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#reading Asterix
I realize you don't like doing actual real people, but in honour of the date, what about Gaius Julius Caesar (100 BCE - 44 BCE) the Tumblr stabby boy?
You had me at "the Tumblr stabby boy" as if he didn't already get duper duper stabbed in real life also, as well as on the stage. But no, he's ours now.
So okay. We say Jonathan Harker ignores red flags, but like, a soothsayer bids Caesar beware the Ides of March, and our buddy Julius says "no 😌" Like the thing he's famous for (today at least) is ignoring warnings shouted at him by weirdos as he passes by. (By contrast when Jonathan is told to beware Castle Dracula - in much less clear terms, mind - his response is more on the order of "y tho?" at which point everyone suddenly stops being able to speak German. They are not the same).
The other main character trait he has, in the play at least, is arrogance. That's why they stab him all those times. The fear is that he's going to make himself King - Brutus says Caesar was ambitious, and Brutus is an honorable man. All through those early scenes, his advisors are advising him to maybe chill a bit, and he's just like "😎 haters gonna hate" about it - and then is genuinely surprised when they do. My guy...
Julius Caesar thinks he's All That, he thinks he's untouchable, he thinks he's a god. They may bond over stories of conquest but he's not going to take anyone's warning seriously or give Dracula the respect or deference he demands. And even if Dracula is baffled by his +7 shift ciphers (which he may be if he hasn't read the Dancing Men yet) it'll only make him angry. No matter his high opinion of himself, at the end of the day he bleeds like any other man, whether you're stabbing him 33 times on the senate floor or seeing if he really does have kisses enough for everyone.
Also apparently his horse had human toes instead of hooves, which is super freaky and I don't like it. It's not relevant in any way (or, in all likelihood, true) but I thought you should know.
Julius Caesar, the Tumblr stabby boy, at least as depicted by ol' Billy Shakes, can not survive Castle Dracula. And now we know where the Roman coins in Dracula's pile came from.
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pygian-weapon · 1 year
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DO NOT COMPARE CAESAR TO ELON MUSK HE DOESN'T DESERVE THAT we can come with a Bastille day tumblr celebration or smth, but Caesar was killed by a bunch of old rich men lmao (and his adopted son, et tu brute - cit. Jared Padalecki). this isn't exactly a win for the working people.
Yeah yeah he did war crimes and got too drunk on power, but at least he didn't have an hentai addiction is what I mean
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bdslab · 1 month
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One year ago, the Best BD Character Tournament began. As we know, Asterix came out our champion in the end... but what if we did it a little differently this time?
I'm giving our Quarterfinalists a shot at redemption. A chance to beat Asterix. All eight of them in the same poll, up for one week. We'll see who comes out on top this time
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benevolenterrancy · 1 year
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I know it's not brought up often in the comics, but Cacofonix singing so badly he makes it rain is a joke that i still think is hilarious and adorable
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whimsimarion · 10 months
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I swear to God, as an European, I was completely and utterly shocked when I found out that certain popular bds, like Asterix, Tintin and Lucky Luke, were pretty much obscure in the American continent. 😳
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alisterix · 1 year
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Mlm/wlw hostility to mlm/wlw solidarity at its finest
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jihef03 · 1 year
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Asterix live-adaptions always reminding me that adapting a character’s clothing faithfully really does not mean it’s going to look good.
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buckets-of-dirt · 11 months
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The longer I work in CRM the more convinced I become that my undergrad degree did not adequately* prepare me for this career. The problem is that at the same time I also become more convinced that almost nothing** could adequately prepare someone for a career in CRM.
*My undergrad did give me a lot of very important background information that has been so incredibly necessary to work in this career and this is not a knock on academic archaeology AT ALL. I simply wish there'd been a little more discussion of what to expect once I left school and entered the work force.
**Except perhaps a similar job in another field science, which is of course, similarly niche and also probably requires a degree.
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theevilemster · 10 months
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Treated myself 😁
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I plan to collect them all, I currently have three out of 39 (soon to be 40)
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sleepinginmygrave · 6 months
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i'm starting to re-obsess over BD that i use to read as a kid please help
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>getting emotional about comic books
How about you ISSUE yourself some testosterone and increase the VOLUME of your sperm count
I don't read capeshit or the colored toilet paper that passes for comics in america, I just want to see the bare minimum of effort put into adaptations of franchises I enjoy, which incidentally would already be more than what your father put in you
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elfecassepied · 7 months
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When someone was gonna tell me that Neito Monoma was French/Belgian coded??? Like wtf I didn't know.
