#i just know a lot of british history from that period so it was fun making wilsons life historically accurate heuheu

[melrosing]

Hey, question, you know how GRRM is american but all of the dialogue in ASOIAF, aside from being old-fangled, is also supposed to be vaguely "british"? Like, everyone kind of is supposed to have those old english royalty accents and shit, all the northerners say "aye", etc. What's that like to you, an actual UK person?

it’s a weird one lol bc in some ways he leans into it and others he leans right out. I get the impression GRRM has watched a lot of British TV and so his ‘small folk’ dialect isn’t really that different (imo) from the staple working class dialect ascribed to characters in many British period pieces - which kind of sounds to me like an anaemic cockney or something, without the slang and quirks. on British TV it’s been the case for the longest time that for class reasons most of what you’re going to hear is broadly RP and you’d have to tune into specific shows to hear much else (that’s not as bad as it used to be but the impact is still pretty real).

anyway all of that to say, if that’s GRRM’s point of reference I don’t think he does a bad job with it?? it’s a shallow distinction between his smallfolk and his highborn, but w/e - it’s used about as effectively as it’s used in say, Downton Abbey lol. i.e. quite caricature-y but no more so than brits themselves are guilty of. I don’t really notice Americanisms slipping in and the only one he seems to fumble (afaik) is ‘aye’ which he occasionally has southern characters like the Lannisters use. and maybe southern brits did use ‘aye’ once but for a long time that’s been heavily associated w northerners/scotland/etc.

and also I know he isn’t actually trying to write AU UK here, Westeros is influenced by the histories of many different IRL countries and cultures, but it’s obvious that it very substantially draws on GRRM’s consumption of British media and culture in its depiction and so I do think based on that he could’ve had a bit more fun w the regional dialects. I know he doesn’t have to, he’s got enough on his hands and frankly there’s so much scope for fucking that up, but I think as bidonica said in a recent post, it’s kind of wild that across the entire continent of Westeros… the highborn and lowborn dialects are each the same. like suffice to say that is extremely not the case in the UK and was not the case even more historically speaking. my mum is northern and my dad came from a central London cockney neighbourhood and the words and phrases the other used to use would send them constantly.

so it’d be fun if there were variations between regions, and those wouldn’t even have to be based on any real British equivalent if GRRM were worried about getting it wrong. definitely amongst the smallfolk anyway, bc whilst I think at least in modern history the richest folk in the UK largely adopted the same upper class accent, that wasn’t the case for anyone else. the UK is about the size of a coin and yet comprises hundreds of different accents and languages. personally think it could be fun if he had played w that but he didn’t. idk if that’s bc he just cba or if as an American he basically just knows the queen’s english and the ‘it’s choosday’ accent but w/e.

anyway GOT is way funnier about this bc obviously their actors are all speaking in British accents so the comparisons and questions are inevitable and they are MANY. explain why davos and gendry, who come from precisely the same part of town, are speaking accents from diametrically opposite ends of the UK. why are Robert and Stannis speaking w northern accents and Renly w southern. two of Cersei’s children are distinctly northern Irish. it’s wild from head to toe but I can’t be mad it IS funny

[bcacstuff]

STELLA MCCARTNEY dress and GIVENCHY boots.

There’s something about Izzy Meikle-Small. It’s not just the delicate cheekbones or the quintessential Englishness that makes her a favorite for period dramas. It’s not even her enviable resume which includes her stepping into the shoes of some of the UK’s most luminous stars. No, there’s a quiet but resolute determination to claim her own narrative—shadowy beginnings, a taste for the unconventional, and a new era of artistic self-possession.

For years, Meikle-Small was cinema’s favorite time machine—a younger Carey Mulligan, a pint-sized Vanessa Kirby, a teenage Charlize Theron. Yet, there’s something deliciously ironic in her being cast as the precursor to these screen giants. “I don’t really look like any of them, but I’ll take it!” she laughs. “It was amazing to learn from them.” For a young actor finding her footing, the sets of those films were both playground and classroom. “Being on set as a kid can be really intimidating,” she admits, “but all three of them made an effort to make me feel really comfortable.”

Indeed, while her face was a canvas onto which casting directors mapped their favorite leads, Meikle-Small was watching, learning, absorbing. Working alongside the likes of Mulligan and Kirby wasn’t just a brush with greatness—it was a kind of mentorship. “We would have big conversations about the characters and the plot, and that helped me understand their process, which therefore informed my own and taught me how successful actors created their characters. I really appreciate the time that they took with me because it really helped shape my view of the industry and what it means to be an actor and a filmmaker.”

SACAI jacket and shirt.

Meikle-Small is no longer standing in someone else’s light. With her role as Rachel Hunter in season seven part two of runaway success historical drama series, Outlander (streaming now on MGM+ in the UK and Starz in the US) she’s stepping out of the shadows and into her own spotlight. “I’ve never joined a show which had such a pre-existing fan base,” she says. The Outlander fandom is nothing if not passionate, and Meikle-Small knows she’s shouldering the expectations of readers who’ve cherished Rachel on the page.

“Rachel is so sweet and pious and all of these things. She’s sassy, but she’s a really kind person, which is lovely to play, but I’d love to play someone with maybe a bit more edge. Maybe somebody in comedy could be fun, or something modern, where I could wear jeans,” she laughs. That’s not to say she doesn’t appreciate the role’s intricacies. “Rachel wears a bonnet, and that’s a lot to do with her religion but also feeling bound in. Doing period dramas, I feel like the history informs your character, and with Rachel being a Quaker living in the 1700s, all of these layers of history do add to your character.”

SACAI jacket, shirt, and boots.

And the audience reception has been equally rewarding. “The Outlander audience connects so deeply with every episode, and they’ve really welcomed me in with very open arms,” she says earnestly. “I was worried that people might not love me as [Rachel] as much as I would want them to.” For someone who spent her youth in roles that were more scaffolding than centerpiece, this level of engagement is a revelation. “When I was younger, I didn’t have a fan base in the same way. Because I was a kid, my exposure was different. Coming and doing this now is such a blessing.”

If Outlander marks Meikle-Small’s coronation, her ambitions reach well beyond bonnets and bodices. “I would love to do an indie British film,” she says. “In the last few years, we’ve seen some amazing films coming out of the UK. I think the new year will bring new freedom. I just started auditioning, so we’ll see what happens.”

This isn’t her first time coming out of the shadows and shaping her own destiny. “I got my first job at nine and my first movie at 13. By 18 or 19, I’d missed a lot of school. It got to the point where I was like, ‘What if I just went away, lived my life for a few years, was able to kind of grow up and mature physically but also mentally, and have some life experience?’”

UNDERCOVER dress.

She’s also drawn to the unexpected. “Genre isn’t really that important to me. There are genres that I prefer to watch as a viewer, but in terms of acting, I always want to do something different. I tend to be cast a lot in period dramas, and I think I just look very English, and that’s why that happens,” she chuckles at the inevitability of it all. “If I haven’t done a genre before, I’m more likely to be drawn towards it because it’s something that I’ve not done yet.”

For example, Meikle-Small is a dark comedy-fan, and since she specialized in medieval dark comedy in school, she’s grown incredibly fond of them. “I think that probably is one of my favorite genres to watch,” Meikle-Small admits. “It’s funny, but also it really normally packs a bit of a sucker punch message. It’s a clever way of concealing the emotional message to make it more palatable.”

While at university, Meikle-Small fell in love with producing, a role that seems perfectly suited to her thoughtful and measured approach. “I tend to work with a lot of writers who were actors who’ve turned to writing,” she says. “Because I am also an actor, they trust that I will understand and can see their point of view and that I can lead them behind the camera in a way that they’ll understand.”

If there’s one thread tying together Meikle-Small’s eclectic pursuits, it’s her deep love of stories. “I definitely would say I am a book lover,” she says, noting her background in English literature. “Doing period dramas feels natural because I love adaptations. It’s kind of my niche.” But she’s not content to simply bring existing narratives to life—she’s crafting her own.

UNDERCOVER dress and shoes.

“I have started writing, which feels a little bit scary,” she reveals. “There’s a short that I co-wrote with my friend—it’s not ready at all, but there’s something really interesting in the idea. There’s also a book that I’m trying to adapt to be a film screenplay.” For someone who has spent years embodying other people’s characters, the act of writing is an exercise in autonomy. “Whenever I’m writing things, I’m imagining myself playing the character that I would like to play, which always makes it more fun.” 

Her dream? To merge her passions into one cohesive whole. “The aim is to kind of get bigger and welcome bigger things. My absolute dream would be to act in something that I’m also producing and be able to have a kind of creative say in front of and behind the camera, especially on Outlander like watching Caitríona [Balfe] and Sam [Heughan] do that with such grace. It feels more tangible now, and I think I’d have less imposter syndrome.”

As Meikle-Small looks ahead, she’s taking stock of what she’s achieved and where she wants to go. This self-assurance radiates in her ambitions. Whether it’s an indie film, a dark comedy, or something completely different, Meikle-Small is ready to embrace whatever comes next. Izzy Meikle-Small is no shadow; she’s the whole picture.

All seasons of Outlander, including 7 Part 2, are available to stream on MGM+ in the UK and Starz in the US now. 

UNDERCOVER dress and shoes and JAEGER-LECOULTRE watch.

Photographed by Lee Malone

Styled by Karen Clarkson at The Wall Group

Written by Lily Brown

Hair: Grace Hatcher using Sam McKnight

Makeup: Irina Cajvaneanu at Caren using Lisa Eldridge Beauty 

Stylist Assistant : Maïlys Pereira

[zhoudadudugongjin]

Damn sounds like he's a team's carrier

It reminds me of that new modern slang in my country which translates to English means "team's carrier", who's essentially the backbone of the team, they may not be the leader of the team, but they definitely work out every unexpected issue that comes in the team's ways and more often than not, not recognized or known for that matter

I'm pretty sure the team's carrier characters are important but not as recognized, it's like that time when I learned in my country's history of this obscured imperial official who's essentially "the Man behind the Emperor" who did a lot for this famously known Emperor but literally almost no one knows about his accomplishments in the present, but they do know the Emperor who he worked for WELL and who didn't almost lose the right to be Emperor thanks to the official (The Emperor guy got a notorious reputation and not one one might expect, the guy got his wife, the Empress, pregnant BEFORE MARRIAGE cuz his dad, the previous Emperor, told him he can't marry his girlfriend, who's the would be Empress so he went and got her pregnant so his Dad can't say no to that and that's how he married his wife, he took responsibility for her so no hate in that, but damn that was super daring considering the time period)

I'm from Vietnam btw :3, The 3 Kingdoms is very famous in my country for its great history, hope you don't mind the small history fact dropped

Hi! Thanks for your message!

