines, or what people imagined she thought. It's abundantly clear that the hungry didn't particularly care. But Olidammara approves as much as Menippus (and Lucian), which is pleasing. And that’s not the only parallel.

Diogenes Sitting in His Tub by Jean-Léon Gérôme (1860)

2. The rich remember

Olidammara drops some aphorisms

“Hoarded gold is no treasure. A man who lives alone with all of his money in a vault is poorer than a penniless man surrounded by merriment. What is the point of money and fine things if you cannot use them to bring you happiness? Better to spend your gold on food, wine, and music than let your mouth, ears, and mind go numb from nothingness.”

“A cage of gold is still a cage. A man surrounded by valuable things may think he is happy, but if he cannot leave his home for fear of his possessions being stolen, and cannot touch them for fear they might break, he is not actually happy. Take the man's things so he is no longer bound to them and can be free to live as nature intended.”

Meanwhile in Hades, Diogenes messages the living

To Menippus the Cynic: If mortal subjects for laughter begin to pall, come down below, and find much richer material; it is the best of sport to see millionaires, governors, despots, now mean and insignificant; you can only tell them by their lamentations, and the spiritless despondency which is the legacy of better days.

To the rich: O vain fools, why hoard gold? why all these pains over interest sums and the adding of hundred to hundred, when you must shortly come to us with nothing beyond the dead-penny?

Menippus (detail) by Diego Velázquez (1638)

and Shades of rich men file a complaint against Menippus

CROESUS: Pluto, we can stand this snarling Cynic no longer in our neighbourhood; either you must transfer him to other quarters, or we are going to migrate. Midas here, and Sardanapalus and I, can never get in a good cry over the old days of gold and luxury and treasure, but he must be laughing at us, and calling us rude names; "slaves" and "garbage," he says we are. And then he sings; and that throws us out. In short, he is a nuisance.

MENIPPUS: All perfectly true, Pluto. I detest these abject rascals! Not content with having lived the abominable lives they did, they keep on talking about it now they are dead, and harping on the good old days. I take a positive pleasure in annoying them. Well, you scum of your respective nations, let there be no misunderstanding; I am going on just the same. Wherever you are, there shall I be also; worrying, jeering, singing you down. Yours was the presumption, when you expected men to fall down before you, when you trampled on men's liberty, and forgot there was such a thing as death. Now comes the weeping and gnashing of teeth: for all is lost! You do the whining, and I'll chime in with a string of KNOW THYSELVES, best of accompaniments.

Incredible Romero-inspired cover for Lucian's Dialogues of the Dead: An Intermediate Greek Reader (Faenum Publishing, 2015)

3. And then they diverged

Of course, Olidammara isn't all Cynic. Cynics rejected wealth and luxury altogether and snubbed everything not necessary for survival, in the name of (basically) independence. The Laughing Rogue, on the contrary, wants you to grab all the finer things in life with both hands, and have a good time.

The kernel of Olidammara's philosophy is that life should be enjoyed, for a life of misery and boredom is a life wasted. Mortals should laugh, enjoy the company of friends and the playing of music, taste good food, and drink good wine. Although he is not a hedonist and doesn't believe that mortals should be, he knows that a lifetime of meat, fruit, wine, and song is better than a a life of bread, water, and silence (unsurprisingly he has no ascetic or monk worshippers). His faithful should treat music as the art it is and strive to be as skilled at it as their patron. People should make jokes and laugh when the joke is on them, and try to avoid misery, temperance, and solemnity, for they are the greatest poison to the soul. He encourages people to practice occasional mayhem not for its own sake but to add excitement to boring lives and rattle the self-built cages of materialists.

And, to return full circle to Hecate's supper, Olidammara is something more than that. He discovered a source of fulfillment, joy, and bliss that all the squabbling philosophers in the time of Diogenes somehow failed to grasp. That shifty thieving scoundrel is sharing.

Olidammara's Aphorism: “What is good alone is better with others. Any pleasurable thing is greater when you can share it with someone else. A fine wine is sweeter when raised in toast to a friend. A romantic song is stronger as a duet. A good meal is more savory when shared with a hungry man. A memory is richer when reminiscing with someone who was there.”

And you know what? I’ll drink to that.