As a French person he always seems very British coded to me. 💀
Am I the problem? Is it because I'm French that I don't recognize French's codes in foreign medias? I don't know Yuuga is also very French coded and I spot it directly.
I am the only one who thought Neito was British coded? Please let me know I mean look at him this man is clearly a rosbeef, I'm sure he takes fancy tea with scones and cream and he must be so personally offended when anyone in his class drink their tea without at least milk and sugar.
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I (bravely) challenged myself and translated Pétrus Borel's Obelisk of Luxor manifesto.
disclaimer: this text is above my grasp of the social context Borel is critiquing, so I'm sure there are things that went over my head and therefore not accurately translated. (the parts I didn't get are marked so, reader beware) Also, although the core of the first part of the manifesto is anti imperial and anti colonialist, that doesn't mean Borel doesn't indulge in some orientalist tropes. There is also some classism thrown in into the mix. Nevertheless, I think it's definitely worth reading, for that first part, and as an angry plea to value the then neglected Gothic architecture, so here it goes:
french original text here
THE LUXOR OBELISK, 1836, Pétrus Borel.
Was it not enough to destroy or allow the destruction in Paris as in all of France, of the monuments bequeathed by our ancestors? Was it not enough to permit the demolition of Saint-Côme and Saint-Damien church and the chapel of the collége de Cluny? Was it not enough to permit the establishment of a bad place(*1) at Saint-Benoît, to have promised to the hammer the collége de Moutaigu, to have sighed after the demolition of the Vincennes Sainte-Chapelle, to have made little gardens (jardinets) and canals of the majestic composition of Le Nôtre, and have the Tuilleries patched up? Was it not then enough, having shamefully let loose Bagatelle, and to make of the château de Saint-Germain, in the name of reigning Liberty, a dungeon? Was it not enough to tear down Saint-Leu-Taverny manor, and have its blood stained stones sold to anybody who wanted them?
Wasn’t it enough with all these assaults? Was it still necesary for the devastation to spread its ravages up to the shores of the Nile?
Humanity’s duty is to oppose with all the resources of its genius, to the anihilation of its works; to counterbalance, delay, suspend the operations of nature, who doesn’t know to create new beings but at the expense of those that preceeded them. The law of men is conservation; the law of time is destruction. Man and time must then be locked in a constant struggle. Unfortunately, the first one often sacrifices its mision to help the other with his, and like him, he is armed with a scyhthe and a sword. Once set in this road, Man becomes more dreadful than Time; because the latter’s deteriorations are slow, nothing presses him, he has eternity before him.
Let not the Vandals and ignorance be accused of destruction: Vandals did not make war on monuments, ignorance is respectful. It is in the name of Science and Progress that most of these crimes are commited. It’s science, and not ever ignorance who says: “- This is gothic, therefore it’s barbaric, crush it down!” --It’s science who travels the universe, pickaxe or axe in hand; who goes spoiling Thebes of its imposing ruins which after so many centuries were admired by voyagers, making their souls soar and enlarging spirits by meditation. It’s science who goes ravaging the Thebes necropolis, demolishing the hypogei, making sepulchres collapse, blowing out the dust on the tombs; it is science who would not stop its profanations until she has leveled the desert’s sands to the cradle of primordial civilizations.
It is science who has pillaged Athens as it pillages it each day of its magnificent débris; who tears away its bas-reliefs and its metopes; who strips its statues; who packs up and dispatches its columns and its portals en route to the land of business, for England, where they will be devoured by the extravagant groves of some newly wealthy refiner.
It is science who will not delay to strip India of its monuments of Mughal glory, who won’t hesistate to rip off the Taj-Mahal mausoleum, Akbar Palace, the Mouti-Mutjid, the pearl of mosques; it is science who lets the mausoleums in Akbar and Ulla-Madoula waste away, to hastily authorize their demolition and ship them to Europe.
My God! What an obsession with taking and shipping off! Couldn’t you instead let each latitude, each area have it’s glory and ornaments? Couldn’t you contemplate anything on a distant shore, without coveting and wanting to substract it?
I would not be surprised if someone told me one day that the English had taken down the Moon and stored it in the Tower of London Museum.