I just want to preface this with a BIG disclaimer. I am not Chinese, I am British, and I kinda just fell into the 3k stuff this summer and Zhige Liang is now Bloro from my history books. The whole era is virtually unknown to the general public here, so with that in mind, I would consider myself FAR from an authority on such matters!

In terms of being someone who carries the team, that absolutely does explain Zhuge Liang to a tee! Not just because he was given so much responsibility, but also because he put so much upon himself (and he was a bit of a control freak too which didn't help matters!)

In terms of it being unrecognised, that very much seems to not be the case, both at the time and subsequently through history. Especially after Liu Bei died. His son Liu Shan was only 16 when he took the crown and very reliant on Zhuge Liang. Everyone knew it, in fact his competence was so well known that many other ministers were suspicious that he would usurp power for himself.

Liu Shan himself was Zhuge Liang's adopted son and he loved and respected him so much that he ended up being the only emperor in Chinese history to commission a temple for one of his subjects. There's a fun little post about that matter linked below (and I really reccommend @mademoiselle-red 's blog if you're interested in historical tidbits because she's awesome and knows what's what!)

Sorry for the long essay lol. But yeah I do have a bit of a soft spot for long-serving/long-suffering ministers who basically ran the country lol. I'm looking at you, Sir William Marshal my beloved, who is the closest example i can think of for England. Sadly nobody these days seems to know much about his life and story because they don't teach about him in schools... So I guess you can say he is a bit of a team carrier ...

[transthadymacdermot]

Tagged by @fortunatetragedy for this wip questionnaire tag game! answering for my histfic wip the nobler grave

What’s the first part of your WIP that you created?

The characters! Many of them are carried over from earlier things I've written so of course

If your story was a TV show, what would the theme song/intro be?

Oughhh probably a version of either arthur mcbride or the unquiet grave! both thematically appropriate (imo) folk songs so either works

What are your favorite characters that you made? Why?

Of the characters who feature in this story, it's a tie between my bestfriend Eoin O'Donnell and my daughter who has every disease Sarah Connolly... mostly because I find them both rlly interesting characters who deal with the horrible things which have happened to them in really interesting and simultaneously deeply unhealthy and also deeply understandable ways. I also really like Charles, Lord Drenning for his insane imperialist hubris which is deplorable but fun as hell to write

What other pieces of media do you think your fanbase would share?

Probably things like black sails + the terror + sharpe for similar time period and vaguely similar themes. Also there are a bunch of lesser known pieces of irish historical fiction which heavily influenced NG in many ways which I think people who like NG would probably like, and also like. Real Irish History. I write for the people who also have 6000000 crusty pdfs even god doesn't know about on the topic of nineteenth century irish governance in their google drives and those people ONLY

What has been your biggest struggle with your WIP?

I would say the historical stuff but honestly it's probably specifically language related... there's plenty out there on how people in the early 19thc spoke and plenty out there on hiberno-english but comparatively little on how peasants in mid-ulster in 1810 would have been talking to each other. it's not nonexistent I'm just having to do a lot of very dedicated research lmao

Are there any animals in your story? Talk about them!

The only really significant animals are charles' 'wolfdogs,' his pack of hunting dogs which are like... mostly irish wolfhound wrt their breeding (☝️historical note: wolfhounds were mostly if not totally extinct in ireland by the time the story takes place, only a few people still had them and mostly as status symbols. so the fact that charles is using them to actually hunt is significant!). There are six of them and their names are Gaineamh, Méar, Sicín, Ciarsúr, Arán, and James. for reasons which I will leave currently only known to ppl who speak irish the man who named them (charles' kennelmaster) is viciously mocked for what he called them

How do your characters travel/get around?

Largely on foot, sometimes on horseback and sometimes in carts. The wealthier characters ride more often, and some take carriages. Trains and cars haven't been invented yet 😔

What part of your WIP are you working on right now?

Working out the details of the government committee charles is on -- fleshing out the members, figuring out What The Hell It Actually Does, who it answers to, etc. lots of reading and rereading accounts of how the government worked in late georgian britain and ireland yayyy

What aspects (tropes, maybe?) will you think draw your audience in?

Historical fiction with (hopefully) a high amount of attention to detail

People who are allowed to be very 'bad' victims because people often become deeply unpalatable and lash out after trauma and that is literally that

The bizarre psychosexual obsession between like. all of the characters

Commentary on perception of history

The unavoidable tragedy of it all

Let's Hate The British Government Together 🫴

What are your hopes for your WIP?

I'm just having fun writing it, man. don't rlly have any specific goals atp other than entertaining myself and my best friends who reply with fire emojis every time I tell them about it

Tagging @ettawritesnstudies @orphanheirs @fenatics @macabremoons @scorpiothesaint @poethill + anyone else who wants to take part :3

[baronetcoins]

I feel like I win when I lose—Director's Commentary

In what is rapidly becoming a tradition of mine, I went on a research Bender for my Yuletide fic and there are so many details I want to point out and discuss—so I will. This year I wrote I feel like I win when I lose for @avengingmariner and I did loose my mind over it, but in a fun way. Join me in my descent into madness below the cut.

My brief was "you must put my man laurence in A Situation" and I somehow landed on the core nugget of "Napoleon finds Laurence in his darkest hour, instead of Tharkay"—mostly because NGL I haven't read further in this series than Victory of Eagles. I'm working on it, just not there yet.

From that point I just sort of... started writing and felt out where the story wanted to go, and then I kept falling into research holes. Here are some of the fun pieces of information I learned in rough order of where they popped up in the fic.

There was chicken set aside from the dinner he was supposed to have had hours ago, before an urgent missive had pulled him away—a simple roast bird, born out from what local provisions had been found

The WEEK I was working on this, Max Miller of Tasting History put out a video on Napoleon. I wasn't able to work in a lot of detail about the food here just because I couldn't make it flow into what I was writing, but there's so much I wish I could have talked about. The weird thing with chicken! Apocryphal stories about how dishes got their names! His drinking habits! The inherent whatever of breaking bread with somebody who's supposed to be your enemy! Now that I'm writing this paragraph I feel like I need to write another fic about food.

And then I Made chicken marengo the week after because I was curious. It was fine?

le mistral noir

Now this bit owes its thanks to Kangoo, my resident French correspondent. I was talking to him about what could be a nickname the French soldiers used for Temeraire, and he suggested "le mistral" which he described as "(very cold and often violent wind that blows into france from great britain, known for cleaning the sky of clouds and also wrecking your shit) (also the name of a fighter plane)" and I went "oh, that's Perfect". And I wanted to be able to explain that reference. Because it's So Good.

He blinked around at the courtyard of brick building before being hurried just as swiftly into a fine bedchamber where he was given a cold supper and the opportunity to wash himself. With little else to do, he fell into another restless sleep.

This was a fun bit of gamesmanship to think out—where would Napoleon want to set the treaty signing in order to send a message? And in order to think about that, I had to learn more about how the government of Britain worked in this timeframe (polisci major hat incoming).

In the US, authority to make treaties is vested in the executive branch, but the legislative branch has to ratify them. I did not know how that worked for the British, because their system mystefies me to this day. Luckily, I found this paper which explains how it worked in 1938, and there isn't much reason to expect it to have changed in that period, so the answer is "at least in theory, the authority rests with the Crown".

Based on that, I figured he'd want to make a point by holding it in a royal building as opposed to Westminster, so I went with St. James' palace which has been used for state stuff forever. Unfortunately, the details for the interior of St. James' are scarce. I was looking at 1860s watercolors to try and squint out a layout.

It was a dress uniform of aviator green, with gold braid and buttons as well as twin epaulettes. He dropped it as if it were a hot coal.

This was perhaps my longest diversion. I'm not intimately familiar with the internal culture of the military <understatement, but I knew having Laurence be present in any form would be read as a huge statement. So what kind of statement would you want to make? Ultimately I went with "the biggest 'fuck you' possible", so Laurence in a British aviator's uniform.

Then there was the question of fringe or no fringe. Which didn't even make it into the fic, but was an interesting diversion. You see, "captain" is a term that connotes a different level of authority in the Army vs the Navy. NATO has a standard rank scale I was able to squint at here, as it tries to standardize across branches and countries. Captain in the British Army is an OF-2 rank, but Captain in the British Navy is an OF-5 rank. What does it represent in those terms in the Arial Corps? I have no idea! This impacts nothing here other than if one or both epaulettes would have fringe on them.

He wandered the hallways, passing French soldiers who saluted him and English dignitaries who ignored him or glared at him in turn. In desperation he returned to seek refuge in the room he’d been left last.

The medal Laurence gets is that of the Légion d'honneur, and nominally military personnel in uniform are supposed to salute other uniformed personnel wearing it, regardless of ranks involved. That was too good of a detail not to gesture at.

The Wikipedia article

I picked Jacques-Louis David entirely because he's my favorite artist of this time period and location, though the fact he did official work for Napoleon was a bonus. I'm very interested in the uses of these really formalized displays of image-crafting as used for propaganda, and also it's just fun to think about. Spent ages looking at Wikipedia too to get the formatting and the style of writing right, which I think I did.

The Title

Really, it just made me laugh, so it had to stay. I mean the song is also fitting and I think it's the sentiment I wanted to gesture at emotionally, but it is also funny,

[humanpurposes]

I read something about GRRM being inspired by The Wars of the Roses/British history and it’s common for women of that time period to have been accused by men of bewitching people or being sorceresses (not really surprising but that usually stemmed from deep misogyny/envy). So it is a bit funny when people take the accounts of the maesters at face value when f&b plays around with people’s perceptions and builds a very narrow view of who these figures are.

I'm about to jump on this ask as an excuse for a fun lil history rant :) (apologies if that's not what you were signing up for but what else am I meant to do with my degree??) But I'll be merciful and put it under a read more.