Illustration by Andrew Hu (Dragon #342)

[All excerpts about the Laughing Rogue are from the article “Core Beliefs: Olidammara” by Sean K. Reynolds (Dragon #342, 2006). All excerpts of Dialogues of the Dead are from The Works of Lucian of Samosata, transl. Henry Watson Fowler and Francis George Fowler (1905).]

#long post #diogenes #menippus #olidammara #trs #theory #d&d #how to rogue #fluff #the ecstasy of gold #the rich remember #patron deity

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margridarnauds · 3 years

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So, I’m trying to articulate my thoughts on Valhalla and gender, which is sparked by the fact that, while Lagertha is prominently mentioned as the mother of the Ragnarssons (and you can find her axe), we never hear so much as a word about Aslaug/Thora, who is pretty much the real protagonist of Ragnar’s saga.

On one hand: Lagertha is pretty much at a high of popularity right now, courtesy of Vikings (derogatory). On the other hand: Aslaug is in Vikings (derogatory) too. We see her AS THE MOTHER of most of Ragnar’s sons. There’s no reason for her NOT to be recognizable enough to be included. (Lagertha’s inclusion is also problematic - Instead of being able to divorce Ragnar and have her own life, they went the cheap route by having her being shot by a Finnish arrow.) But, at the end of the day.....it feels like, while Valhalla DOES include a diverse range of women (including our protagonist), ultimately there is....some sort of hierarchy involved, where women who fight, or at least wield weapons are automatically seen as better?

Of our two longterm romantic interests, neither one wears a dress, both of them in traditionally masculine clothing, likewise for Ciara in WOTD. With Randvi, we’re first really invited to pity her/consider her as a really viable romantic option when we hear that she COULD have been a Jomsviking....had she not been married off to Sigurd. We see her taking down bandits, drinking ale, and we’re supposed to think, at that point, that she’s a worthy love interest.

There’s this rather confusing line from the artbook, which says:

“As a strategist, Randvi does not dress in a warrior’s outfit, but neither does she wear the typical women’s clothing of her time.”

Which...seems to imply that being a strategist (a role that primarily involves her being behind a table), is automatically at odds with wearing a dress. Even if 9th century Scandinavian clothing was restrictive (it isn’t - We’re well, well before the days of tightlacing here, and women had to be able to go about their daily chores, and even IN the days of tightlacing as the peak of fashion, plenty of women didn’t, or went about their daily chores), she’s not doing anything that involves intense manual labor. Putting her in pants is simply a way of saying “Look! Look at Randvi! Look at how independent she is!” which....actually doesn’t work, when almost EVERY OTHER major female NPC is ALSO in pants. Including Valka who, as a völva, ergo a non-combatant role that mostly involves eating shrooms in her huts, has no practical need for pants, even if, once again, the clothing was impractical. If I didn’t know What A 9th Century Norsewoman Should Look Like, I would just assume that this was something that all noblewomen did.

It’s very rare to see women actively weaving, as I’ve discussed before, with Eivor only weaving as one of the disguises that she can take to blend in. As a shieldmaiden who’s up and about constantly, I honestly wouldn’t expect Eivor to devote that much time to weaving, but it is a little jarring when the women who are constantly at the settlement don’t so much as mention it, since this was a great opportunity for women to get together, share gossip, tell tales, talk shit about the men, etc. in their own spaces. And there was a bit of an anxiety around it, because, while this was a necessary function for the creation of clothing (which, in the game, seems to just materialize in chests over the game world), it also was tightly associated with magic and sorcery. (Hence why there was a stigma against men practicing magic....unless you’re Odin, in which case Loki will talk shit about you but is anyone else? No. Because you’re Odin.) I want to emphasize that my issue here isn’t “STAY IN THE KITCHEN AND BE A PROPER WOMAN, EIVOR”, it’s more....erasing what the vast majority of women in the Viking Age DID.

