#Political adjacent

[whereimfeminine]

Winning tweet tbh.

[enlitment]

Average reading The Social Contract experience:

[deancasforcutie]

still chasing the high of that halcyon age where Supernatural was my healthy safe escape from the horrors of US politics, and then

[cuddlytogas]

there was some Twitter madness recently where someone left a comment on someone's art to the effect of, "Ed shouldn't wear a dress, he's a man!" which I do disagree with on principle, but unfortunately, it brought out one of my least favourite trends in the fandom

so, naturally, I had to write a twitter essay about it. and I already largely argued this in a post here, but the thread is clearer and better structured, so I thought I'd cross-post for those not on the Hellsite (derogatory). edited for formatting/structure's sake, since I no longer have to keep to tweet lengths, and incorporating a couple of points other people brought up in the replies

so

I want to point out that the wedding cake toppers in OFMD s2 aren't evidence that Ed wants to wear dresses. Gender is fake, men can wear skirts, play with these dolls how you like, but it's not canon, and that scene especially Doesn't Mean That.

People cite it often: 'He put himself in a dress by painting the bride as himself! It's what he wants!' But that fundamentally misunderstands the scene, and the series' framing of weddings as a whole. I'd argue that Ed paints the figure not from desire, but from self-hatred; it's not what he wants, but what he thinks he should, and has failed to, be.

(Yes, I am slightly biased by my rampant anti-marriage opinions, but bear with me here, because it is relevant to the interpretation of the scene, and season two as a whole.)

The show is not subtle. It keeps telling us that the institution of marriage is a prison that suffocates everyone involved. Ed's parents' cycle of abuse is passed to their son in both the violence he witnesses then enacts on his father, and the self-repression his mother teaches, despite her good intentions ("It's not up to us, is it? It's up to God. ... We're just not those kind of people. We never will be."). Stede and Mary are both oppressed by their arranged marriage, with 1x04 blunty titled Discomfort in a Married State. The Barbados widows revel in their freedom ("We're alive. They're dead. Now is your time").

But even without this context, the particular wedding crashed in 2x01 is COMICALLY evil. The scene is introduced with this speech from the priest:

"The natural condition of humanity is base and vile. It is the obligation of people of standing ... to elevate the common human rabble through the sacred transaction of matrimony."

It's upper class, all-white, and religiously sanctioned. "Vile natural conditions" include queerness, sexual freedom, and family structures outside the cisheteropatriarchal capitalist unit. "The obligation of people of standing" invokes ideas like the white man's burden, innate class hierarchy, religious missions, and conversion therapy. Matrimony is presented as both "sacred" (endorsed by the ruling religious body), and a "transaction" (business performed to transfer property and people-as-property, regardless of their desires), a tool of the oppressive society that pirates escape and destroy. That is where the figurines come from.

When Ed, in a drunk, depressive spiral, paints himself onto the bride, he's not yearning for a pretty dress. He's sort of yearning for a wedding, but that's not framed as positive. What he's doing is projecting himself into an 'ideal' image of marriage because he believes that: a) that's what Stede (and everyone) wants; b) he can never live up to that ideal because he's unlovable and broken (brown, queer, lower-class, violent, abused, etc); c) that's why Stede left. He tries to make himself fit into the social ideal by painting himself onto the closest match - long-haired, partner to Stede/groom, but a demure, white woman, a frozen, porcelain miniature - because, if he could just shrink himself down and squeeze into that box, maybe Stede would love him and he'd live happily ever after. But he can't. So he won't.

The fantasy fails: Ed is morose, turns away from the figurines, then tips them into the sea, a lost cause. He knows he won't ever fulfil that bride's role, but he sees that as a failure in himself, not the role. It's not just that "Stede left, so Ed will never have a dream wedding and might as well die." Stede left when Ed was honest and vulnerable, "proving" what his trauma and depression tell him: there's one image of love (of personhood), and he'll never live up to it because he's fundamentally deficient. So he might as well die.

This hit me from my very first viewing. The scene is devastating, because Ed is wrong, and we know it! He doesn't need to change or reduce himself to fit an image and be accepted (as, eg, Izzy demanded). Stede knows and loves him exactly as he is; it's the main thread and theme of season two!

(@/everyonegetcake suggested that Ed's yearning in these scenes includes his broader desire for the vulnerability and safety Stede offered, literalised through unattainable "fine" things like the status of gentleman in s1, or the figurine's blue dress. I'd argue, though, that these scenes don't incorporate this beyond a general knowledge of Ed's character. Ed is always pining for both literal and emotional softness, but the significance of the figurines specifically, to both Ed and the audience, is poisoned by their origin and context: there is no positive fantasy in the bride figure, only Ed's perceived deficiency.