Yeah! So GRRMs influences from English medieval history are evident, asoiaf is meant to be inspired by the Wars of the Roses and he has said the Anarchy was the inspiration behind the Dance of the Dragons. But you could draw similarities between the Wars of the Roses and the Dance as well.

What we see a lot of the time with medieval Queens and female figures around the middle ages is that they have been villainaised by their contemporaries, historians, and in the public memory in general. Helen Castor explains the stories of several Queens in She Wolves, which also has a documentary, so would highly recommend that. Essentially, women have traditionally been held to much harsher scrutiny for displaying any kind of ambition or agency when compared to men.

In the Wars of the Roses specifically, Elizabeth of York and her mother Jacquetta of Luxembourg were rumoured to practice witchcraft after Elizabeth unexpectedly married Edward IV and their family rose to prominence. On the Lancaster side, Margaret of Anjou, wife of Henry VI is remembered by Shakespeare as the "She-Wolf of France" for attempting to assert her own power as Queen when her husband was incapable of ruling, and for defending her son's claim to the throne. And then we have Margaret Beaufort, the mother of Henry VII, who orchestrated her son's rise to power and is also portrayed quite negatively in various historical fiction novels and TV shows.

It's only recently that we've begun to question these interpretations of female historical figures, and we see similar patterns in Fire and Blood, not just with Alys but also with Rhaenyra and Alicent. And this is because patriarchy loves to condemn women who step outside of traditional gender roles. This is why, historically, a woman's right to rule has been so contested, because in a system of personal monarchy, it matters what kind of person the monarch is. They have to be able to lead, to fight and defend their realm, they have to be intelligent and commanding, all attributes a medieval society believes women incapable of possessing. I've gone really off topic but my point it, it's important to understand the universe these characters are operating in. If they act in an unconventional way, they will be scrutinised for it, by their enemies, by those recounting the narrative in F&B, and apparently, by fans as well. Why do we think GRRM wrote F&B as a fictional history? The book itself is a comment on historical biases and unreliable narrators.

And to be fair, I'm not saying all these women are saints who are incapable of wrongdoing, fictional or historical, but I think it's incredibly reductive to blindly idolise or vallainise female characters and political players. We all know who the real enemy is that is MEN :) (not my man Aemond though, he's a feminist prrrr)

[thebaffledcaptain]

(History asks) 7, 14, 21!

Thank you for the ask my friend!

7. Favorite historical dressing, uniform or costume?

Oh goodness…. it’s hard to pick just one. However I’ll stick with what I know and settle for the 1787 pattern British Naval uniform.

I know a lot of people prefer the Napoleonic-era uniforms, which are a close second for me, but I love the late-18th century silhouette. The white lapels! The standing collar! The turned-back cuffs! For me this is the sweet spot between the relative minimalism of the early uniforms and the borderline exuberant use of lace in the 19th century.

14. Why you are interested in history?

Somehow I find that hard to explain even to myself... I think a part of me just likes stories, a part of me likes knowing how things happened, and a part of me just feels deeply drawn to the past, somehow more so than the present. I hope no one ever mistakes my love for my time period as anything other than love—I don’t embrace all the ideology that came from it, I don’t romanticize it as the good old days, I don’t want to live there. But I do love it, deeply, and I feel its presence in my daily life, if that makes any sense: sometimes I’ll look at a river bank and see it 250 years ago, I’ll inhale an autumn wind that feels distinctly antique. Knowing about it is something comforting to me, and I tend to think of my period in history as a very relevant part of my life (but I think that's all the special interest talking). I don’t claim to be one of those people born in the wrong century but I do feel like a part of my heart is there. If past lives were something I believed in, maybe I had one there, but whatever it is, I feel like I left a part of my soul there.

21. Favorite historical game?

That's actually such a great question and I wish I had more experience with which to answer—I do remember enjoying "game of graces." Simple concept, of course, but somehow catching stuff never gets old. I am choosing to interpret the question this way in the chance that this refers to a game *about* history simply because I wouldn’t have an answer otherwise…

[zainsvision]

Past and Present

In the past we did not have so many facilities we have now , in the past we survived by hunting animals, eating raw berries and etc. We do not have written record of some past events but have archaeological sources which guide us to the information and takes us back into the past . The period where we did not have any written record and the people didn't know how to write and read is called as prehistory. I wonder how the people survived in such harsh weathers now even if its not that hot we cant survive without the air cooler or AC , or in winter without heaters . I wonder In the past humans before discovering fire how did they survive whatever they would do it is said at that time first it used to be very cold . History make you wonder a lot of things and many question might come to your mind when you start reading just a bit . I still wonder we say that we were monkeys before or even if u say we are evolved from hominins. Its kind of disturbing that we say to ourselves monkeys , like are forefathers were monkeys . Well this topic will never end until we find a prove . I find history interesting because of such things where I can keep my point of view . Its so fun learning about our past . Especially when you come to know about so many interesting things about India . India was the very rich because of so much gold present in India . This gold is very much found in the state of Karnataka . But the britishers , travellers, traders got to know about such places where they could find gold they stole India's gold . Well lets come back to the past and the present topic . in the olden days we did not have cars or bikes or other transportation vehicles which we have now thus the air was very much clean the population was low . Bu now as our demands are increasing we are not adjusting we just want more and more , and due to us many issues are happening which are serious and dangerous issues so lets together Survey ourselves how much we know by going to a website where we can get lots of knowledge and where we can wake up to save this earth. The beautiful Earth our Forefather left for us lets save our mother Earth together 

Fill the form to Check how much you know - https://docs.google.com/forms/d/1sUmnMxbWHksEEnPbgWopEf-AI2mpsTjCj5THjBduzTI/edit?usp=sharing You can view this Site for more awakening Knowledge Site -https://sites.google.com/view/savetheenvironmentwithme/home ZAINAB SAYED

[hetagrammy]

i'm grateful that you listened to the feedback about the problems with that nyo!england fic. the racism in it, especially after the fic moved into the victorian era, and became a very white feminist understanding of the british empire, also bothered me a lot as a woc. one example is how OP described Maia/NZ as a 'little monkey' in chapter 13 (here: archive(dot)ph/pwuuv#selection-18037.204-18037.239) and depicts her as small and bizarrely childlike, even though OP herself said Maia is supposed to be a 20 y/o college-educated Māori woman by then. there was no warning for racism in that chapter unlike how she warned for anti-irish stereotypes in another one, and Maia's weirdly childlike demeanor remains in those scenes not from Evelyn's biased perspective, so it came off as unexamined racism against indigenous people that OP doesn't even think or realize is a problem. she's actually received feedback from poc about problems in her fic already so...idk what to make of the fact that she still hasn't fixed that. i just know i'm not comfortable.

additionally, the fact that she clearly took the concept of Maia from other people in fandom who did a lot of work and research to flesh out a complex female Māori NZ, infantilizing and simplifying NZ and calling her a monkey felt even more disrespectful. i think it's fine to be inspired by other people in fandom (i've seen your own fun take on regency NZ), but not like that.

Response under the cut, apologies for the length

I want to go ahead and say, while I appreciate being notified about this, I don't want my blog to become a forum for dogpiling on the author or making accusations. The critiques presented here are very valid, I just don't want to cause any more trouble than me making that fic recommendation already did.

That being said, the only chapters I had read from that fic were ones that happened to come across my dashboard, and they were centered around Cromwell and the English Civil War, which is an interesting period to me. Knowing these details about later events in the fic now, I can definitely see how that would cause a lot of discomfort. The "monkey" metaphor makes me very uncomfortable, because it is a very loaded term. Though I doubt the author's intention was to offend, it's definitely a term to avoid when writing a non-white character. It's a poor word choice, and it is an odd character choice considering most interpretations I see of Zee tend to have her as very independent and self-assured. Granted, it's not my place to tell people how to do their own characterization, but in this case it is a characterization that sticks out and can carry some unsavory connotations.

I've adhered to the interpretation of Zee as a biracial woman, mostly because from what little I know of New Zealand's history, the Treaty of Waitangi gave the Maori a little more influence and leeway to negotiate with the British crown. That is obviously not to say they were treated well, the treaty was breached numerous times and they were still subjected to heavy discrimination. However, I think that the Maori's position throughout New Zealand's history makes it fitting that its personification would share that heritage. That being said, I don't know nearly enough about the history of New Zealand to meaningfully write a piece examining Zee's relationship with colonialism. There's plenty of people in this fanbase who could do that miles better than I could any day anyway. In my Regency AU I'm still unsure of how much I would examine that, especially because she is a young child in that. It's a complex topic, and definitely not one to half-ass when writing out.

Long story short, writing historical content with any of these characters is something that should be handled with care, but I think that is especially true when it comes to non-white characters.

[undisputed-queer-a]

Let's talk about the Diva's Title

I said I'd do this so...um yeah that thing. Once again I'll try not to reiterate ground that has already been beaten to death. Seriously it looks so sh*t. It looks like it's sold at Claire's, if your not British let me translate- it looks like sh*tty jewellery for 13 year olds. But yes it looks terrible but instead of just saying that in 50 different ways how does it compare to other women's title's at the time.

(From left to right: TNA's Knockouts World Championship, Shimmer's Shimmer Championship, Stardom's World of Stardom Championship, WWE's Women's Championship, Ice Ribbon's ICE Cross Infinity Championship and WOW's WOW World Championship)

In my opinion the most important thing for a wrestling title is that it looks like an accolade, that it looks like something people would want to win. And I think that all of these belt fit this criteria with some excelling but then again good looking championships are subjective (Knockouts Championship my beloved) so the important bit is that they look important and like well championships. The Diva's Title doesn't look like a championship, it looks like a really bad accessory.

Ok let's zoom in for a second and compare the diva's title to one of these other title, and because I have the most history with it, let's pick the TNA's Knockouts Championship. Okay first off while I know that cagematch isn't always the best place, I'd like to mention that it rates the Diva's title at 2.62 and the Knockouts one at 7.91. And now let's compare some reviews of these belts.

"Not as good as the women's title and division and never liked the look of the diva's belt. The division is too much about eye candy and not enough hardcore action. There are no true HC matches such as ladder, cage, TLC or no holds barred matches. Also tired of seeing the black divas used as jobbers and think Naomi should have a reign as divas champ and Alicia should have a second reign. Only one black woman has held the title so far in it's history which is not right in my view."