The closest we get to more traditional, more conventional women would be in the form of the religious women, but, from the Anchoress to the one murderous nun in the mysteries event to Frideswid in the Lunden Arc to Acha in the Lincolnscire arc, they tend to be portrayed as either zealous and evil or confused and easily manipulated, which ignores the reality for many medieval women, which is that, for many women who didn’t want marriage for one reason or another (whether it was that they were facing the possibility of a forced marriage, or they had no dowry, or they were lesbians, or they were ace, or they were any combination of those things), it was their one chance at a life of their own. I’m not saying that it was IDEAL, or that the medieval church was ideal, but it did give them options (that, incidentally, in the pre-Christian times....you didn’t have. Which is why I don’t attach any real sense of horror to Christianity coming to Ireland, at LEAST from the standpoint of women’s rights. There are other aspects to that, but we’re here, in 9th century England, so I won’t go into it.) No, it has to come from some moral defect, otherwise, they would be independent, like Eivor, like Randvi, like Petra, like Eadwyn, like Valdis, or even like Fulke, who is a religious figure referenced, extensively, as mad and heretical, but who makes a large impact on the plot and at least earns some level of respect, as opposed to the others who make relatively brief appearances.

Now, when discussing women warriors, there tends to be some moral value attached to it: “Women warriors DIDN’T EXIST, and if you argue that they DID, you just want women to be men, ignoring that non-femme women might find comfort in the knowledge that they aren’t alone”, often with a sense of moral guilt-tripping over “Erasing women’s suffering” (which also falls into the trap of assuming that being a woman = suffering, or that that’s the defining experience of being a woman) VS “Women warriors EXISTED and they were #NotLikeOtherGirls and that’s ALL we’re going to talk about as far as women at the time, as well as ignoring any potential evidence for trans or otherwise nonbinary identities”. Both options have the potential to erase or diminish what either option can mean to people. I hate both options equally, and I find that the way they’re brought in is incredibly manipulative. I’m not interested in saying that putting an axe in a woman’s hand = setting back feminism for twenty years. I’m not interested in saying that having essentially no more conventional women in the main cast = feminism. Both are bad, but what I’m concerned about is the lack of nuance in Valhalla and how it seems to assume that there’s ONLY ONE WAY to have power. (I’d hoped that Lady Eadwyn would be cool, and she is....even though we only see her in armor, she’s kind of what I would expect from a medieval woman, in the sense that her husband was Ealdorman and now she’s following in his footsteps, defending her rights as his widow, but then we replace her with a dude.)

As someone whose relationship to gender is Weird, I actually really, really enjoy playing a female character who has the kind of independence that Eivor has - I enjoy getting to jump around, killing things in a gloriously rendered historical environment. I enjoy that, with the exception of Dag, no one really questions it (though I would have been down for a more in-depth examination of gender in the Viking Age). I enjoy that Eivor is compassionate, clever, and aggressive, and that she’s able to have romances with both sexes. I’m not trying to nuke her via historical accuracy here (especially since the historical reality of shieldmaidens is SUCH a hot topic, I feel like wading into either end of the historical accuracy pool is a recipe for disaster) because I actually really, really like her as a character. There are relatively few times where I really, really identify with and love a main female video game character, especially since, so often, even into the present, when things are supposed to be better, I can still TELL that they were made by and for straight men, and this is one. What I AM saying is that I hate that it comes at the expense of basically every woman who ISN’T a warrior or otherwise “independent” by the game’s standards. You do have merchant women, the tattoo artist in camp, Valka, as mentioned before, but it all goes back to that point - We never really see a prominent woman running the household, managing the money, giving orders, which was an immensely important, powerful job, and as a result, it always feels kind of halfway done, that we’re over-representing one relationship to gender at the expense of another.

#playing valhalla #long post

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xmxisxforxmaybe · 4 years

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The sharing bed prompts I loveee that shit. What about “person A hogs all the covers and person B’s solution is to spoon them” and “does that feel good” with Rami as person B?

All right—I took some liberties with this prompt, and while it isn’t smut, it is fluffy and fun. Perhaps there needs to be a Part II, but for now, here you go : )

Y/N is the press tour director for Bohemian Rhapsody, so essentially, she is in charge of the boys. This is totally AU-ish, and this is also the first time I’ve written Joe and Gwil. Forgive me if it’s bad.

* * * * *

Having been on the road with the boys for several weeks, I knew it was never anything that was going to make my life easier when they started being exhaustingly charming to me and only me.

“Cut the shit, boys. What do you want?”

Rami grinned, but I shook my head, “Nope—don’t try that either. What do you want?”

Rami’s smile faltered, and he sighed. He licked his lips, tucking his bottom one between his teeth, and I turned away, refusing to let any of his ticks affect me now.

