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War Part 3 - Group Psychology - Freud and Beyond

Death toll

At the end of WWI the unimaginable losses piled up. Margaret MacMillan, in Paris 1919, lays out the historical aftermath. "Four years of war shook forever the supreme self-confidence that had carried Europe to world dominance. After the Western Front, Europeans could no longer talk of a civilizing mission to the world...Millions of combatants died in those four years: 1,800,000 Germans, 1,700,000 Russians, 1,384,000 French, 1,290,000 from Austria-Hungary, 935,000 from the British Empire...Children lost fathers, wives husbands, young women the chance of marriage. And Europe lost those who might have been its scientists, its poets and its leaders, and the children who might have been born to them. But the tally of deaths does not include those who were left with one leg, one arm or one eye, or those whose lungs had been scarred by poison gas or whose nerves never recovered." To add a bitter sting to the end of the war, the Spanish Influenza was estimated to have killed more people than in the Great War.

Sigmund Freud described very well the empty void people feel when the light of life is snuffed out by an invisible enemy, including his daughter Sophie. "This afternoon we received the news that our sweet Sophie in Hamburg had been snatched away by influenzal pneumonia, snatched away in the midst of glowing health, from a full and active life as a competent mother and loving wife, all in four or five days, as though she had never existed." When consoling Ludwig Binswanger, who was suffering from a similar loss: "We know that the acute sorrow we feel after such a loss will run its course, but also that we will remain inconsolable, and will never find a substitute. No matter what may come to take its place, even should it fill that place completely, it remains something else. And that is how it should be. It is the only way of perpetuating a love that we do not want to abandon."

Sophie Halberstadt-Freud: https://www.encyclopedia.com/psychology/dictionaries-thesauruses-pictures-and-press-releases/halberstadt-freud-sophie-1893-1920

Group Psychology

After focusing so much on individual dynamics in psychology and healing from trauma, Freud found so many group dynamics that it became necessary to study the influence of groups separately. "In the individual's mental life someone else is invariably involved, as a model, as an object, as a helper, as an opponent, and so from the very first Individual Psychology is at the same time Social Psychology." Humanity provides labels for all these individuals in our lives, but we also provide labels for groups. Whether it's our country, ethnicity, institution, or even a makeshift crowd that spontaneously gathers, labels for groups have emotional significance for us. One of the main ways to see how powerful this impact is, is to notice how one reacts when one is by oneself, and how that quickly changes when a person interacts with another person or a group. Freud surveyed the literature on group behaviour and quoted heavily from Gustave Le Bon, who viewed these behaviours as evidence of a collective mind. "'There are certain ideas and feelings which do not come into being, or do not transform themselves into acts except in the case of individuals forming a group.'" Here a collective mind has less to do with a shared brain, but more to do with a part of the mind that activates in certain ways when people are interacting in a group.

Le Bon believed our influences from others starts in our biological inheritance and those influences coming out of our unconscious. "'The greater part of our daily actions are the result of hidden motives which escape our observation. One of the changes we undergo when we move from individual to group life, is that we start to become more like others...What is heterogeneous is submerged in what is homogeneous.'" What worried Le Bon was the unconscious connection people had and some of their ill effects. "'...The individual forming part of a group acquires...a sentiment of invincible power which allows him to yield to instincts which, had he been alone, he would...have kept under restraint.'" The key for Le Bon, on what leads to bad individual behaviour in a group, is how he uses the words invincibility and anonymity. He viewed that individuals were much more responsible by themselves than when in a group. Modern examples of this would be anonymity in a chat room. A person can insult, or 'troll,' a person that they would never do face to face, because of anonymity. People behave differently when they don't fear social consequences, and not fearing consequences means they feel they can do anything, which is what I think Le Bon was getting at. The feeling of omnipotence or invincibility is the feeling that there are no consequences and one can do what one wants. There is pleasure and relief when social inhibitions are lifted. So here, the example is one type of group interaction, where group members condone bad behaviour, as opposed to the typical expectation of people being bad when they are alone, and good in public. Both situations, of course, exist in their own contexts, and as we will see later, will require leadership that steers the group more one way or another.

Le Bon viewed the unconscious as what was inherited and what gets unleashed in group behaviour. For Freud, he is more interested in what was imitated and repressed, than what was inherited. One way or another, there is a predisposition coming from the unconscious. "...In a group the individual is brought under conditions which allow him to throw off the repressions of his unconscious instincts. The apparently new characteristics which he then displays are in fact manifestations of this unconscious, in which all that is evil in the human mind is contained as a predisposition. We can find no difficulty in understanding the disappearance of conscience or of a sense of responsibility in these circumstances. It has long been our contention that 'dread of society' is the essence of what is called conscience." What is curious is Freud's view of repression, which can create a super-ego of conscience, partially from a dread of social punishment, yet at the same, as can be seen in the Great War, society can condone the dark side of people's personality, so that it operates very different from a conscience per se, or a conscience that uses social excuses and reasons to condone sadistic behaviour.

Moving into the power of suggestion and hypnotism, Le Bon asserts that the mind switches from a personal interest to a collective interest when in a group, but he slips in a power differential between the hypnotized and the hypnotist. "'The conscious personality has entirely vanished; will and discernment are lost. All feelings and thoughts are bent in the direction determined by the [hypnotist].'" The power differential leads to reciprocal condoning that strengthens what is typically inhibited. "'Under the influence of suggestion, he will undertake the accomplishment of certain acts with irresistible impetuosity. This impetuosity is the more irresistible in the case of groups than in that of the hypnotized subject, from the fact that, the suggestion being the same for all individuals of the group, it gains in strength by reciprocity...He is no longer himself, but has become an automaton who has ceased to be guided by his will....Isolated, he may be a cultivated individual; in a crowd, he is a barbarian - that is, a creature acting by instinct. He possesses the spontaneity, the violence, the ferocity, and also the enthusiasm and heroism of primitive beings.'"

Reading Le Bon, Freud sees his version of the Unconscious, in that it "may desire things passionately, yet this is never so for long, for it is incapable of perseverance. It cannot tolerate any delay between its desire and the fulfillment of what it desires. It has a sense of omnipotence; the notion of impossibility disappears for the individual in a group." As the rationality decreases to simple rationalization a collective unconscious can appear. "A group is extraordinarily credulous and open to influence, it has no critical faculty, and the improbable does not exist for it. It thinks in images, which call one another up by association (just as they arise with individuals in states of free imagination), and whose agreement with reality is never checked by any reasonable function. The feelings of the group are always very simple and very exaggerated. So that a group knows neither doubt nor uncertainty." Freud then describes what we see in ALL political parties where followers have to toe-the-line and follow the group objective, no matter the facts or the doubt. "[The group] goes directly to extremes; if a suspicion is expressed, it is instantly changed into an [established] certainty; a trace of [opposition] is turned into furious hatred." Freud characterizes group psychology as incapable of nuance. It is only moved by suggestions from others that "paint in the most forcible colours." There must be exaggeration and repetition to convince a group. If there is too much nuance, it naturally breaks down the cohesiveness of a group. I would add to Freud's theories by saying that a group has so many people with individual perspectives, that they will only agree on a small group of ideas. Any motivation in a group has to be influenced by simple, but also precise ideas, that many can gather around to agree on. If they agree on enough, they will be willing to let go of some of the disagreements because their core issues are agreed upon. Often politicians will defect parties because the core ideas of a political party have shifted so much that there is not enough in common to keep that individual identified with that group.

Freud then sees the eternal difficulty the individual has, especially one who is different, with new ideas, to make changes, and advancements in society as a whole. "Since a group is in no doubt as to what constitutes truth or error, and is conscious, moreover, of its own great strength, it is as intolerant as it is obedient to authority. It respects force and can only be slightly influenced by kindness, which it regards merely as a form of weakness. What it demands of its heroes is strength, or even violence. It wants to be ruled and oppressed and to fear its masters. Fundamentally it is entirely conservative, and it has a deep aversion from all innovations and advances and an unbounded respect for tradition." Now here one has to be careful of the term conservative, because this could apply to any group, including scientists. Once a new scientific theory gains strength it can be ossified by the group and turn into a dogma. The people who decried a lack of scientific rigor and open-mindedness, can turn into a theocrat attacking all newcomers. This ironically can be seen in psychology itself. If a financial well-being and the pleasure of positive attention is in danger, leaders of an old movement will feel threatened by new theories purely out of addiction. Losing what you enjoy is always a cold bath and painful. It brings up all the individual resistances that naturally motivate, those who have enough power, to scapegoat and oppress. To me this hints at a personal self-interest that hides in the collective interest. People are always monitoring a self-interest in a group, and as described above, there's plenty of repression of desire in groups, not just condoning. Individuals can support group goals that also support individual goals, a sense of harmony, but not all those goals are constructive.

Freud then describes this dichotomy of unleashing condoned desires, and restricting prohibited desires, pushing people into a collective super-ego. "...One must take into consideration the fact that when individuals come together in a group all their individual inhibitions fall away and all the cruel, brutal and destructive instincts, which lie dormant in individuals as relics of a primitive epoch, are stirred up to find free gratification. But under the influence of suggestion groups are also capable of high achievements in the shape of abnegation, unselfishness, and devotion to an ideal. While with isolated individuals personal interest is almost the only motive force, with groups it is very rarely prominent. It is possible to speak of an individual having his moral standards raised by a group. Whereas the intellectual capacity of a group is always far below that of an individual, its ethical conduct may rise as high above his as it may sink deep below it."

This is why looking at those in power in a group becomes essential. Leaders and followers. Here followers are described by the book as people who are looking for someone to take care of them. The words of the leader are "'considered as natural forces, as supernatural powers.'" It's so much easier to believe than to test. "They constantly give what is unreal precedence over what is real; they are almost as strongly influenced by what is untrue as by what is true." For Freud, the followers have an unfulfilled wish that they hope will be fulfilled by the group or leadership. "...What neurotics are guided by is not ordinary objective reality but psychological reality...Just as in dreams and in hypnosis, in the mental operations of a group the function for testing the reality of things falls into the background in comparison with the strength of wishes with their [emotional investment.]" As can be seen in my Cult Psychology review, the wishes of the followers are so emotionally invested in their leaders, they often tolerate abuse and maltreatment at the hands of authorities, rather than to test reality and to find better environments to satisfy wishes in a realistic way. The internal super-ego can be masochistic and self-destructive when the follower moves into self-austerity and slavery, while the leader exploits. Followers with no willpower are at the mercy of leaders.

How leaders can attract followers is through the wishes of their followers by being a promise of satisfaction, an "idea...to awaken the group's faith...[Leaders] must possess a strong and imposing will, which the group, which has no will of its own, can accept..." Freud's two examples are religion and the army. Promises to satisfy wishes involve some form of love that followers sense from the leader "...who loves all the individuals in the group with an equal love. Everything depends upon this illusion; if it were to be dropped, then both Church and army would dissolve..."

Prestige

The danger of this abstract symbol of love can be seen how wishes appear in the minds of followers. In War Pt. 2, I briefly reviewed Freud's Project, and how hazy wishes appear in the mind. This abstract, unrealistic, hazy wish is looking for satisfaction in the real world, but the real world always seems to have imperfections that disappoint wishes, and sometimes devastatingly so. It's interesting how hazy, abstract and dreamy a lot of promises are that are made by leaders, or I would say seducers. They are designed to be appear as reality to the follower because they are displayed in the environment. The hazy dream matches the hazy symbol and feels motivated, and continues chasing it. This is often why we like art, which isn't real, except for being in the environment for us to view, because it can appear as an escape from the real. The abstractness can cover hyper-realistic flaws, but our craving lights up when we see few flaws or cannot find flaws. Virginia Postrel quotes, in The Power of Glamour, the fashion writer Alicia Drake: "Glamour offers 'the implicit promise of a life devoid of mediocrity.'" If a habit to chase these hazy symbols develops, an idealization, a person can move from one disappointing group, political party, cult, relationship, and product advertisement after another. The person may even ask for help from one group, after escaping another, only to be equally abused by their new saviour group. The hazy, abstract quality of promising symbols fools followers again and again because of how precisely they ignore important contradictory detail. Reality testing always looks for more detail than what is provided and doesn't shy away from disenchantment. Followers have to see their motivation to run away from reality to see what they are doing to themselves. Almost like a childhood playhouse with unrealistic exaggerated colours, we are trying to find an abstract heaven on earth.

La Dolce Vita - Federico Fellini: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7_hfZoe9FHE

In these groups, the leader definitely exploits, but the follower is actually hurting themselves with their need to believe, or their hope. You can even imitate these abusers into your mind and have it abuse you inside of you with false abstract symbols and promises of happiness. The internal symbols become a dangerous Siren, "Greeks bearings gifts", a backstabber, a Fifth Column in your mind. A form of bodysnatching. The belief goes too far, because the emotional investment is so strong, and the embarrassment so powerful. It is often worth tolerating more abuse than to admit failure. When people get out of cults they feel like they've snapped out of a dream. In reality that's exactly what they did. They allowed healthy scientific doubt to add the detail that the wish didn't want to look at. Many wishes can't be satisfied, and no matter what your faith, political inclinations, scientific theoretical inclinations, relationship hopes are, reality is reality, and there is no group or person that has a monopoly on reality. We are all still trying to figure this thing out called existence. If someone on a podium says that they've figured it out, they at best are only partially correct.

This dangerous symbol was defined by Freud and Le Bon as Prestige. "Prestige is a sort of domination exercised over us by an individual, a work or an idea. It entirely paralyses our critical faculty, and fills us with astonishment and respect. It would seem to arouse a feeling like that of fascination in hypnosis...[but] all prestige is dependent upon success, and is lost in the event of failure." Prestige has to be earned, but is often only a hazy promise. Like in Totem and Taboo, when the followers are disappointed enough, they depose their leaders with hostility, because their entitlement was disappointed, like a child disappointed in their parent, or like an infatuated lover disappointed in their love object. The entitled follower can go from idealizing to scapegoating, all the while not seeing their complicity in trying desperately to avoid reality. This putting a leader on a pedestal and tearing them down can go on endlessly with constant new leaders that always disappoint, as can be seen in numerous dictatorships. It's also a learning process for people who are political junkies who find that responsibility is much harder than criticizing. There's a natural disappointment and disheartening that happens every time one actually succeeds in getting their politician in power. Deep down people know that they will be disappointed because their expectations were way too high. The healthy and peaceful mind can finally let go of the need to get excited with every new leader who makes a promise. Until those promises are fulfilled, there's no need to get emotionally invested. Peaceful minds also know that it's nice to take responsibility for oneself and there's a pleasure in taking credit for what one has contributed, instead of giving all credit to our favourite leaders. There is no soul-mate, one has to work at relationships and constantly negotiate. Reality becomes much more beautiful, despite the flaws, because at least it is real. The imperfect positive things in reality can now be appreciated. They don't have to be perfect, and reality testing can confirm their true value instead of chasing a carrot of promises.

The freedom that comes to the person who has a love of reality is partially painful because one now realizes that one has accumulated habits, tendencies and beliefs that steered the personality in a distorted direction. If one was more skeptical like a scientist, and demanded more proof before a decision was made, a lot of damage could have been avoided. Identification is just a series of imitations of suggestions from others, who have varying grasps of reality. "Why, therefore, do we invariably give way to this contagion when we are in a group? Once more we should have to say that what compels us to obey this tendency is imitation, and what induces the emotion in us is the group's suggestive influence." As in War Pt 2., Vittorio Gallese viewed the source of suggestion as imitation of goals and I naturally posit that goals are about what Freud described as The Pleasure Principle, The Reality Principle, and Freud's later welcoming of death, The Nirvana Principle. Those three general umbrellas include all of Freud's categories for desire including friendship, family, community, self-love and intimate partners. When leaders of a cult are wearing those abstract symbols of success in robes, in expensive accessories, and advertised lifestyles, we followers are partially wishing to be in their place, or we want them to be cooperative for our goals or lovers if we can't be them. When leaders show weakness, tensions escalate with those who are led, as they see opportunities to replace the leader with themselves, or so they hope. Followers can have desires for revenge, and in some cases it's achieved, and power shifts in the hierarchy. In some cases, leaders see the writing on the wall and work on a succession plan, or conflict increases until they are ousted.

Beyond the Pleasure Principle: https://rumble.com/v1gv855-beyond-the-pleasure-principle-freud-and-beyond-war-pt.-23.html

Bloodied Colonel Gaddafi filmed pleading with his captors before death: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kLLa8xDns04

Identification for Freud is a social psychology that is based on imitative desire, but it can have an aggression to it. "Identification, in fact, is ambivalent from the very first; it can turn into an expression of tenderness as easily as into a wish for someone's removal...The object that we long for and prize is assimilated by eating and is in that way annihilated as such. The cannibal, as we know, has remained at this standpoint; he has a devouring affection for his enemies and only devours people of whom he is fond." Like in the Oedipus Complex, Freud looks at sexual organization as something that can have a sense of feeding, starting with desires to imitate parents. "In the first case one's father is what one would like to be, and in the second he is what one would like to have." In a way it depends on upon whether the feeding is a hostile and competitive one or a cooperative one. From an ancient logic, it makes sense that early humans would eat many different things and some of those good things would lead to an individual to feel better. Through basic thought association, it would be possible to believe that one could gain the qualities of what is eaten. One might then, by thought association, gain the qualities of a competitor in victory or preserve characteristics of a lost loved one, through eating their flesh. Whether it's a competitive or cooperative feeding, there's a desire to replace distinctive people or to have them as romantic partners, or friends. In the case of leaders and followers, the leader is someone to replace or to have. As the saying goes, "if you can't beat 'em, join 'em." Or you can follow in their path. "The mechanism is that of identification based upon the possibility or desire of putting oneself in the same situation." In some cases one can see how people can flip between one or another mode unconsciously. For example, if a leader corners people by being a source of leverage, it's possible that the targets will have no chance but to be subservient. The secret of inhibition, is how people feel when the obstacles are too high so they can't put themselves in the same situation as the leader, or like when you desire someone who is "out of your league." That stress happens so quickly because the mind likes what it sees in the love-object, but instantly moves into stress and concern because of how love-objects can easily remove attention and presence. We become intimidated.

When in identification mode, chasing after a role model, there's always a desire to close the gap. The reward of success is to turn the tables with the old leader and to now be looked upon by others as a desired love-object. If the goal is too hard, or actually impossible, the goal changes for the imitator. The role model is viewed as a friend or a love interest. Either way, people are feeding socially, and the unconscious can quickly find replacement objectives if the initial ones fail.

Caniba - Issei Sagawa: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SEbzcqJ29uc

Emotional Feeding - Thanissaro Bhikkhu: https://rumble.com/v1gqvl1-emotional-feeding-thanissaro-bhikkhu.html

Power and sexuality

As we have already explained, people can move into the powerful position to gain benefits or to give transference of prestige and regard to the leader to siphon off some of the benefits that way. Here Freud finally explains his male homosexual theory with a bit more detail, but it ended up being more applicable in many situations that have nothing to do with homosexuality, and can appear in any dominant and subservient posturing. For Freud, masculinity is being a master and useful. Femininity is being cooperative, but also paradoxically, needing help. "The genesis of male homosexuality in a large class of cases is as follows. A young man has been unusually long and intensely fixated upon his mother in the sense of the Oedipus complex. But at last, after the end of his puberty, the time comes for exchanging his mother for some other sexual object. Things take a sudden turn: the young man does not abandon his mother, but identifies himself with her; he transforms himself into her, and now looks about for objects which can replace his ego for him, and on which he can bestow such love and care as he has experienced from his mother....In this process the object itself is renounced." Freud uses an example of a child that identifies with a lost kitten, as if to preserve the lost qualities of the missing pet. This is what Freud calls an introjection. In the Dictionary of Psychoanalysis, Charles Rycroft describes how this mental model of a lost love object is introjected into the mind. One of it's motivations is to "diminish separation anxiety." Freud described introjection and projection as opposites, and again using the feeding model, the instincts make judgments that say "'I should like to eat this', or 'I should like to spit it out'; and, put more generally: 'I should like to take this into myself and to keep that out.'" Like with the Dora review, we can reject influences we don't like about ourselves to outside targets [projection], and we can adore what we don't have and empathize with the lost loved object and introject it to maintain the loved presence. Introjection, the way it's described, is almost like a desperate need to remember and repeat something important so as to not forget it. It becomes a habit in us very quickly because of how important those details are to remember. We practice them so well in our minds that we can become skilled with the imitation.

Another type of identification is a love connection treated as a status symbol where we actually want to be in that position [identification], but instead of authentically liking that person, we choose a love object that provides positive social attention that we couldn't get otherwise. "We see that the object is being treated in the same way as our own ego, so that when we are in love a considerable amount of narcissistic libido overflows on to the object. It is even obvious, in many forms of love choice, that the object serves as a substitute for some unattained ego ideal of our own. We love it on account of the perfections which we have striven to reach for our own ego, and which we should now like to procure in this roundabout way as a means of satisfying our narcissism."