You think you have given much radiance to your nation, to have so intensely embellished it, when you have actually buried under the Thames sludge, or the muck of the Seine, the work of two or three thousand years, the masterpieces of fifteen or twenty civilizations; when you have piled up in your crossroads and your shops, Romans over Etruscans, Egyptians over Hindus, Italians on top of Arabs, Greeks over Mexicans?
Each thing has no value other than in its own land, on its natal soil, under its sky. There is a correlation, an intimate harmony between monuments and the countries that erected them, there is no way to intervene with impunity.
The Pyramid needs blue skyes, a smooth floor, the monotonous horizontality of the desert; it needs the caravan passing at its feet; the cries of a nomad ethiopian population, or loneliness and the howling of chackals.
The granite Sphynx needs the lenghty avenues of the Pharaos Temples; she demands them, or the strange hordes killing each other at their shadow. Or the silent ruins of the Karnac.
Obelisks need the temple pillars, the solar cult, the idolatry of the multitudes, or the desert.
These monuments that pour such great amounts of sublime poetry on the arid sands of the Sahara, that proclaim the grandeur, the might, the genius of races past, are dragged to the bosom of our cities and become as drab, mute, and stupid as them.
How great would a Sphynx look in a gap between a cobbler shop and a tavern! Such a wonderful effect the profile of an obelisk would give to an hôtel garni, between a guardhouse and a tea shop!
Alas! All these arguments non withstanding and many more, France leans in the monument trafficking business, and does it without quarter. Recently and in a notorious, scandalous fashion, she has imported a monolith, uprooted from the ruins of Luxor. Poor France!... how happy she is now that she posseses an obelisk! What glory! May you rejoice long time, my fatherland! A child who shakes its rattle forgets its troubles: may this granite rattle numb your pain and pour balm in your sores!
But if, like a child, you have a need for toys, often too like him, you don’t know what to do with what you desire, once you posses it.
In order to find a use for it, during three years, no wait, what am I saying? During four full years, rhetoricians and reasoners have striven: even men from our senate, who have raised this high question on their petite chambre.
And during these for years, by roads and paths, by mounts and valleys, we haven’t seen nothing but obelisk hunters, wandering, torch in hand, to find not a man but to find or perch themselves on this coquetish emblem of the solar rays. This one here wants it to be placed on the Louvre courtyard; that one over there, right in the middle of the Invalides esplanade; this one there, at Montmatre, between two moulins; him over there, on the Pont-Neuf terrace, in stead of that insipid Henri IV. In fact, what does a Herni IV even mean? Nothing is more spiritual than an obelisk! The majority inclines in favour of the place of the so called Concorde; without doubt, because there, the obelisk will provide the advantage of cutting up the four façades into eight(*2).
In order to satisfy everyone, to manage the goat and the cabbage(*3), The State, who wants to rob nobody of its hope, consequently orders to have them erected everywhere; and with that purpose, it is said the state has emitted lettres de marque to a company of sapeurs charged with capturing and embargoing all the obelisks they can get their hands on. We must conclude that this enterprise is founded on a wealth excedent in order to have reserves and prevent any lacking of this provision so necessary to the People, and that a market is opened for the sale of those in excedent, to stock up the provinces. --Every fortnight their taxes will be displayed along those of the bread.
I seek to joke; but my jest truns into a grimace, my laugh is hollow; my heart is too heavy with moral pain; and whose wouldn’t be, when imagining the stupid misemployment of money destined to the protection of the Arts; of the mess made at this very moment in the château de Versailles; imagining the considerable sums spent on the coupling and uncoupling of stones; imagining that the Louvre is still unfinished, that we deny him a mason while during more than three months, we make more than eight hundred arabs occupied with just digging up trenches in a soft slope, made from the pedestal of this Egyptian men-hir up to the pier; when imagining this false and disordered love some men have for antique rubble, and of the disdain professed solemnly about our own antique junk, which should be so glorious for us, which we should be so protective of!
Wretches! While you squander the treasury on your conquests of green or pink Sphynxes, while you reattach becquets or empeignes to mutilated bacchuses and hermeses, our cathedrals fall to ruin, our Castles are dismantled, Royaumont abbey, the most admirable edifice erected by the generosity of Louis IX, who erected so many admirable ones, lies there, semi destroyed and devastated by a laundry.