Everyone on the tour could see the way we looked at each other, but I had a job to do. Rami was an actor, and this press tour was only going to be one small part of his life. But for me, this press tour’s success could send my name right to the top of the PR list, ensuring I’d never have to work three jobs to make ends meet again.

And no one, no one knew that.

This was Hollywood; people weren’t interested in the rags to riches story anymore. All that mattered was what your life looked like, so I made sure to consistently project a strong, confident woman with nothing to lose.

Except that right now, it sounded like I was going to be forced to make a very difficult decision: to keep up appearances by giving over to the boys’ demands, or to buckle, revealing how much the success of this tour really meant for me.

Joe stepped forward and popped onto the edge of the desk in my hotel room, crossing his legs and changing his voice to a high, nasally pitch.

“Well, ya see Mista Sheffield,” Joe said in his best Fran Fine impression, “as the nanny, it’s clear ya been makin’ these kids work way too hard. If they don’t get a break, it could be very bad for their health—and yours,” he added with a wink.

Sighing, I pushed back from my desk and looked at Joe, who re-crossed his legs and batted his eyes.

“I’ll consider your offer if you put on one of Nanny Fine’s skirts, Mazzello.”

“Uh, did you not see the pictures of us in drag? Only Rami’s got the stems to pull that look off.”

I flicked my eyes over to Rami and he smiled, although it was a shyer smile than usual. However, I didn’t look back at Joe. Rami was almost always the leader of their schemes, so I asked, for the third time, what exactly they wanted.

“Since our stop in the next city has been delayed, we thought we could have some time to . . . explore Italy.”

“And?”

“We want to rent a car—”

You started shaking your head no, but Rami pressed on.

“We want to rent a car and drive. We have plenty of time to get there—”

“And if something goes wrong? My god Rami—we are talking about an extra 48 hours, not a week!”

“Nothing will go wrong. You have my word.”

“Those are the most famous last words in every movie, television show, and novel produced in the last century!” I said, my voice rising as I stood up from the desk chair.

“We’ve already mapped it out and it only takes twelve hours longer than the train you have scheduled,” Rami spoke in a rush, moving to stand in front of me and to grasp my upper arms. “We have our cell phones. And . . .”

“And?” I prompted.

“And you’ll be with us,” Rami finished, his voice low and soothing as his eyes burned into mine.

I had to close my eyes to escape his spell because what he was saying was actually not as unreasonable of a request as I had been sure it was going to be. Backing away from Rami’s grip, I sat down on my bed with a plop.

“What does Gwil say?”

“It was his idea.”

“Oy vey,” I said, flopping back onto the bed.

The bed bounced as Joe landed beside me, perfectly propped up on his elbow.

“Soooo maaaa, what do ya say?”

“If—oof,” I said bouncing as Rami landed on my other side.

“If Joseph Mazzello agrees to never impersonate The Nanny again, we can take the car.”

The boys laugh and plant twin kisses on my cheeks and I give them both a hard shove away from me.

“But if anything, ANYTHING happens, I am holding you, Rami Malek, personally responsible,” I said as I stood up and glowered down at him.

“Ooo, Ram, man. That means she’s docking your pay.”

“Don’t care, Joey!” Rami cried as he exaggeratedly sniffed the air. “Can you smell that?”

“What . . . should I be smelling . . .”

“It’s the smell of FREEDOM!” Rami roared as he thumped Joe on the chest, hard enough to make him groan, then start giggling.

A small wrestling match ensued before I yelled at them to get out before they broke my bed.

“Go tell Gwil the good news,” I begged, making them freeze as Rami’s head poked out from under Joe’s stomach after Joe had pinned him with his entire torso.

They scrambled off the bed, each of them fixing their hair as they hurried out of the room to tell Gwilym the good news.

I sat down on my disheveled bedding and bowed my head, praying to whatever god that would listen for this minor detour to happen without a hitch.

The boys, as high-energy as they could be, had been giving their all at every event and had been working ungodly hours. If I could do this for them, they deserved to enjoy it.

* * * * *

God.

The master of the universe.

The almighty creator.

The powers that be.

The flying spaghetti monster.

It didn’t matter what the higher power I prayed to went by, whoever or whatever it was, hated me.

No.

It loathed me, and I became convinced that it got off on circumventing any possible happiness I could have in my life.

I fought back tears as I followed the boys through the sopping cow field, at least I assumed that’s what it was because it was nearly 2 in the morning and the only lights we had were our dying cellphones (which had no service, of course) and one tiny flashlight that had been jammed between the seat in the back of our too-small rental car.