On Narcissism - Sigmund Freud: https://rumble.com/v1gtgdl-on-narcissism-sigmund-freud-narcissism-1-of-4.html

In these relationships Freud expands love to include pretty much all forms of desire. It embraces any power differentials you can see in the workplace, politics, and economics, that all have these dynamics. With introjection "the ego has enriched itself with the properties of the object...In the second case it is impoverished, it has surrendered itself to the object, it has substituted the object for its [ego.]" So like with being in love, or any other contracts, the master is developing ego skills, while at the same time wanting a companion that is willing to surrender their ego to rely on the master's ego instead, a form of dependency. The sexuality can then follow in some instances, or fawning, brown-nosing behaviour to curry favour. "From being in love to hypnosis is evidently only a short step. The respects in which the two agree are obvious. There is the same humble subjection, the same compliance, the same absence of criticism, towards the hypnotist just as towards the loved object." For Freud, there's always some love going on in the background when there's a sense of prestige. "The hypnotic relation is the devotion of someone in love to an unlimited degree but with sexual satisfaction excluded; whereas in the case of being in love this kind of satisfaction is only temporarily kept back, and remains in the background as a possible aim at some later time." With friendships and intimate partners Freud sees again, like in his Love trilogy, the love we have for friends and family has to be applied to our intimate partners to help us go beyond lust, which without tender love, will dangerously drain into boredom every time we satisfy it. "It is interesting to see that it is precisely those sexual tendencies that are inhibited in their aims which achieve such lasting ties between men. But this can easily be understood from the fact that they are not capable of complete satisfaction, while sexual tendencies which are uninhibited in their aims suffer an extraordinary reduction through the discharge of energy every time the sexual aim is attained. It is the fate of sensual love to become extinguished when it is satisfied; for it to be able to last, it must from the first be mixed with purely tender components..." Some insights appear with this explanation. Love and tenderness can become a useful template for comparing a loving introjection, imitation, or the enriching of our ego, to a reaction formation where a person is forcing themselves to be like others. In the later situation the motivation is not supported by love and tenderness but instead by stress. To truly take on details from others, inspiration essentially, one has to love those details and the skills involved. Until a person has repeated those skills with loving attention, it remains unsustainable. Similar to an "mmmmm" feeding, we have to get to the point that new skills are tasty and create an appetite in us to use them. A good sign that a new skill you are developing is finally something that you deeply love, is the stress and yearning that appears when you are away from those activities. For example, a creative person without a creative objective to feed on would likely fall apart emotionally.

Violence and the Sacred - René Girard: https://rumble.com/v1gsnwv-the-origin-of-envy-and-narcissism-ren-girard.html

Love - Freud and Beyond: https://rumble.com/v1gv5pd-love-freud-and-beyond.html

Where'd You Go, Bernadette?: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pqnroADyAqQ

Relationships can work well enough when the master has enough skills to maintain the economics for the family, business, or department. If that fails or the dependent becomes bored and wants more, as in more rewards from the master's ego, the relationship can fall apart when needs aren't met. It's hard for the master to maintain prestige, or the façade of prestige, and the dependent is restricted in that their success and failure is tied to the master. Success allows sexuality to flourish, and failure the opposite. The man gives his ego-penis, so to say, and the woman receives it. It turns into a castration complex, or a sore spot in manhood if he cannot succeed in business, politics, or to raise a family. As an extension of his penis, the man symbolically gives love by giving a lifestyle. The women wants the lifestyle, and has the pressure of being attractive enough as the object of desire. The man is going through all these hoops and women have pressure to be "worth it!" This predicts Jacques Lacan's theory of the Phallus and the pressure both sexes are under, and the reaction formations [pretending] caused by the pressure to sell themselves. I remember a very crude example of that at an expensive restaurant. When the bill was brought out to this couple nearby the man literally looked at the bill, looked at the woman, and back and forth between her and and the bill as if he was thinking, "I paid that much, for you?!" The woman had that look of stress of not being good enough but doing her best to pretend, just as predicted. Men have to pretend that they are more successful than they are, and women have to pretend they are more beautiful and seductive than they are. Men have to dress stylish, like a God, as if their door-to-door photocopier salesman job is so lucrative, and women have to pressure themselves with extensive grooming and exercising to appear more fit and youthful than they actually are. The Façade eventually cracks if it's too inauthentic and there's relief when the burden is let go of. The realistic fear that remains for each side of a relationship implies the rejection: "You are not worth it!"

The signification of the phallus - Jacques Lacan: https://www.isbns.net/isbn/9780415708029/

Worth It - Fifth Harmony: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YBHQbu5rbdQ

Work from Home - Fifth Harmony: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5GL9JoH4Sws

Just as there's conflict between love interests on who's pulling their weight and making the right decisions, groups have to encounter people who aren't as enamored with them as they would want them to be. If we love a particular group, it's quite easy to hate those who don't belong to it, and especially non-conformists who endanger it. Freud here showed some subtlety by not only picking on religious people for their "cruelty and intolerance...Personally, we ought not to reproach believers too severely on this account...If today that intolerance no longer shows itself so violent and cruel as in former centuries, we can scarcely conclude that there has been a softening in human manners. The cause is rather to be found in the undeniable weakening of religious feelings and the libidinal ties which depend upon them. If another group tie takes the place of the religious one--and the socialistic tie seems to be succeeding in doing so--, then there will be the same intolerance towards outsiders as in the age of the Wars of Religion; and if differences between scientific opinions could ever attain a similar significance for groups, the same result would again be repeated with this new motivation." We are all religious when we succumb to the naive imitation of suggestions of ideal leaders, experts, taste-makers, celebrities, and even "soul-mates." For all of us, this habit has already been developed since birth. Andrew N. Meltzoff in Mimesis and Science, describes this early development as "gaze following." It's a mother-baby-object triangle paradigm where the child follows the "mother's gaze to an external target in order to see what she is looking at. Such gaze following is not the duplication of exact bodily movements, but rather a taking into account that mother's behavior is directed toward (or “about”) an external target...Infants begin to pay attention to the fact that mothers do not always look at them, but also cast their gaze on external objects, siblings and spouses in the environment." The danger of this habit is a lack of reality testing. As a child, it makes sense that you would be aware of the intentions of others, and be dependent on their suggestions. Children don't have enough capability of reality testing, and rely on mimetics in order to learn, but adults need that capability. Yet the habit to follow suggestions blindly can be so strong. That sense of comfort in relying on the suggestions of strangers, is often on shaky ground, especially when we find out that the product wasn't that good, the romantic partner was a narcissist, the expert was wrong, or the con artist was duping us. Being in a position where we need people too much is a dangerous dependency because those in power can always withdraw their resources, attention, and they can also hurt us with their mistakes. At the extreme end of relying on suggestions, wouldn't it lead to a kind of self-brainwashing where one doesn't trust one's own reasoning and reality testing, or in Freud's description, not being able to rely on one's own ego? If there's a target for a predator, I can't think of a better one.

The freedom of letting go of chasing prestigious leaders, and following their suggestions, has it's difficult qualities, though. If one isn't used to it then it requires a lot of practice to pull off. There is a lack of comfort when the illusion is seen through, especially if a large section of moral imitation was coming from the leader's illusory belief system, and aping Nietzsche's death of God, Freud predicted that followers would release their inhibitions to extremes. Of course, all institutions are open to this kind of disillusionment that seems to sanction a letting go of restraint to the extreme opposite. When dependent followers have to drop their substitute ego, their empty void of skills to face the world can lead to regression to unskillful ways of living, or searches for a new leader. We can hurt ourselves when we don't have anyone to look to for guidance.

Just - Radiohead: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oIFLtNYI3Ls

Cult Psychology: https://rumble.com/v1gvih9-cult-psychology.html

Totem and Taboo - Sigmund Freud: https://rumble.com/v1gsmvn-totem-and-taboo-sigmund-freud.html

The 'Wolfman' Part 2: Sergei Pankejeff: https://rumble.com/v1gug9n-case-studies-the-wolf-man-23-freud-and-beyond.html

The 'Wolfman' Part 3: Sergei Pankejeff: https://rumble.com/v1gulsf-case-studies-the-wolfman-33-freud-and-beyond.html

The Herd Instinct

How leaders and love interests are able to worm their way into power over us is how they can feel their sense of power by how we react. The way towards mastering another person is to have leverage to take away resources and attention. Prestige, "contains an additional element of paralysis derived from the relation between someone with superior power and someone who is without power and helpless--which may afford a transition to the hypnosis of terror which occurs in animals." Here Freud finally get's to the individual element of group psychology that adds onto Le Bon's work. The terror we feel around a love-object is their ability to be helpful to us and their power to remove their presence and resources. It's not just a group-mind. It's the same for an employer or political leader. Comparing power to hypnotism, Freud says that "the hypnotist awakens in the subject a portion of his archaic inheritance which had also made him compliant towards his parents and which had experienced an individual re-animation in his relation to his father; what is thus awakened is the idea of a paramount and dangerous personality, towards whom only a passive-masochistic attitude is possible, to whom one's will has to be surrendered,--while to be alone with him, 'to look him in the face', appears a hazardous enterprise."

Our brain senses this power and unless we gain independence, we are stuck feeling this danger. The other side of mastery is dependency. If the leader, or love-object needs us, we can be comforted by them. We can both loathe the lack of independence and love the benefits of someone taking responsibility for us. "The individual feels 'incomplete' if he is alone. The dread shown by small children would seem already to be an expression of this herd instinct." This explains well the rapt attention we give to those in power and our suggestibility. We would like their power, but because there are obstacles, we surrender and try to cooperate in order to gain a substitute power within the rest of the group. Freud starts this development with childhood. There's a rivalry with other siblings for their parents' attention which doesn't always have a clear winner. Then there's a surrender and each rival focuses on the other to prevent either from being a favourite. Fandom, worship, and infatuation can co-exist without the jealousy because the target has too many boundaries. So we can't be the celebrity, or have them, but we still like the products, services, art, and philanthropy they provide. In a way, this is a prescription for success, but also for isolation. Unless you are able to keep people from trying to pilfer your success you won't keep it. Freud describes a scene that is eerily similar to celebrity today. "We have only to think of the troop of women and girls, all of them in love in an enthusiastically sentimental way, who crowd round a singer or pianist after his performance. It would certainly be easy for each of them to be jealous of the rest; but, in face of their numbers and the consequent impossibility of their reaching the aim of their love, they renounce it, and, instead of pulling out one another's hair, they act as a united group, do homage to the hero of the occasion with their common actions, and would probably be glad to have a share of his flowing locks. Originally rivals, they have succeeded in identifying themselves with one another by means of a similar love for the same object." Freud's description of this phenomenon moves closely to a description of communism when talking about the herd instinct, starting with children. "What appears later on in society in the shape of 'group spirit', does not belie its derivation from what was originally envy. No one must want to put himself forward, every one must be the same and have the same. Social justice means that we deny ourselves many things so that others may have to do without them as well, or, what is the same thing, may not be able to ask for them. This demand for equality is the root of social conscience and the sense of duty." The mentality almost says that if the love-object is forbidden to me then I will only feel better if it's forbidden to everyone else.

Isolation - John Lennon: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N8lOLNfnCBg

Now how about the leader? Freud, continuing with Nietzsche's tradition, places the leader into the template of ancient human groups as he does in Totem and Taboo, a narcissistic father. "...The father of the primal horde was free. His intellectual acts were strong and independent even in isolation, and his will needed no reinforcement from others. Consistency leads us to assume that his ego had few libidinal ties; he loved no one but himself, or other people only in so far as they served his needs. To objects his ego gave away no more than was barely necessary...He, at the very beginning of the history of mankind, was the Superman whom Nietzsche only expected from the future. Even today the members of a group stand in need of the illusion that they are equally and justly loved by their leader; but the leader himself need love no one else, he may be of a masterly nature, absolutely narcissistic, but self-confident and independent. We know that love puts a check upon narcissism, and it would be possible to show how, by operating in this way, it became a factor of civilization." The early group, or family, would always want to succeed the father as a way to get out of the egalitarian envy of group psychology. This naturally spread to many different systems of government that we have seen. The independence that everyone seeks can be different in their goals, different businesses, or different government positions. Everyone is trying to seek their own path of independence, to escape, with all the struggles of envy and narcissism when people imitate and compete for rewards that can't be shared. Some of this need for independence comes from goading from abusive powerful people who feel omnipotent, and feel they can do anything they want to people they have leverage against. When people receive enough abuse, some will surrender, but many won't and will continue trying to gain power to satisfy revenge, but if that's not possible, then to gain revenge on targets who have less power and to vent their abuse on easy targets, as can be seen in War Pt. 2. Having powerful people in one's life who only care about themselves means they have no scruples with anyone else.

"I drink your milkshake!" There will be blood: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GX-9wXFQRgA

"Because I can."

The strongest knowledge —that of the total lack of freedom of the human will— is nonetheless the poorest in successes, for it always has the strongest opponent: human vanity. — Nietzsche, Human, All Too Human

The above lessons remind me of the all powerful ring in Lord of the Rings. The more power one has, the more desires can be satisfied. When a dictator, like Sauron, has unlimited power, they unleash desire associations that were thought about continually in relation to power. It's like spring waiting to be sprung in the right environment. If I achieve this power, then I can get all these goodies, and there may even be a feeling of entitlement for those things. "I should have these goodies." If one is indispensable, then one can demand as much as the unconscious wants. As John Bargh described, "by definition, power is the ability to attain one's desired goals, and so when one is in a position of power those goals are likely to be selected and pursued." As we gain power, what was filed away in unconscious memory starts to pop up. This is why we can point out corruption when others do it, especially when it damages us in some ways, but we have an unconsciousness about it in ourselves. "Situational power [automatically activates] those goals one has thought about and pursued in the past in situations where one is in a position of power. Over time, the connection between the mental representation of powerful situations and those goals becomes so strong that those goals become active and operate without the person consciously selecting those goals." If few people have little to no desire, then that means most people have large or indefinite sources of desire, but they are inhibited by obstacles and their safety, with a reduction of temptation, is what we are unconscious of and take for granted. Yet we don't have to be completely unconscious. One way is to notice what people do when they gain more money, or have less obstacles to power. Economists look at the rule that as people make more money they tend to spend more. With each of us having unlimited desires, it's quite easy to see how we could unconsciously be the same as those we accuse. The healthy admission, and also an admission that provides relief from perfectionism, is that everyone in a power position can be more or less guilty. Awareness and self-restraint become paramount when there's temptation. Doing the right thing, when one has power, may actually feel wrong.

The way to gain pleasure from doing the right thing, in Freud's estimation, is gaining pleasure in satisfying the ego-ideal by making it into a conscience, and this is especially true if the conscience is independent of a corrupt leader. "There is always a feeling of triumph when something in the ego coincides with the ego ideal. And the sense of guilt (as well as the sense of inferiority) can also be understood as an expression of tension between the ego and the ego ideal."

Tullio Jappelli and Luigi Pistaferri, Fiscal Policy and MPC Heterogeneity, Published in American Economic Journal: Macroeconomics, 2014, vol. 6(4), October, pp. 107-36.

On War and Death - Sigmund Freud: https://rumble.com/v1gv78n-on-war-and-death-freud-and-beyond-war-pt.-13.html

Gandalf "Don't tempt me Frodo": https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=00Jjj6oI5fg

Boromir "It's a strange fate that we should suffer so much fear and doubt over so small a thing.": https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dHHaKtVdfa0

Galadriel "I pass the test": https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=K3VOf3CBGvw

Bombshell: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D2IsaFaB1iA

Disclosure: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dgEtlGdx_zo

Landlords are targeting vulnerable tenants to solicit sex in exchange for rent, advocates say: https://www.nbcnews.com/news/us-news/landlords-are-targeting-vulnerable-tenants-solicit-sex-exchange-rent-advocates-n1186416

The War to end all Wars?

Margaret MacMillan described in Paris 1919, all those attempts to create a satisfactory ideal to the end of the Great War, starting with President Wilson's 14 points, but the final Treaty of Versailles, signed on June 28, 1919 wasn't able to satisfy all critics. "The Germans were horrified by the peace terms, which they saw as a betrayal of a pledge they felt they had received from the Allies at the time of the armistice: that the peace would be negotiated on the basis of Wilson's new diplomacy with no unjust retribution." As long as there are grievances and resentments, there's always room for war to rekindle again when new generations are energized and motivated. "The young Adolf Hitler was in Munich that June, taking congenial courses on the glories of German history and the evils of international Jewish capital. Already he was discovering his own talents as an ideologue and an orator."

The circumstances of the Great War showed how the future could hang on hairpin turns. Tim Cook in Vimy: The Battle and The Legend described the horrible twist of fate. "After recovering from an October 1916 wound to his upper leg (and possible loss of one testicle) on the Somme, [Corporal Adolf Hitler] had returned to the 16th Bavarian Reserve Infantry Regiment, which was stationed on Vimy Ridge. But the unit was moved later that month about 15 km north to La Bassée, where the Sixth Army expected a British attack. Had his unit been on Vimy Ridge during the ramped-up Canadian artillery blitz, Adolf Hitler might have fallen victim to the shellfire, as did thousands of his German comrades, and world history might have turned out very differently."

By 1940 Hitler was able to return to Vimy Ridge and there was a photo taken of him at the memorial proving to the allies that he hadn't destroyed it as they had thought. The irony was that Hitler didn't demolish the monument because he enjoyed it's peaceful nature. The age of personality disordered leaders was reaching its apex.

The Sith Symphony: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lKYy4sT4pPM

Galactic Empire - Star Wars - The Imperial March: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nohQReM7BpI

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Group Psychology - Sigmund Freud: https://www.isbns.net/isbn/9780393007701/

Paris 1919 - Margaret MacMillan: https://www.isbns.net/isbn/9780375760525/

A Critical Dictionary of Psychoanalysis - Charles Rycroft: https://www.isbns.net/isbn/9780140513103/

The language of Psychoanalysis - Jean Laplanche: https://www.isbns.net/isbn/9780946439492/

The Use and Abuse of Power - Annette Y. Lee-Chai, John Bargh: https://www.isbns.net/isbn/9781841690230/

Bargh, J. A., & Chartrand, T. L. (1999). The unbearable automaticity of being. American Psychologist, 54(7), 462–479.

Vimy: The Battle and the Legend - Tim Cook: https://www.isbns.net/isbn/9780735233164/

Mimesis and Science - Scott R. Garrels: https://www.isbns.net/isbn/9781611860238/

The Power of Glamour - Virginia I. Postrel: https://www.isbns.net/isbn/9781416561125/

"The Canadian Unknown Soldier." After the Battle. Battle of Britain Intl. Ltd. (109).

Psychology: http://psychreviews.org/category/psychology01/

#group psychology #sigmund freud #war

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bakerstreetbabble · 11 years ago

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The Straight Dope on Sherlock Holmes

The Straight Dope is a question and answers column that started in the Chicago Reader (a free weekly newspaper) in 1973. The article below is copied from the Straight Dope's website, and is a pretty good, concise "Sherlock Holmes 101." The article originally was published in 2003.

I've been a fan of The Straight Dope since the mid 1980s, when I read the first collection of articles, published in 1984 (as pictured to the left).

Enjoy!

Did Sherlock Holmes really exist? April 8, 2003

Dear Straight Dope:

An eccentric friend of mine claims to have read a book called The Seven-Per-Cent Solution about a meeting of two monumental figures in their respective fields: Sigmund Freud the famous psychologist, and Sherlock Holmes the British detective. The title referred to Holmes' alleged cocaine addiction, which he asked Freud to help him conquer. I was highly skeptical. Why would someone write a book mixing two outstanding and contrasting personalities for the sole reason of having them discuss cocaine?

My friend also claims that this encounter is based on a true story, which I doubted as well. I was previously led to believe that Sherlock Holmes was a fictitious character, possibly based on another real-life detective, but not an actual person. Internet research turned up numerous articles from both sides of the real/fictional argument, as well as several articles about clues to Holmes' coke addiction. But if I can't count on the Straight Dope to sift through the various arguments and emerge with the truth (or at least a plausible facsimile), on whom can I count?

— Julia Yeung, Richmond Hill, Ontario, Canada

So, the Web seems to turn up evidence on both sides of the real/fiction argument, eh? A fine lesson in being careful about accepting information because it's "on the Internet." But this isn't the usual case of mistaking the ravings of online lunatics for fact. You've been taken in by a great game.

I'm going to break your question in two parts: (1) Who was Sherlock Holmes? and (2) What's with his cocaine addiction? Note: For any readers who are devoted Sherlockians, and who know that Sherlock was real, please skip ahead to Part 2. I wouldn't want you to be upset by any heresy that I might utter in Part 1.