Further, assuming that a desire for vulnerability necessarily corresponds with an explicit desire for femininity, dresses, etc, kind of contradicts the major themes of the show. OFMD asserts that there is nothing wrong with men assuming femininity (through drag, self-care, nurturing, emotional vulnerability, etc), but also that many of these traits are, in fact, genderless, and should be available to men without affecting their perceived or actual masculinity. It thematically invokes the potential for cross-gender expression in Ed's desires, especially through the transgender echoes in his relieved disposal, then comfortable reincorporation, of the Blackbeard leathers/identity. It's a rich, valuable area of analysis and exploration. But it remains a suggestion, not a canon or on-screen trait.)

Importantly, the groom figure doesn't fit Stede, either. Not just in dress: it's stiff and formal, and marriage nearly killed him. He's shabbier now, yes, but also shedding his privilege and property, embracing his queerness, and trying to take responsibility for his community. In a s1 flashback, Stede hesitantly says, "I thought that, when I did marry, it could be for love," but he would never find love in marriage. Not just because he's gay, but because marriage in OFMD is an oppressive, transactional institution that precludes love altogether. All formal marriages in OFMD are loveless.

So, he becomes a pirate, where they reject society altogether and have matelotages instead. Lucius and Pete's "mateys" ceremony is shot and framed not like a wedding, but as an honest, personal bond, willingly conducted in community (in a circle; no presiding authority, procession, or transaction).

That is how Stede and Ed can find love, companionship, and happiness: by rejecting those figurines and their oppressive exchange of property, overseen by a church that enables colonialism and abuse. Ed is loved, and deserves happiness, as he is, no paint or projection required.

ALL OF THIS IS TO SAY: draw Ed in dresses! Write him getting gender euphoria in skirts! Write trans/nb Ed, draw men being feminine! Gender is fake, the show invites exploration, that's what 'transformative works' means! But please, stop citing the cake toppers as evidence it's canon. Stop citing a scene where a depressed Māori man gets drunk and projects himself onto a rich, white, silent bride because he thinks he's innately unlovable and only people like her can find happiness, shortly before deciding to kill himself, as canon evidence it's what he wants.

(Also, please don't come in here with "lmao we're just having fun," I know, I get it. Unfortunately, I'm an academiapilled researchmaxxer, and some of youse need to remember that the word "canon" has meaning. NOW GO HAVE FUN PUTTING THAT MAN IN A PRETTY DRESS!! 💖💖)

[shiftythrifting]

[deadpresidents]

"The contempt of that large-minded gentleman is so wilting, his haughty disdain, his grandiloquent swell, his majestic, supereminent, turkey-gobbler strut has been so crushing to myself and all the members of the House...The resemblance is great. It is striking. Hyperion to a satyr, Thersites to Hercules, mud to marble, dunghill to diamond, a singed cat to a Bengal tiger, a whining puppy to a roaring lion."

-- James G. Blaine, eviscerating fellow Congressman Roscoe Conkling, during a speech on the floor of the U.S. House of Representatives, April 30, 1866.

The feud between Blaine and Conkling -- who each had close connections with various post-Civil War Republican Presidents -- is one of the great political rivalries of American history. Blaine's eloquent (and vicious) attack of Conkling and mention of Conkling's "turkey-gobbler strut" would result in classic caricatures of Conkling in political cartoons that would annoy him for the rest of his life:

[somepsychopomp]

Drabble suggestion: Eurylochus and Polites meeting newborn Telemachus for the first time? Thank you 😊

Okay so this was interesting because I normally wouldn't write something like this on my own but here we go! Also sorry if this is heavier on the Eurylochus side, I just like writing from his perspective more.

...

There was an electric current racing through the entire palace, as if Zeus himself had cast his very own lightning upon them. All for good reason, though; Ithaca's youngest heir was arriving at last.

A full day and night had gone by since either Eurylochus or Polites had seen their dear king, as well as most of the women in the palace. None of this came as much of a surprise to Eurylochus, who knew his wife was tending to Penelope during and after the birth of her first child. And Odysseus...

Oh, how his dear brother's every thought was utterly consumed by his wife and future child.

In the months leading up to Penelope's labor, both Polites and Eurylochus listened to endless debates hosted entirely on Odysseus' own, largely about the merits of having a first born son or daughter, and a name for each. They both knew the King of Ithaca desperately wanted a girl, a little Penelope to spoil and have run around his heels. After all, he'd spent a great deal of his own childhood tending to Ctimene.

Now, the moment was at hand and it'd fallen to Eurylochus to keep the palace running smoothly while his brother was surely engrossed in the euphoria of becoming a new father.

Organizing the daily schedule and staff was the easy part. He thought he could keep his feelings under control, but Polites though...

"When do you think we'll know?" he asked, keeping his voice low.

