#i value solidarity and empathy and things of that specific nature so heavily

[fem-jerma]

does anyone fw my outlooks

[pocket-void]

Care to tell us what's swimming around with the Suits AU, like what are the powers that are unique to each suit? Queens vs Kings?

Boy oh boy, I sure would! O///o Any AU I make will always be on an infinite “ask and you shall receive” basis lmao- >///< (Except Church Stop, which I plan on continuing when things settle down) You sent this ask at like a wild time but I finally wrote some stuff for ya so I hope it makes sense. o///o The Sleight of Hand AU is really heavy on worldbuilding so it may take some extra work.

So, here’s vaguely how the suit courts are organized and what each rank kind of entails (I say vaguely, but you know it’s going to be wildly long):

Diamonds - The Regal Suit

The Diamond court is known, or would like to be known, throughout the land as true royalty. They are opulent, noble, and unbelievably full of themselves. Their powers stem from their manipulation of worldly elements, able to craft their own visions of beauty into their surroundings. However they are also skilled in cunning and slightly underhanded methods to get their way. They are determined and headstrong folk who aren’t afraid to get their hands dirty, which may explain why they are in fact the origin of curses in this universe. They are crafty and have keen eyes that are able to very efficiently determine things about someone’s character, and make excellent negotiators.

The common folk of Diamonds are a lot less uppity and posh, but they do have a semi-upper class feel to them. Not because they’re all well off or anything, the land they reside in is just very rich in resources and well maintained in appearance, and it’s within their culture to be on the more refined side of things. They’re skilled in crafting and producing various luxuries, with tailoring being a rather appreciated activity. Art is a huge part of their society, whether it be painting, sculpting, music, even things like landscaping and interior design, etc.

Spades - The Intellect Suit

The Spade court is full of the world’s greatest mages and scholars. They’re always on the search for higher power, and are deathly efficient at their jobs. It is a solid meritocracy in the Spades court, but it is also brutally unforgiving. Spades are proud folk, not of their status, but of their abilities. The work one must go through to reach the top is almost unimaginable by others, and so it has slowly grown corrupt by those unwilling to relinquish their position and admit they’ve been outdone. The Spade court is a terrifying force to be reckoned with, as they wield the most destructive types of magics connected to the forces of nature. They are rather intimating diplomats that take things very seriously.

Spades tend to be natural quick learners, and they adapt to changes in their environment rather easily. Though the enclosed space that is the higher courts have impeded this ability in some. The common folk of Spades are actually very open minded, although unfortunately are also heavily influenced by the court. Many take interest in sciences, research, invention, various types of craftsmanship, innovation, and more. They are knowledge loving and respectable people who seek to learn new things when they can. People good at multitasking or jack of all trades types tend to be Spades.

Hearts - The Angel Suit

The Heart court is full of healers and judges. They are considered the arbiters of justice and peace. Over the years however they have grown perhaps overly defensive, and the armor once used to protect themselves have now grown thorns to harm others. People of the Heart court have witnessed brutality and war, and their reactions have turned away from peace and instead towards shutting others out of their territory to protect only themselves. Harboring another suit is considered a high crime, and you will most likely be jailed and questioned for it if caught. Interlopers deemed spies likely face execution, but that is standard in most courts nowadays...

The people of Hearts are kind and genuine. They hold much empathy in their cores, and most citizens are somewhat attuned to the emotions of others. The idea of “soul mates” originated and was popularized by Hearts! Citizens here are down to earth and know the value of a hard day’s work. They respect labor and jobs that benefit the community, and as such farmers, medical workers, local guardsmen, and various others are very well liked. “Soul Smithing” is actually something invented by the people of Hearts; an amazing technique that has found a way to heal broken cores. Not everyone can perform it, but the people who can are basically invaluable.

Clovers - The Warrior Suit

The Clover court is full of people will strong wills and even stronger resolves. They will do the things they set their minds to, and their beliefs only compliment their strength. They are determined, persistent, and relentless in their quests to do what they think is the right thing. Unfortunately that belief has now been directed towards war efforts, and they’re stubbornness has done little but blind them to the suffering of common folk for the sake of the “greater good”. Perhaps they have become misguided, and they’re confidence prevents them from admitting they are wrong.