It certainly smells like a cow field, I thought as my foot landed in something that felt suspiciously more squishy than sopping grass.

We were all damned lucky that we hadn’t had anything other than our pride hurt when a whopping pile of mud from the endless rain slid across the road pushing our car over an embankment and into a field. The car had refused to start, and we waited for over two hours for another vehicle to pass.

It was getting cold, so I finally said, “We can’t wait here all night.”

The boys all looked out the window and into the pouring rain.

“Look at the sign,” Gwil said pointing at something that was on the other side of the immense field. “Looks like a vacancy banner.”

“Like the boss said, we can’t wait here all night. It’s not like a cellphone tower is going to sprout up from all the rain,” Joe said.

“Pop the trunk,” I said, moving to open the door and step out into the rain.

Rami grabbed my arm and spoke in a voice that was heartbreakingly earnest.

“I’m sorry, Y/N.”

“I know,” I said, shaking him off and opening the door.

Luckily, we had all packed light and our bags were easy to carry. Rami tried to take mine and I refused; the last thing I wanted to feel at this moment was like a damsel in distress.

The walk took well over an hour, but it was exactly as Gwil said: a vacancy sign, except that none of us could have predicted that it was a place that made the Bates Motel look like a St. Regis.

We paused despite the pouring rain and looked at each other.

Joe nudged Rami, who faltered, but then took the lead and opened the ratchety front door, a chunk of sopping old paint glopping down on his shoe as he stepped through the doorframe.

We all shuffled in behind him, and it was clear the lobby was not meant for gatherings of people. Gwil and I stood elbow to elbow, a dusty shelf of outdated brochures brushing against my arm.

Rami angled himself forward and rang the rusty bell.

It made a pitiful ding that matched its home.

Rami’s hair was plastered to his head and falling into his eyes. While we waited, he slicked it back and I noticed it was almost long enough to tuck behind his ears when it was wet.

Meanwhile, Joe hadn’t missed the way I watched Rami, even in this dire circumstance. He was one of the many who knew how we felt about each other and he also knew that had been a strong part of the reason for this trip. Rami had confessed to him that he believed if he could get me to forget about the bustle of the tour, even for a day or two, he’d have a shot at figuring out if I was interested in him.

Joe’s insistence that I was just wasn’t enough. Rami wanted to be sure before he made a move, especially if it could mean turning the great dynamic we had established between all of us into something forced and uncomfortable.

“Hit it again,” Gwil said, his normally patient self becoming agitated. He hated to be dirty, and I knew he was thinking about a hot shower.

Hell, I knew we were all thinking about a hot shower.

Rami reached for the bell again, but before he could press it, a very old man shuffled out to the desk, his hoary head not more than a foot taller than the desk itself. He was wrapped up tight in a robe and there were slippers on his feet.

He began speaking in Italian and the dialect was so strong that we all looked at each other in utter confusion.

“English?” Rami asked in a desperate plea.

The old man cocked his head, little wisps of white hair billowing with his movement.

“I’m guessing that’s a no,” Gwil muttered, his voice tired.

“Rami—”

He turned around and looked at me.

“The key hooks on the wall.”

Rami nodded, his mouth puckering as he thought.

“We need rooms for the night,” Rami said, pointing to the keys on the wall. “Uh, camera, per favore.”

The man nodded, “Si, si,” and took two keys off the wall.

He began speaking once more, but Rami pointed to the last key hanging on the wall, trying to get another room in case one of the rooms was too small for all three of the boys to share.

“No, no,” the man said waving the two keys from the wall in front of Rami’s face and speaking some more.

It was clear we were getting the last two rooms the man had.

“La moneta!” he barked when Rami held his hand out for the keys, and we all reached into our bags for whatever we had in Italian currency.

The old man gave us a total and Joe counted it out. After the man recounted the money, he handed the keys to Rami and pointed toward the darkest section of the motel.

Again, we all cast a glance at each other, but once we were back outside in the pouring rain, Rami took the lead and walked off toward the dark rooms.

He tried one key, then the other and reached blindly along the wall for a light switch after the door had creaked open. A single lamp flicked on, and we were greeted by the smallest room I had ever seen. There was an ancient television propped up on a stand, one chair, and one bed that looked to be no bigger than an extra-large twin.