It was very late into the night, or quite early in the morning. Neither of them had slept yet, too subsumed by the electric charge running through the palace halls. Any moment now, they were sure, they'd hear the news as to whether Odysseus was father to a boy or girl.

The throne room was cool and silent, illuminated only by a few torches as the king's closest allies kept vigil over it. Eurylochus was seated at one of the long tables used to hold council, running an oil-soaked rag over the blade of his great sword.

Polites continued to pace the length of the hall, asking once more, "When will we know?"

"Whenever the child is born," Eurylochus said, trying to keep his voice even-tempered. Caring for his blade often calmed his nerves, but tonight he felt like a fool for doing anything else but pacing like Polites. His whole body was taut, as if he were on a hunt or aboard a ship facing a great swell. "All we can do is wait."

Polites' face shone in the reflection of his blade, warmed by the orange torch light. He leaned down, eye-level with Eurylochus, and smiled. "What are you hoping for?"

Eurylochus chuckled softly, "Not this again."

"I've told Ody from the beginning, I think it'll be a boy."

Eurylochus pretended to inspect the length of his sword for any blemishes or nicks in the edge. He said, "You know what he wants."

Polites snickered, "But could you imagine it? A second Odysseus running around the palace?"

"Dear gods!" Eurylochus exclaimed, "I should pray for our souls if that happens."

The two of them shared a knowing look between each other. Polites cracked first, falling onto the bench alongside Eurylochus and laughing with a child-like glee. He threw his arms around Eurylochus' shoulders, shaking him.

"Our brother is about to be a father!"

All the talking up until now had been exactly that- talk. The speculation, the jests. But tonight, it was finally happening. There would be no more hypotheticals moving forward.

Eurylochus set his sword aside and wrapped an arm around Polites, rocking them both. "We're going to be uncles!"

"Indeed," a new voice said.

They both jumped and leapt to their feet, turning to find Odysseus standing in the entrance to the corridor behind them. He wore a tired smile, having gotten as little sleep as them, if not even less. His eyes were red from having obviously been crying.

"Is the child...?" Polites began, clearing his throat, "Ready?"

Odysseus said nothing, only gestured for them to follow.

Polites and Eurylochus shared a look before following. Eurylochus had more energy than he thought he did, for he was so anxious to meet his brother's child that he vaulted over the table while Polites walked around it.

Ody said nothing on the way to the nursery, but the silence between the three of them was a welcomed one. It reminded Polites of all the times he and Odysseus would sneak out of bed past curfew as boys. It reminded Eurylochus of the solo hunting or sailing trips they'd go on, just them and the stars.

Odysseus placed his hand on the nursery door, glancing over his shoulder to give them a smile, before pushing it open.

A number of candles illuminated the cradle that awaited them. Odysseus leaned down to scoop the swaddled babe in his arms.

"My brothers," he said softly, "I want you to meet Telemachus."

The breath caught in Eurylochus' throat. Polites gasped.

"A boy," Polites said.

"A boy," Odysseus agreed, holding his infant son so close to his chest, it'd be possible to mistake them for one being.

And in that moment, in that room, there was no such thing as a king or prince. Before Eurylochus and Polites was a man and his son, a man so overcome with the sight of his son that he swayed on his feet as he pressed his forehead to Telemachus'.

Eurylochus pulled Odysseus into his arms, letting his brother rest against him.

"Congradulations, Ody."

Polites rubbed Odysseus' back, leaning his chin on Ody's shoulder as the three of them gazed down at the sleeping prince.

"My sweetest joy," Odysseus said.

[tennessoui]

exploiting the body politic au -

“Oh,” Aayla says, and Anakin looks up from his phone. Aayla’s looking at her own phone, collapsed on her back on the couch. “Why’d you try glasses when you could have just passed these around to the bored suburban moms?”

“What?” Anakin says and leans over. He gets a deft kick to the ribs for his troubles, but then Aayla passes over her phone and—and all she’s been doing is scrolling through some male model’s recent press or something because all the pictures are of the same guy in various outfits, looking various levels of handsome while doing normal people things like picking up groceries or getting out of his car or leaving a coffee shop. “Probably cause these have nothing to do with Obi-Wan Kenobi,” he says, handing the phone back to her. “Are you trying to say you think I should grow a beard? Cause I’ve been thinking mayb—”

“Stop,” Aayla interrupts, holding up a hand. “First of all, I would never tell you to grow a beard. No one is ever going to tell you that. Second of all, that is Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

“No it’s not,” Anakin says automatically. “Kenobi is like, old.”

Well, he’s thirty-five, Anakin knows that. And thirty-five isn’t old, but it’s also certainly not devastatingly attractive. 