"A very poor championship. The very design of the belt itself represents inferiority and relegates the belt and all who hold it in limbo. It's not a representation of a true women's belt and has been designed more for a pr teen or adolescent. As the design of the belt is that of a pink butterfly. Nothing against butterflies per say but it seems to have purposely over feminized in such a way as to make it seem worth much less then every other belt on the roster. I actually find the belt somewhat offensive and do not take it seriously. There have been a lot of great women's wrestlers that have held the belt but they and the belt are so-called Divas which in my opinion marginalizes them and the title itself."

A scathing admonishing of this belt, it's role in the company and the treatment of it's women. Now compare.

"While a lot of dumb things - lockboxes, hypnotism, ect. but it is still a bright spot, especially during the 2000's period where only TNA and places like shimmer cared for woman's wrestling, and there have been plenty of fun matches for this title, still a good title, just needs some for focus on the title."

I think that the KO Belt has a higher batting average of good feuds and good matches.

Ok fun game time, Name a good Diva's title match.

Ok sorry that was a bit hard, Name a good Diva's title feud.

Maybe you could, but I couldn't. And that's part of why this Title was sh*t (wow I've said sh*t a lot in this post) I can't name a single good thing to come out of it...maybe Paige Vs AJ...maybe Paige Vs Charlotte excluding the really uncomfortable reference to Charlotte's dead brother. Also it's design and name do a lot of work to undermine the women who held it, but I think you knew that already. It's important to mention though. They didn't call them 'women', they f*cking called them 'divas'

In conclusion, I have talked about the Diva's title for far too long and would like to stop. At least things are a bit better now. A bit.

This has been Undisputed Queer-a.

Slay The System, Shock The Cis-tem, and see you next Monday.

[youryurigoddess]

Um, hi, hope this won’t disappoint you or anything, but long story short I happened to write a very friendly Twitter thread on this particular reference in Good Omens 2 back in September:

What’s more, shortly afterwards I have also confirmed that Neil not only has read the “No Nightingales” novel, but even recommended it while working on Good Omens 2 specifically:

Now, there are no new reprints of the original novel and all of the second hand copies available at the time were bought out soon after I tweeted. However, the 1947 movie adaptation, The Ghosts of Berkeley Square, is easily accessible here and actually much better than expected, since it kind of flopped back in the day. The director explained the reason as follows:

“I thought it was a very funny film and all the critics did, but you had to know a bit about English history to understand it. You had to know there was a Boer War, there was a Queen Anne and there was a Prince Regent, you had to know they — you had to have the very, very basic knowledge, which people apparently didn't have, and people didn't understand it.”

I wasn't quite comfortable with some period-appropriate elements of British colonialism in one of the storylines, but in general it's aged pretty well.

The plot itself sounds oddly familiar — a retired couple of 18th century army officers gets themselves accidentally killed while plotting a war winning strategy and spends the next 200 years of shenanigans as ghosts at their Berkeley Square residence. These guys also happened to have a falling out for ca. 70 years while living together in their joint, purchased before death house and adopting a ghost cat in the middle of it.

The central part of the story is built upon the concept that death is not the ending at all, on the contrary — the action of the novel begins with the characters' deaths and they function as (sometimes materialized, sometimes dematerialized — in the Good Omens vernacular we could say something about corporations and discorporations instead) ghosts until their very own happy ending.

So yeah, that would be it for today. If you want to know more obscure movie and book references in Good Omens 2, I tend to mention quite a lot of them in my meta analyses. Some of them are already published on this account, the rest is systemically copied from their original tweets, so stick around for a bit if it sounds interesting. I’m just doing my own thing and having fun here.

So, who was gonna tell me that ‘No Nightingales’ is a book about two ghosts preventing a war from happening, then being in a love-hate relationship and not talking to each other for 66 years in a house on Berkeley Square??

[farmergirlimagines]

Chapter 16 : Invitations and Confrontations

Masterlist ~ Through Static and Shock

>>>Thank you for reading! Please comment and let me know if you want to be tagged in future updates of this story. I post a new chapter each Monday, Wednesday and Friday!

 See you all next update!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sharp clang of the school bell reverberated through the halls, unleashing a tide of students into the corridors. The air buzzed with overlapping chatter, punctuated by the occasional slam of a locker or burst of laughter. Donna and Nancy slipped out of AP U.S. History, their textbooks clutched to their chests, navigating through the crowd like seasoned pros.

“If I have to listen to Mr. Collins ramble about the American Revolution one more time, I swear…” Donna muttered, rolling her eyes so dramatically that Nancy couldn’t help but grin.

“Come on, it wasn’t that bad,” Nancy teased, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

Donna dropped her voice into a low monotone, her impression of Mr. Collins unnervingly accurate. “‘And then the British… marched… into Lexington.’ Honestly, it’s like he’s got a personal vendetta against keeping us awake.”

Nancy’s laughter rang out, a welcome contrast to the drudgery of sixth period. They turned the corner toward their lockers, where Steve Harrington stood leaning with practiced ease against the metal, his smug confidence as loud as the varsity jacket slung over his shoulder.

The moment he spotted them, he straightened, his trademark grin lighting up his face. “Hey, Wheeler. Henderson.”

“Hi, Steve,” Nancy replied, her voice softening just enough for Donna to notice. A faint blush rose on Nancy’s cheeks as she offered a small wave.

Donna, on the other hand, didn’t bother hiding her annoyance. She crossed her arms and shot him a look sharp enough to cut glass. “What do you want, Harrington?”

Steve’s grin didn’t falter. If anything, it widened, his smugness dialed up a notch. “Relax, Henderson. No need to bite my head off. I just thought I’d invite you two to a little thing at my place tonight. Nothing crazy—just me, Tommy, and Carol. Drinks, music, good vibes. You know, a break from all this,” he gestured vaguely at the fluorescent-lit chaos around them.

Nancy hesitated, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “I don’t know, Steve. You know I’m not really into big parties.”

“It’s not a party,” Steve corrected quickly, his tone as smooth as the gel in his hair. “More like a small gathering. Chill. You can bring Barb if that makes you feel better.” He paused, flashing a winning smile. “You know she’d never forgive me if I didn’t invite her.”

Nancy’s lips twitched upward, but before she could respond, Donna cut in, her voice brisk. “You two have fun with that. I’ve got plans with Joanna and Jonathan in Indianapolis tonight.”

Steve arched an eyebrow, his smirk taking on a sly edge. “Oh, yeah? That’s interesting, considering I saw Jonathan’s car peeling out of the parking lot after fifth period. And, uh…” He tilted his head, feigning innocence. “Joanna wasn’t in Spanish during sixth. Weird, right?”

Donna froze, the color draining from her face as the words hit her. Her grip on her textbook tightened, knuckles whitening. “What are you talking about, Harrington?”

Steve leaned back, clearly enjoying the shift in power. “I’m just saying. Maybe you don’t know everything your friends are up to.”

The hallway noise seemed to fade as Donna’s jaw clenched, her mind racing. Something wasn’t adding up, and Steve Harrington—of all people—was holding the thread she needed to unravel.

“I saw them,” Steve said, his tone casual as he leaned a little closer. “Took off during lunch, I think. You weren’t in the car, so…” He shrugged, as though the details didn’t matter.

Nancy’s gaze flicked to Donna, her brow furrowed in concern. “Did they tell you they were leaving without you?”

Donna’s jaw tightened, her voice slicing through the chatter around them. “No. They didn’t say anything.”

Steve tried for a disarming grin, his hands spreading in mock innocence. “Well, guess that means you’re free tonight. Perfect timing, huh?”

“Not now, Steve,” Donna snapped, slamming her locker shut with a metallic clang that reverberated down the hallway. Her knuckles turned white as she gripped her textbook, the tension in her posture impossible to miss.

Nancy placed a gentle hand on Donna’s arm, her voice soft, soothing. “Maybe they were just in a hurry? You can call them when you get home.”

Donna exhaled sharply, her attempt to steady herself more audible than she’d intended. “Yeah. Maybe.” Her reply was clipped, the tightness in her tone betraying the storm brewing beneath the surface.

Steve glanced between them, awkwardly breaking the silence. “So… party or no party?”

Nancy rounded on him, her eyes flashing. “Steve!”

He raised his hands in surrender, his grin faltering just slightly. “What? I’m just asking.”

Donna shot him a glare that could have melted steel before spinning on her heel and storming off, her shoes clicking sharply against the linoleum.

Nancy hesitated, torn between chasing after Donna and dealing with Steve. She settled for an exasperated sigh, throwing him a look that spoke volumes. “You’re unbelievable sometimes, you know that?”

Steve smirked, though there was a flicker of doubt in his eyes. “Yeah, but you still like me,” he quipped, throwing an arm over her shoulder as if to soften the blow.

Nancy ducked out from under his arm, shaking her head. “You’re impossible,” she muttered, her words barely audible as she hurried to catch up with Donna.

Steve lingered for a moment, watching her go. The confident grin remained plastered on his face, but the flicker of doubt lingered, subtle yet undeniable. For once, it seemed, even Steve Harrington wasn’t quite sure he’d won.

Jonathan’s beat-up car rattled as it pulled into the cracked driveway of a shabby, one-story house. The yard was a mess—grass grown wild, beer cans glinting in the late afternoon light, and a rusting lawnmower tipped on its side. The house itself looked like it had given up on being a home. Half its exterior was coated in peeling white paint, the other half bare wood, as if someone had started a project and walked away halfway through.

In the passenger seat, Joanna sat stiff and tense, her knee bouncing in a rapid, nervous rhythm. She glanced sideways at Jonathan as he killed the engine. The car’s sputter seemed louder in the eerie stillness of the rundown neighborhood. “You sure he still lives here?”

Jonathan didn’t answer right away. His hands tightened on the steering wheel, knuckles paling as he stared at the house like it might bite. “This is the last address I’ve got,” he said finally, his voice low and tight.

Joanna huffed, her breath fogging the window for a moment before fading. She ran her hands through her hair, trying to mask her frustration with motion. “Great,” she muttered. “Let’s get this over with.”