The citizens of Clover are free spirited and independent. They’re hard working and very self reliant, living mostly solitary but rather impressive lives. Clovers are natural warriors at heart, willing to fight for the things they believe in and the people they care about. The people here hold magic that serve to empower themselves, and it’s said that their cores glow the brightest in times of peril. There is a myth about the “Four Leaf Clover”, which is a story about a legendary hero who possessed strength beyond strength. Half of the legend has been forcefully erased by the court, but its original ending claims that the four leaves were not symbolic of the Clover’s lone strength at all, but rather how powerful the hero felt they came together with their companions to triumph over all.

*Quick note! The generalizations of the citizens of each court are of course very generalized and does not perfectly apply to every citizen. ^///^

Now on to Ranks! This is already kind of long so I’ll simplify a bit for this section. >///<

Every citizen is born with two things at birth: A core and a rank. Cores, which determines your suit, are determined by your parents and general ancestry. It is very rare for couples of different suits to be together, especially in the current times with tensions so high. Instead of hearts, the people of this world just have cores in their chests. They do a few things under select circumstances but I’m not going into that right now snsjbksjf, for all intents and purposes they are basically “souls”. How one determines rank is decided at around age 5-7, because it’s a more innate sense. You yourself will know what rank you are, 

JOKER - Highest possible rank. A myth amongst the populace, since nobody’s actually heard of anyone with this rank. It’s said that JOKERs possess qualities and abilities of all suits. It is currently used as a symbol of revolution in the hopes of reuniting all the suits by an organization of the same name. All members identify as JOKER in solidarity to set aside their differences for the common good.

King - Highest rank in society. Kings are one’s with immense power and magic, said to be able to manipulate reality itself. They are incredibly rare, but those with this rank are seen as natural leaders, and will surely accomplish unthinkable things.

Queen - Queens are a diverse group of powerful mages, and are basically the ceiling for power level for each suit specific magic type. They have a very impressive and respectable amount of power, and tend to highly specialize in one to three skills/magics. 

Jack - Typically high ranking generals or soldiers. Jacks are hardy and very durable, with cores as strong as their wills. They tend to be more physically impressive rather than magic oriented, but it’s not uncommon for Jacks to wield magic alongside their weapons.

10-2 - Are considered “citizens”. It doesn’t mean they’re just completely powerless, and yes the numbers do kind of dictate specific things you may be more attuned to, but in general these are the people who populate the land the most. The higher the number, the more likely you are to be naturally gifted in some way at some kind of specific thing, but that doesn’t mean lower numbers can’t be better than you at something. There are special meanings attached to some numbers, like how 7s are lucky or how 4s tend to be more grounded, but these are kind of more like your zodiac than anything.

Ace - The trick up one’s sleeve. Aces have long been the wildcard of society. They usually end up being really good at one thing, but in a way that nobody else had thought of. They tend to be much more closely related to the magic of their own suit, while also having some sort of spin to their magic. It’s a little difficult to describe exactly, but Aces are comparable to “geniuses” who are incredible in one aspect, but lacking in what many people consider more “common”.

I suppose that’s all I’ve got for now. o///o

[rad-archive]

Stanford prison experiment article from the new yorker

On the morning of August 17, 1971, nine young men in the Palo Alto area received visits from local police officers. While their neighbors looked on, the men were arrested for violating Penal Codes 211 and 459 (armed robbery and burglary), searched, handcuffed, and led into the rear of a waiting police car. The cars took them to a Palo Alto police station, where the men were booked, fingerprinted, moved to a holding cell, and blindfolded. Finally, they were transported to the Stanford County Prison—also known as the Stanford University psychology department.