All your boisterous display of affection for Art and Antiquity is nothing but an impudent parade. If you really had a sensitivity for the good and the beautiful, wouldn’t you put away the Raphaellos, the Rembrandts or the Andrea del Sartes you offer in your galleries? Would you allow these collected masterpieces to be dispersed and preyed upon by foreigners? Your feelings are feigned and false. Your heart has never beaten under the vaults of a temple; you never quivered at the sight of a Murillo or a Corregio; you have never understood Puget; you ignore who Jean Bullant, Jean Joconde or Philibert Delorme are; you are nothing but pedants at the shore of the Seine, and you pretend to be poets on the coasts of the Nile. Shame on you!...
Those who do not understand Saint-Vandrille, Blois, Chambord, Gaillon, Royaumont, Brou; cannot understand Thebes. Just like the One who traded, when there were yet nothing more than clovers in his crown (???), Jean Goujon’s Diane of Poitiers in exchange for an Ajax by Dupaty, how can He ever understand an obelisk?
You do not profess the religion of the Ancients; you don’t even practice that of Art or Country, all you want is to simulate what you can’t feel; you want the appereance of a protector, play-act Maecenas, affecting solicitude, and to showcase your imposted solicitude you become extravagant; you seek to astound vulgarity with your eccentricities. Little it matters to you that your underlings demolish by hits of paper bundles the most magnificent vitraux, you do not concern yourselves with such petty matters, where you would remain obscure: you need sensational acts. You must attract the eyes of the masses, and squeeze out their admiration. You know full well it is not wisdom and beauty what stuns and amazes, and you need to stun, and to achieve that you need wonders.
No one will turn their heads to look at a superb arab stallion, the most beautiful creature of God, the most beautiful being; but when we present a giraffe, that ridiculous animal, the multitude will briskly rise and run en masse to see it pass, its entrance would be a triumph! What do we care about a work by Michelangelo? Who will stop and take a detour to look at it? But with an obelisk the multitude will stampede around it. An obelisk is a stone giraffe: your obelisk will be a success!
About a hundred fools will go “Oh!!!” when percieving it for the first time. A hundred or so grocers from the suburbs will come after selling their groceries, they’ll stop with their mouth gaping, and ask what is this machine ornamented with ducks and zig-zags: and we could answer in french: it’s a stone spike; emphatically we will say in greek: this is an obelisk monolith (what a wonderful thing Greek to pump up platitudes, to obscure what was clear!) "Zounds!" these brave people answered, "before that I thought it was a fire pump stack!"
But all jokes aside, what is it that you find beautiful in an obelisk? As art, as an accomplishment, as an invention, as a silhouette, as an effect, it’s an ugly and empty monument. Do you want to give a fabourable impression on the egyptians and their genius? Why then did you pick from among their works, a milestone? Because, you know as well as I do, or better than I since you are wise, that an obelisk was not a monument, but a milestone placed in front of temples or palaces to there inscribe the names and surnames of the founders, the enlargers, the restorators of these palaces or temples.
Do you want to prove to what point the Egyptians were skilled in their transportation and mounting of such enormous blocks? Good God! The skills of the Egyptian are not up to debate, we know perfectly well they were very adroit.
Or do you want to prove to us that you are stronger than them, and that you can, like they did, build without effort heavy masses. Good God! Who is discussing your skill! We already know perfectly well you are as skilled as the Egyptians. We know your steam machine would make the obelisk dance if it didn’t have teeth(*4).
The Romans, who didn’t know better than to pillage and imitate, transported to Italy about twenty obelisks: we are like we have seen, in our way to ship an innumerable amount. It’s al very well to imitate August and Constance; that gives us a less trivial appereance. Sixtus-Quintus(*5) had Caligula’s obelisk streightened; but how can you streighten an obelisk when you don’t have any? The task is simple: we search for them. Méhémed-Ali is very friendly, he gives to anyone who asks. Furthermore, you have only one so far, and Rome at this very moment, posseses almost half a quarter pound(*6) of them, you’re way behind.
Are you obstinately willing to complete the half quarterpound? Are you seriously that fond of obelisks (on my part, I cannot hide it from you, I am unlucky enough to prefer the infinitely long Strasbourg needle to the two hundred aunes of monolith)? Follow my advice, have your own oblesik made yourselves. Who is stopping you? One would have to have a very insulting opinion on our artisans to think them incapable of such a task. Go to Provence, in the Fréjus diocesis, where the poryphyre abounds; go at the Esterel and in Roquebrune. In the way from Roquebrune to Muy, you will find a mountain containing masses more than sixty feet tall, with a considerable width. You could there chisel, like the Romans used to do, columns similar to those brought from High-Egypt; you could make there a profusion of obelisks; and certainly, obelisks made of French porphyre, crafted by french artists, which would worth as much as those granite obelisks form Egypt.