Part 1. Was Sherlock real or fictional? Why are the websites confusing on this issue?

Sherlock Holmes is fictional. Let's get that straight once and for all. The book you mention, The Seven-Per-Cent Solution by Nicholas Meyer (1974), is also fictional.

If you've not read Sherlock Holmes in a long time, or have never had the pleasure, I heartily recommend him. I draw your attention to The Annotated Sherlock Holmes by William S. Baring-Gould (1967), which contains all the stories with ample footnotes (to explain terms no longer commonly known to us, among other things). I have used that work extensively in writing this Staff Report.

Sherlock Holmes was the creation of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (1859-1930). Doyle was an M.D., and not unsuccessful, but he preferred writing, and eventually abandoned his medical career. He had sold a few short stories when, in 1886, he decided to write a detective story.

Detective stories were in their infancy. Edgar Allen Poe had created what was arguably the first fictional detective, Auguste Dupin, more than 40 years earlier. Robert Louis Stevenson and others had used detective characters and the mystery story format. Most are now forgotten. It was the immense popularity of Doyle's Holmes that unleashed the flood of mystery and detection stories that has persisted to this day.

Late in 1887, the brilliant but eccentric detective Sherlock Holmes made his first appearance in a 200-page novel called A Study in Scarlet. Doyle was paid £25 (about $125 at the then-current exchange rate). The second Holmes novel, The Sign of Four, appeared in February 1890.

Then quickly followed a brand new (in England) idea: a series of short stories based on one central character. The first of the series of twelve Holmes stories was "A Scandal in Bohemia," published in the July 1891 issue of The Strand magazine.

Holmes was immensely popular from the first. The public demanded more stories. By 1892, Doyle received £1,000 ($5,000) for a series of dozen Sherlock Holmes short stories in "The Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes."

The financial success and popularity were pleasant, but Doyle began to feel that all his energies were devoted to writing Holmes stories, diverting him from writing serious fiction. At the conclusion of another series of twelve stories, Doyle decided to kill Sherlock Holmes. In "The Final Problem," published in December 1893 but set in 1891, Holmes encountered Professor Moriarty, the Napoleon of crime, in a mutually fatal showdown at Reichenbach Falls in Switzerland.

There was a huge public outcry--Doyle received letters from readers who wept and from men who went to work wearing black mourning bands; one letter began, "You brute!"

For the next eight years, Doyle devoted himself to his serious writings. But in 1901 he had an idea for a novel that needed a detective. Rather than invent a new character, he decided to use Holmes in The Hound of the Baskervilles, set before Holmes perished in Switzerland. It was a tremendous success and remains among the most popular of the Holmes stories today, with a new film or TV version every few years.

In 1903, Doyle surrendered to the public demand for more Holmes stories. He resurrected Holmes in "The Empty House," set in 1894, with an explanation of how Holmes hadn't really plunged off the waterfall after all.

Doyle continued to write Holmes stories through 1927. He died three years later. All in all, Doyle wrote four novels and 56 short stories (the latter collected into five volumes) about his fictional detective.

Doyle's other writings include The Lost World, about an expedition that discovers a hidden dinosaur enclave, which has been made into many motion pictures beginning with a silent special-effects extravaganza in 1921 and a new television production earlier this year. But his serious writings, such asThe White Company, are largely forgotten. His works and name live on because of Sherlock Holmes.

Holmes was extremely popular not just in England and the U.S. but throughout Europe and Latin America. My wife's grandmother told me that, as a teenager in Poland before WWI, she eagerly awaited the appearance of each Sherlock Holmes story. A century later Holmes remains as popular as ever.

Even in the early days, Doyle received letters from readers who believed Sherlock Holmes was real and wanted to hire him. It is a tribute to Doyle's writing that he could create such a believable hero.

The original books are still best sellers and have been translated into more than fifty languages. Every year brings new Sherlock Holmes movies, TV shows, or board games. He appears in parodies and pastiches, in television ads, and in Star Trek: The Next Generation. The current (2003) Jackie Chan movie Shanghai Knights includes an homage to Holmes. The Guinness Book of Movie Facts and Feats (1993) declares Sherlock Holmes the fictional character with the most film appearances, with over 200 as of 1993.

Parodies of Holmes have been written by people such as James M. Barrie, the author of Peter Pan--this one was particularly admired by Doyle himself. Burlesques have been written by the likes of Mark Twain (not a very good one, alas), Bret Harte, and O. Henry. Doyle himself wrote two parodies. There is even a Martian counterpart to Holmes, written by the science fiction giant, Poul Anderson.

In London, the rooms that Holmes and Watson shared together at 221B Baker Street are now a museum. The rooms are pure fiction, of course. Although there is a Baker Street in London, there was no 221B; it was an address Doyle made up. But tourists had been searching Baker Street for so many years, trying to find the "actual house," that the street numbers were changed so that the museum could be established. The museum reproduces the rooms shared by Watson and Holmes as described in Doyle's stories. Every item of furniture or bric-a-brac mentioned in the stories can be found in the museum rooms, from the dark-lanterns to the Turkish slipper on the mantel filled with shag tobacco. For more information, see www.sherlock-holmes.co.uk/home.htm .

Was Holmes based on another real-life detective, you ask? The answer is emphatically not. Doyle himself said that his inspiration was a former teacher, Dr. Joseph Bell, but Bell said that Holmes was a creation of Doyle's own gifts and training. Holmes scholars unanimously agree that the only resemblance between Bell and Holmes was Bell's remarkable power of deductive reasoning. In other respects Holmes is a completely original creation.

OK, so Doyle wrote these wonderful and immensely popular stories about a (fictional) detective. Most of the tales are narrated in the first person by Holmes's equally fictitious friend and companion, Dr. John H. Watson. While today's writers strive for consistency in their series characters, Doyle was always willing to ignore consistency or even facts for the sake of a good story. He wrote: "It has always seemed to me that so long as you produce your dramatic effect, accuracy of detail matters little. I have never striven for it and I have made some bad mistakes in consequence. What matter if I hold my readers?"

From those inaccuracies and inconsistencies, amazingly enough, a whole new literary discipline sprouted. As early as January, 1902, an "open letter" to Dr Watson [!!] was published in the Cambridge Review, criticizing the dates mentioned in The Hound of the Baskervilles. That same year, Arthur Maurice wrote an editorial comment, "Some Inconsistencies of Sherlock Holmes." The ball really got rolling in 1911, when Father (later Monsignor) Ronald Knox read a paper at Trinity College, Oxford, and created a highly specialized and possibly unique form of literary criticism.

Let's call it the Game. The point is to pretend that Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson were real, that Watson wrote the stories reporting actual events, and that Conan Doyle was merely Watson's literary agent. Essentially, one applies Holmes's own methods to analyzing the stories, trying to explain the inconsistencies, fill the gaps, and identify the other characters and events.

To aficionados, the original stories are "the Canon" and "the Sacred Writings." There are volumes of writings about the Writings.

Dorothy L. Sayers, herself known for writing the Peter Wimsey mysteries, set forth the rules of the Game. "It must be played as solemnly as a county cricket match at Lord's; the slightest touch of extravagance or burlesque ruins the atmosphere."

There are journals that publish research and speculations and articles, all under the assumption that Holmes and Watson really existed. Societies of Sherlockiana have sprung up, the most famous being the Baker Street Irregulars (named after the gang of street urchins that Holmes employed for reconnaissance). There are biographies of Holmes. Authors have written "newly discovered" adventures of Holmes and Watson, including Nicholas Meyer's The Seven-Per-Cent Solution--perhaps the most famous of all Holmesian pastiches, of which more later.

One of the more wonderful ideas is found in a science fiction story by H. Beam Piper and John J. McGuire entitled "The Return," about an isolated community which had maintained a thriving society for two centuries after an atomic war. The heart of the community was the Sacred Books, which told of the eternal conflict between Holmes and Moriarty and tutored them in the use of deductive reasoning.

Many authors bring Holmes into contact with real-life contemporary people, such as Sigmund Freud or Oscar Wilde or Jack the Ripper or Harry Flashman, or even with fictional characters such as Tarzan, the Loch Ness monster, or Dracula.

That's why, when you do a Web search, you find many, many sites that are dedicated to the Game--to the assumption that these fictional characters were real. I suppose it can be confusing if you don't know what's afoot.

OK, having answered your first question, for the rest of this Staff Report we're going to enter into that world and pretend that Holmes and Watson were real, and that Watson wrote the stories based on their actual exploits.

Part 2. The Game's afoot: What's with Holmes and his cocaine addiction?

The heart of Sherlockiana arises from the inconsistencies in the stories themselves. Perhaps Watson was sometimes just a sloppy author, but sometimes he deliberately tried to conceal identities. From these inconsistencies and evasions has sprung a great body of literature: research, speculation, and whimsy. Christopher Morley wrote, "What other body of modern literature is esteemed as much for its errors as its felicities?"

What kinds of errors or inconsistencies are we talking about? For example, Watson said that "The Adventure of Wisteria Lodge" occurred in 1892--but in 1892 Holmes was believed to be dead at the bottom of Reichenbach Falls in Switzerland.

How could such an inconsistency or error arise?

Perhaps Watson's bad handwriting caused editing errors (this is an excuse Cecil Himself uses from time to time), and the printer got the date wrong.

Watson's memory was often faulty. In "The Adventure of the Veiled Lodger," Watson professes to have no recollection of an adventure that he shared with Holmes. So we have internal evidence that Watson may have misremembered the date.

Watson seems to have had a complete disregard for the calendar. This happens time and again in the Writings. As another example, in "The Adventure of the Solitary Cyclist," Watson writes, "On referring to my notebook for the year 1895, I find that it was upon Saturday, April 23, that we first heard of Miss Violet Smith." The plot hinges upon the correctness of that recollection, because Miss Smith came into town every Saturday. But April 23, 1895 was a Tuesday.

Then there's Watson's "Victorian discretion and delicacy." Watson would deliberately conceal a name, a place, a date, or the exact nature of an event, to protect the innocent or to avert scandal. So perhaps he misdated "Wisteria Lodge" to hide the true events and spare the family embarrassment.

One further fact: Watson leaves us tantalizing references to cases that he never published, such as the Giant Rat of Sumatra or Wilson, the notorious canary trainer. The ground here is ripe for speculation, from the mundane to the outrageous.

Baring-Gould comments, "Half the fun in reading and rereading the Saga is that of catching [Watson] out as generations of his admirers have been discovering" for a century.

I said this lead to research, deduction, speculation and whimsy; let me provide an example of each.

RESEARCH

In "A Case of Identity," Holmes mentions he is doing some chemical experiments with "bisulphate of baryta." A sulphate (or sulfate) is a salt or ester of sulfuric acid, and "baryta" or barite is barium sulfate occurring as a mineral, but what is barium bisulfate? There is controversy, with some authorities saying here is no such thing and that Watson has misremembered. Other authorities conclude that barium hydrogen sulfate or hexasulphide of barium might have been called "bisulphate of baryta." Professional chemists who are also Sherlockians have leapt into debate.

Or, again from "A Case of Identity," Holmes remarks that "a single lady can get on very nicely upon an [annual] income of about sixty pounds." This has led to considerable investigation into the cost of living in London. Similarly there has been enormous research into the train schedules and the streets of London, trying to find locales mentioned in the Canon.

DEDUCTION

Sherlockians often apply Holmes's own reasoning and deductive techniques when trying to date an adventure.

Sticking with "A Case of Identity," we learn that Mr. Hosmer Angel disappeared "last Friday," "the 14th." So we look for a month, between March 1881 (when Holmes and Watson met) and September 1891 (when the case was published), when Friday was the 14th. The possibilities are October 1881, September 1883, October 1887, and September 1888. Baring-Gould eliminates 1881, 1883, and 1888 because Holmes was engaged on another case on the relevant days, and concludes that the disappearance was Friday, October 14, 1887. Next, Watson mentions that he opened the morning paper, so the date was not a Sunday; thus the case must have begun the next Monday through Thursday. The description of clothing implies mild weather, so he looks for two sequential warm clear days between Monday, October 17 and Thursday, October 20, 1887. Baring-Gould thus concludes that the case occurred Tuesday and Wednesday, October 18 and 19, 1887.

Other chronologies derive other dates for the story. We cite the reasoning as an example of the type of deduction, supported by research, employed in Holmesian analysis.

Your reaction might be: These people need a life. But you'd be missing the point. If that's your attitude, stop reading and go back to baseball statistics or Civil War trivia or whatever.

SPECULATION AND WHIMSY

Watson's inconsistencies have invited conjectures ranging from the logical and reasonable to the completely wacky. For example, his name is clearly John H. Watson except once when his wife called him "James." Dorothy Sayers speculated that the middle initial "H" must stand for "Hamish," the Scottish form of James--a neat resolution of the inconsistency. Others, of course, make other suggestions, ranging from two Watson brothers (John and James) to a prior love affair on Mrs. Watson's part and an unfortunate lapse. (Baring-Gould notes that "Conan Doyle named Watson for his friend James Watson, [so] the slip of the pen is understandable.")

Other subjects of continuing speculation include: Who were the Baskervilles and where is their hall? Did Holmes attend Oxford or Cambridge? What did Holmes do during the three years that Watson thought him dead?

Finally we reach your question: How was Holmes cured of his cocaine addiction?

In the late 1800s, there was neither popular prejudice nor laws against drugs as there are today. Laudanum and cocaine, among others, were readily available. Watson suspects but dismisses the idea of cocaine use by Holmes in A Study in Scarlet, his first published work. By The Sign of Four, Watson reports that when Holmes was bored and his mind not challenged, he took cocaine in a "seven-per-cent solution." This was not a heavy dose, but it was clearly enough to be habit-forming. Again in "The Yellow Face," Watson says that Holmes had no vices, "save for the occasional use of cocaine."

Michael Harrison notes, "that Holmes had a serious addiction, all Watson's descriptions of Holmes nervous activity makes clear: the restlessness, the ability to work for days without adequate sleep, and even without rest at all; the abrupt changes of mood; and the equally abrupt collapse into a somnolence not far (if at all) removed from a torpor bordering on coma: these are the unmistakable evidence of heavy and prolonged indulgence in some powerful narcotic.""

And yet, after Holmes's encounter with Moriarty and supposed death at Reichenbach Falls, he never again uses cocaine. Or at least Watson doesn't mention it.

And so the question: how did he break the habit?

In 1974, Nicholas Meyer published The Seven-Per-Cent Solution. The forward describes how he found an unpublished, unedited manuscript of John H. Watson. The book jacket, in fact, says "Being a Reprint from the Reminiscences of John H. Watson, M.D. as edited by Nicholas Meyer."

I shan't give away too much of the plot. Watson tricks Holmes into visiting Sigmund Freud and submitting himself to treatment. Freud cures him of the cocaine habit, and of a few paranoid cocaine-induced delusions along the way. This all happened (according to Meyer, according to Watson) during the period when Holmes was believed dead, 1891-1893. Watson simply invented the stories of Holmes' death and return to cover the fact that Holmes was in seclusion for medical treatment.

Holmes reciprocates, helping Dr. Freud solve a mystery regarding one of his patients. So Meyer's book is more than two great personalities getting together to "talk about cocaine"--it's a mystery story.

Many authorities, of course, doubt the authenticity of Meyer's manuscript, and proclaim it pure fiction.

Does that answer your question?

I'd like to conclude with another question: why does Sherlock Holmes endure?

Obviously, part of the answer is that Doyle--or Watson if you prefer--was a marvelous story-teller. The tales today have lost none of their charm or intrigue.

But there's more to it than that. From the introduction to the first volume (1998) of The Sherlock Holmes Reference Library: "The Sherlock Holmes stories fascinate. They transport readers of all ages, nationalities, and cultures into a world of their own. They challenge our imaginations."

In the 1940s Edgar W. Smith wrote, "We love the times in which he lived, of course, the half-remembered, half-forgotten times of snug Victorian illusion, of gaslit comfort and contentment, of perfect dignity and grace. And we love the place: the England of those times, fat with the fruits of her achievements, but strong and daring still with the spirit of imperial adventure. But there is more than time and space and the yearning of things gone by to account for what we feel toward Sherlock Holmes. Not only there and then, but here and now, he stands as a symbol, if you please, of all that we are not, but ever would be. We see him as the fine expression of our urge to trample evil and to set aright the wrongs with which the world is plagued. He is Galahad and Socrates, bringing high adventure to our dull existences and calm, judicial logic to our biased minds."

Vincent Starrett wrote of Holmes and Watson:

they still live for all that love them well: in a romantic chamber of the heart: in a nostalgic country of the mind: where it is always 1895.

RESOURCES:

Baring-Gould, William S.; The Annotated Sherlock Holmes, Clarkson N. Potter, Inc, New York, 1967.

Harrison, Michael, In the Footsteps of Sherlock Holmes, Cassel & Co. Ltd, London, 1958

Klinger, Leslie S. (editor), The Sherlock Holmes Reference Library, Gasogene Books, Indianapolis, currently being published in separate volumes, beginning in 1998

Starrett, Vincent, The Private Life of Sherlock Holmes (revised), University of Chicago Press, Chicago, 1960

and, of course, the Canon:

A Study in Scarlet The Sign of Four The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes The Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes The Hound of the Baskervilles The Return of Sherlock Holmes His Last Bow The Valley of Fear The Casebook of Sherlock Holmes

— Dex

STAFF REPORTS ARE WRITTEN BY THE STRAIGHT DOPE SCIENCE ADVISORY BOARD, CECIL'S ONLINE AUXILIARY. THOUGH THE SDSAB DOES ITS BEST, THESE COLUMNS ARE EDITED BY ED ZOTTI, NOT CECIL, SO ACCURACYWISE YOU'D BETTER KEEP YOUR FINGERS CROSSED.

#Sherlock Holmes #The Straight Dope #Chicago Reader

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the-holistic-goddess · 1 year ago

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How Astrology and Psychology play a part in our Personalities:

What is Psychology? It is the scientific study of our minds and our behaviors.

In Psychology, one of the most important psychological approaches to understanding personality is based on the theories developed by Sigmund Freud. Freud proposed that the mind is divided into three components: Id, Ego, and Superego. It is believed that the interactions and conflicts among these components create our personality.

The Id: is represented by the component of personality that forms the basis of our most primitive impulses. It drives our most important motivations, including our sexual drive and the aggressive or destructive drive. The id is entirely unconscious and it is driven by what is described to be the pleasure principle; the desire for immediate gratification of our sexual and aggressive urges.

The SuperEgo: is represented by our sense of morality and oughts. The superego tells us all the things that we shouldn’t do, or the duties and obligations of society. The superego strives for perfection, and when we fail to live up to its demands we feel guilty.

The Ego: follows the reality principle; the idea that we must delay gratification of our basic motivations until the appropriate time with the appropriate outlet. The ego falls between the Id and Superego because it asks for us to find a common ground between what we want and what is in the best interest of everyone. The ego is the largely conscious controller or decision-maker of personality.

When taking people’s personality into account there are a few things we should note– while everyone is living in the same world, we all have our own individual maps of what the world looks like. This is described in NLP and Hypnotherapy. Our individual maps of the world are shaped and formed by the life experiences, morals and values and the ability or lack thereof to explore ourselves as individuals when we were children during our perceptual programming stage which is the ages of birth till 7. It is at this age where most of our fundamental values and morals are instilled in making the most lasting impression. It is during these extremely important years that children learn about how the world works, and how they belong in it.

So if a person experiences lots of neglect, abandonment, lack of resources during these ages. Their map of the world will be distorted and biased based on these experiences. It will impact their ability to trust others, they will have the belief that there is never enough for them, and that they aren’t worthy of love and affection. Completely shaping the dynamic for their future relationships.

What is Astrology? The divination of the supposed influences of the stars and planets on human affairs and terrestrial events by their positions and aspects.

It is important to note– that we are all composed of multiple astrological signs. But when taking someone's personality into concern just like in Psychology with the three components of Id, Ego and Superego; in the world of astrology the correlation would be our Sun, Moon and Rising aka Ascendent signs in our natal charts.

We often hear about situations where individuals will not date someone based on their astrological sign. Many people think the idea is absolutely insane, makes no sense, people are just trying to find another reason to dislike someone. Although even if they aren’t extremely versed in Astrology there is some truth to their logic. Compatibility is a real thing. In many cultures especially those that do matchmaking, doing a compatibility chart would also include a natal chart that explains all of a person's traits, attributes, strengths and weaknesses, what jobs they would be best suited for or not, and which astrological signs they would be more or less likely to get along with based on their astrological placements.