They climbed out of the car, the doors groaning in protest. Gravel crunched beneath their feet as they walked toward the front door. Joanna moved ahead, her shoulders squared, trying to look more confident than she felt. She raised a fist to knock, but the door creaked open before her knuckles touched wood.

Lonnie Byers leaned against the doorframe, a beer bottle dangling loosely from his fingers. His face carried a familiar mixture of boredom and disdain, but the flicker of surprise in his eyes betrayed him. “Well, well,” he drawled, his voice thick with mockery. “Look who decided to visit dear old Dad. What brings the Byers kids to my humble abode?”

Joanna didn’t hesitate. She stepped forward, her expression hard. “Will’s missing, Lonnie. You know that, right?”

Lonnie’s smirk wavered, but only for a second. He took a lazy swig from his beer, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Yeah, I heard,” he said, his voice flat. “Tough break.”

Jonathan’s jaw tightened, his fists balling at his sides. “That’s it? ‘Tough break’?” he snapped, his voice sharp enough to cut. “Your son is missing, and you’re just sitting here, drinking beer?”

Lonnie shrugged, his tone defensive as he straightened up. “What do you want me to do about it, huh? The cops are on it. They’re the professionals, right? It’s not like I can snap my fingers and make him appear.”

Jonathan’s glare could have burned a hole through the man, but Lonnie didn’t flinch. Joanna, standing just inches away, could feel the tension radiating off her brother like a live wire.

“Unbelievable,” she muttered under her breath, her hands clenching and unclenching at her sides.

Joanna stepped closer, her voice cutting through the thick, stale air like a blade. “Have you even thought to call? To ask if there’s anything you can do? Or do you just not care?”

Lonnie opened his mouth to respond, but another voice rang out from inside the house, sharp and lazy at the same time. “Lonnie, who’s at the door?”

A woman appeared in the doorway, her silhouette framed by the dim yellow light spilling out. Natasha, Lonnie’s much younger girlfriend, sauntered up, a cigarette dangling loosely from her lips. She was dressed in a tight tank top and cutoff shorts that showed off tanned legs, her messy blonde hair falling over one shoulder. Her eyes raked over Joanna and Jonathan with a mixture of curiosity and disdain.

“Oh,” she said with a slow, mocking smile. “It’s your kids.” She leaned against the doorframe, exhaling a plume of smoke. “Didn’t know you were running a daycare, Lonnie.”

Joanna’s jaw clenched so tightly it felt like her teeth might crack. She stayed silent, but the fire in her eyes spoke volumes.

Jonathan, ever the calmer of storms, took a measured step forward. “We just need to ask him something. It won’t take long.”

Natasha let out a scoff, crossing her arms as her cigarette smoldered. “Oh, sure. Come on in, let’s have a little family reunion.” She glanced at Lonnie, smirking. “They here to waste your time with their little sob story? What, you think you’re the only ones with problems?”

Joanna’s eyes narrowed, her temper sparking. “Excuse me?”

Natasha didn’t even flinch. She blew a lazy puff of smoke in Joanna’s direction, letting the silence stretch just long enough to sting. “You heard me. Your brother’s missing. Big deal. Kids go missing all the time. You think Lonnie’s gonna drop everything to play hero?”

Jonathan grabbed Joanna’s arm, sensing the storm brewing beside him. “Let it go, Jo,” he murmured under his breath, but Joanna shook him off, her voice sharp.

“No,” she snapped, stepping forward. “I’m not letting it go.” Her gaze locked onto Natasha, fiery and unyielding. “You don’t get to talk about my family like that. You don’t know anything about us.”

Natasha smirked, unfazed, lounging just behind Lonnie as though daring Joanna to push further. “I’m sorry,” she said, dragging on her cigarette, her tone dripping with condescension. “Are you expecting Lonnie to suddenly grow a conscience? Because, honey, you’re barking up the wrong tree.”

Joanna’s fists clenched, her nails biting into her palms, but her focus remained on Lonnie. “Did Will call you or not?”

Lonnie shrugged, taking another sip of his beer, his indifference a slap in the face. “No, Jo. Haven’t heard a word.”

“Shocker,” Natasha chimed in, her voice sing-song as she rolled her eyes dramatically. “The kid’s probably just doing what any sane person would—getting as far away from this family as possible.”

Jonathan shifted awkwardly, clearly itching to diffuse the tension. “We’re not here for this, Natasha. Just stay out of it.”

But Natasha wasn’t done. She leaned forward, her grin widening as if she were savoring every second. “Oh, I know enough. Like how your mom’s a nutcase and your dad can’t stand being around her—or you.”

The words hit like a slap, but Joanna didn’t flinch. Instead, she turned slowly, her voice dropping to a dangerously low pitch. “You got something you want to say to me?”

Natasha flicked her cigarette, the ash scattering near Joanna’s boots. “Plenty. Like how it’s not my fault your family’s a train wreck. Maybe if your mom wasn’t such a lunatic—”

Joanna took a deliberate step forward, closing the space between them. Her voice cut through Natasha’s like steel on glass. “You’re real bold for someone living in my dad’s dump of a house, smoking his cheap cigarettes, and playing house with a guy who can’t even pay his child support.”

Natasha’s smirk faltered, just for a second, but she recovered quickly, blowing another plume of smoke into Joanna’s face. “At least I’m not clinging to some deadbeat, hoping he’ll magically turn into a hero.”

That was it. Joanna snatched the cigarette from Natasha’s hand and crushed it under her boot with a slow, deliberate twist.

“What the hell?!” Natasha shrieked, jerking back.

Joanna didn’t flinch. She stepped closer, her voice sharp and icy. “Here’s the deal. You don’t talk about my mom, my brother, or anything else you don’t understand. You keep your mouth shut, or I’ll shut it for you.”

Jonathan grabbed her arm again, his voice a low warning. “Joanna, stop.”

Natasha let out a sharp, humorless laugh, trying to recover her composure. “Oh, you think you’re tough, huh? What are you gonna do? Slap me?”

Joanna didn’t flinch. “If you keep talking, yeah, I just might. Want to find out?”

Natasha stepped closer, her distilled cigarette smoke lingering in the space between them. She tilted her chin defiantly, her eyes locked on Joanna’s. “You don’t scare me.”

Joanna leaned in, her face mere inches away, her voice low and icy. “Then you’re dumber than you look.”

The air crackled with unspoken threats, the tension pulling taut like a wire ready to snap. Before either of them could move, Lonnie stepped between them, holding his hands up like a referee trying to stop a fight. “Alright, enough!” he barked, his voice cutting through the heavy silence. He turned to Natasha, his tone sharp. “Go inside.”

Natasha’s head snapped toward him, her mouth falling open in disbelief. “You’re seriously taking her side?”

Before Lonnie could respond, Natasha turned back to Joanna, her frustration boiling over. With a sneer, she shoved her hand in Joanna’s face in a dismissive gesture.

That was all it took. Joanna smacked Natasha’s hand away with a sharp slap, the sound echoing in the stillness. Natasha didn’t hesitate—her arm swung back, her nails aiming for Joanna’s face. But Joanna was faster.

The scuffle erupted in an instant, a chaotic blur of motion. Natasha grabbed at Joanna’s hair, her nails scratching wildly, but Joanna had the advantage. Fueled by pent-up anger and frustration, she pushed Natasha back hard, sending her stumbling into the doorframe.

“Get off me, you psycho!” Natasha shrieked, clawing to regain her footing.

Joanna didn’t let up. Every ounce of fury she’d bottled up—over her missing brother, her absent father, and this pathetic excuse of a scene—poured out in sharp, deliberate movements. She shoved Natasha again, hard enough to rattle the door behind her.

Lonnie grabbed Joanna’s arm, trying to pull her back. “That’s enough, Joanna!” he shouted, his voice laced with panic.

But Joanna barely heard him. Her focus was razor-sharp, her breathing heavy as she advanced again, fists clenched so tightly her knuckles turned white. Natasha, now disheveled and furious, lunged with a wild, uncoordinated swipe.

Joanna sidestepped effortlessly, her instincts sharper, and before Natasha could recover, Joanna’s fist connected with her face in a swift, brutal motion. The sickening crunch of bone echoed in the tense air, followed by Natasha’s sharp, guttural cry.

Blood poured from Natasha’s nose as she stumbled back, clutching her face with both hands. Her shocked, watery eyes locked on Joanna, disbelief mingling with pain.

Jonathan sprang into action, wrapping his arms around Joanna from behind and dragging her away. “Jo, stop!” he pleaded, his voice urgent and trembling. “That’s enough! She’s not worth it!”

Joanna thrashed in his grip for a moment, her anger unyielding, but as Natasha’s bloodied, trembling form blurred into view, she finally stilled. Her chest heaved with adrenaline, her eyes blazing with a mix of rage and satisfaction.

Natasha stood frozen in the doorway, her hands slick with blood as she tried and failed to stem the flow. “You… crazy bitch,” she hissed through gritted teeth, her voice garbled by the swelling already forming.

Lonnie stepped forward, his face pale and drawn. “Jesus Christ, Joanna!” he barked, but there was a tremor of fear in his voice.

Joanna didn’t flinch. She didn’t apologize. She met Lonnie’s stare head-on, her voice low and cold. “Maybe next time you’ll think twice about the company you keep.”

“You’re crazy!” Natasha spat, her voice trembling.

Joanna’s voice was steady and cold. “Say one more word, and you’ll find out just how crazy I can be.”

“Joanna!” Jonathan stepped between them, his arms outstretched as he held her back. “Enough!”

Lonnie finally moved, grabbing Natasha by the arm and pulling her aside. “Natasha, go inside. Now.”

Natasha’s glare lingered on Joanna, but she yanked her arm free and obeyed, muttering curses under her breath as she disappeared into the shadowy doorway clutching her nose.

The screen door slammed, and silence settled over the front yard, save for Joanna’s ragged breathing.

Lonnie turned his focus on her, his expression a mix of irritation and disbelief. “You come all the way here just to start a damn fight?”

Joanna’s chest rose and fell with fury, her fists still clenched at her sides. “That’s rich coming from you,” she shot back.

Lonnie’s jaw tightened, and his voice turned sharp. “What the hell was that, huh? You think throwing a tantrum is gonna bring your brother back?”