“Whoa! Whoa there you ass!/hold your horses!” will the savants cry at this evil proposition; “Imbecile!” They will call me, “Obelisks have no intrinsec value!; their worth is the memories stored in their bosom, the memories they overflow with.” Dream then you idiot, that the Luxor obelisk remembers Ramses or Rhamases III (monsieur Marle has not yet fixed the orthography of this name; for now there is only an orthography for improper nouns) Rhamases III, fifteenth king of the eighteenth dynasty! What? You were not expecting a memory of Ramses or Rhamases, the same selon les uns, tout autre selon les autres, que Sésostris, que le grand Sésostris ! ---Cruel, unfeeling, how are you not disolving into tears to the memory of Ramses III, fifteenth king of the eighteenth dynasty! How does your heart not beat furiously at its mere name, here, written on the stomach of these eight kynocephalus monkeys(*7)!...
Alas! Messieurs, I beg pardon; but I cannot sympathize with you in this point. My heart is not that wide yet, or as elastic as to extend so far its loves and affections. Your Ramses or Rhamases III, fifteenth king of the eighteenth dynasty, was doubtles a really great man (we must never speak ill of those who are gone); but on my side, sincerely, he and his great milestone are no big deal.
Don’t think that France is anymore crazy over your Pharao than me messieurs, or that she has ever thought to erect him an altar; and you can be certain that it will not be the remembrance of your Rhamases III, fifteenth king of the eighteenth dynasty, who will come and attack them when they lay eyes on the milestone, located on a spot still fuming with the blood of Louis XVI.
*1 mauvais lieu: in the XIXth century, a maison de débauche, or a brothel -> (thanks @sainteverge !!) the allusion though, is still obscure to both of us
*2 no idea
*3 ménager la chèvre et le chou: idiomatic expression meaning to satisfy opposing parties at the same time.
*4 no idea either
*5 a Pope.
*6 demi-quarteron. Again, pretty sure this is bad translating
*7 a baboon.
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bdslab · 2 months
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Had a…. Really weird kid lucky dream that was honestly more a kid Joe Dalton dream and for some reason took place in a boarding school or maybe an orphanage? Idk there was a church and a teacher on campus that had beef with each other. Also it was a video game It had branching paths and you could interact with stuff but it was like done in real time and then at the end the teacher would kill the priest for some reason (I think part of the point of the game was to find out why and stop it from happening) I did manage to get to an ending where you stop the teacher from killing the priest (you have to get kid lucky to show up at the spot where the teacher does the murder). I had done this while playing as joe (idk if you could play as anyone else?) and I didn’t get to see it really So I tried again and got to the same point but this time I followed kid in shortly after and saw the teacher sort of faff around for an excuse before he like spot me and I got routed into a “joe dalton kills the priest” route apparently which I didn’t want to do especially with kid lucky Right There but the game wasn’t really ending so I restarted it and did it again but went WITH kid lucky this time and then tried to run off with him as soon as the teacher put the gun down and the teacher still saw us and fuckin like chased me down to do the ending So at this point Joe has the gun and the teacher hadn’t killed the priest but by all means I think the game should be over because the timer ran out that usually ends it. Game does not end. The whole fucking school shows up and the teacher gets the other 3 daltons to egg it on I don’t restart it cause I’m like “wtf is this ending is this a Dalton brothers publicly execute the priest ending??” Kid lucky is there, now convinced the priest needs to die somehow? Joe is refusing to shoot thanks to dialog options I made earlier and is just bein yelled at Then I wake up Btw there were two different “joe dalton kills the priest” endings depending on dialog options. One where joe just does it and one where joe doesn’t actually shoot but the teacher gives him the gun afterwards and blames him for it cause no one else was there. The first kid lucky & joe dalton ending where I got spotted the priest tells kid to get help which again had the no witnesses thing that I sorta understood how joe could get blamed. I don’t really… know what the fuck the other one was
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newtafterdark · 1 year
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in reference to my most recent reblog - I am so fucking mad and exhausted at the same time. Fuck those devs.
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hindbodes · 10 months
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