On a basic level, when people are asking what is your sign. They are referring to the astrological sign you were born into. Which is the Sun sign. For those individuals who are a bit more experienced with Astrology they may go to the extent of asking for your major three Sun, Moon and Rising signs in some cases your North Node as well. For those of us who have a lot more experience we may want specific details about you in order to do a full natal chart.

The Sun sign: governs our ego and motivations. This is the sign we were born into. For example if you were born in the beginning of January you are a Capricorn but at the end of January you would be an Aquarius. This part of us represents our drive, ego, and pride, our overall attitude and spirit — it is all of our cores. Essentially, the sun sign is the key factor in assessing our overall and generalized personality.

The Moon sign: governs our emotional nature. This part of us represents a part of ourselves we can’t express literally, but feel on a deep and soulful level. The moon speaks to our memories or our conception of the past, as well as our idea of comfort. It also captures our maternal instincts and the relationship we may have with our main maternal influences.

The Rising or Ascendent sign: gets its name based on the zodiac sign that is rising on the eastern horizon at the time of your birth. This governs the energy that we put out into the world, or the vibe that people pick up and notice about us off the bat. Rising signs also represent the way we carry ourselves, process information, and connect with others.

Now in knowing this base information someone can determine if you are someone who is compatible on an emotional, mental or physical level. The planet placement plays a big part in this area to determine these factors. Because each planet is known for being a ruler of particular traits. Such as Saturn, being known for Discipline and Responsibility. Mercury is Communication and Mentality. And Mars is related to Actions and Energy.

Knowing your astrological sign can also give you a deeper understanding of why you might behave or think the way you do. Many believe that your birth sign has no say in what your personality traits are going to be. In part, it can be true. As I stated we have three primary signs that make the biggest contribution to our personality. But we are all composed of multiple signs. Some people might be more water sign heavy meaning they can be more emotionally attuned, others are more fire so they are more action based and hot tempered, those who are more air sign heavy could be more intellectual with charming witty personalities, while those who are earth heavy, can be more grounded, and concerned about the materials.

Each sign has signature traits and tells that make it obvious that is what you are. But you may find there are people who may be born under a specific sun sign but don't really show these qualities, it could be because how they are presenting and connecting to the world is more tied to the Rising sign not their Sun sign. But if they were to think about what in life are their motivating factors, they may find the things they consider are more tied to their sun sign traits. Also how they process or handle emotions is based on their moon sign, not their sun sign.

So if Cancers are inherently known for being emotional, it is because we are the most Intune with our emotions of the zodiacs, we are also the maternal and nurturing sign. Oftentimes when people are referring to cancers being naturally overly emotional it has more to do with the fact that the ruling planet of Cancer is the moon, which is the ruler of emotions/feelings and instincts. We come off as extra emotional due to the fact that our emotions fluctuate with the phases of the moon. Which can make us appear to be everywhere emotionally when in reality it is just us responding to the moon's placement.

#mindbodyspirit #astrology #psychology #holisticwellness #intentional living #mindful living #self reflection #self awareness

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mystacoceti · 1 year ago

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a big reason I got into Freud was how it felt like everyone talking about psychology was picking and choosing whatever techniques and explanations were most therapeutic for them (or really, purportedly the most therapeutic) and it didn't matter how contradictory what they were saying was. It drove me insane and it seemed like at least the people digging through the psychoanalytic stuff were actually trying to come up with a theoretical framework instead of a theoretical heap.

but one of the funny things I've learned now is how the common usage of "sublimate" on this site contradicts Freud's own usage. It's something he's never totally coherent on but the basic idea is that sublimation is an involuntary process towards normal sexuality, and any failure or hiccup in this process becomes either a neurosis or a sexual fetich — and moreover, that once sexual maturity has been reached, there's not a lot of leeway for change. There's even a short essay where explicitly poohpoohs the idea that analysts/therapists should recommend their patients try to sublimate debilitating neuroses into immoral/abnormal sexual practices (the specific act in context being... masturbation). of course the man himself always seems to teeter-totter between calling it all sin and calling for greater leniency

it took me a while to understand where the split in readers I was encountering came from, these people who treat Freud as some kind of blueprint for making sure the next generation come out more sexually normal and the other people who see him as this Prometheus, releasing sexuality from moral claims. (both sides are strikingly different from the idolatrous Auden poem.) only how much more sense now does it make that so many people abandon exegesis of Freud for their own workable models — and that they would do the same to other theories

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farfromstrange · 2 years ago

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I’m glad I’m not the only one who analyzes so much ahaha thanks for sharing your input, it made me rethink a lot about what I said!

I think my theoretical knowledge about psychology from the three years I’ve been studying at school blurred a little with what I think of him rather than with what’s canon for the character both in the comics and in the show, and I just mixed that together a bit.

While his actions can be seen as a form of self-harm, you were right that it could just be depression. It’s a very prominent symptom in most of the mood and personality disorders because of emotional pain that turns you numb. I think that’s what I meant. He felt so much, he tried to shut it off and that left him with an emptiness (both from loss and everything else) that hurt even more, so he tried to feel something, anything else.

Detaching self-harm as a sole symptom of bpd and seeing it as more than that is important because self-harm is an addiction in itself and can mean so many things. And a lot of behavior we think is normal but hurts or inconveniences us in any way is actually considered self-harm (in theory). Even having a beer when being sad can be considered self-harm, or spending too much money, pushing people away, etc. I have my own take on that because the many theories of psychology often don’t cut even close to the truth and there’s a reason they are often disputed after they were made.

Best example for that is Freud, who has nothing to do with the characterization of Matt other than maybe if we looked at his childhood development and how the accident and his father’s death interrupted the phase he was in during that time. He lost his father figure when he needed him most and at the age he was when he lost him having a parental figure of the same-sex is what children focus on. His mother also wasn’t there, which would have been his last resort, so he was alone in that orphanage, and I have this headcanons that the other kids didn’t really play with him so he had no other boys to spend time with. But that’s just me. The Freudian view would be that that’s why he wouldn’t let the nuns help him, but I don’t agree with that. What I do agree is with his need to find a father figure, which is why he loved Stick the way he did because he was looking for someone else to look up to, a man, a father figure, and he saw Stick’s training as an escape while also being paid attention to.

The way Stick treated him during that influential period of his life might have ruined even more than his father’s death had already disturbed in his development. But Matt didn’t see it because he thought he meant something to him.

Jesus, no idea where that came from. My brain just farted. That wasn’t meant to be in here. Anyway!

I absolutely agree with the depression he falls in after Elektra’s death and during the defenders, or that it seems like it could be a depression. That’s a good fucking point! And how he momentarily gets better before he gets worse and his downward spiral is coupled with loss and his fear of being abandoned that he feels like just came true and that he has no one else. I would like to pick his brain, if he were real.

I agree that the part of him refusing help or therapy has never been said, so we can probably scratch that, but I have this headcanon that he’d have a hard time accepting something’s wrong with him and he needs help if he were ever actively asked about it (I thought about the entire character arc in this one and how he presented himself in S3 where he was in his mentally unstable era) But I think you’re right on this one. He’s never been diagnosed.

(And I do take back the thing with the alcohol too because what you showed me makes actually way more sense)

Part of why I analyzed him while watching S1 is because I see myself in him a lot, especially with the bpd trait markers and I compared it to my own behavior. The arc he went through until S3 was absolutely insane and I followed with the thought in the back of my mind, “That’s me.” And it just kept spiraling down from there.

I loved the part you described about his manic state and how you went into detail with the corresponding points in the timeline. If you don’t mind, I’ll note that for later if I do decide to write a whole essay on him to prepare for my next exam. It’s actually a good train of thought to use as an example and I absolutely love the way your brain works!!

I have no idea if I forgot something or got something wrong. It’s amazing how similar some of our headcanons are and thank you for sharing your opinion because this really made my shitty day; to have someone equally as invested and actually incorporate the comics (I’ve just started the first one because I got it for Christmas, but I’m not nearly as educated on comic!Matt as you, so thank you for mentioning him as well!)

If I may pick you brain again some day if I ever come up with an analysis again, may it be through tagging you or messaging you about it, that would be highly appreciated 🫶🏻

And I totally agree with you on all the other points you mentioned as well. It’s so detailed I was actually flabbergasted (in a good way, an amazing one even) when I read it. Thanks for even taking the time to write in such detail. You made me think more about it and I can see it so clearly, it’s like you just opened a encyclopedia and read me a page of a very detailed analysis of Matt Murdock. And now I can look back at it if I want to know more about him, especially while writing him.

For an actual diagnosis, he’d have to meet the additional markers and I don’t know if he would. He has (some of) the symptoms, but would he hit all of the required markers of the DMS? If a psychiatrist saw him and tested him for mental health disorders, would he meet the requirements for BPD or would he not? I’m genuinely curious. The question keeps bugging me and I can’t really answer it. Might have to ask my teacher about this one because he actually went to university to study psychology, so he might know something, or I’ll take a slice of the cake and take it to my psychiatrist. Because I can’t stop thinking about him and this topic and you gave me even more proof that there might be some underlying BPD among the PTSD and other issues he might have.

It could all just be trauma in the end, but that’s the fun about headcanons. We give more thought to the character than the media ever gave us. So thank you again!! This was an absolute delight to read.

I hope I didn’t annoy you with this. I got a bit carried away…

The way Matt displays some symptoms of Borderline personality disorder makes me wonder if there’s actually some undiagnosed personality disorder hiding in his brain.

Fear of abandonment, unstable relationships (that he’s at fault for because he pushes people away in an attempt to protect them), explosive anger paired with mood swings, struggling with self-image (that man constantly questions who he is), self-destructive behavior and self-harm (it displays in the way he sabotages his relationships and jumps head-first into danger. He’s abusing alcohol regularly because he’s ��had a bad day” and the way he’s getting himself beat in S3 just for the thrill of it borders on serious self-harm tendencies), and his constant suspicions keep him detached from reality (I believe his senses make it easier for him to actually SENSE danger, but he also sometimes sees it when there is none just because he’s been taught to always be vigilant and risk his life if need be). I can’t say if he’s feeling empty, I just remember he said he felt hollow when Elektra almost died, but the way he’s living his life on the edge all the fucking time tells me he’s just trying to feel something, and the sadness he displays and how lost he sounded when he told Karen that he can’t do this alone… yeah, that man is broken inside, barely holding on and extremely mentally unstable.

Matthew has trauma and I’m pretty sure his need to self-destruct stems from a serious high-functioning depression he refuses to address or get help with because “he’s fine, he doesn’t need therapy”, and that is all caused by the trauma of the accident, his dad dying and then what Stick did with him. He thinks asking for help is weakness and he doesn’t want to hurt the people he cares about, which he does though with the way he treats himself and drives a wedge between them because he’s so scared of losing them that he pushes them away in an attempt to shield himself, and it’s a spiral that just keeps on going down and he can’t get out of it. A mouse on a wheel that can’t escape, almost. He knows he needs help, maybe it’s his father’s voice in his head, but he can’t take it because he feels responsible. He feels responsible for everything bad in the world and wants to change it, but he can’t fix everything so he constantly beats himself up for it (and gets beaten). Like I stated above, his need to self-destruct is greater than self-preservation – he protects his heart by pushing people away, but doesn’t want to lose them either, so he either holds on too tight or not at all. Unstable relationships, as mentioned above.

It all leads back to the trauma Stick inflicted on him. So I’m slightly torn about the BPD suspicions because he’s only started displaying those symptoms after his dad died and Stick started training him. He twisted all of Matt’s views, and even though he’s trying hard to fight what he put in his head, Stick is always whispering in his ear and it makes him sabotage everything around him for what he thinks is right. While he displays personality disorder symptoms, serious ones at that, it might just be a trauma response, or perhaps he inherited something from his mother after all and he’s had the genetic predisposition since he was born. Mental illness is hereditary, after all. Not always, but if your parents are sick, the likelihood that you will get sick too is extremely high because your brain has a serious hormonal imbalance from the beginning.

I understand where Matt comes from, but I just wish my boy would go about this differently. He has friends, he needs to let them be a part of his life. And he realizes that at the end of S3 after Foggy swore to hold on to him, not leave like everyone else did, and that’s twisted on his part because Matt hurt him and he had every right to leave, but he doesn’t and Matt eventually realizes that he’s not alone. But he still needs to work through his issues and all the trauma inflicted on him ever since he could think.

Thanks for coming to my TED talk.

#matt murdock #daredevil

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naruhearts · 4 years ago

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I’m done keeping my composure.

Sorry, this will be a LOADED post! (And I’ll be repeating the points others have made)

for real, to everyone being nasty and telling heartbroken fans that “Dean was always supposed to die get a grip you’re just butthurt etcetera etcetera—” F you royally.

How dare you police the brutal feelings that’s been embroiling us since the Finale That Must Not Be Named aired.

The show you think you all watched, the show you all believe was the same SPN from Season 1-4, changed at some point. Kripke wrote his original vision, put it to screen, saw it through in S5 as he intended, and closed the door on that era.

In 2008, Supernatural was adopted and inherited. As you know, there was a supreme paradigm shift post-Kripke era. The show FLOURISHED (we won’t talk about Gamble thanks). It evolved, transformed, grew beyond trauma-induced self-worthlessness and toxic masculinity and endless death and hegemonic social ideals and conservatism and repressive anti-revolutionary ideas. Castiel, the iconic favourite and beloved staple of the series portrayed by Misha Collins, was introduced in Season 4 as the core lead character, and he ushered in a brand new era of Christian mythos that SPN took advantage of. Longevity SKYROCKETED. Audiences were INTERESTED. SPN amassed an incredibly groundbreaking fanbase infused by non-nuclear principles. A massive subversive wave began, fighting the Status Quo of the times since 2008. It’s precisely why such an abysmal ending to a show of extensive Freud-Jungian metanarratively meta META complex stature and social POWER will render us totally and unbearably broken for years to come.

Point is, DEAN WINCHESTER NO LONGER WANTED TO DIE. HE WANTED TO LIVE. HE WANTED TO SIT ON THE BEACH, PLUNGE HIS TOES IN THE SAND, AND SIP UMBRELLA DRINKS WITH HIS BROTHER AND HIS BEST FRIEND. He said this in Season 13. And then, a season later, he told the ghost of his long-deceased father — the source of his deep-running trauma and the figure of self-reductive authoritarianism permeating his arc since Season 1 — after being questioned why he didn’t pursue the Nuclear Fam, that he already has his own: his brother Sam, his adopted child Jack, and Cas.

Dean’s best friend Cas. Oh god, Cas, who made his inevitably permanent mark on Dean’s soul beyond allyship. Castiel, renamed to Cas, God’s -iel removed by Dean. Dean, the human spark that lit the fire of pre-existing autonomy in the inherently rebellious angel who was, this entire time, the catalyst for free will in God The Writer’s puppet show. Their friendship set on goddamn fire. I can also write paragraph upon paragraph about my love for Cas while devastated tears stream down my face, but I digress—

Cas’ romantic love for Dean pushed our main Heart of SPN to love himself. Love is free will. Free will is also love. Of note, Cas’ love confession in 15x18 was supposed to offset something so vastly important and fundamental...to maybe (read: most likely) pull the trigger on SELF-TRUTHS in conjunction with free will. And The Great Anticipated Follow-Up to the episode penned by the passionate Berens should have included (read: seemed like it was going to be) Dean, closeted trauma survivor in love with his best friend, being given the opportunity to do it right: to SPEAK HIS TRUTH, and then that very singular opportunity was STOLEN so grossly. After poring over it for days, I refuse to believe we made their years-long story up out of thin air, spun it out of fantastical-delusional dream cotton candy, because we DIDN’T. IT WAS REAL.

As I said in another post: “I’ve just been feeling physically ill for the past >40 something hours with the terrible knowledge that 19/20 undid years of vital progression towards healthy interdependence, autonomy, and a positive endgame, where Sam, Dean and Cas close the ring of found family in final empowering self-fulfillment...where Dean, no longer repressed and set free, is able to use his words and speak his truth as a queercoded trauma survivor, henceforth confirming and self-affirming his own bisexuality since S1 by reciprocating — by telling Cas that he always loved him, too, loved him endlessly, which would have altogether divested Supernatural of its cult status and catapulted it into global worldwide significance as the longest running sci-fi genre show in American broadcasting history that actually dared to defy and, by proxy, empower LGBTQ2IA+ everywhere who found profound personal meaning in Destiel through VALIDATION,” — found themselves mirrored in Dean and Cas’ respective character journeys individually and as each other’s queer love interests.

THIS IS WHY DEAN WASN’T MEANT TO DIE.

THEY WERE SO ESSENTIAL, NOT JUST TO THE OVERARCHING STORY AND HEALTHY INTERPERSONAL THEMATICS OF MODERN SPN, BUT ALSO TO THE SOULS OF THOUSANDS OF PEOPLE ACROSS THE WORLD WHO FOLLOWED THEIR JOURNEYS, HOPED FOR THEM, ASPIRED TO BE LIKE THEM, TREASURED THEM, WEEPED FOR THEM, AND FOUGHT FOR THEM, LIKE YOU AND ME.

Heck, how could anyone think Sam Winchester had a well-deserved characteristic ending? He didn’t. Dean’s brother was shafted so badly. He stopped hunting when seasons ago, he had canonically accepted that he no longer wanted an apple pie life. He simply...turned the lights off in a resoundingly empty bunker and left — abandoning his dead brother’s room — never to return (he did return later to get the Impala, family photos etc, I mean this symbolically)...as if — dare I say it — Supernatural itself eerily told us, in the negative-spaced pitch blackness, that the organic show and the wonderfully complex, matured characters we’ve grown to love weren’t going to survive or be revisited...that it was all going to perish, and that they no longer gave a single shit about their own show, which, to me, is the worst cardinal sin, because how dare they throw Team Free Will, an immovable and indomitable and passionate found family they built from the ground up, a found family CHOCK FULL TO THE BRIM OF LOVE AND LIFE RAGING AGAINST THE AUTHORITARIAN MACHINE IN ORDER TO ACHIEVE FREE WILL, under the bus no matter who is to blame. Growth was stomped on.

Then Sam married a faceless wife who wasn’t his textually established (and deaf) love interest Eileen, named his son Dean Jr., and grew old miserably, still mourning the passing of his older brother, shaken and sombre. Back to square one. IT WAS ALL ANTITHETICAL, even OUTSIDE a shipping context, and I ripped my hair out at this point in sheer disbelief.

This 15x20 ending would have fit somewhere between S4-7. Now? IT DOESN’T FIT. IT’S A JAGGED PUZZLE PIECE THAT DOESN’T BELONG ANYWHERE. IT’S THE FOREBODING UNKNOWN STRANGER IN ITS OWN LAND, BOTH LITERALLY AND FIGURATIVELY. This kind of ending was basically an illogical, unsound cluster of metastasized cells that, to me, ruined the viability of previous seasons to sustain bold praise and respect and dignity and rewatches and classic nostalgia in such insidious ways.

Dean Humanity Winchester and Cas, after everything they’ve been through, were silenced and lost in death, ripped apart from each other, unable to love each other the way they deserved, because of disappointing, vile incompetency and homophobia. The greatest love story ever told, again obliterated in less than 60 hollow minutes.

You know what this tells your audience, CW SPN? Death without self-growth is the way to go, and no one is allowed to forge their own path to freedom.

HOW INSULTINGLY HARMFUL IS THAT?

I don’t think I’ll ever stop grieving.

We all deserve answers.

#fuck #my stuff #spn s15 #15x20 #sorry this was so long winded but i’m so #I think I finally wrote out all my frustration in this???#i’m still broken but I do hope it gets better #ily all #my meta #fuck cw #fuck spn #deancas #destiel #excuse me for any sloppy grammar and weirdness and shit #I’m still emotionally wilding lol #the greatest love story ever told #narrative #character development #narrative cyclism #supernatural #destiel deserved better #jensen and misha deserved better #at the same time this all seems cathartic anyway :P #I sorta snapped because wtf WE AREN’T WATCHING THE SAME SHOW IF YOU BELIEVE DEATH IS THE ANSWER 😭#I respect your opinion only if you’re respectful towards ours #but I’ve literally seen so many nasties out there #I’d rather have queue #long post for ts #I’M TEARING UP AGAIN #I’m ill

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sasa-gay-yo · 4 years ago

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Just Us (Chapter Seven: Calculating)

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“So… um, it’s the Spring Equinox and all. We usually do something. You know, you, me, some friends; like we always do. Are you… are you going to come this year?” I turned to Jonas who was leaning on a box of flour. How could he so easily forget moments like that? He confessed to me and then the next day seemed to completely forget. Months later when it seemed he had an in, he didn’t even go for it. Talk about being uncompetitive.

“Will there be as much drinking as there was last year?” It was monotone and I glanced over to the corner spot. Garrison. Last year, the girl Jonas was interested in and I had to drag back him and his three friends from outside Wall Sina and they slept on the floor of the bakery while I offered her my couch. During the process of wrestling them inside, Jonas had somehow stripped naked and his friends were trying to follow suit. I try to keep that memory suppressed.