“Give me that back,” he demands, extending his hand and grabbing at Aayla’s phone. He clicks on one of the photos on the screen at random, a shot of the bearded man carrying a paperbag full of groceries. It’s at least a few months old, because there’s a bouquet of spring flowers in the picture, balanced on top of the bag. The man’s hair looks reddish brown in the sun; his beard’s all neat and orderly and he’s wearing a light jacket over a loose shirt and slacks. Anakin was right the first time around—he’s very attractive in a way that screams look at me. 

He supposes that’s something politicians could probably have in common with models, but the man in the photo is looking far too windswept and…and casual to be a politician.

But then he looks past the photo, down at its title and it says City Councilman Kenobi on Cars, Community, and Cooking in Coruscant.

It must have been a slow news day.

“Huh,” Anakin says, swiping across the phone’s screen to pull up the next picture. It’s part of the same article from the Coruscant Star, except this time, Kenobi is looking at the camera with one eyebrow raised, expression carefully crafted to look both infinitely patient and two seconds away from snapping. It must have been taken on a different day altogether because the man is dressed in a reasonably nice looking outfit, though his tie is all loose around his neck. He’s standing in his office, maybe, or a prop office more likely, leaning a bit over a very heavy and fancy looking desk, balanced on one of his forearms which is all freckly and exposed because he’s rolled up his sleeves.

“Is this what the city council is using our tax dollars for?” Anakin asks, scandalized. “Soft-core porn shoots?”

“What?” Aayla says, demonstrating a freakish level of flexibility by leaning over to look at her phone screen without removing her feet from his lap. “It’s just a photo.”

Anakin splutters. “I may have pledged my undying loyalty to my hot TA, but even I cannot admit that that is not just a photo.”

“Whatever,” Aayla says, flopping back onto her back. “Don’t screenshot it and send it to yourself to beat off to later, that’s gross.”

“You’re gross,” Anakin replies, but he tosses her phone back at her. He wasn’t going to screenshot anything. “That’s our city councilman.”

“He’s your city councilman,” Aayla corrects lazily. “I’ve decided I was going to vote for his opponent.”

All politics is, Anakin decides, is one betrayal after another. 

[moe-broey]

Summoner potential is endless. You get an influencer who has perpetual tiktok voice and everyone considers it to be an accent (it... could be considered one?). And maybe with the right combination of magic and machinery (from Reginn's homeland) they can continue to do what they do. You get a Christian missionary who considers it "Part of His Plan" that they've arrived here to "Do The Lord's work and spread the good word" (this probably has extreme political repercussions whether they are well-meaning or deeply evil using this as a revenue for power/control. It's a whole ass historical domino effect). You get a conspiracy theorist with an INCREDIBLY skewed perception of the world, so whenever any Hero asks Anything about that Summoner's world, you're just getting bunk information. Net-negative information. Summoner, who when the Miriel FBs took place, believes the moon landing was faked and that the earth is flat. You get an evil politician and the Order just kills them within a week and goes back to the drawing board (self indulgent scenario. More compelling hypothetical would be the Order being forced to work with that guy, much like the fallen Heroes, becomes a whole ass political drama. Also might depend on how evil the politician is though, sometimes you do just have to make it look like an accident). You get the opposite end of political radicalization where this Summoner is disenfranchised and among many things is anti-monarchy, making all the royals and nobles within the Order's ranks a bit uncomfortable. You get Jerma985

[ingleaisle]

i do not think megaelod had this in mind when drawing that picture of that red-headed witch girl

[uncanny-tranny]

I think I've cracked why it makes me so irate when customers have this expectation that workers not only offer service to them but to Do It With a Smile.

It's this sense of entitlement that it isn't enough to have a service offered to you, but that it must never remind you why workers might not be chipper.

What people mistake is that this country is built off freedom that makes us All Happy. What they miss is that this country was built on façades and platitudes - the comfort of being shielded from any uncomfortable reality.

[zyrafowe-sny]

Friendly warning — you may have noticed that my election and politics posting has been ramping up. I use the tag #us politics if you want to filter it out. The queue is still full of assorted fandom posts if you're here for that.

There have been times in my life when I've had to limit news consumption for the sake of my mental health, so I absolutely understand if you're on Tumblr to unwind.

Take care! <3

[lizzybeeee]

👑 Anora Mac Tir, The Queen of Ferelden👑

"I will always be my father's daughter."

[the-new-kiddo-on-the-block]

Hi, it's been a while

I uh, decided to do some art, I hope y'all like it

The art:

[swordbisexual]

I love AUs, but also they do things like send me down a rabbit hole of wikipedia pages on British relations with France.

[loveguts]

i’m not a transandrophobia truther in the slightest don’t get me wrong, but i think some people on here really need to realize and comprehend the fact that cis women, way WAY more often than not, hold extremely significant social and political power over trans men the vast majority of the time in our day to day lives