Rami glanced at me, then hurried to the next door, shaking the key furiously in the lock to get the door to open.

It was the same room, right down to the extra-large twin bed.

Rami looked at Joe and Gwil and said, “I don’t suppose the three of us could—”

“Oh for pete’s sake, Rami. Come on,” you said tugging his jacket’s sleeve and hauling him back into the other room.

Joe and Gwil exchanged a look, and despite their exhaustion, smiles crept across their faces.

As soon as the door shut behind him, Rami turned around and locked the chain.

With a sigh, he started to apologize again, but I cut him off.

“Rami—no one could have predicted this would happen. I’m sure we will laugh about this . . . if we don’t get axe murdered in the night.”

“Did you ever see that episode of the Twilight Zone where—”

“Don’t you dare! Don’t you dare plant some freaky image in my mind before we have to try to fall asleep.”

Rami gave me a small smile before he finally dropped his soaked bag on to the floor.

“We may have to wring out all our clothes,” he said frowning with disgust at his wet luggage.

“First, I’m taking the hottest shower in history,” I said, marching into the bathroom, then proceeding to scream as I collided face to chest with a mostly naked Gwilym.

Rami and Joe both burst in from their doors, and then they started laughing.

“Your faces,” Joe squeaked out.

Gwil and I looked at each other and broke, laughing until we cried at the absurdity of the entire situation.

Ever the gentleman, Gwil offered the bath, and yes, it was an old clawfoot bathtub, not a shower, first.

“No—you go for it,” I said patting his shoulder and following a still chuckling Rami out of the door who was swiping at the tears that had leaked down his cheeks during his laughing fit.

I collapsed onto the uncomfortable, putrid yellow chair, a puff of laughter escaping in intermittent bursts as I remembered the feeling of my nose colliding with Gwil’s chest.

“Damnit,” I growled, leaning back in the chair.

“What is it?” Rami asked from the seat he had taken across from me on the edge of the bed.

“My shoe strings are so wet I can’t untie them and my shoes are too tight to kick off.”

“Let me try,” he said, moving to kneel in front of my shoe. “Wow—okay. That’s definitely cowshit.”

Laughter burbled up from my throat again as I stared at Rami’s fingers working my shit-covered laces, and he looked up at me, his nose crinkled, his hair a mess, and I laughed harder until he joined in.

“When you win an Oscar for Freddie, I’m going to remember this moment,” I said, smiling down at him as he freed my right foot.

“Shut up,” Rami said with a smile. “Never gonna happen.”

“Why are you so afraid to let yourself want it?”

“For the same reason you’re so afraid this tour will be a disaster,” Rami finished with a grunt as he freed my left foot and sat back on his butt, getting ready to work his own tennis shoes off.

“What?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

Rami wiped his fingers on the shins of his soaked pants and looked up.

“You’re not the only one who came from almost nothing, Y/N. We recognize our own kind in this world.”

“But—”

“My parents worked really hard to make sure we had opportunities, but that was about all we had.”

“I didn’t know.”

Rami and I looked at each other, and for the first time I realized what we had in common: an insatiable hunger, a need to prove ourselves.

I know it seems like it only happens in the movies, but as soon as I made that realization, it was like a jolt of electricity went through my body. I had never wanted to kiss someone more than I did in that moment, and just as I was about to drop to the floor and close the distance, Gwil knocked from inside the bathroom.

“Your turn, Y/N!” he called.

I shook my head and stood up, hurrying into the bathroom.

By the time we had all rotated through, Joe going last and informing us with a loud, “Yikes!” that the hot water was all gone, I was exhausted and settled under the minimal covers on the bed.

Rami had been sitting in the yellow chair for the past half an hour, trying to get his cellphone to work.

“We’ll use the phone at the front desk in the morning,” I mumbled sleepily. “Let’s get some rest before the rooster crows. Cuz I guarantee there’s one roaming around out there unless the axe murderer was in the mood for chicken.”

Rami’s laughter was soft as he rose up from the chair and walked over to the light switch.

“Should we leave it on?”

“Try it.”

Rami flicked the switch and the room was plunged into darkness, but after a few moments, it was clear that the light from the vacancy sign was going to shine right through the damn-near sheer curtain covering the window.

“I think we’re okay—you locked the door, right?”