“Probably yeah. You know the spring wine is the best… but you’re still kinda sic-” I nodded and help up my hand to stop his excuses.

“You’ll probably have to drag me home this year. I’m in.” He smiled, but it was bittersweet, knowing I wasn’t going to hang out with everyone and socialize. I’d probably just sit under a tree and drink my sorrows away.

“Eva, you-” The sounds of horses outside broke him from his sentence. Some people went out and others just turned back to their food. The Scouts were slowly dwindling in number as they were waiting for the new recruits to come in from training. No one was enthused that they were coming in and out and those who would go and watch them come back were sadists. I turned my back and went to busy myself with some invisible work at the back table.

“You know, if he did something to you to-” I grasped the table. He says this almost every time they march outside of my café.

“If who did something, Jonas?” He felt the venom in my tone and decided not to push forward. I coughed for what felt like the hundredth time and it broke the tension.

“So, uh, next week. I’ll come to get you when we leave. Should be after five. We’ll all get dinner and take it out.” He took the money off the counter and went out of the store, probably to go glare at the Scouts who were walking by.

If he didn’t come this Saturday that marks three months. It also marks the point where I get the message and I’ll forget about him all together. I had forgiven him the first month. He didn’t know how to deal with emotions so he needed some time and maybe needed to kill some titans. The second month came, and an extended break for weather conditions, but yet he didn’t come anywhere near Trost. I even went through one cold and caught another one just waiting for his ass. I wanted him to reject me already so I wasn’t getting let down on the daily.

Here comes my surprise when Saturday one rolls around, I’m still coughing and sneezing, and he’s nowhere to be seen. Even the old ladies stopped coming. I guess they were more wiser on when to give up.

Damn. That was something I never thought I’d hear myself say. Giving up hope. Even he said that he’s afraid I’d give up hope because of him. Well, here we seem to be.

I shouldn’t let a shorty who doesn’t know how to process emotion take away my hope.

The bells rang above the door and two nightshift Garrison members walked in. My least favorite people, always coming 30 minutes before closing asking me to serve them fresh coffee to keep them awake. They never failed to make my mood worse and this oncoming headache wasn’t going to go away with their shouts. Last month, I had to kick out a few of them because they were talking so nastily about the Scouts. I couldn't bear it and neither could my head. I still had hope in the Scouts as a whole, especially hearing they were getting new recruits, and one person wasn’t going to ruin that. Hopefully, the fresh meat would propel them like it did last year. Hm, maybe fresh meat was not a good way to describe the cadets.

The bell above the door rang again and I looked up to be face to face with the Wings of Freedom. At least one Scout was using their day off, a tall one at that. A contrast to shorty. She had rectangular glasses strapped to her face and auburn hair in a ponytail. She came in smiling crazily too. A big contrast.

“Are you Eva with the peppermint tea?” I had to do a double take and even blinked a few times before answering her. I sneezed again before answering.

“Um, yes. I think that would be me. Who’s asking?” She sharply reached out her hand and I shook it. Ouch, she had a hard grip.

“I’m Hange Zoë, a squad leader for the Scouts Regiment. I’m here to escort you to the Scout HQ. Do you have the peppermint tea?” I blinked again, not moving. She wanted to take me where? The last place I wanted to go, that’s where.

“Am… Am I in trouble?” She laughed out loud, not caring if anyone looked at her. Yeah, she really wasn’t at all like the Scouts I meet on a daily basis.

“No, no. Not at all. In fact, I almost have no idea why I’m taking you there. Well, a little bit more of an idea than you have. Personally,” she leaned in and whispered behind her hand, “I’ve been wanting to talk to you since I saw you at the festival, but shorty wouldn’t crack.” It wasn’t a whisper and I’m sure if anyone was at the first few tables, they would have heard it.

“A-and if I don’t come with you?” She shrugged and crossed her arms.

“I’ll drug you and drag you myself.” I stepped back from the counter and she roared with laughter, “I’m kidding! I’m kidding! Do I look like someone who would do that? Well, maybe... but If you don’t come, I’ll have to deal with an even more upset Captain and I don’t want to do that!” Captain? He ordered her here?

“Did the Captain send you to get me?” She pushed her glasses up and leaned one arm on the counter.

“I guess I should’ve led with that. Levi said, ‘Eva with the peppermint tea,’” she imitated his voice and facial expression, “I had to go to three coffee shops in Trost to find an Eva. Two streets down is a Freud and about a half mile behind you in a cute old couple. I didn’t think the Captain would want them that badly. So when I walked in and remembered seeing Captain talk to you at the festival, I knew I hit the jackpot.” She snapped at the end making a point to her adventure to find me. The Garrison members were now staring at her, too. They probably knew about her better than I did.

“Why does he want me to come to HQ?” She shrugged again, but this time without a death threat after.

“I don’t know, but shorty is very adamant about it. I told him I was busy for a whole month, thinking it was a fever dream, but that made him even madder. Anyways, I was hoping you’d come and bring the tea and a...” she looked down at ink on her hand, “ a tea set. Captain Levi broke his on the first day of the year. How unlucky is that?” He was adamant that I come? That’s stupid. How adamant can he be when he’s had three months to do it. He probably just wanted to make it easy for someone to drag me away from him when he rejected me. Either way, I was intrigued.

The Garrison members groaned when I shoved them out the door to lock up a few minutes early.

I shouldn’t have gone really, but I had no excuse. Maybe I just wanted him to reject me like I said and then have a sad ride back to the café. However, Hange coming in and saying all those things made me much more concerned about his mental wellbeing than what he was going to say to crush me. And if he was making me come all the way there, was he going to give me bad news? I don’t think he’d be that mean, but I have never faced the real Captain Levi before.

Hange had given me another cape, and some tissues for my nose, saying that it would be easy to have me come in unnoticed because the new cadets had just showed up. She just hoped I didn’t get caught sneaking around by Erwin and thrown into combat training. This woman was saying stuff that was making me scared the whole ride there. I was on a horse too, so that made my anxiety worse.

The Scout HQ was a huge ass castle and I didn’t think it would look at all like this. The barracks in the capital were just a big square building with some pillars. This place was gigantic. Hange made it a point to name every section of the castle so I somehow knew right away where I was going. I was going to the Officer’s Wings.

“It’s a shame though. We’re leaving this place soon for a new one the government issued. It’s not as nice, but it’s smaller because they don’t think we need such a big place… Well, it’s true, but… they didn’t have to say it like that, you know! I’ll have to move my whole lab!”

The hallways were also tall on the inside. It was an actual abandoned castle. I wondered who had lived in here before the government got ahold of it. She even stopped by to show me the throne room that they had converted into the mess hall. It’s like I was on a field trip, but at the end of it was the school leader’s office. Why was I being summoned by him? Was he not good enough to come to the civilian’s café anymore? Annoying prick.

“Here is Captain Levi’s quarters. We just transferred him back today, but he’s still a bit sore from not moving around much. I hope that once he gets his peppermint tea that he’s moaning about, he won’t be so rude to everyone anymore.” I balanced the tea set and bag of tea in my hands as she opened the door for me.

“Transferred?” She waved her hand like it was nothing as shut the door on me. It was like she threw me into the wolves. She didn’t even want to be. I didn’t know she was just going to leave me like that because my nerves just skyrocketed.

His office was like he described. Half the size of the capital, but still with big windows in the back. This time, they were turned to the way of the sun. There was a single, full bookshelf against the wall on the left with another chair in front. This time the chair didn’t seem as uncomfortable as the ones in the capital. He wasn’t sitting at his desk where I thought he’d be. As soon as I saw the crack in the door and dim light peaking through, I knew he was in his bedroom. Why?

We just transferred him back today. Well where had he been?

I decided to sneak up to the little cut out in the wall which held a singular hot plate. If I could make tea, I could prolong the time I didn’t have to talk to him. Why did I even come here in the first place? It’s not like I like this guy anymore or would bend over at his will. Just a rejection, yeah, that’s what I came for.

Taking a single, short step, I tested the floors, hoping they didn’t squeak. Once I was in the clear, I slowly started to tiptoe towards the opening. If I went fast near his door, he wouldn’t even see it.

Achoo!

I held the tea set, but it rattled mercilessly in the box. Oh fu-

“Hange?!” Oh, yeah, he was definitely in the bedroom. Now, I’d just stand here with my eyes closed and hope I didn’t look too bad when he opened the door.

Who am I kidding, I literally hopped on a horse to get here on a whim. I’m bending so far over for this man it’s ridiculous.

“Hange, I told you it was the sixth café down off of the turn we make on the main drag. It’s hard to,” there was a wheeze, “h-hard to miss.” I stood there for a while, but he didn’t come out or open the door. In fact, there was no movement coming from his room at all.

“Hello?!” It was harsh and was followed by another sharp intake of air. It dawned on me then. Transferred. Was he injured?!

“Um, hello?” I finally answered and looked again to see if he would open the door now. Still no movement and now no answer. Maybe Hange messed up and he didn’t want me he-

“Did you bring the tea?” I was not expecting that. His voice was instantly softer than before and after months of not hearing it, it made me melt.

“Oh, um, uh, yes, yes I did. And the set, and the set.” I coughed into my arm, masking my cold. If he knew I was sick, he might send me back just because of germs.

“C-come in. M-My room. I already have hot water...” Come in? To his room? His bedroom? Where he’s laying? He hasn’t even come into my bedroom before.

“Um, are you sure you want me in there?” There was a loud groan, probably so I could hear his annoyance too.

“Just get in here, brat.” There was something about him calling me that that made me annoyed and walk slowly into his room. Was it the urge to bicker again?

I opened the door and peaked in, instantly locking eyes with him. I screamed at my heart because just like the first day, it started beating fast again. Shut up. He’s going to reject you then you’re going to go back home and put the tarts in the oven to prebake.

He looked pitiful. There were bandages wrapped all the way around his torso and he was shirtless, but it didn’t look like it. His head had one bandage around it too, but that one seemed pretty useless. More of a headband if anything. It had also been a while since he’s bathed, marked by the incomplete stubble scattered around his mouth and chin. He just laid there, blanket up to his waistband, staring at me. What had happened and for how long was he like this?

My anger and inhibition to come inside subsided and I set the tea set down on the floor. There was no chair for me to sit on, so I just stood. We stared at each other for what seemed like eternity, my heart still beating out of my chest. He was the first one to break the silence.

“C-Can you make me tea?” It almost came out like a whine coupled with his lack of breath. I crouched down and took the tea set out, looking at the makeshift water kettle he had on his nightside table. This bedroom was so small; there was no room for a desk. His bed was up against the wall only leaving a few feet towards the door and enough room for a dresser and walking space at his feet. No windows.

“You can,” he caught his breath and was silence for a few moments before continuing, “You can sit here, Eva.” He tapped the space next to him on his bed. I was hesitant at first, but the way he said Eva made me almost forget all his wrong doings. How badly did I want to see him again that I was acting like this? So weak for a single man. I sat down on the bed, back to him, trying to ignore his heated stare.

It was the same feeling the night I kissed him. I made him tea, he stared at me from behind, but I couldn’t get close to him this time. That was going to be the difference. I wouldn’t let myself have such a weak will like last time. Go in, make the tea, get out.

“What did you do?” Goddamnit Eva. You weren’t supposed to make conversation like this.

“A newer cadet ran into me while I was trying to finish off an abnormal titan. The titan got a hold of me and squeezed pretty hard before I cut it’s fingers off. The cadet gave me the concussion, and the titan fractured most of my ribs. This was the beginning of February.” Of course he gave me a date. If I went back to that time, I said I was going to let it slide, too. I had given him January off and if he got hurt in February that means even if he wanted to come to the café, maybe he couldn’t… No, Eva, if he wanted to he’d send Hange earlier.

I told him I was busy for a whole month, thinking it was a fever dream.

“Oh,” I went back to work, taking out the set he left when he stormed out of the café and the new peppermint tea he has yet to drink. No one but him comes in to drink mint tea. Usually it’s just green or black, so the stock I buy is just for him. Imagine me staring at the tea leaves sitting under the counter for hours next to the tea set box willing him to walk into the café. If he wasn’t going to come back, maybe I should just give it to him so he doesn’t force me here again.

“I’m almost healed completely. There’s just one rib that’s bothering me enough to not be able to go back in the field.” It was interesting to hear him talk so much, even when injured. Our roles had reversed. Maybe he felt pressured to talk more than usual. I hope guilt was pushing him.

“That’s good.” I just sat there, watching the tea leaves swirl in the water, and hoping I’d had enough strength to turn back away from him when I gave him his cup.

“What have you been d-doing?”

“The usual.” I picked at my skirt, noticing it was the one I’d worn the last time I’d seen him. When only owning about five, there were heavy odds that would happen. Sadly, this meant the odds were stacked against me. I only won a few bits of luck back when I was, in fact, able to turn back around when I gave him his tea. I didn’t even look in his eyes either.

“Can you help me into the bathroom?” He set the empty tea cup down next to me, making it so I didn’t have to turn around to put it on his nightstand. If I helped him, I’d have to look at him though. This was apart of some plan.

“I could get Hang-” He grabbed my wrist with a bit of force and used his strength to turn me. I also fell on top of him with how hard he whipped me around. This was the first time he had put his hands on me like that.

“Why can’t you even look at me?!” I was breathing hard, but still looking at the blankets on the bed. His hand was bandaged too. We’d traded places in that aspect. I wasn’t going to tell him, but the balm he gave me helped. HE didn’t deserve that information when he was acting like this.

I stood up, taking my knees off the bed, and pulled the blanket off of him. I made sure to fold this so he had nothing to yell at me about again. He got himself parallel to me and needed help to sit up. The was probably going to be the most painful part. You were helping someone who was in pain, there was nothing else to it. I was being a nurse to him since no one else was around to do so.

Reaching for his back, I carefully helped lift him up to a seated position. The amount of curse words that came out of his mouth made my heart squeeze at the pain I was putting him through. It was just pity; you were sad for the man who was hurt. That’s it. I shifted my position to sitting next to him and silently gasped when he put his arm around me and grabbed my opposite shoulder. Minus the time I had kissed him, this was the closest we’d ever been. My mind couldn’t help but take a delight in that.

When we stood, there were a lot less curse words, but they were still there. My gaze was directed at the floor as we walked out and directly to the right into the small bathroom. They really paid no expense to give the Scouts nothing. This was an officer’s quarters too, which meant that he had one of the best lodgings. I bet it was bunk beds and communal showers outside of this wing.

I let go of him and got behind him near the door. I had no idea what he was going to do here, but I knew I’d leave as soon as he started. Would I leave completely now that I’d given him tea? It seemed rude to someone who was in his state. What if he falls or hurts himself again? This wing was so far removed from the others. My weak will triumphs again.

“Can you take off the bandages? There’s scissors on the sink.” How much was he going to torture me before I leave? He’s hurt, just do it, Eva.

I picked up the scissors and walked over to his back, trying to be gentle so I didn’t cut the skin off of him. I put one hand on his upper back and worked from the bottom-up, cutting away at the thick, white bandages holding his ribs in place.

The speed of our breathing matched when I touched his bare skin. Was he breathing hard because of the decreased pressure? I raised one eyebrow, maybe taking that as a selfish clue, and took away the last bandage. They fell on the floor and allowed me to take in his shirtless back. There were bruises that were healing and a few minor cuts, but most importantly it seemed to be all lean, muscle. He wouldn’t care or notice if I was staring, so I took it as payback. Sweet, muscular, gorgeous pay back. If he turned he would have seen my blush.

Yeah, good luck Eva, the feelings aren’t gone.

“I’m going to shower. You can, um, there’s books? I think Hange left something to eat a few hours ago, too. Eat that...if you want.” That was his way of telling me he didn’t want me to leave.

“Okay,” I finished shortly and turned back around, closing the bathroom door. When the water went on, I took a long breath and sunk down against the door. I put a hand to my face and lightly slapped it to wake me up. My face had to be at least five shades redder after that encounter. Was he going to make me put bandages back on him? Would I get to see his front on full display? I slapped my face again and frowned at myself. He wasn’t the only shirtless man you’ve seen, quit acting like this.

I stood up and looked around at his office. There were papers scattered all over his desk, nothing seemed to be in it’s right place, and I could see a layer of dust collecting on the shelves to the right of his desk. It’s not because me cleaning would make him happy, but it’s because I had taken an interest in looking around his office. It would be a disservice to the place if I didn’t look at it in the way he intended.

Starting with the desk, I just pushed papers together and stacked them in neat piles on his desk. It was easy to find a spot because there was absolutely nothing on his desk besides a name plaque, a cup to hold pens, and a stamp that seemed to be his official marking for papers. His office was as bare as the one in the capital. I found a cloth by the burner and used that to wipe down the shelves that were equally as empty. A rusted knife, a small stack of Wings of Freedom cloth emblems, and a cracked, white teacup. I wonder what these things meant to him if he put them over here on display.

I wiped off his desk too and opened the curtains that blocked the sunlight from the windows. His office viewed the training ground as I saw cadets practicing hand-to-hand combat in full uniform. When I finished dusting everything, I sat down in his chair, taking in the full view of his office. If I had a room like this, I’d fill it with something and not leave it so empty. I bet it even echoed.

“Echo… echo,” I confirmed my suspicion. When we talked about remodeling the Scouts HQ, his office had never come into the conversation when it severely needed to.

The water shut off and my gaze snapped to the door of the bathroom. He takes quick showers for someone who was slightly incapacitated. I wonder how long they took him when he was back to normal. Showers should be savored, not rushed; that was my opinion.

The door opened and I just turned the random book of his desk open to pretend I was reading. It was something about the history of Scout maneuvers but I couldn’t understand a thing. He had to know I was lying to him.

“You cleaned?” I glanced quickly up at him and looked back down at the book. Oh gods. He was smiling. Not a smirk or a smile after he insulted me; a heartwarming, genuine smile. Another one worth ten points at least. I wanted to look back up at him. If he smiled like that again, this whole emotionless façade of mine was going to break easily.

He walked over to the small foot rest that was in front of his desk and sat down slowly to face me. I just kept staring at the pictures in the book finally discovering that the Os were Scouts and the Xs were titans.

“Interesting book?” I turned the page and nodded, lying to him. This page didn’t have a picture so I’d have to pretend to be interested in the words.

“Can you even understand what that’s saying?” I’d been caught. I acted like I had finished the page before closing the book and setting it aside. This time, I felt like I was at an appropriate distance to look at him. That was a mistake because he was still smiling at me and I felt my insides melt. He was doing it on purpose. The defensive strategy that I made while he was shower disappeared too.

“No,” I answered truthfully and took in his form. He had put the bandages on himself, thank gods, and was sitting completely straight so as to not hurt his ribs. His face was smooth again, but his hair had grown almost past the tip of his nose. Even like this, he looked so handsome. I leaned back in the chair and started twiddling my thumbs, looking down at them.

“You cut your hair?” He was observant. I coughed before answering.

“I do at the beginning of every year.”

“Are you sick?” His voice was filled with concern and not the tone of ‘If you say yes, I’ll kick you out’.

“A cold.”

“So you haven’t been taking care of yourself.” There was no tea to sip in place of answering his statement. Those words brought back a bit of anger though. The effects of his smile didn’t last long.

“If you cared, why didn’t you come back then?” He sighed and rested one leg over the other like he always does.

“I was sca-”

“Don’t say you were scared. You’ve used that excuse before. Find something original.” It was a lot easier to yell at him when I wasn’t looking at him.

“I didn’t know how to respond.” I clenched my fists. I knew that when I kissed him, but it still made me mad. He was a grown man.

“Usually when someone kisses you, you have two options. Respond back or tell them you don’t want that. You don’t run away from them.” He groaned which made my anger even worse. He didn’t know how to respond to anything I was saying and that made him frustrated too.

“C-Can you come sit next to me?” I looked up at him for the first time, my eyes hardening with emotion.

“No, I won’t.” I didn’t dare get close to him again.

“Eva,” he pleaded and I shook my head again.

“I’m not playing this game anymore, Levi. I’m not going to play pretend with you and ignore the reality of things.” He stood up again slowly.

“Look at this. At me. This is reality. I almost died out on the field because I was thinking about you and not the titans! I called you here to show you that because I don’t think you know how bad things can get.” I raised an eyebrow at him and crossed my arms.

“Are you saying I’m a distraction?” He pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration again. No, sir, I was the one who could be frustrated.

“No, I’m not saying that. I’m saying that I almost died because of one small slip up. Who knows what could happen on the next expedition? You don’t know what it’s like to be outside of the walls or to see people die to the left and right of you! I’m always next.” I glared at him.