Joanna took a step forward, her face flushed with rage. “It’s still more than you’ve done!”

Jonathan’s voice cut through the tension, tight with barely restrained anger. “We didn’t come here for this.” He glanced at Lonnie, his tone hardening. “We just want to know if you’ve heard from Will. Did he call you? Has he reached out at all?”

Lonnie sighed heavily, dragging a hand through his thinning hair. “No,” he said, his voice lower now, almost weary. “I haven’t heard from him. And if I had, don’t you think I’d tell you?”

Joanna’s eyes narrowed, her voice trembling with both anger and despair. “I don’t believe you.”

Lonnie raised his hands in exasperation, his beer bottle dangling loosely from one finger. “What the hell would I have to gain by lying, Jo? I get it, you’re upset, but I’m telling you the truth—I don’t know where he is.”

For a moment, nobody moved. Joanna’s glare burned into Lonnie like she was willing him to break, to say something more. Jonathan watched her carefully, ready to step in if her temper flared again.

But then her shoulders sagged, the fight in her retreating as exhaustion crept in. “You wouldn’t tell us even if you did,” she muttered, her voice bitter.

“Believe what you want,” Lonnie said, shrugging as he turned back toward the house. “But I don’t know anything.”

Jonathan exhaled slowly, his hand brushing Joanna’s arm. “Let’s go,” he said quietly.

Joanna didn’t move at first, her gaze still locked on Lonnie’s retreating back. The weight of everything unsaid hung in the air. Finally, she let Jonathan steer her toward the car, her steps heavy and reluctant.

They climbed in without a word, the sound of the engine breaking the silence as Jonathan started the car. Joanna stared out the window, her hands trembling slightly in her lap, her thoughts a swirling storm.

As they pulled out of the driveway, she stole one last glance at the shabby house fading into the distance. “He doesn’t care,” she whispered, more to herself than to Jonathan.

Jonathan gripped the steering wheel tighter, his knuckles pale. “I know,” he said quietly.

And with that, they drove away, the shadows of the past chasing after them like ghosts.

 Karen’s eyes were already locked on him, her posture rigid, the unspoken weight of the situation making the air feel thick and heavy.

"Mike," she said softly, but with enough edge to stop him in his tracks.

He turned, his face suddenly pale, his gaze dropping to the floor as if it could swallow him whole.

"Come sit down," Karen instructed, her voice firm but not unkind. She didn’t need to raise her voice; the tension was already thick enough between them. “We need to talk.”

Mike hesitated, his mind racing as he stood frozen in place. The reality of the confrontation set in, and he slowly walked toward the living room, each step heavier than the last. He sank into the couch, his fingers twitching nervously against his jeans.

Karen sat across from him, her hands folded in her lap. She studied him for a long, quiet moment, trying to balance the frustration building inside her with the motherly concern that never quite went away. Her voice, when it came, was quieter, softer. “I need you to tell me why you skipped school today.”

Mike bit his lip, his eyes still refusing to meet hers. There was a slight tremor in his voice when he finally spoke. “I—I didn’t want to worry you. I thought I could just… stay home, you know? It was just a headache. But I didn’t want to go to school if I wasn’t feeling good, and…”

“I just… I just don’t feel good,” Mike’s voice trembles, his words tumbling out in a rushed, jumbled mess. “I woke up, and my head really hurt, like, bad. And my throat was all scratchy, and I wanted to tell you, but… the last time I told you I was sick, you made me go to school anyway.” His gaze flickers downward, his fingers nervously tugging at the hem of his sleeve, avoiding his mom’s eyes.

Karen watches him for a moment, her expression softening as she steps closer. Reaching out, she gently grabs his hand, her touch firm yet comforting. “Micheal,” she says, her voice calm, yet filled with reassurance.

Mike blinks up at her, his anxiety flickering behind his eyes. “Yeah?”

“I’m not mad at you,” she says, her voice steady, carrying the weight of years of motherhood behind it.

Mike’s brow furrows in disbelief, his mouth opening slightly as if to say something, but the words catch in his throat. “No?”

“No,” Karen repeats, her tone insistent, but with a tenderness that cuts through the confusion in his eyes. “Of course not. With everything going on with Will, I can’t even imagine how you must be feeling. But you—” She pauses, taking a breath, her gaze softening even further. “I never want you to feel like you can’t talk to me. I never want you to think you have to hide anything from me. I’m here for you, okay?”

Before Mike can respond, a loud crash from upstairs echoes through the house, sharp and unexpected, pulling Karen’s attention away.

“Is someone else here?” she asks, her brow furrowing, instinctively turning toward the stairs.

Mike freezes, his chest tightening. “No,” he mutters, almost too quickly, the lie slipping past his lips without a second thought.

Karen gives him a long, searching look, but doesn’t press. Instead, she leans down and presses a soft kiss to the top of his head, her lips lingering for a moment as she gathers herself. “Alright, go on up. I’m just going to work on the laundry downstairs.” She lets go of his hand, her gaze warm but firm. “Take care of yourself, okay?”

Mike nods without meeting her eyes, a mix of guilt and exhaustion weighing on him. Without another word, he bolts up the stairs, his footsteps rapid and almost frantic. The door to his room clicks shut behind him, the lock snapping into place as if to keep the world out.

Karen stands at the foot of the stairs for a moment longer, the faint noise of Mike’s retreating footsteps still echoing in the quiet house. Then, with a quiet sigh, she turns toward the basement, a subtle unease curling in her stomach.

Mike against the locked door, a sinking feeling in his chest as he called out again, his voice cutting through the silence.

“Eleven?” he called, his tone laced with concern. “Is everything okay? El?”

There was no immediate response, his heart pounded, the feeling of something being off growing with each step. He reached the closet door, hesitated for just a moment, then gently pushed it open.

The sight before him stopped him dead in his tracks.

Eleven sat crumpled on the floor, her small frame drawn tight as she hugged her knees to her chest. The dim light from the hallway barely touched her face, but the glistening trails of tears streaking down her cheeks were unmistakable. Her breathing was shallow, ragged—like she was holding back more than just the sobs that escaped her lips.

“Mike,” she whispered, her voice breaking, and it felt like the air itself had gone still around them.

Mike’s stomach churned with an unsettling mix of panic and sorrow. He dropped to his knees in front of her, his voice soft, hesitant. “Is everything okay?” he asked, the question hanging between them with an almost desperate edge.

El didn’t answer immediately. She took a shaky breath, as though gathering the strength to speak, before lifting her tear-streaked face to meet his. She managed a fragile nod, her eyes still wide and vulnerable.

“Are you sure?” Mike pressed, his voice gentle but full of doubt. He knew her too well to be convinced by just a nod, and the way she was curled up like this... it didn’t sit right with him.

Another tear slipped down her cheek, but she wiped it away quickly. “Promise,” she said, her voice barely a whisper as she attempted to mask the ache she was trying so hard to keep hidden.

Mike watched her closely, his heart aching with the need to help, to understand. But for now, all he could do was offer her his presence, steady and constant, waiting for her to let him in when she was ready.

Across town, at Hawkins High, Donna stood by the hood of Barb’s car, arms crossed tightly over her chest, her face shadowed with worry. The wind tousled her hair, but she didn’t seem to notice, her gaze lost somewhere in the distance.

Her mind was far from the schoolyard bustle, swirling with thoughts of the rumors and whispered conversations that had been circling in the halls. 

Nancy and Barb appeared, their voices blending with the chatter of students as they made their way toward her. Their conversation about a science project faded away as they both stopped in their tracks, noticing the tense posture Donna wore like a second skin. The weight of her silence was impossible to ignore.

"Hey, what's going on?" Barb asked softly, her usual reserved tone now tinged with concern.

Donna didn’t answer immediately, her eyes still distant.  Barb nudges Nancy gently, nodding toward her.

“Hey, Donna,” Barb says carefully as they approach. “You okay? You look like something’s bothering you.”

Donna sighs deeply, her breath fogging slightly in the cool air. She glances at her friends, hesitating, before finally speaking. “It’s Jonathan and Joanna,” she admits. Her voice carries an edge of frustration, but there’s an undercurrent of worry beneath it. “They went to see Lonnie without telling me. And now, as if I wasn’t already stressing about them, I’m stuck watching Dustin tonight because Mom’s working late.”

Barb tilts her head, concern flickering across her face. “Wait, they went to Lonnie’s? Without telling you? That’s... weird.”

Donna nods, her eyes darting to the now-empty parking space where Jonathan’s car had been earlier. “Exactly. And now I’m supposed to just sit at home worrying about them, while also keeping an eye on Dustin. He’s smart, but he’s still just a kid. If something happens and I’m not there…” She trails off, chewing on her bottom lip as her fingers fidget with the strap of her messenger bag.

“I don’t know why they think Lonnie is going to help,” she said, her voice low but tinged with frustration. “He barely cared when they were married—why would he care now?”

Nancy stands across from Donna, her hands fiddling with the edge of her sweater. “They’re just trying to do something, you know?” she offered gently, though even she didn’t sound entirely convinced. “Everyone’s scared. And… maybe Lonnie knows something we don’t.”

From her next to her,  Barb looked up, her voice soft but steady. “They’ll call if they find anything, Donna. You don’t have to carry all of this by yourself.”

Donna frowned, her gaze dropping to the floor. She hunched over her bike, the weight of their words pressing on her shoulders. “I’m not carrying it all,” she muttered. “I just… I don’t feel like doing anything right now. Everything feels so… heavy.”

Nancy straightened up, her tone shifting to something more insistent. “That’s exactly why you need to come to the party.”

Donna’s head snapped up, her eyes narrowing as she fixed Nancy with a pointed look. “You’re kidding, right?”

Nancy didn’t flinch. Instead, she squared her shoulders, meeting Donna’s gaze head-on. “No, I’m not kidding. You’ve been running yourself ragged since Will disappeared. And I get it—we all want to help. But Donna, you can’t do everything. You need a break.”

Donna scoffed, shaking her head. “I don’t think partying at Steve Harrington’s house is the kind of ‘break’ I need.” She turned toward Barb, clearly expecting backup.

Barb shifted uncomfortably in her spot,  adjusting her glasses. She hesitated, then said, “I mean… Nancy kind of has a point.” Her voice wavered slightly but grew steadier as she continued. “It doesn’t have to be a big thing. Just… come with us for a little while. You might feel better getting out of the house.”