Rami fumbled along the door and double checked.

“Yup.”

I listened as he made his way back to the bed and he shuffled some sort of item of clothing off. When his cold feet accidentally connected with mine, I knew it was his socks.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “Can’t stand to sleep with socks on.”

“Me either,” I said to the wall I was facing.

Rami moved around in the bed, attempting to get comfortable and to keep an appropriate distance between our bodies, but when I moved, he gasped as all the covers moved with me.

“Sorry,” I groaned.

“I think this bed is clearly meant for one person.”

“Or two people as tiny as that old man.”

Rami chuckled, and then he sighed.

“There’s a solution . . . if you’re okay with it.”

“Lay it on me, Ram.”

Rami said nothing, but he rolled onto his side and pressed his body into my back. He adjusted his arms, eventually resting his left hand in the dip at my waist.

“At least I’m getting warmer now,” I said sleepily.

Rami took that as an invitation and snuggled in deeper, sliding his arm all the way over my waist so he could spoon me.

“I really am sorry for all of this,” Rami whispered into the back of my neck.

“I’m not,” I said, reaching for his hand and pulling it up between my breasts so I could clutch it to my chest.

Rami hummed contentedly, and we both drifted off to sleep.

#Rami Malek #Rami Malek x Reader #guest starring #Joe Mazzello #gwilym lee #fluff #bed sharing #bed sharing prompt #BoRhap fic #BoRhap

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ladyhearthkeeper · 4 years

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Please tell us more about how you were raised like a Victorian lady. I would like to be accomplished too.

Hello :)Thank you for your ask. I will try to answer it the best way I can.

Well, the main thing is that in my education more emphasis was given to building my manners, broadening my mind and my taste for art, music and literature, religious obligation rather than a career.

This is a quote from Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen that expresses what I mean by accomplished like a victorian lady :

“No one can be really esteemed accomplished who does not greatly surpass what is usually met with. A woman must have a thorough knowledge of music, singing, drawing, dancing, all the modern languages, to deserve the word; and besides all this, she must possess a certain something in her air and manner of walking, the tone of her voice, her address and expressions, or the word will be but half deserved.”

“All this she must possess,” added Darcy, “and to all this she must yet add something more substantial, in the improvement of her mind by extensive reading.”

So these would be more of the superficial (yet important elements) of what makes a lady accomplished.

To that, one needs to add a foundation. A proper victorian lady was raised as a believing woman. This provided her with a space to work on her soul but also provide kindness to her community and those in need.

Even though I use dear Jane Austen to explain this, I think Margaret Hale from Elizabeth Gaskell’s North & South is a better example. Examples help us find what we want to work towards.

Now that we have a framework, here is more about me…

I was encouraged to read all kind of books, in any genre. Back when I was a teen YA wasn’t really a thing so I read proper books. YA are nice but they are not enough to broaden a young mind. I mostly read classics but I didn’t stop at that. Books were my best teachers. Later, when I realized that I wanted to become more ladylike I even read guides written in the 19th century for young ladies. You can found them at the Project Gutenberg. Books like this one.

It helps that I studied literature, with a particular interest in 19th century novels. Victorian ladies were well read and had a lot of knowledge. So I think it’s important to choose a good subject to study, not as a mean to earn money but to broaden your scope. It doesn’t have to be frilly, it can be science, technology etc. The goal is to learn more.

I joined the choir (I regret not knowing an instrument but I would like to remedy that one day), took painting classes since I was a kid, and learned how to embroider, sew, and crochet. I still eagerly learn new skills. Activities such as these also helped me to have a sense of what is beautiful. Of course, I was also taken to the museum and to concerts, and taught about nature. Learning to attune your sense to beauty is important.

The more you learn how to do, the more you become accomplished. To take the time to learn something new, gives you patience but also substance. Especially if you dedicate yourself to the mastery of a skill or a subject.

Contrary to what one may think, these ladies did not lack depth nor intelligence. It wasn’t only about knowing how to hold a smile.

I’m lucky to be from a culturally diverse background. It gave me the opportunity to learn many languages but also about how to identify different types of social cues in different cultures. All this to make sure I keep my behavior attuned to those of around me and not make them uncomfortable. If you know about someone else’s culture or background you know how to make them feel at ease.

So yes, knowing how to hold herself in society is also part of what makes a lady accomplished.