“Maybe if we didn’t spend so much time in our pretend little world, you could’ve told me so I understand. Maybe you’d know about my life in the Underground and how you’re completely wrong about me not knowing how bad things can get. You’re the one who did this to yourself!” I hit his desk with my fist and stood up to match him. I wasn’t going to back down. His face went blank again, back into the calculating Captain Levi, not the one who seemed to blurt out things when the emotion came too much for him to know how to deal with it.

“I don’t… ”

“You’re afraid of yourself. If you let yourself really do what you want, it’ll break the little pretend world you’ve made. The one where you’re emotionless and in control of every part of yourself and the people below you. You can’t push away reality and keep playing pretend with me.” He gripped his fist.

“I’m not playing pretend.”

“Then who are you when you’re sitting on my couch?”

“Levi.”

“Levi or Captain Levi?” He shook his head like it didn’t matter the difference.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“They’re two different people. Right now, you’re being Captain Levi. You’re calculating down to your next syllable and not letting yourself say what you want. When you’re Levi, you talk freely and smile and laugh. That’s why we never talk about your life or the Scouts, because you feel you can never talk freely around me about those things. You don’t need to protect me.” He looked down at the floor again, calculating what to say next. It was so frustrating that he couldn’t just speak like he was previously. He always had to be in control.

“Scouts die everyday. There’s no guarantee that I’ll come back. And when I’m back, there’s no guarantee that I can come and see you. I have paperwork and training and duties I have to humanity first. I will always be Captain Levi before I am Levi… since you see a difference in the two.” That changed the pace I was going at. I was going to continue to yell at him, but those last works…

“I’m not going to hold myself back because I’m afraid of what could happen. I recognize there are things I can and can’t control and I live with it. No one can live like that. You would never be a Scout if you lived like that. You would never be a Captain if you hesitated on every move or order you made. Right now, you’re eating yourself up inside because you want to control everything and can’t admit it to yourself that you can’t!” I squeezed my eyes shut, not caring if my words hurt him in any way. It was the truth.

“What will you do when I die?” My eyes shot open and locked with his. That emotion was there again. The sliver of something I could never put my finger on. The soft tone of his voice matched it. When?

“I believe in you enough to know that day will never come.” Apparently, that was the wrong answer and it made him lean forward, grasping the edge of the desk hard enough to make his fingers white. He was only a few inches away from me, but my anger clouded over the want to lean in and taste him again. Did he taste like tea?

“I’ll ask you one more time. What will you do when I die?” I shook my head at him, denying his death, and this time he hit the desk with his injured fist, “Why do you have so much blind faith in people? In me?”

“I was given a second chance at life because an old man had faith in a little Underground girl with burned hands. I believe everyone should be given the same. You haven’t done anything for me to lose faith in you. I don’t go out to see you off on expeditions because I know I’ll see you when you get back.” He seemed to almost collapse down in one big breath, his head between his straight arms, hands still gripping the edge of the desk.

The air in his office was tense. No one had probably ever talked to him like I had just did and my words probably matched the internal dialogue he’s had with himself. He knows that I’m right and that he’ll break down on the inside if he keeps trying to strive for total control.

I stood there looking at the back of his head, waiting for him to speak up. His hands kept clenching and unclenching the edge of the desk like he was thinking everything over again. The fact that he couldn’t control the his emotions in this situation, no matter how hard he tried, was probably beating him to death on the inside. Was he sad because once he rejected me, he’d lose the pretend world where he can relax and there isn’t a need to strive for control? Was he angry at me for speaking to him like that?

“I think I have feelings for you. I’m just apprehensive.” My eyes widened and I looked down at him, still crouched over at the other end of the desk. That wasn’t the emotion I thought he was experiencing. My heart was beating so hard he could probably hear it too. He just… I didn’t expect this to be the outcome of the night.

“What will you do when I die? Just answer the question.” This was his apprehension. He’s had to move on constantly from people who’ve died, outside the wall or under it. He’s strong, but he didn’t know how strong I could be. I’ve watched people die too. I’ve had to say goodbye countless times. I had to make sure he knew I could deal with pain and hurt as well, and not just my own.

“I’ll give you a nice funeral, wait a year, then move on to Commander Erwin.” The tension broke and he let out a huff of air in laughter before standing up. His eyes were back to normal, but this time a lot softer than when he was walking down the street. It wasn’t indifference, it was just from being relaxed.

“I can’t abandon my duty as a Captain. If I have work to do, that comes first.”

“Understandable.”

“It might be months on end where you won’t be able to see me.”

“I guess I’ll just have to get a mistress.” He rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. The orange light from the sun setting behind us made it so I couldn’t stop staring at him now.

“I’m being serious here, Eva.” I sat back down in his chair, crisscrossed, still struck with his face.

“So am I, Levi.”

“I require monogamy.” I think that was him trying to make a joke so I indulged.

“I guess I can live with that. The bakery keeps me busy enough. If I have orders to fill out, that comes first.” I mimicked him and a small smirk crept up onto his face. That’s how I knew he was completely back.

“Understandable, but slightly saddening you put baked goods above me.” There was a knock at the door. He rolled his eyes and went over to answer it. I made sure I was out of sight of the door.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing disturbing my sleep, cadet? Can’t you see my state? I should make you clean the stables for waking me up.” I could hear the nervousness in the cadet’s voice when he answered.

“I-I-I’m so… sorry, Captain! I didn’t know you were sleeping! Squad leader Zoë told me to bring you this!” There seemed to be an exchange of plates and the cadet was still shaking as Levi turned back into the room/

“Dismissed. Don’t come knocking this late again.” He kicked the door closed in front of the cadet saluting him and walked to the desk with two plates of food.

“I see now where the mean rumors come from. He was just delivering food.” He set the place down in front of me, ignoring my comment.

“Not Erwin.” He pulled the ottoman over so he could eat at his desk too. I smiled spooning some curry.

“Why not? I’m trying to climb the ranks.” He shook his head again.

“If you think I’m too calculated, then you’d hate him. That book you were pretending to read, he’s probably gone through that six or seven times. He stays up till dawn thinking about where a single person should ride in our formation to maximize titan spotting. He’ll have no time for you.” I pulled a face and he lightly laughed. Actually laughed.

“I guess I’m just stuck with you, Captain.”

Chapter Eight →

Chapter Masterlist

xx Now, we’ll start getting into actually AOT plot. Did you all watch the new ep today? Only got to see a part of our King’s face :(

#levi ackerman #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman x oc #levi x reader #levi x oc #aot levi #aot #shingeki no kyojin #shingeki no kyoujin levi #captain levi #levi heichou #levi headcanons #original character

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vavuska · 3 years ago

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This girl is right: Freud's mom was a hottie!

Sigmund Freud (aged 16) and his mother, Amalia, in 1872

More about Oedipus complex:

Who were Freud's parents?

Freud was born to Jewish parents in the Moravian town of Freiberg, in the Austrian Empire (now Příbor, Czech Republic), the first of eight children. Both of his parents were from Galicia, a historic province straddling modern-day West Ukraine and southeast Poland. His father, Jakob Freud (1815–1896), a wool merchant, had two sons, Emanuel (1833–1914) and Philipp (1836–1911), by his first marriage. Jakob's family were Hasidic Jews and, although Jakob himself had moved away from the tradition, he came to be known for his Torah study. He and Freud's mother, Amalia Nathansohn, who was 20 years younger and his third wife, were married by Rabbi Isaac Noah Mannheimer on 29 July 1855. They were struggling financially and living in a rented room, in a locksmith's house at Schlossergasse 117 when their son Sigmund was born. He was born with a caul, which his mother saw as a positive omen for the boy's future.

In 1859, the Freud family left Freiberg.

Jakob Freud took his wife and two children (Freud's sister, Anna, was born in 1858; a brother, Julius born in 1857, had died in infancy) firstly to Leipzig and then in 1860 to Vienna where four sisters and a brother were born: Rosa (b. 1860), Marie (b. 1861), Adolfine (b. 1862), Paula (b. 1864), Alexander (b. 1866).

How was Freud's relationship with his parents?

The answer to this question could be found in the letters from Freud to Wilhelm Fliess, a Berlin nose and throat doctor with whom Freud carried on a passionate 15-year friendship. The letters suggested a greater anguish by Freud over the abandonment of the seduction theory and several details about his auto-analysis.

Mothers and Nannies

Amalia was considered by her grandchildren to be an intelligent, strong-willed, quick-tempered but egotistical personality. She has been described as lively and humorous, with a strong attachment to her eldest son whom she called "mein goldener Sigi".

Just as Amalia idolised her eldest son, so there is evidence that the latter in turn idealised his mother, whose domineering hold over his life he never fully analysed.

However, nannies or nurses were always present in the Viennese's bourgeois households. The Freud-Fliess letters attracted attention to Freud's nanny and also to the role played by nannies in the ideal family of psychoanalytic theory. Included in the models that explained the bourgeois family since the nineteenth century, but excluded by analytic theory, the nanny, ever present in Austrian upper-class families, still poses a question to the father-mother-infant triangle. The relevance of the nanny's presence in children's development is fundamental and could introduce themes such as adultery, sexual harassment by the master, illegitimate children.

Freud's interest in nannies began, it seems, with the analysis of the cases that would be known in the analytical literature as those that were in the origin of the 'seduction theory' – and also with his auto-analysis. His interest, though, extended well beyond the time of this emergence, as we will see.

Almost all of his patients had a nanny or nurse – some of them had two, what would lead to a curious unfolding of this character, either in the duo good mother/ bad nanny, or, in a kind of duplication, as good nanny/bad nanny.

Freud's nanny, from whom even the name is disputed, could have been a Czech woman, a catholic, who took him to masses and reproved him for being good for nothing. He wrote:

"Today's dream has, under the strongest disguise, produced the following: she was my teacher in sexual matters and complained because I was clumsy and unable to do anything."

In the next letter (October, 15), Freud registers what his mother had told him about the nanny. Asking her if she remembered the nanny, he got the answer:

"Of course", she said, "an elderly person, very clever, she was always carrying you off to some church; when you returned home you preached and told us all about God Almighty. During my confinement with Anna (two and a half years younger) it was discovered that she was a thief, and all the shiny new kreuzers and zehners [coins] and all the toys that had been given to you were found in her possession. Your brother Philipp himself fetched the policeman; she then was given ten months in prison."

Telling that his nanny made him steal money to give her, Freud interpreted his dream as a reproach for asking money from his patients for his bad treatment of them, in the same way as "the old woman got money from me for her bad treatment." The fact that Freud used his mother's remembrance to strengthen the interpretation he made of the dream –in which he was the thief - doesn't matter here, neither his identification with the nanny, observed by some analysts of this famous dream ("I = She"), but it is relevant to consider that it seems that it was with his auto-analysis that the nanny figure began to be seen as a malignant one or, in the best hypothesis, as an ambiguous one.

What needs explanation is how the theory of the Oedipus complex accounts for the boy's guilty impulses toward his mother but ignores the boy's arousal at the hands of his nurse, especially in view of how much more attention his nurse gets from Freud than his mother does.

Discussing the possible interpretations of Freud's dreams along his auto-analysis, many authors saw the relevance of the nanny's presence in his development until his conclusion that "the remarkable circumstance" is that Freud, in effect, had two mothers, his actual mother – whose nakedness he can only mention in Latin – and his nanny whom he remembers in association with numerous disturbing sexual experiences. Having two such mothers, and the luck of having the 'bad' ugly mother banished from his life when he was only two and a half, allows Freud to maintain a secure split between the internalized good and bad mothers.

Unconsciously, Freud's nurse was his seductress and shamer, his mother the pure object of guilty desire.

Thus Freud's discovery of the Oedipus complex emerges not only from memories of a small boy's guilty, aggressive lust for his mother, but from memories of dependence on her, too – a dependence remembered, however as the seduction of a small bourgeois, Austrian boy by a Czech working-class woman in a province of the Austrian Empire still recovering from the Revolution of 1848.

Freud's father

To begin with the so-called 'seduction theory': in 1896 Freud published a polemic article in which he attributed the origin of hysteria to a sexual trauma suffered by his female – and some male - patients that ranged from sexual harassment to sexual abuse in the hands of a member of the family: uncles (some of whom were revealed as fathers in subsequent publications), brothers, guardians, school colleagues, or nannies. He said that this trauma was "unhappily" caused "too frequently, by a near kin."

In this article he said that in 18 cases of hysteria until then analyzed by him (six men and twelve women), all of them showed this etiology, or cause, of the condition.

By 1897, Freud was spending six days a week analyzing his patients, many of them suffering from hysteria. Increasingly, their problems resonated with his own. Freud began to suspect that he too was neurotic, suffering from what he described as "a little case hysteria." He became consumed by his own self-analysis.

In the spring of 1897, Freud wrote his friend Fliess about a new patient, a young woman with hysterical symptoms: "It turned out that her supposedly otherwise noble and respectable father regularly took her to bed when she was eight to twelve years old and misused her…"

It was Freud wrote, "fresh confirmation" that the prime cause of hysteria was the sexual abuse of an innocent child by an adult, most often, a father. But his theory had alarming implications. If he himself suffered from a form of hysteria, and if an abusive father caused hysteria, then Freud was forced to draw a distressing conclusion. He began to imagine that his own father might have abused him. Three months after Jacob's death, he wrote Fliess: "Unfortunately, my own father was one of these perverts, and is responsible for the hysteria of my brother… and those of several younger sisters."

Freud realized that he can not get further in understanding others unless he analyzes himself. That was another one of those great ideas. [But] The dreams that he analyzed are not really particularly well analyzed.

Freud interpreted the message "close the eyes" in his dream after his father's death to mean that there was something he was not meant to see, nor to know about, his father. To make his theory work, his father's secret had to be that he had sexually abused his children. But, when he could find no evidence of such behavior and no clear memory of abuse among his brothers and sisters, his seduction theory collapsed.

By the next year, he began doubting his proposition, and wrote to Fliess: "I don't believe in my neurotica [neurosis theory] any more." Even if he mentioned the seduction theory in other letters of this year (and also years after), he began, then, to treat these denounces of his patients as a fantasy.

#vavuskapakage #sigmund freud #freud #historical figures #historical #History of psychology #oedipus complex #oedipus #psychoanalysis #Psychological projection #psychology #Seduction theory

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khali-shabd · 4 years ago

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Gender Theory

Readers, let us begin with a simple question- what is gender?

The Biological Theory Of Gender, and a majority of society, would say that gender is defined by biological sex, namely hormones and chromosomes. If you release estrogen and have XX chromosomes, you are female, and if you release testosterone and have XY chromosomes, you are male. However, this is an extremely flawed vision of gender for two reasons: one, that whatever proof of hormones altering gendered behaviour has been found only in lab rats1, which possibly will not exhibit the same extreme change in behaviour if the hormones were administered to them naturally in their own environment- and rats are not human- we have far too many differences as species for this study to be considered valid for homosapiens as well. And two, chromosomes are not strictly XX or XY- around 1 percent of the world population is intersex (and a similar percentage is redheaded, so its not inherently ‘anomalous’ or ‘unnatural’) , which means that they can have chromosomal variations such as XXY, X, XXXY etc, all of whom develop differently as compared to people with the traditional chromosome combinations.

Further, there are far more things that define ‘biological sex’, namely:

chromosomes

gonads

sex hormones

internal reproductive anatomy (such as the uterus)

external genitalia.

Out of these, in humans, genitalia and internal reproductive anatomy can be changed without there being a significant change in gendered behavior. Sex hormones, when administered to bodies change secondary sex characteristics more than any sort of behavior; with the exception of testosterone increasing sex drive and sometimes increasing ‘ego’. Every single part of this definition of binary biological sex is challenged by the existence of intersex people, henceforth proving that sex is not binary and never has been, unfounding the existence of a sex-based gender binary in itself. Further, transgender individuals have a completely different gender identity as compared to their biological sex, and it has been scientifically proved that this is because their brains develop in the same way the brains of the children of the gender they identify with do. That essentially means that the brain of a transgender woman develops similarly to the brain of a cisgender woman, and the brain of a transgender man develops in the same way the brain of a cisgender man develops. All in all, there are far too many differences in the experience of biological sex to confine it to a binary, hence unfounding the theory that gender is based on biological sex.

Then how do we define gender?

There are a number of theories, but the most logical one at the moment would be Judith Butler’s Theory of Gender Performativity. Butler says that gender, as an abstract concept in itself, is nothing more than a performance. We ‘perform’ our gender by carrying out actions that we associate with it. They further say that this does not mean that it’s something we can stop altogether, rather something we’ve ingrained so deeply within us that it becomes a part of our identity, and it's the part of it we call gender identity. Gender, hence, is created by its own performance. Butler also implies that we do not base gender on sex, rather we define sex along the lines of established lines of binary gener, i.e. male and female- despite the fact that more than 10% of the population does not fall into this binary sex, and has some variation in their biological sex that does not ‘fit’ into either category. Gender in itself is so culturally constructed by western society that anyone who does not perform their assigned gender ‘correctly’ is punished- this applies to not only queer individuals but even men who do not ascribe to or criticise predefined ideals of masculinity. They are made social pariahs and excluded as outcasts, leaving them to find and create their own communities and safe spaces. This is shown in the way society ostracises queer-presenting individuals, makes fun of ‘soft’ men, and forcefully tries to ‘fix’ intersex children whose variations in biological sex cause no harm to them. I quote:

“Because there is neither an ‘essence’ that gender expresses or externalizes nor an objective ideal to which gender aspires; because gender is not a fact, the various acts of gender create the idea of gender, and without those acts, there would be no gender at all. Gender is, thus, a construction that regularly conceals its genesis. The tacit collective agreement to perform, produce, and sustain discrete and polar genders as cultural fictions is obscured by the credibility of its own production. The authors of gender become entranced by their own fictions whereby the construction compels one’s belief in its necessity and naturalness.”

One of the criticisms of Butler’s theories is that it does not seem to apply to transgender individuals, whose innate gender identity is not the one that they have been assigned to perform at birth; whose brains develop the same way that their cisgender counterparts’ brains do from birth. Butler themselves have responded to this, saying:

“I do know that some people believe that I see gender as a “choice” rather than as an essential and firmly fixed sense of self. My view is actually not that. No matter whether one feels one’s gendered and sexed reality to be firmly fixed or less so, every person should have the right to determine the legal and linguistic terms of their embodied lives. So whether one wants to be free to live out a “hard-wired” sense of sex or a more fluid sense of gender, is less important than the right to be free to live it out, without discrimination, harassment, injury, pathologization or criminalization – and with full institutional and community support.”

Later on, Butler goes on to say that the main point of their theory is that identity is constructed, which means that it allows us to change how we view it as a concept. It leaves room for us to subvert gender roles, challenging the status quo on what it means to identify as someone of a particular gender, and re-structuring society such that we rally for change not along gender lines, rather on the basis of what’s right.

Further, if we combine the work of the psychologist Sigmund Freud with Butler’s theories, the latter does actually apply to transgender individuals. Freudian theory states that we internalize concepts of gender based on our parental figures at birth. That is, if you are born female, you begin to look towards the person who closest resembles your gender identity; which in this case would be your mother, to be your role model for your behavior as to how women are meant to act. Your mother would be your guide to how you perform your gender. If she crosses her legs, you cross your legs. If she dresses in a particular way, you would too, until you were exposed to the exterior world and allowed to develop your own sense of style. As such, you create your own gender identity within your mind, and perform that identity the way you have been taught to by your maternal figure. When you are transgender, you view yourself as innately as the gender you identify with, hence you base your gender identity off the parental figure of that particular gender. This means, if you are female to male trans, you would base your gender identity on your father, and accordingly perform your gender in that way.

Now the question arises: How do we create gender identity outside of gender roles? How do we identify anywhere on the gender spectrum while abandoning the performance that comes with that identity? Why is it important?

Well, the answer isn’t simple. For its importance, I allude, once again, to gender performativity theory- Butler even uses some evolutionary stances to support her views, saying that gender performance stems from gender roles which stem from the fundamental differences between the prominent male and female sex at the very beginning of evolution. Now that 'evolutionary' behaviors don't matter at this stage of societal, cultural, and psychological development, it renders gender roles and hence the performance of gender redundant. However, we still perpetuate these ideas regardless of their importance, or rather their lack of such. And in this process, we end up defining and segregating far too much on the basis of gender- from small things like friendships to even the feminist movement, which is majorly perpetuated and held up by people who identify as female. Other groups like men end up purposely excluding themselves from a movement that can benefit them as well(through deconstructing and eradicating ideas of toxic masculinity) just because of how strongly it is divided on the basis of gender lines. And as for how we create gender identity outside of gender roles; it takes a lot of work, at first, to unlearn all the biases you have internalized about what it means to be a certain gender. You have to actively work towards deconstructing what gender and gender identity means to you, and how much of it comes from societally misguided stances about the ‘role’ of a gender is. It may mean ridding yourselves of the school of thought that women belong in the kitchen and men belong in workplaces or even identifying and removing hidden biases such as those of toxic masculinity and/or toxic femininity. Lastly, it takes an understanding that often, gender expression is not the same as gender identity; and also that most gender expression is how people show how they feel the most comfortable viewing themselves. Once you’ve managed to deconstruct your biases, it’s just a matter of how you feel comfortable viewing and expressing yourself; and what label, among the myriad, you identify with the most. That would be your unique self-expression and identity.