They were willing participants in the Stanford Prison Experiment, one of the most controversial studies in the history of social psychology. (It’s the subject of a new film of the same name—a drama, not a documentary—starring Billy Crudup, of “Almost Famous,” as the lead investigator, Philip Zimbardo. It opens July 17th.) The study subjects, middle-class college students, had answered a questionnaire about their family backgrounds, physical- and mental-health histories, and social behavior, and had been deemed “normal”; a coin flip divided them into prisoners and guards. According to the lore that’s grown up around the experiment, the guards, with little to no instruction, began humiliating and psychologically abusing the prisoners within twenty-four hours of the study’s start. The prisoners, in turn, became submissive and depersonalized, taking the abuse and saying little in protest. The behavior of all involved was so extreme that the experiment, which was meant to last two weeks, was terminated after six days.

Less than a decade earlier, the Milgram obedience study had shown that ordinary people, if encouraged by an authority figure, were willing to shock their fellow-citizens with what they believed to be painful and potentially lethal levels of electricity. To many, the Stanford experiment underscored those findings, revealing the ease with which regular people, if given too much power, could transform into ruthless oppressors. Today, more than forty-five years later, many look to the study to make sense of events like the behavior of the guards at Abu Ghraib and America’s epidemic of police brutality. The Stanford Prison Experiment is cited as evidence of the atavistic impulses that lurk within us all; it’s said to show that, with a little nudge, we could all become tyrants.

And yet the lessons of the Stanford Prison Experiment aren’t so clear-cut. From the beginning, the study has been haunted by ambiguity. Even as it suggests that ordinary people harbor ugly potentialities, it also testifies to the way our circumstances shape our behavior. Was the study about our individual fallibility, or about broken institutions? Were its findings about prisons, specifically, or about life in general? What did the Stanford Prison Experiment really show?

The appeal of the experiment has a lot to do with its apparently simple setup: prisoners, guards, a fake jail, and some ground rules. But, in reality, the Stanford County Prison was a heavily manipulated environment, and the guards and prisoners acted in ways that were largely predetermined by how their roles were presented. To understand the meaning of the experiment, you have to understand that it wasn’t a blank slate; from the start, its goal was to evoke the experience of working and living in a brutal jail.

From the first, the guards’ priorities were set by Zimbardo. In a presentation to his Stanford colleagues shortly after the study’s conclusion, he described the procedures surrounding each prisoner’s arrival: each man was stripped and searched, “deloused,” and then given a uniform—a numbered gown, which Zimbardo called a “dress,” with a heavy bolted chain near the ankle, loose-fitting rubber sandals, and a cap made from a woman’s nylon stocking. “Real male prisoners don't wear dresses,” Zimbardo explained, “but real male prisoners, we have learned, do feel humiliated, do feel emasculated, and we thought we could produce the same effects very quickly by putting men in a dress without any underclothes.” The stocking caps were in lieu of shaving the prisoner’s heads. (The guards wore khaki uniforms and were given whistles, nightsticks, and mirrored sunglasses inspired by a prison guard in the movie “Cool Hand Luke.”)

Often, the guards operated without explicit, moment-to-moment instructions. But that didn’t mean that they were fully autonomous: Zimbardo himself took part in the experiment, playing the role of the prison superintendent. (The prison’s “warden” was also a researcher.) /Occasionally, disputes between prisoner and guards got out of hand, violating an explicit injunction against physical force that both prisoners and guards had read prior to enrolling in the study. When the “superintendent” and “warden” overlooked these incidents, the message to the guards was clear: all is well; keep going as you are. The participants knew that an audience was watching, and so a lack of feedback could be read as tacit approval. And the sense of being watched may also have encouraged them to perform. Dave Eshelman, one of the guards, recalled that he “consciously created” his guard persona. “I was in all kinds of drama productions in high school and college. It was something I was very familiar with: to take on another personality before you step out on the stage,” Eshelman said. In fact, he continued, “I was kind of running my own experiment in there, by saying, ‘How far can I push these things and how much abuse will these people take before they say, ‘Knock it off?’ ”

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Maria Konnikova

Other, more subtle factors also shaped the experiment. It’s often said that the study participants were ordinary guys—and they were, indeed, determined to be “normal” and healthy by a battery of tests. But they were also a self-selected group who responded to a newspaper advertisement seeking volunteers for “a psychological study of prison life.” In a 2007 study, the psychologists Thomas Carnahan and Sam McFarland asked whether that wording itself may have stacked the odds. They recreated the original ad, and then ran a separate ad omitting the phrase “prison life.” They found that the people who responded to the two ads scored differently on a set of psychological tests. Those who thought that they would be participating in a prison study had significantly higher levels of aggressiveness, authoritarianism, Machiavellianism, narcissism, and social dominance, and they scored lower on measures of empathy and altruism.