I was taught by my mother how to behave with others, especially men. It’s about having a sense of propriety. How to receive people and to honor invitations. How to hold a conversation. But I learned more from observing rather than actually being taught.

I was also taught how to make condolences visits, how to support bereaved people, how to be supportive with people who need help, how to be part of a community. Of course, charity work, volunteering have played a big part in my life too and have given me the opportunity to go beyond my own self. Keeping a good inner life is what gives a graceful quality to our outer behavior. It’s more important to work at being a good person than learning a new skill.

All these things I’ve listed in the previous paragraphs can be explained more thoroughly if you wish. But I wanted to mention them because being a victorian lady is more than being good at playing the pianoforte. Lady Catherine de Bourgh would approve.

Most of these things are drawn from my own religion but they reflect the values of 19th century Britain. So maybe your own ethics can help in the matter.

I’m not a social person, I am more of a wild creature of the woods. But I have been so used to being aware of my behavior towards other people that in spite of my mood, I can keep a serene agreeable countenance. Not always unfortunately but most of the time. So much that one day, after leaving party I told my friend that I didn’t feel social at all and I was glad I was going home and she was surprised because I talked with everyone and remained interested in what they were saying.

It’s not about being fake (please don’t do that) but of not imposing your mood on others. That doesn’t mean saying yes to everything and forcing yourself to be social all the time, but it’s knowing how to hold your own when you don’t feel like it. It’s about saying ‘ok I don’t feel that great but I’ll deal with this after I’ve honored this social situation and once I’m alone or with intimate friends or family.’

I think deportment is also very important. I was vaguely taught about it (I attended some ballet classes as a kid but I didn’t continue) I think the practice of yoga has helped me better understand how to use my body gracefully. It’s about understanding how to hold yourself, it flows outwards from your own sense of worth and dignity.

Here’s a good illustration from Elizabeth Gaskell’s North & South :

« And as he looked with this intention, he was struck anew with her great beauty. He had never seen her in such dress before and yet now it appeared as if such elegance of attire was so befitting her noble figure and lofty serenity of countenance, that she ought to go always thus appareled. She was talking to Fanny; about what, he could not hear; but he saw his sister's restless way of continually arranging some part of her gown, her wandering eyes, now glancing here, now there, but without any purpose in her observation; and he contrasted them uneasily with the large soft eyes that looked forth steadily at one object, as if from out their light beamed some gentle influence of repose: the curving lines of the red lips, just parted in the interest of listening to what her companion said—the head a little bent forwards, so as to make a long sweeping line from the summit, where the light caught on the glossy raven hair, to the smooth ivory tip of the shoulder; the round white arms, and taper hands, laid lightly across each other, but perfectly motionless in their pretty attitude. »

This is what I mean about deportment. It’s not about the surface but poise, an inner serenity and openness to the world.

But, without telling you the whole story, I have to just add that the character described here, Margaret Hale, is not only defined as a lady by her behavior at this party but also by her behavior in times of loss, with people in need of help or even people behaving in an uncouth manner. She is also characterized as a lady in her kindness and generosity towards others. These are key to being a proper victorian lady. For this, volunteering for a good cause can benefit your character immensely.

How to be gentle is also an important thing.

Most ladies had servants but they still knew how to run a house and keep a home. These skills are also important but more tedious to describe.

Those are only a few points that I’m exploring but there are many other things that can be said in the subject. And I don’t think there is just one way to go about it. But reading helps, it can help you identify what you want to emulate and what to avoid. I could give you a list of books that can inspire you if you want. :)

Now, having said all of that, I don’t think I’m an expert on the subject. And I’m far from being a perfect lady. There’s a lot of room for improvement. But when I read those novels I feel like these women were raised the same way I was and I feel understood. I don’t think it’s necessarily how everyone should be. There are other skills that I struggle to learn and that would help me better navigate in this world. Skills that were not necessarily taught to victorian ladies...

I simply wasn’t raised to be a career woman (there’s nothing good or bad about it, it’s just how it is) but I was raised to be an accomplished lady.

I hope this wasn’t too long, and I hope I answered your question. If not, you can ask again. Thank you for asking I enjoyed replying to this.

I’m sorry for any spelling mistakes or forgotten words. I’ve notice I’m more prone to these recently.

#runningwildrunningfree #how to be a lady #accomplished lady

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