Donna raised an eyebrow, her expression a mix of disbelief and mild betrayal. “Really? You’re actually on board with this?”

Barb offered a small, apologetic smile but didn’t waver.

Barb hesitated, her fingers fidgeting with the strap of her bag. Her voice was soft but honest when she finally spoke. “Look, I’m not exactly thrilled about it either. But… I don’t know. Maybe Nancy’s right. It might be good for us to just… breathe for a second. Even if it’s not really our scene.”

Donna narrowed her eyes, suspicion flickering across her face. “Why do I feel like this is more about you not wanting Nancy to go alone?”

A faint blush crept up Barb’s cheeks, and she quickly straightened, her tone turning defensive. “It’s not! I mean… okay, maybe a little.” She glanced at Nancy, then back at Donna. “But I’m also worried about you.”

Donna leaned back onto the bike seat, crossing her arms over her chest. “I just don’t see how standing around watching Steve Harrington and his friends get drunk is going to help anything.”

Nancy leaned forward, her expression earnest and open. “It’s not about them, Donna. It’s about us. You. Me. Barb. We don’t even have to stay long. Just… come. You’ll have us, and if it’s horrible, we’ll leave. I promise.”

Barb nodded in agreement, her voice gentler now. “And if it gets to be too much, we’ll find somewhere quiet. Just us. We can even leave early if you want.”

Donna’s gaze flicked between the two of them. She could see the effort they were making, their determination to pull her out of the spiraling heaviness she hadn’t been able to shake. She didn’t fully believe a party would help, but their insistence gave her pause.

“Fine,” Donna said at last, though her tone was reluctant. She lifted a finger pointedly. “But I’m only staying for an hour. And if Steve’s friends start acting like jerks, I’m leaving.”

Nancy broke into a relieved smile. “Deal.”

Barb’s lips curled into a half-smile, her eyes glinting with a touch of triumph. “I knew you’d come around.”

Donna rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the faint grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Don’t get used to it.” She hesitated for a moment, her brow furrowing as another thought crossed her mind. “But wait—what are we gonna do about Dustin? I obviously can’t bring him to Steve Harrington’s house.”

Nancy and Barb exchanged a quick glance before looking back at Donna, both of them already brainstorming.After a moment, she speaks, her tone practical. “Okay, what if we work this out? I’ll ask my mom if Dustin can come over and hang out with Mike tonight. They’ll probably just play D&D or watch Star Wars for the millionth time. He’ll be safe and have fun, and you won’t have to worry about him.”

Donna hesitates, her fingers stilling as she processes Nancy’s suggestion. “I don’t know, Nance. I’m supposed to be home. Mom’s already so stressed—what if she finds out I’m not there?”

Nancy steps closer, her tone soft but insistent. “She won’t find out. We’ll say we’re going to Barb’s to work on our science project. After the party, Barb can drop us back at my house, and you can spend the night there. It’ll be like you never left.”

Barb nods eagerly, chiming in. “Yeah, and with Dustin at Nancy’s, your mom won’t have anything to worry about. He’ll be safe, we’ll all stick together, and you’ll finally get a chance to breathe.”

Donna fidgets, glancing down at her scuffed sneakers. “I don’t know… What if something happens to Joanna and Jonathan while we’re out? I’d feel like the worst friend ever.”

Nancy places a reassuring hand on Donna’s arm. “Donna, listen to me. Joanna and Jonathan are capable. They’re smart, and they’re looking out for each other. You can’t carry the weight of the world on your shoulders. Besides, you’ve been so stressed lately. Don’t you think you deserve one night to just... relax?”

Barb adds with a warm smile, “We’ll stick together, Donna. We’ll go to Steve’s party for a bit, then head straight to Nancy’s. No one will even know we were gone.”

Donna looks between her two friends, torn. She glances back at the bike racks, her fingers tightening around the strap of her bag. Finally, she exhales, a reluctant but resigned sigh. “Alright, fine. But if anything feels off—or if Dustin calls—I’m out of there. No arguments.”

“Deal,” Nancy says with a grin. “You’ll see, Donna. It’ll be fun.”

“And probably way less stressful than babysitting Dustin all night,” Barb adds with a teasing smile.

The three girls laugh softly, the tension easing slightly as they make their plan. Barb and Nancy pile into Barb’s car, while Donna hops onto her bike, adjusting the straps of her bag.

“Alright,” Nancy says as Barb starts the car, her voice carrying over the hum of the engine. “We’ll pick up supplies for the project and let my mom know we’re heading to Barb’s.”

Donna nods, gripping her handlebars. “I’ll make sure Dustin gets to your house safely. Then you can pick me up at Nancy’s, and we’ll convince your mom we’re working at Barb’s.”

Barb grins, shifting the car into gear. “Sounds like a plan.”

Donna nods once more, then pedals off toward the middle school, the cool air stinging her cheeks as she rides. Behind her, Barb’s car pulls out of the parking lot, the engine’s low rumble fading as it heads in the opposite direction.

[monkberryfields]

I totally agree that lack of whimsy has something to do with it! Tbh I would say that there's a lot worse Christmas songs than Wonderful Christmastime that have come out in the past ten years.

As for which periods of history I like studying the most, I'd definitely have to say the 20th century is the most interesting to me (particularly pop culture history) but the Middle Ages in general are really fascinating to me. In my European Humanities class I had to take for my degree, we touched on basically everything from the fall of the Roman Empire to the Romantic era of literature, but my favorite period by far to talk about and read from was everything from the 11th to 14th century. We read Dante's Inferno and we talked a lot about Hildegard von Bingen and it was so fascinating to me. It feels like such a grim part of European history and I think that's what draws me to it.

That's a pretty Euro-centric view on history, but when you're an American student, that's basically what you get. Although I think it's really cool to take a look at a year or a decade and see where every country and region was in terms of technology and culture.

Anywayyyyy, no, I'm not expecting to do anything special for Christmas, just watch some classic Christmas movies with my family. Are there any Christmas movies in particular that are your favorites?

AAAA I'm having a late night so I'm just getting to this!!

Oooooo!!! That sounds fun!! I enjoyed romantic literature (I've also got a few British lit classes under my belt) and the Middle Ages fascinate me! I like reading about it but I don't think I can devote time to studying it all the time! It's just not entirely my thing but I respect it so much. I especially love the Medieval art of the era and some aspects of religion during that era. Though I may not like it, some of the best historians I know are Medievalists and they're pretty cool ngl.

And yeah, we need more non-Euro centric history in America. I enjoy learning about stuff that's not American. I enjoy a lot of Native American history too, which I've taken a few classes on and they're always the best classes I've ever taken!

I would love to learn more about African history tbh! Or Middle Eastern history! But alas 🤷 and it's hard to find even Irish historians over here so even the Eurocentric history isn't even ALL of Europe just like a few Western European countries (this is a tangent I could yap about all day. Give me an hour or two of your time in the future lol).

As for Christmas movies, God...hmmm...I do like Muppet Christmas Carol, Christmas Vacation, and of course the stop motion animation shorts. But recently me and my friends have started a tradition where we watch the Peewee Herman Christmas Special. We'll be in our third year this year!! Have you ever watched that? If you haven't I would highly recommend!!

[randomvarious]

Appleseed - "Mile High Express" Big Beat Song released in 1997. Compilation released in 1998. Big Beat

Plays: N/A on Spotify // 10.5K+ on YouTube

Alright, folks, I really hope that I'm able to spark some shit into motion with this post here, because the way the general vibe is right now…well…things are feeling quite unprecedentedly fucked. So, I think it would just be in all of our best interests if we agreed that it was high time for us to immediately leap into our much-needed big beat revival era, because, I don't know about you all, but whenever I hear a quality big beat tune, my spirits seem to get raised pretty instantly 😎.

Now, I don't have nearly enough of this stuff myself, and because it took me such a long time to figure out exactly what this music was even called in the first place, I feel like I should briefly explain what it is and where it came from.

Big beat was a Brit-centered phenomenon that took place between the mid-90s and early 2000s and was a subgenre of breakbeat. Like breakbeat, it relied on a sampled drumbeat-or-break to form the base of its rhythm, but beyond the drums, the rest of it was also significantly sample-based too, incorporating all sorts of instrumental sounds off of 60s and 70s records, and often an old school hip hop lyric as well, to create dance tunes that just had this…rather big sound to them. The undisputed king of this stuff's always been Fatboy Slim, but Chemical Brothers and The Prodigy are definitely up there as well, and others have made significant contributions too, like The Wiseguys with "Ooh La La" and "Start the Commotion," Basement Jaxx with "Where's Your Head At," and Moby with "Bodyrock."

And the thing about this music is, even though not very much of it actually managed to chart all that highly Stateside, and you couldn't really even find much of it on radio or MTV either, it was still nevertheless pretty much everywhere else, coursing through countless videogame, film, and TV advertising soundtracks. Big beat's retro-present nature, as it lightheartedly revived fun and vintage sounds on top of drumbeats that still sounded modern enough, seemed to fit perfectly during such a sunny, 'end-of-history' time when people were genuinely and very naïvely excitedly awaiting a technologically advanced, Internet-dominated future that was inevitably going to only transform our society for the better 🥴. Optimism abounded for a period of new, democratic enlightenment that was fast-approaching and its mass-appealing party soundtrack seemed to be comprised of a whole lot of big beat flavor, a forward-looking genre in and of itself that showed what people were capable of creating by cleverly crafting their own groovy dance collages primarily out of various sonic bits that'd been recorded decades prior and largely discarded.

So, with that lengthy preamble out of the way, I've got a total fuckin' big beat banger for you all today from a little-known British trio called Appleseed, whose most popular song, "Mile High Express," was used in an Adidas ad in the States in 1998 because Adidas couldn't get the proper license to use Fatboy Slim's now-iconic "Right Here, Right Now" instead, which ended up being used for the ad overseas.

Appleseed first debuted in '95 with a 12-inch on a very short-lived London label called Naked, but then in '97, they were on the Middlesex-based Kingsize, who themselves were pretty new too, but seemed to have a better capacity to release stuff on a regular basis. And it was through them that Appleseed would put out their only album, Kick It Till It Breaks, which is where you could find "Mile High Express," before it was issued as its own 12-inch single in '98.