#gender theory #gender #trans #trangender #lgbtq #judith butler #writing #essay #article #write #writers on tumblr #gender identity #theory #sociology #psychology

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antiquitiesandlabyrinths · 4 years ago

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Akhenaten

The name Akhenaten is rather well known as a Pharaoh of Egypt. Like Ramesses II, Hatshepsut, Cleopatra, and Tutankhamun, Akhenaten won the popularity contest of modern society through defining himself as far different from most other Pharaohs. With Akhenaten, however, he’s not even like the special Pharaohs.

Let’s look a little at his life and the history of the time period he ruled over. He was in the 18th Dynasty of the New Kingdom, from 1353-1336 BC. Like most Pharaohs there are a few different pronunciations of his name, including Akhenaton, Ikhnaton, Khuenaten, all meaning of great use to Aten, which leads into his conversion into the cult of Aten. Before the conversion his name was Amenhotep IV, son of Amenhotep III. His mother was named Tiye. Later on in life he married Queen Nefertiti, fathering two children, one from his wife Nefertiti and one from his lesser wife, Lady Kiya, having Ahnksenamun and Tutankhamun to each wife respectively.

Before we get into the whole mess of his religion and the ‘revamping’ he did of ancient Egypt, let’s recognize the other things he did for or to the country.

You’ll recognize the vastly different art style between Akhenaten’s rule and the history of most of Egypt. In art that depicts Akhenaten, he was shown as long and spindly, a style that carried into his family. Some people believe that this was because he and his family suffered from Marfan’s syndrome, a disease that caused the elongation of bones and skinniness. A more likely explanation stems from the Pharaoh’s religious beliefs, which as you know, was vastly different from other Pharaohs. This theory is a little more likely because there was no reason for the queen Nefertiti to have the same condition as her husband. Instead, it was probably because their status was far different from the other Pharaohs, as they were moved into a genuinely god-like status for their worship of Aten.

The part of Akhenaten and his rule that interests me the most is the way the royal family was presented in art, despite the style. Like many parts of Akhenaten, it’s entirely different from other Pharaohs (though, whether that’s good or bad is up to you).

Now, most Pharaohs presented themselves highly in art. They could do that, so why not? If I had the guts and the money I probably would too, but my point is that essentially all Pharaohs depicted themselves alone on stelas, engaging in hunting or other activities that strengthened the image of themselves that they wanted to show the world. Usually they were masculine tasks that could be done only by those with great strength and great riches. Akhenaten went in an entirely different direction; he depicted himself with his family. In the stele of Akhenaten, he is shown in a private way, the scene being him with his family, enjoying themselves together.

While we can’t say the definitive reason for him presenting himself as this, the most logical conclusion has to do with, again, his religious beliefs. In his mind, the Aten was held above all else, even the Pharaoh. With Aten as the highest consideration, the Pharaoh and his family enjoyed their lives under the influence of the Aten’s love and grace.

Now that we have a little insight, let’s get into the whole mess of his religion that died immediately after he did.

Akhenaten originally reigned as Amenhotep IV, a reign that lasted around five years before he switched religions. Changing his name, he converted to a cult that worshipped Amun to that of Aten, abolishing the ancient rites of those before him, and instituting what is believed as the first example of monotheism state religion in the world. His rule as Akhenaten lasted 12 years, during which he was labelled as the infamous ‘heretic king’, so that should give you some insight into how people felt about him.

Before his rule, the cult of aten was a cult like all others in Egypt. It was a bit like choosing your favorite God – find the one you like most, and join that cult. For example if I were to join a cult, I would join the cult of my favorite God, Ma’at. I mention this because before the change, the Aten was shown in inscriptions of Akhenaten (Amenhotep IV at that point), represented by the sun disk. It’s also important to note cult doesn’t carry the same meaning as it did then, and each cult shared the same goal: balance and eternal harmony.

At the time of Amenhotep IV’s rule the Amun cult (where the Aten is from) held incredible power. Their power had been growing for a long while, and by the time of his rule, they held nearly as much power and riches as the Pharaoh himself, and actually owned more land than Amenhotep IV. The fifth year of his reign he switched everything; this was when he abolished the practices of the previous religion of Egypt, and proclaimed himself the “living incarnation of a single all-powerful deity known as Aten,” (Joshua J Mark), and by the ninth year, he closed every single temple, prohibiting all the old practices and devotion to the many Gods the people of Egypt worshipped.

Around then was when he moved the royal seat of Egypt from the traditional house of Thebes to a city of his own creation, a city named Akhetaten, and with that he changed his name to Akhenaten. Here he earned the name the Heretic King, earning the ire of some historians and the admiration of others.

Despite the fact that Akhenaten’s influence completely destroyed worship of the Gods many Egyptians loved, one of the main problems with his rule was that the Old Gods of Egypt instilled harmony and order in the citizens, ultimately helping to create a country that lasted over 4,000 years. Without these Gods, things got a little wonky.

Religious tolerance was allowed with the many Gods, emphasizing peace to the point where religious intolerance wasn’t even an issue. Unfortunately, for monotheism to work, there has to be something inherently wrong with the other side, which made Akhenaten’s work a lot harder, and its’ effects much stronger. It led to the intolerance of other beliefs and some severe suppression, and if you look at the monotheistic religions of today, you can see the same sort of pattern. With intolerance comes hatred and war.

“Dating to this point in Akhenaten’s reign was a campaign to excise the name of gods other than the Aten, especially Amun, from the monuments of Egypt. This was done with violence: hieroglyphs were brutally hacked from the walls of temples and tombs. This was probably carried out, at least in part, by illiterate iconoclasts, presumably following the orders of their king. [Akhenaten] carried out a religious revolution the like of which had never been seen before in Egypt.” (Zahi Hawass, 42-43).

There were priests of Atum who attempted to hide religious artifacts, storing statuary and texts away from the soldiers ordered to destroy them. The priests, with nothing left to do, were forced to abandon their temples. In response Akhenaten either hired new priests or forced the other ones to obey him, proclaiming him and his wife once more as Gods on earth.

Now you can see how Akhenaten kind of sucks. Let’s talk about how he sucks even more.

His foreign policy.

With his ego inflated to the size of the sun, Akhenaten thought himself above interactions with foreign powers. He left his duties to spend more time on himself and his family, ultimately leading to a severe neglect.

You might be asking, “didn’t every Pharaoh have a super-inflated ego?” and yes, you’d be right, but no Pharaoh before Akhenaten had genuinely claimed themselves to be a God. As a self-proclaimed incarnated God, he must’ve thought such affairs beneath him.

Discovered through letters of the time, several (former) allies of Egypt had asked for their help several times with various affairs. At the time Egypt was wealthy, prosperous, and strong, a state that had been slowly growing before halting at Queen Hatshepsut’s reign. Hatshepsut and her successors employed a strategy of actually doing work, by working out when to approach with diplomacy, and when military action was required. Akhenaten on the other hand, ignored everything outside of his palace at Akhetaten.

The uncertainty of Akhenaten’s rule, along with letters of correspondence between the city of Amarna, the Pharaoh, and foreign nations, led to this era being called the Amarna period. These very letters were proof of the Pharaoh’s negligence. However, the letters also show his keen eye in foreign diplomacy, if the situation interested him so. It was a whole thing with the Hittites, but since this is chiefly about Akhenaten, I’ll leave that topic for later. All you really need to know is that he only tended to issues that affected him directly, and through the Amarna letters, historians can see how poor of a King he was, as well as how deeply many of his subjects disliked or despised him.

Essentially, the main reason this mess didn’t work out was because it brought about something new: exclusivity. And the Egyptians did not like that, believing that the world needed to have a balance in order to stay away from slipping into chaos. In the end monotheism didn’t last; hell, it was ended basically the second Akhenaten’s son took the throne. Tutankhamun, originally named Tutankhaten, changed his name to reflect the return to polytheism. His successors tore down the reminders of Akhenaten’s reign, removing him and his adoration for the Aten, eradicating his name from the record.

There’s no saying he didn’t affect the world – he did, a lot. Whether that affect was good or bad is up to the interpreter (personally I don’t like it all that much). By Freud’s thinking (hear me out, I know he sucks) Akhenaten’s rule inspired the ancient world, leading others to copy his ideas and theology, eventually snowballing into our modern world, where there are essentially no polytheistic religions. You have to give him credit – he was the first person of the ancient world to dream up monotheism, changing what had defined humanity for so long.

With his name stricken from the books, historians only discovered him upon finding his city Akhetaten. In the records, Horemheb is labelled as Amenhotep III’s successor, skipping over both Akhenaten and Tutankhamun’s rule. Later when Tutankhamun’s tomb was found as one of the very few graves still filled with treasure, interest spiked in Tutankhamun’s life, eventually leading back to his father Akhenaten.

#ahkenaten #ancient egypt #ancient history #egyptian history #amarna period #cult of aten

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mishinashen · 3 years ago

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La Coiffure by Pablo Picasso, 1922

Sigmund Freud called the bond between a mother and her first born male child the single most powerful bond in humankind. Picasso's 1922 La Coiffure can be read as a powerful affirmation of such an assertion and yet no less an authority on the work of Picasso than William Rubin has compellingly and conclusively refuted the notion that this is an image of Olga Picasso with her son Paulo. Rather, Rubin argues, it is a painting that is part of a biographically complex history--and not without equally complex psychological elements. According to Christian Zervos, this painting was completed in 1922 (not 1921 as dated by the artist) some five years after the artist had gone to Rome where he designed the stage sets for Diaghilev's Parade and met Olga Khoklova, a dancer with the Ballet Russes whom he married the following year in Paris. During his stay in Italy, Picasso made excursions to see the ruins of ancient Pompeii and the archeological collections in Naples. Picasso also familiarised himself first hand with the work of the masters of the Italian Renaissance. The influence of both ancient art and that of the cinquecento was profound and lasted the rest of his life. The initial - and idiosyncratic - "Neo-Classical" style Picasso devised and developed between 1918 and 1924 has been well documented and exhaustively discussed. It is now posited as a hybrid of the classical art of Greece and Rome, earlier Neo-Classical strands in French art (Poussin, Ingres and later Renoir) and the paintings and frescoes of the Italian Renaissance, most notably Michelangelo and Raphael. In February, 1921, Olga bore Picasso a son, Paulo, and for the next few years, the theme of motherhood and childhood was featured in many of Picasso's major paintings. Initially, the theme was inextricable from the monumental neo-classical figures which he had been painting since his trip to Rome. The tenderness and plenitude that were part and parcel of these gigantic mothers and their equally massive offspring lingered on in the paintings of 1922 and 1923, though the style in which they were presented shifts towards something far more lyrical and delicate, almost ethereal. "[Around 1922, Picasso] virtually abandoned his colossal classical nudes for a style more in keeping with the grace and elegance of traditional neo-classicism. Defying the chronic modern prejudice against prettiness and sentiment he made a series of sweet figures of women in classic draperies, mothers handling babies, a pair of ineffable lovers, harlequins [thus] asserting his ability to breathe new life and charm into so exhausted a style as the neo-classical" (A.H. Barr, Jr., Picasso: Fifty Years of His Art, New York, 1966, p. 128). La Coiffure is related to a second painting, only slightly larger in scale than the present work (Zervos IV, no. 385). Picasso's crisp line drawings of his first few years with Olga - which is usually likened to Ingres - and the balletic gracefulness of the figures here has been replaced by the stolid, stone-like figures of 1921. Elements of these paintings seem to refer back to imagery found in Renaissance Madonnas, though it would be fruitless to suggest one or another particular image. Nonetheless, in his 1960 Picasso: ombre et soleil, de Champris cited Leonardo da Vinci's Benois Madonna as a source for these paintings. De Champris points out that they all share an identical three-quarter length format, hand placements and the use of a harmonious contrapposto which unites them with unerring gracefulness. That an artist as gifted - and irreligious - as Picasso would have needed to depend upon a particular religious picture -which had been in Saint Petersburg for almost ten years when -La Coiffure was painted - as a unalterable template for a canvas that was very clearly the result of many months of work is hard to believe. Yet the mention of the work of Leonardo in a more general sense should not be discounted. A perusal of the work of Picasso of this period shows Picasso initiating an idea by rendering it in a highly 'Leonardesque' fashion, full of mystery and cloudy light but often completing variations that are more solid and more akin to Raphael. The way Picasso handles Paulo's tender petting of the dove calls to mind Raphaël's images of Saint John the Baptist as a child. (Picasso also depicted his son as a toddler/shephard boy leading a lamb [Zervos V, no. 431] which also has its resonance in Renaissance images of the Christ child as a shephard). Thus with seeming effortlessness, Picasso joins fragments of Renaissance painting, particularly the misty sfumato of the world of Leonardo to the coloristic sensibility which originated in fin-de-siècle Europe when Picasso was a teenager. Picasso here raises the subject of motherhood so far above his personal observation as to attain the monumentality of myth... This renewed interest in emotional relationships - renewed in the sense that more than fifteen years separate this painting from the works of the Rose period - of course grew out of Picasso's personal life. Yet his work is never autobiographical in the ordinary sense of the term. He has always raised personal experience to a level of universality and objectivity, as here, where the birth of his first son is rendered in terms of some modern mythology (H. Jaffe,Pablo Picasso, New York, 1980, p. 106). William Rubin agrees that Picasso's oeuvre is assertively autobiographical and that virtually all of the artist's works bear a direct relation to his emotions and circumstances. But again and again Rubin has demonstrated that Picasso's work is often based on the qualities of subterfuge, duplicity, alternative identities, transmogrifications, and hidden, private symbols. Rubin has convincingly argued that the beautiful, wistful figure here, who appears in scores of Picasso paintings and drawings over the course of 1922 and 1923, is not his wife Olga but a slightly idealized portrait of Sara Murphy, wife of the American expatriate painter Gerald Murphy. One may conclude that this painting was subsequently misdated 1922, either by accident or on purpose to throw Olga - who was insanely jealous - "off the track." By 1922, the Murphys and Picassos were seeing each other frequently, and Picasso's infatuation with Sara was well under way. For all of its gentility and graceful melancholy, Picasso's icon of motherhood contains within it this subversive strain that is the bedrock of Picasso's great work. Would he have liked to have seen Olga replaced by Sara Murphy? It is probably most accurate to describe the mother figure in these series as a sort of wish-fulfillment, finding echoes of both women in an idealized portrait of motherhood.

#spanish art #picasso #modernism

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miracul0us-multishipper · 5 years ago

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Welcome to the back (Part 16)

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

Shoutout to @loosescrewslefty for coming up with a wonderful name for Cat!Felix! It sounds great!

- - -

Felix’ heart was racing as they ran down the abandoned corridors. Everyone else must have escaped already, or at least found a safe place to hide because they hadn’t seen a soul on the entire floor. It was dead silent, except for their exhausted panting and the distant rattle of chains.

“In here!”, Marinette commanded and threw open the door to a janitors closet. With her other hand, she ripped off one of her flats and threw it down the hallway. Before he could ask what the hell she was thinking, she pushed him into the small room and closed the door behind her. The rattling of metal links came closer and they held their breaths. There were small slits on the bottom of the door, to let the air circulate. Felix dropped to the floor, trying to see what was going on.

Cathexis shadow was visible first, followed by its caster. His chains carried him through the hallway like servants their prince, their clatter and the creaking of his armor far too loud in Felix’ ears. Was it his imagination or were there... less chains than before? Some looked shorter than the others, for sure.

The Akuma looked around.

“Marinette~!”, he called in a playful singsong. “Come on, show yourself!”

The metal snakes swirled through the air, ready to pounce at the slightest movement.

“I’m not mad, I promise!”, the delusional boy continued. “You won’t be in trouble if you come out now.”

One chain came particularly close to the door and he could feel Marinette tense. His own heart seemed to hammer in his chest, so loud he wondered how Cathexis didn’t hear it. If he found them now... they were lost.

Luckily, it was this moment that Cathexis noticed the shoe further down the hall. Immediately, he went to investigate.

“Aw, did the princess lose her shoe? I should bring it back to her, don’t I?”

With that, he disappeared around a corner. They sighed, the pressure on his lungs lifting like fog. They were safe, for now.

“Clever.”, he commented as they walked out of the closet. “The shoe trick, I mean.”

“Thanks.”, she replied, looking around the corner to make sure he was gone. “He’s obsessed with his fairy tale happy ending, so I figured drawing on popular tropes might distract him.”

She took his hand - he was grateful for that, even though he wouldn’t admit it - and guided him towards the stairs.

“We need to get out of here. Maybe we should split up-“

“Absolutely not! I won’t let you out of my sight until Ladybug arrives.”

Marinette twitched, but didn’t fight him. He could’ve sworn he heard her muttering “Oh boy” under her breath, but right now, he didn’t care. There was No Way he’d leave this reckless mess of selflessness to herself!

“This way.”, she directed him to a glass door. The elevators were obviously a bad idea - trapped in a small space during an akuma attack? No thank you! - so the stairs were there only option.

“I don’t get it. Why Cathexis?”, she murmured to herself. “I mean, it’s probably a Cat-pun, but the rest is nonsense. And why chains? Is Hawkmoth running out of ideas?”

He shrugged, remembering all the books about Psychology he’d read before starting school. For once, his encyclopedic knowledge of random topics seemed to be useful.

“Cathexis is a fancy word for neurotic hyperfixations.”, he explained. “Freud’s original term was “Besetzung”, Possession in English. It describes the investment of emotional or mental energy in a person or object.”

He remembered what Cathexis had done with his glowing chain, and how Lila had looked after being infused with his light.

“Maybe that’s what he did to Rossi. He did call it an investment, didn’t he?”

“It might also be a pun.”, Marinette mused. “Cat-hex-is, because he... well, hexed her.”

“Now I’m kind of jealous.”, he murmured grumpily. “Hawkmoth gave him a deep, psychological phenomena as inspiration, and with me? He named me Sentiquill and called it a day! Favoritism at its finest.”

Marinette giggled.

“If it makes you happy, I liked your costume more. Black suits you.”

Her eyes sparkled mysteriously at that, as if she knew something he didn’t. He would’ve asked if he hadn’t been so busy hiding his red cheeks.

“Let’s hurry up.”, he said to distract her. “We still have twenty floors to go, and-“

“Wait!”, she hissed and he froze. There were footsteps audible from further down, lighter than Cathexis’s and without the metallic sound that always accompanied him. He held onto Marinette a little tighter when the person leaned over the railing of the stairs to look up at them.

“Chloé?”, Marinette asked and relaxed immediately, sighing in relief. “You’re okay! I thought Cathexis caught you.”

The blonde girl grinned untypically widely and Felix tensed.

“Marinette!”, she chirped and raised her hands to her mouth. “There you are.”

She took a deep breath, then started to shout.

“I FOUND HER!”, Chloé yelled loud enough to shake the doors, making Felix jump.

“She’s under his control!”, he realized. “That’s why there were less chains than before!”

The one he’d used on Lila had disappeared as well! He startled when a door two floors above them flew open. Cathexis maniacal cackling echoed through the staircase.

“Run!”

Marinette didn’t need to be told twice. She ripped open the door closest to them and raced through, Felix followed suit. They dashed down the corridors and halls, Cathexis laughter close behind them. Every second Felix expected to be knocked off his feet, every step made him fear it might be his last. But Marinette seemed to know where she was going, and Cathexis wasn’t as familiar with the building as she was. Soon, the rattle of chains grew farther and farther, until they finally collapsed behind a corner.

“We need a Plan B!”, he stated the obvious, his breath erratic and panting. “We’ll never make it out of here without him intercepting us.”

Marinette, just as exhausted as he was, looked on the verge of panic.

“Chloé’s out of commission!”, she whispered in shock. “And if she is, then so are Alya and Nino!”

Pulling at her hair, she groaned.

“My plan has failed before it even begun! That’s so typical for me.”

He shook his head, confused.

“What are you talking about?”

Slowly, she let go of her Pigtails and straightened. When she looked at him, it was almost apologetic.

“It wasn’t supposed to be this way.”, she said calmly. “This time, I wanted it to be different. No pressure or emergency, just... different.”

She shook her head, eerily serious as she took out the pendant she wore around her neck.

“We don’t have time for explanations, I have to go.”, she stated with no room for discussion. Her hand was steady when she placed the pendant in his hand, closing his fingers around it. “You need to keep this safe for me, okay?”