Moreover, even within that self-selected sample, behavioral patterns were far from homogeneous. Much of the study’s cachet depends on the idea that the students responded en masse, giving up their individual identities to become submissive “prisoners” and tyrannical “guards.” But, in fact, the participants responded to the prison environment in all sorts of ways. While some guard shifts were especially cruel, others remained humane. Many of the supposedly passive prisoners rebelled. Richard Yacco, a prisoner, remembered “resisting what one guard was telling me to do and being willing to go into solitary confinement. As prisoners, we developed solidarity—we realized that we could join together and do passive resistance and cause some problems.”

What emerges from these details isn’t a perfectly lucid photograph but an ambiguous watercolor. While it’s true that some guards and prisoners behaved in alarming ways, it’s also the case that their environment was designed to encourage—and, in some cases, to require—those behaviors. Zimbardo himself has always been forthcoming about the details and the nature of his prison experiment: he thoroughly explained the setup in his original study and, in an early write-up, in which the experiment was described in broad strokes only, he pointed out that only “about a third of the guards became tyrannical in their arbitrary use of power.” (That’s about four people in total.) So how did the myth of the Stanford Prison Experiment—“Lord of the Flies” in the psych lab—come to diverge so profoundly from the reality?

In part, Zimbardo’s earliest statements about the experiment are to blame. In October, 1971, soon after the study’s completion—and before a single methodologically and analytically rigorous result had been published—Zimbardo was asked to testify before Congress about prison reform. His dramatic testimony, even as it clearly explained how the experiment worked, also allowed listeners to overlook how coercive the environment really was. He described the study as “an attempt to understand just what it means psychologically to be a prisoner or a prison guard.” But he also emphasized that the students in the study had been “the cream of the crop of this generation,” and said that the guards were given no specific instructions, and left free to make “up their own rules for maintaining law, order, and respect.” In explaining the results, he said that the “majority” of participants found themselves “no longer able to clearly differentiate between role-playing and self,” and that, in the six days the study took to unfold, “the experience of imprisonment undid, although temporarily, a lifetime of learning; human values were suspended, self-concepts were challenged, and the ugliest, most base, pathological side of human nature surfaced.” In describing another, related study and its implications for prison life, he said that “the mere act of assigning labels to people, calling some people prisoners and others guards, is sufficient to elicit pathological behavior.”

Zimbardo released video to NBC, which ran a feature on November 26, 1971. An article ran in the Times Magazine in April of 1973. In various ways, these accounts reiterated the claim that relatively small changes in circumstances could turn the best and brightest into monsters or depersonalized serfs. By the time Zimbardo published a formal paper about the study, in a 1973 issue of the International Journal of Crim__i__nology and Penology, a streamlined and unequivocal version of events had become entrenched in the national consciousness—so much so that a 1975 methodological critique fell largely on deaf ears.

Forty years later, Zimbardo still doesn’t shy away from popular attention. He served as a consultant on the new film, which follows his original study in detail, relying on direct transcripts from the experimental recordings and taking few dramatic liberties. In many ways, the film is critical of the study: Crudup plays Zimbardo as an overzealous researcher overstepping his bounds, trying to create a very specific outcome among the students he observes. The filmmakers even underscore the flimsiness of the experimental design, inserting characters who point out that Zimbardo is not a disinterested observer. They highlight a real-life conversation in which another psychologist asks Zimbardo whether he has an “independent variable.” In describing the study to his Stanford colleagues shortly after it ended, Zimbardo recalled that conversation: “To my surprise, I got really angry at him,” he said. “The security of my men and the stability of my prison was at stake, and I have to contend with this bleeding-heart, liberal, academic, effete dingdong whose only concern was for a ridiculous thing like an independent variable. The next thing he’d be asking me about was rehabilitation programs, the dummy! It wasn’t until sometime later that I realized how far into the experiment I was at that point.”