So, sounding like a Fatboy Slim track itself that would equally slay at any sun-shining outdoor gathering or breakdance exhibition, "Mile High Express" basically has five essential elements to it that make it dope. One, a punchy, boom bappy drumbeat; two, a short, killer, looped-up sample from an early 1970s French children's record that's responsible for the underlying piano sound; three, a large helping of squealingly lively and extensively freewheeling joy on a Hammond B3 organ; four, some bells; and five, a sampled, catchy line off of New Jersey rap group Lords of the Underground's 1993 song, "Lord Jazz Hit Me One Time (Make It Funky)":

Watch me scratch it in your brain!

Put all this together with a bassline that mimics the melody of the French children's sample, some radiating ambience, and a brief, little bridge, and you've got yourself quite an irresistibly sweet bop on your hands 👍.

Because Brits seemed to be far more accepting of instrumental music in the first place, a whole lot of dance material was able to commercially succeed there, providing a much more fertile ground for big beat itself to flourish too. On a mainstream level, we only caught a fraction of that wave here in the States, but given how inherently carefree and upbeat this music tended to be, I think we're due to force its comeback…right here, right now…in a way that eclipses the impact that it had originally left, so we can start to be spiritually lifted a mile high out of what's been feeling like a rapidly accelerating downward spiral into a pit of horror. Bring back this quintessential electronic dance sound of the turn-of-the-millennium summer!

[talenlee]

Let Me Tell You About Ligma

Oh, you already know about it?

Are you – are you sure you do?

Oh, you’re very sure? You’ve got a recording of a lecture on it? Oh, sure I guess I’d listen, you said it’s on some CDs?

Oh damnit,

It’s an all too familiar scenario for all of us. Someone in a conversation outwits us, and we get hit by a dreaded Ligma joke. But would you know that believe it or not, there’s an application to Ligma jokes that involves talking about it in Pride Month without it being complaining about Ligma jokes being actually homophobic or something incredibly discourse-brained like that!

What do you know about Croatia?

Kinda a loaded question huh.

Look, Croatia is one of those countries that, by dint of not being very important to America, doesn’t really show up in conversations about countries. It’s more of a punchline in Britain, where people will talk about going there as part of a cheap holiday, back when British people could go on holidays. I understand that despite my impulse to say, from my education, that Croatia is part of the Balkans, the Croatians do not agree and it’s best to just leave well enough alone. Tourist advice includes such fun notes as ‘take off your hat in church,’ and ‘you drink the tapwater,’ and ‘try not to be too openly gay in public.’

Hm.

Hm.

Turns out that Croatia is a country with a pretty complex relationship to LGBT rights, and I say that because I need to research which of these groups calling themselves Peoples or Communists actually were like, Nazbols or whatever (and if you don’t know what that means, ask Decay, especially since they’re the only person who should be getting these jokes). Plus, it’s not like my country’s history is actually good, what with a bunch of states decriminalising homosexuality in my lifetime, and still allowing trans panic defenses in Queensland and I am getting distracted.

In 1989, a lesbian political alliance formed in Croatia. It was called the Lila group and it faded out pretty quick. 1989 was not a good time for the area, there was this guy, Slobodan Milošević who you may note will only be mentioned once because spelling his name at speed and getting the diacritics is hard. Anyway, Mr… That Guy… was a whole bunch of not good news for the region, and probably, in the whole, why you know the word ‘Kosovo.’

Anyway, so then Croatia had a big ole war for independence, which I dunno, I’m not in a good position to judge but it seems in hindsight that not being ruled over Big Slobs was probably good? At the time it was also a country called Yugoslavia and I told you this was complex. During this time, from 1989 to 1993, in addition to the, you know, warring, the economy of Croatia shrank by 40%. That’s a lot. That’s disastrous financial contraction. If you’re one of the graph touchers we call economists, you can make a much better metaphor for what a 40% reduction in economy size means, but for most people, it just means real real bad.

Point is, big period of destabilisation and upending and protests in the street and uh, crimes against humanity were happening. This was a Live Fire Zone. This was very bad things happening and where laws were being in part shaped by who had the bullets. And it was during this time that the lezbijska i gej akcija, or the lesbian and gay action coalition was formed. Sometimes it’s abbreviated as the Lesbian and Gay Men’s Alliance. This is because in Croatia, it’s abbreviated as LIGMA.

What they did, mostly, is manage to exist for five years and not die, which is impressive because again this is a period of history where people are throwing bombs around.

And all of this, the entirety of this history, was only known to me because I thought it’d be funny to make a reference to it with a screenshot of Google Scholar. I punched the joke into Scholar, just the word LIGMA, and I read the results. These results included a really interesting assortment of articles examining the acronym as a term in German for a particular engineering method, but the results also included a reference to the work of Sanja Sagasta and the paper I. Lesbians in Croatia (2001). That combination of words prompted surprise, and that led to me investigating further, which wound up being this entire article’s genesis. Most of above is gleaned from the Wikipedia page. That’s not a bad thing, you know; the point of Wikipedia is to be an encyclopedia, and ‘I read the encyclopedia and now want to tell you something interesting I found’ is like, just how general education communication works.

I want to advocate for this behaviour: Playing around with ideas, using investigative tools and looking at the world around us is a way to discover things. You may be overly used to thinking of education as a thing that comes to you from a position on high, some expert delivering it to you for a serious reason in a structured way. But there are so many things you don’t know and every day you can find out a new thing. The only trick is finding it, and engaging with ideas and words in a playful way is a way you can do that without needing to stress yourself about it. Make silly memes, so you have to google for templates. Check your spelling on things. When you encounter a new word, or people talking about something you don’t understand, no need to get involved, you can google it and see if you’re curious to know more. Sometimes when you do that you discover a very funny name for a group of people who were doing some hard work in one of the hardest periods of recent history to do it.

Hold on to this. Our history is all around us and we’re able to find it if we take advantage of our moments of curiosity to learn. And every time you successfully make a ligma joke, you’re able to connect your own place in queer history in a greater context that reaches back through history, through your queer family and forebears.

Which makes it really weird that Steve Jobs died of it.

Check it out on PRESS.exe to see it with images and links!

[thestubbornscientist]

LONG POST INCOMING:

ALRIGHT LADS - here’s my big ass head canon for Wilson before entering the constant!

Based on quotes and even his name, Wilson is without a doubt from an upper class or aristocratic family, and while he’s only ever described as a European immigrant, I’m going to go with English. For the prospect of his family disowning him being more realistic, I’d say an aristocratic family.

Now, Wilson was always fascinated by and pursued science since he was a child, wanting to experiment, play with chemicals, catch critters and be the next Charles Darwin or Isaac Newton. (well - he wishes.) This of course is not tolerated by his family, who expect him to act like a proper gentleman and attend formal, political and financial matters, whilst Wilson simply wants to do science. He is the youngest of three sons and the odd one out in the family - and hates the aristocratic lifestyle. His eldest brother, Richard, is the charismatic and sociable heir to the higgsbury estate, and the second son, Frederick, is a lot more similar in personality to Wilson, except more withdrawn, and opts for finance over science. He is also a lot colder to Wilson than his brother, mostly due to his inferiority complex created by being the second son, so takes any chance he can to make Wilson even more inferior than he, and have himself be perceived as a ‘perfect son’. However the two elder brothers are already the ‘perfect aristocratic sons’, and look down on Wilson for being ‘weird’ and ‘ungentlemanly’ - which is why Wilson is always so fixated on being a ‘gentleman scientist’.

Eventually, his family compromise and allow him to go to medical school (whether or not he actually becomes a doctor is up for debate but he evidently went to graduate school, possesses a lot of medical knowledge and is even able to perform amputations. There could be a few reasons why his doctor title isn't used in the constant, either he never told anyone, wants to forget his past since he only really pursued medicine as a compromise, or you know...what’s the point in the constant.)

Anyway fast forward to THE GREAT WAR. During WW1, the upper classes/aristocrats usually held higher positions in the army, such as officers and generals. However Wilson chooses to become a field medic, eager to use his scientific and medical knowledge for good. (this is also a good explanation for how he knows how to perform amputations!) This was against their wishes and angered them even more than they were already. He was already the family disappointment, gossiped about at parties which he either refused to attend or, when he did attend, he embarrassed his family. (”I hate parties.”) Eventually he started to no longer care what people thought, and went out of his way to annoy his brothers especially. But the war was a chance for him to redeem himself, but he ended up shaming his family further as they could not bring a field medic son to formal parties - they needed a respectable officer, which of course his brothers were.

Even when he is allowed to return home for good Wilson stays in France, and eventually starts to become more...unethical in his scientific pursuits. With the traumas of war and the constant witnessing of so much death, alongside the realisation of how easily people can die - Wilson becomes obsessed with mortality. Upon his returns home he is increasingly reclusive, and rumours begin to spread as Wilson disgraces his family even more at the many social occasions they have with his ‘crazy talk’. When in France...he discretely experiments, which start to become less and less discrete. Skip ahead, his brothers visit the hospital he is posted at and follow him into the night when he's off duty. They subsequently witness him performing an experiment on a soldiers corpse. (perhaps trying to resurrect it?) They are horrified, notify their parents, and quickly have him returned home under the pretence of illness, going to great lengths to keep any evidence hidden. (that probably was not the first time.)

Unwilling to risk another embarrassment, now dangerous enough for the whole family to be shunned from society, they promise to support Wilson financially if he leaves to America, dropping his name and ties with his family. Wilson agrees, he had always hated the aristocratic lifestyle and was aware he had crossed a line. A new life in America could be a fresh start, a way to clear his mind and of course, do as much science as he wishes. However it can’t be sudden and especially not during the war as he’d be branded a coward. He is posted back to France alongside his brothers, and is watched closely till the war ends. Following the war and a few war medals later, a story is conjured up of Wilson leaving for America to help family business and relations overseas, the war kicking him into gear to drop his foolish scientific pursuits. In reality, Wilson leaves to an isolated house in the woods, and well, we know what happens from there.

Hope you guys like this idea! I’ve noticed there’s not too much on his life before the constant, especially regarding him being in the war! @megadara999 is in the process of writing a fic for this which im so psyched and honoured about ^-^