He blinked, not understanding what she was up to. But she stood up before he could ask a single question.

“You don’t have to use it.”, she announced and looked a bit sheepish for a moment. “I don’t even have a fancy box for it, and I have no speech prepared either. But... you are smart, and loyal, and exactly what I need. Trust me.”

She inhaled slowly.

“You... you are perfect. I can feel it.”

Her smile was so fond, so convinced and trusting he had to gulp before speaking.

“Marinette, What-“

A crash interrupted him. Cathexis was closing in, judging by the sound of his chains, and Marinette looked up.

“Go and hide.”, she ordered him with an authority he’d never expected of her. “This isn’t destiny or fate or something, okay? It’s a choice. You decide whether to accept or decline, and I won’t push you to do anything. But now that Adrien knows I have it, I can’t keep it on me anymore. Just... keep it safe.”

She smiled.

“I’ll be fine, I promise.”

Wait. Why did this sound like a goodbye?!

“Marinette,” he whispered, fear stifling his voice, “don’t you dare-“

Once again, he didn’t get to finish. Cathexis came crashing through the wall behind them like a bulldozer, his chains breaking through with ease.

“Marinette!”, Felix screamed, but a wave of debris tore him away from her and onto the ground. With one last look at him, she turned around and ran.

“Come and catch me if you can!”, he heard her taunt as she dodged the swipe of a chain, then disappeared into the next corridor.

Cathexis didn’t waste a second with Felix. Growling, he started his hunt and followed Marinette, leaving him behind.

Felix’ head was spinning from his fall and he barely managed to get up, let alone follow them.

“No...”, he wailed, horrified. Crashes and shouts came from the direction they had run off to, and this time, Marinette was alone with the Akuma. “No, no, no!”

He got to his feet, accidentally dropping what Marinette had given him. The clear, clanging sound of something light rolling over the ground made him pause. He looked down, picking the thing up.

It was the Chat-Noir-merchandise Marinette had shown him, but now that he could take a closer look... it was warm in his fingers. It felt heavier than it looked, and he could swear he heard a pulse.

His blood drained from his face and he went pale. It... It couldn’t be, right? Where should Marinette have acquired the real Miraculous of Destruction?! And why would she wear it on a string of goddamn yarn instead of... of... putting it in a safe or something? Or using it? Unless she... she already had...?

Another crash made him start. They weren’t far from him, if he hurried, he could reach them.

But what was he supposed to do? Throw pens at the akuma?! Make a knot in his chains? He was just a teenager, he wouldn’t be of any help. His gaze fell back to the ring in his hands. The warm, heavy, pulsing and authentic looking ring.

Oh, goddamn it!

Without further analysis, he slipped it on his ring finger. For a second, nothing happened and he chastised himself for thinking something this ridiculous. Then an otherworldly glow covered the metal and he stumbled back. Sparks flew around his hand and a green light shot out of the ring, turning it silver and circling him before fading into a tiny, black creature. It had triangular ears and a feline tail that waved through the air.

Felix was frozen in shock as the... the thing yawned.

“Oh geez, that was quick.”, it complained in a high, nasal voice. “They can never give me time to nap, can they?”

It’s inhumanly green eyes turned to him and it grinned, revealing sharp, white fangs.

“Hey, it’s the cold blondie!”, it - he? - cheered. “Not ideal, but better than mean or dense blondie. I can work with that.”

”Who are you?”, Felix finally regained his voice. The floating cat flicked its tail and combed back its fur.

“Plagg’s the name, rookie. I’m a Kwami! Incredibly powerful, good looking, and - as Tikki would say - “high maintenance”. Got any cheese?”

“A Kwami?”, Felix asked, ignoring the last part. “What’s that supposed to be?”

Another crash came from a distance and he shook his head, reminding himself of Marinette.

“Okay, scratch that. Do something so I can help Marinette!”

Plagg sighed deeply.

“Oh geez, another loverboy.”, he grumbled. “Fine! Say “Plagg, claws out!” and you’ll get cataclysmic superpowers, and a much needed make-over.”

He glared at Felix’ clothes.

“Is that a tie?! What are you, an insurance lackey?!”

“It’s called style, you- Argh, I don’t have time for this.”, he snarled, raising his hand. It didn’t matter where she had gotten this from, or why she wasn’t using it herself. She had given it to him for a reason, and he wouldn’t disappoint her.

“Plagg, claws out!”

Transforming had been easier than thought. She’d simply slipped around a corner, said the magic words and waited until Cathexis followed her to punch him into the ceiling. She’d caught him by surprise, and so it wasn’t hard to deliver a kick hard enough to send him into the wall behind him. He groaned and shook his head as she scanned him. Where was the akuma, where was the akuma, where was- his bracelet! It’s shape looked just like her lucky charm, though bleached beyond recognition. He pulled his arm away when she tried to grab it, his chains hurling her away from him and down the hallway.

“My Lady!”, he cooed happily, already forgetting he’d been chasing Marinette. Hyperfixation, she remembered Felix’ words. He could only ever concentrate on one thing at the same time. “There you are!”

She had landed on her feet - practice made perfect - and adopted her fighting stance.

“Let’s make this quick!”, she hissed and Cathexis pouted.

“Oh, My Lady! Don’t you recognize me? Your loyal partner?”

Her eyes narrowed.

“Loyal?”

He had the decency to look ashamed. Nervous, he scratched his head.

“You are... still mad at me, aren’t you?”

“For what? Sacrificing Rose, abandoning me or attempting to kill me?”

He raised his hands in defense.

“It was an accident! You know I could never hurt you, don’t you? I love you!”

He sunk on one knee, stretching out his hand as if pleading.

“Allow me to prove it to you, Ladybug! You’ll see, we’re meant for each other.”

She was so tired of this. Without a warning, her yo-yo wrapped around his outstretched hand.

“You can prove it by giving me that bracelet!”, she suggested and pulled. He lost his balance and fell over, but his chains caught him easily. They wrapped around her yo-yo to prevent her from escaping, but she didn’t intent to. With a battle cry, she launched herself at him. He didn’t see her coming, and before he could fully straighten himself, she slammed him into the wall again. But she had underestimated the speed of his chains. Just when she wanted to take the possessed object, one of them wrapped around her waist and threw her to the floor. She grinned in pain and tried to dodge, but now they were coming from every angle. Her yo-yo was carelessly dropped to the side when Cathexis stood up, wrapping the chain holding her around his wrist to pull her in.

“Why won’t you even give me a chance?!”, he raged. “I asked you so nicely, and you just attacked me! How could you?!”

“It’s my job, idiot!”, she snarled and tried to wriggle out of her restraints. “And it used to be your job as well! We beat up and purify Akuma’s, remember?”

She laughed bitterly, eyes burning into his.

“Or, that’s what I did at least. To you, this was only ever some kind of game, wasn’t it?”

He hissed.

“Just ‘cause I’m not as stuck-up as you doesn’t mean I’m not a good superhero! We won every time, didn’t we?”

“Because I had to save the day! How often were you even conscious and yourself for the final battle? Most of the time, I had to save you as well!”

“Argh!”, he roared. “Only because I sacrificed myself for you! Without me, you would’ve lost a long time ago!”

She bared her teeth and growled.

“Without you, I wouldn’t have had to worry that every battle might be my last, just because you decided to ditch me in a flashy attempt at self-promotion! You weren’t heroic, you were reckless! And unpredictable!”

He opened his mouth to shout back, but the purple butterfly outline returned to his face and distracted him. When it disappeared, Cathexis simply huffed and crossed his arms.

“You’ll see it my way soon enough.”, he said and wrapped the chain around his wrist once more, to get a better grip. “Soon, you’ll see everything my way.”

The root of the chain began to fill with his cold white light and Ladybug started to panic. Her yo-yo was out of reach, no way to summon a Lucky Charm. She couldn’t move, the chain was too tight. Her toes slid over the floor without finding foothold and her arms were pressed to her sides uselessly as the light came closer and closer and-

“Cataclysm!”

Both she and Cathexis startled when a black-gloved hand grabbed the chain. Rust spread over the links, dissolving them and eating its way towards Cathexis’ wrist - towards his bracelet!

The akuma gasped and shook his hand, getting rid of the chain and detaching it from its armor just before it could infect his bracelet. It coiled in on itself as it disintegrated, setting her free. Immediately, she grabbed her weapon, jumped back and landed at a safe distance with her savior next to her.

“Thanks!”, she grinned at him as she checked out his new suit. Felix nodded stiffly. Doubtlessly wondering why Ladybug was here all of a sudden, and Marinette wasn’t. If he’d put one and one together, he didn’t say anything.

“You’re welcome.”, he replied and took out his batons. He kept them separated and crossed on his back, which wasn’t the only difference from his predecessor. His hair was longer, wilder, and his iris was more blueish than green. The bell was missing from his collar, and he had an additional, smaller belt on that was equipped with trackers and other gadgets. His tail was longer, but seemed to move on its own accord. And his boots made no sound when he changed his stance to face Cathexis, which might come in handy for stealth. Overall, his costume was less... shiny. Less reflective, more of a spandex-like fabric than leather.

“No...”, Cathexis whispered, eyes wide with horror. “No! NO! I’m Chat Noir, not you! You’re just a cheap replacement!”

Felix blinked in surprise - he hadn’t known Chat’s identity, she remembered - but recovered quickly.

“Actually,” the new black cat hummed. “I don’t think I’ll go by Chat Noir anyway. Too many bad connotations, thanks to you.”

He grinned and raised his chin.

“You can call me Chatvalier instead. Because unlike you” - he raised his baton - “I won’t run from a fight.”

Cathexis roared with wrath.

“This can’t be- You can’t be- GIVE ME THE RING!”

His voice was erratic and his expression completely unhinged when he charged at them, chains wildly striking through the air. Their movements were devoid of their previous elegance and precision, it was all instinct and anger and hurt.

“You can still back out, you know?”, she asked her newly dubbed Chatvalier. “It’s a heavy duty, and you’re not forced by any cosmic will or something. If you don’t want this, I can handle him by myself.”

Her partner looked at her with narrowed eyes, as if reminded of something. Then he smiled.

“I don’t doubt that.”

He readied his claws and gave her a look so soft she felt her heart flutter.

“But... it can be nice to know someone has your back.”

He smirked.

“Remember?”

Oh yes, she did. When she faced Cathexis storming towards them, her smile was confident and unwavering. They were in this together.

“Ready?”

Her yo-yo swung through the air and he laughed.

“Guess we’re about to find out.”

- - -

If you don’t know what to make of this last “have your back” exchange, you might want to take another look at chapter 4 (their first real conversation). I love giving phrases more meaning than they should have, because DRAMA!

#miramu writes #wttb #welcome to the back #felinette fanfic #ml felinette #ml felix #ml marinette #chatvalier #cathexis #akuma!adrien

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mytwilightimagines13 · 5 years ago

Text

Vampire (Caius Volturi) (Part Eight)

Word count: 1785

(Alright, this is mostly just the musical. Only the last part is back to the main characters part. If anyone wants to see the musical with English subtitles: Part one Part two I hope you will all enjoy it!)

The judge called upon Luigi Lucheni to tell his story. To tell the reason why he killed the beloved empress Elisabeth. “Nacht für Nacht dieselbe Frage. Seit hundert Jahren! Was soll die Fragerei? Merda. Ich bin tot!” he would shout in his defence. Yes, he indeed was dead, yet this was his punishment. Every night he would have to stand in front of a judge and explain why he had committed such a horrible crime. “Nennen Sie endlich die Hintergründe!” the judge would shout out to Lucheni, wanting the murderer to take his responsibility. “Die Hintergründe? Ich habe sie ermordet, weil sie es wollte!” was his reasoning. He had only murdered her because she wanted him to. “Und reden immer noch von… Elisabeth!” he would shout as the dead slowly rose up and started to chant about how to old world has sunken. Luchini sang about how Elisabeth hated them all, every single one of them while the dead chanted about how everyone has danced with Death, yet no one like Elisabeth. “Attenzione! Ihre Majestät der Tod!” he would shout as the room grew quiet. Death made her way down the stairs, looking down at the dead. Her hair hanging in loose curls down her back, the upper part clipped back neatly with a Celtic looking pin. She was completely clothed in white, looking like and angel. “Was hat es zu bedeuten: dies alte Lied. Das mir seit jenen Zeiten die Brust durchglüht? Engel nennen’s Freude, Teufel nennen’s Pein. Menschen meinen, es muss Liebe sein.” She sang, her voice lovely yet dangerous. Yes, love was a curse, and it stood in the way of her job. She quickly made her way further down the stairs, past the dead and past Lucheni. “Mein Auftrag heißt zerstören. Ich tu es kalt. Ich hol, die mir gehören, jung oder alt. Weiß nicht, wie geschehn kann, was es gar nicht gibt – Doch es stimmt: Ich habe sie geliebt” she sang, yes she had loved Elisabeth, and the game they had played throughout the empress life, even though she had no idea how it had happened.

The first meeting between Death and Elisabeth was when the empress was only sixteen years old. At a family meeting Elisabeth had climbed up a tree, when a branch had broken below her feet and she had plummeted to the ground. Death, now dressed completely in black, had swooped her in her arms and gently brought her back to the living, wanting nothing more than to take the young woman with her, but knowing she couldn’t do it just yet. Elisabeth was a flower in bloom, and her beauty had Death in awe. “Est ist Liebe! Per Dio!” came Lucheni’s explanation. “Wohin gehst du, schwarzer Prinzessin? Warum bleibst du nicht hier? Ich hab mich in deinen Armen wohlgefühlt. Und ich spürte eine Sehnsucht. Mich von allem zu befrei'n. Wie ein schwarzer Vogel. Stolz und allein. Ja, ich weiß, du bist der Tod. Und alle fürchten dich. Doch ich denk an dich. Was immer ich auch tu. Träume und Gedichte schreiben. Oder reiten mit dem Wind... Niemand versteht mich so wie du!” Was Elisabeth’s claim of love for Death, her Death. She didn’t want her dark princess to leave, not now that she had felt what freedom was. And no one had every understood her as much as she had. Yet Death turned her back towards the young girl now and disappeared, yet she always stayed close to her. Soon Elisabeth met her other love, Franz Joseph, emperor of Austria and soon their wonderful wedding day passed by. “Augustinerkirche, halb sieben Uhr abends. Merkwürdige Zeit für eine Trauung, aber passend, An diesem 24. April 1854. Sehr passend, porca miseria!” Lucheni shouted towards the judges. The crowd sang about how all the questions had been asked as the couple made its way towards the priest. “Wenn das Euer Wille ist, so antwortet mit Ja!” if this was their will, then they must answer once with Yes. “Ja!” was their answer. The wedding bells sounded and Death herself was hanging on the cord, pulling it down. Laughing frantically as she knew Elisabeth would be hers, and that Franz Joseph will begin the chain of events that would lead Elisabeth into her sweet embrace. Many of the guests along with Elisabeth’s father, mother and mother in law were bickering whether the young girl and the emperor were a good fit or not. As Elisabeth tried to dance in her own way, Franz kept the young girl on track of the classic waltz, not once giving her the freedom to dance the way she wanted to dance. Death looked at the young woman, a small smirk on her face as she and hear angels of death emerged. With a snap of her finger the angels spread and the guests froze on the spot. All but Elisabeth. Death held her hand out for Elisabeth, inviting her to dance. Elisabeth smiled and made her way towards Death and soon they circled around each other, never once touching. Soon Elisabeth got out of her trance and ran towards Franz Joseph, whom was still frozen in trance. Death made her way halfway up the slope, and slowly sat down in sync with her angels. She sang about the old song of one loved by two. “Der letzte Tanz, der letzte Tanz. Gehört allein nur mir! Den letzten Tanz, den letzten Tanz, Tanz ich allein mit dir!” she sang, her voice soft yet threatening. She sang about the time, how it influenced the wine and made it old, the air in the mirror hall was growing thick. Invisible eyes were watching the two of them, all of them waiting for their Rendezvous. Death grabbed Elisabeth and danced with her before pushing her down, in a dance of dominance, one that Death would win. “Und so wart' ich im Dunkeln. Und schau zu dir hin. Als der große Verlierer. Doch ich weiß, ich gewinn!” she sang, yes she was waiting in the darkness, looking like the loser, but she knew, she would win in the end. She ran up the slope as it ascended once more, making it into a bridge on the top of the stage. “Den letzten Tanz, den letzten Tanz. Tanz ich nur mit dir!” she sang, the final note long and strong before walking of the stage. Four years passed, Elisabeth herself very soon comes to regret her seemingly "fairy-tale marriage". She feels abandoned by her careless husband, psychologically abused by her possessive mother-in-law, and is chronically depressed due to her loneliness. There is only one thing that keeps her emotionally stimulated—the dark and sensual shadow of Death; but Elisabeth is reluctant to consummate their relationship. When Death takes her infant daughter, the tragedy shakes the young Empress extremely. “Nein!” Elisabeth shouted as her daughter blew out her last breath. She runs towards her but is stopped by Death and falls to her knees. Death sends her a gentle and welcoming smile. “Weißt du noch, wie wir erbebten. Als wir zwei im Tanze schwebten? Du brauchst mich. Ja, du brauchst mich.” Her tone grew threatening, but soon returned to her sweet, angelic voice. “Gib doch zu, daß du mich mehr liebst, Als den Mann an deiner Seite. Auch wenn du ihm scheinbar mehr gibst. Du ziehst ihn in die Nacht” she sang as she told Elisabeth the truth of her husband. “Die Schatten werden länger, Es wird Abend, eh’ dein Tag begann. Die Schatten werden länger. Mit dir stirbt die Welt. Halt dich nicht fest daran” Death finished, trying to sway Elisabeth to come to her embrace but she refuses to give in to Death's sway.

After her remaining two children are taken from Elisabeth, she grows cold, and sets Franz Joseph for an ultimatum. “Ich habe ein förmliches Ultimatum aufgesetzt. Wenn du mich nicht verlieren willst, erfüll' es. Ich möchte selbst über die Erziehung meiner Kinder bestimmen. Und von nun an will ich entscheiden, was ich tue und lasse. Lies mein Schreiben und entscheide dich: Für deine Mutter oder mich! Und jetzt lass mich allein.” She said as she felt her depression creep up to her again, and soon she heard the voice of her beloved Death. Elisabeth turned around and saw Death sitting on a love seat in her bedroom, her arms opened in a welcoming way. “Elisabeth! Sei nicht verzweifelt. Ruh dich aus in meinem Arm. Ich will dich trösten.” She sang and soon sprang up. “Flieh, und du wirst frei sein, Und alles Kämpfen wird vorbei sein. Ich führ dich fort aus Raum und Zeit, In eine bessre Wirklichkeit.” Death held her hand out for Elisabeth to take, her voice growing soft, and loving. “Elisabeth! Elisabeth! Ich liebe dich...” “Nein! Ich möchte leben! Ich bin zu jung um aufzugeben. Ich weiß, ich kann mich selbst befrein. Jetzt setz ich meine Schönheit ein.” Elisabeth sang, her voice growing firm. She didn’t need Death, she would find her own way to freedom! “Geh! Ich will dich nicht! Ich brauch dich nicht! Geh!” Death frowned and fled back into the shadows quickly.

But it had been too late. Elisabeth calluses over and becomes cold and selfish. She flees the Austrian court and spends decades restlessly travelling all over the world, trying in vain to escape from her fear of emptiness. Eventually, Elisabeth makes peace with her husband, when he finds her. He begged for her forgiveness, and he swore he would give her anything she wanted. Elisabeth walks through a mirror, completely dolled up looking absolutely gorgeous. “Soll ich dich verstehen. Will ich auch verstanden sein. Ich will mit dir gehen. Doch sperr mich nicht länger ein. Ich bin nicht das Eigentum von dir. Denn ich gehör nur mir.” She sang. Soon Death herself emerged from the same mirror, yet stayed within the frames. “Was heut das Auge sieht. Ist morgen schon Vergangenheit. Wohin dein Blick auch flieht. Auf meiner Seite ist die Zeit.” She sang as she watched Elisabeth from the shadows once more. “Du musst mir nichts geben. Nur lass mir mein Leben! Denn ich gehör...” Elisabeth sang. “ Du gehörst…” Death sang. “Nur mir!” Elisabeth and Death sang together.

During the final part before the break was the first time I looked up at the balcony I knew the Cullens and Volturi were sitting. I had felt his glance on me the entire time, and it made me want to perform on my best. His red eyes pierced through mine, and even from here, I could see a gentle look in his eyes as he watched me perform. Elisabeth sang her lust, high note and the lights turned off, signalling it was time for the break.

#Caius Volturi #musical #imagine #volturi imagine #twilight imagine #twilight #volturi #mate kamaras #vampire #elisabeth #elisabeth das musical

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