In a broad sense, the film reaffirms the opinion of John Mark, one of the guards, who, looking back, has said that Zimbardo’s interpretation of events was too shaped by his expectations to be meaningful: “He wanted to be able to say that college students, people from middle-class backgrounds ... will turn on each other just because they’re given a role and given power. Based on my experience, and what I saw and what I felt, I think that was a real stretch.”

If the Stanford Prison Experiment had simulated a less brutal environment, would the prisoners and guards have acted differently? In December, 2001, two psychologists, Stephen Reicher and Alexander Haslam, tried to find out. They worked with the documentaries unit of the BBC to partially recreate Zimbardo’s setup over the course of an eight-day experiment. Their guards also had uniforms, and were given latitude to dole out rewards and punishments; their prisoners were placed in three-person cells that followed the layout of the Stanford County Jail almost exactly. The main difference was that, in this prison, the preset expectations were gone. The guards were asked to come up with rules prior to the prisoners’ arrival, and were told only to make the prison run smoothly. (The BBC Prison Study, as it came to be called, differed from the Stanford experiment in a few other ways, including prisoner dress; for a while, moreover, the prisoners were told that they could become guards through good behavior, although, on the third day, that offer was revoked, and the roles were made permanent.)

Within the first few days of the BBC study, it became clear that the guards weren’t cohering as a group. “Several guards were wary of assuming and exerting their authority,” the researchers wrote. The prisoners, on the other hand, developed a collective identity. In a change from the Stanford study, the psychologists asked each participant to complete a daily survey that measured the degree to which he felt solidarity with his group; it showed that, as the guards grew further apart, the prisoners were growing closer together. On the fourth day, three cellmates decided to test their luck. At lunchtime, one threw his plate down and demanded better food, another asked to smoke, and the third asked for medical attention for a blister on his foot. The guards became disorganized; one even offered the smoker a cigarette. Reicher and Haslam reported that, after the prisoners returned to their cells, they “literally danced with joy.” (“That was fucking sweet,” one prisoner remarked.) Soon, more prisoners began to challenge the guards. They acted out during roll call, complained about the food, and talked back. At the end of the sixth day, the three insubordinate cellmates broke out and occupied the guards’ quarters. “At this point,” the researchers wrote, “the guards’ regime was seen by all to be unworkable and at an end.”

Taken together, these two studies don’t suggest that we all have an innate capacity for tyranny or victimhood. Instead, they suggest that our behavior largely conforms to our preconceived expectations. All else being equal, we act as we think we’re expected to act—especially if that expectation comes from above. Suggest, as the Stanford setup did, that we should behave in stereotypical tough-guard fashion, and we strive to fit that role. Tell us, as the BBC experimenters did, that we shouldn’t give up hope of social mobility, and we act accordingly.

This understanding might seem to diminish the power of the Stanford Prison Experiment. But, in fact, it sharpens and clarifies the study’s meaning. Last weekend brought the tragic news of Kalief Browder’s suicide. At sixteen, Browder was arrested, in the Bronx, for allegedly stealing a backpack; after the arrest, he was imprisoned at Rikers for three years without trial. (Ultimately, the case against him was dismissed.) While at Rikers, Browder was the object of violence from both prisoners and guards, some of which was captured on video. It’s possible to think that prisons are the way they are because human nature tends toward the pathological. But the Stanford Prison Experiment suggests that extreme behavior flows from extreme institutions. Prisons aren’t blank slates. Guards do indeed self-select into their jobs, as Zimbardo’s students self-selected into a study of prison life. Like Zimbardo’s men, they are bombarded with expectations from the first and shaped by preëxisting norms and patterns of behavior. The lesson of Stanford isn’t that any random human being is capable of descending into sadism and tyranny. It’s that certain institutions and environments demand those behaviors—and, perhaps, can change them.