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gyllenhaalstories · 4 years ago

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CHAMPAGNE PROBLEMS — SUGAR DADDY!ZEMO

summary: a series of unfortunate (or fortunate, depending whose side you’re on) events brought you to mandripoor seven years ago. it was fun, dangerous and exciting for the most part. a lot has changed, but you are back in high town in the hope of purchasing a rare monet painting, and reuniting with an old flame.

warnings: tfatws spoilers, alcohol, established sugar daddy x sugar baby relationship, smut (daddy kink, dom/sub/switch dynamics, choking, hair pulling, blowjob, fingering, both degradation and praise kinks, spit kink, cum play, marking, unprotected sex). 18+ MINORS DON’T INTERACT.

word count: 2685

gif credit: pedropcl

notes: this (very long) fic is brought to you by zemo’s #1 hoe. for the sake of the fic, zemo’s daughter and wife have never existed. i get it zemo is the bad guy daniel is not your typical hottie but let me live my fantasy and reclaim my crown as the original zemo fan. listen to off to the races by lana del rey and let no man steal your thyme by the pentangle if you want to fibe with me! i hope you guys will enjoy it!!! <3

“If you keep staring at me like this, I’ll mistake you for the Mona Lisa.” You took the last sip from your glass, which was immediately filled by the man standing behind you. You had felt his familiar presence a long time ago, but you were too mesmerized by the rare painting trapped in a cage of glass to bother notifying him. “Your glance has followed me around the room. In other circumstances, I’d find it creepy. Now, it’s just very flattering.”

You heard him laugh through his nose. You saw his reflecting in the glass, lit up by flashing blue and pink lights and vibrating ever so slightly to the sound of the loud music.

“You’re like a Monet painting. From afar, you are clear as cristal and easy to read like an open book. From up close...” You marked a pause and stoodby straight. Your eyes never leaving the work of art you had been scrutinizing for the past hour. Water Lilies in Bloom, it was called, an incorrect translation that always brought a grin to your lips. “You are a mystery.” You swallowed thickly the bubbly liquid, recognizing the peculiar taste of champagne.

“It is arrogant but right to think of myself as the pure definition of mysterious.”

You chuckled, throwing your head back in disbelief. Some things never changed.

“After all these years... I managed to find my way back to you. Now that’s a mystery.”

You turned on your heels as you spoke. “Is it, though? Tell me, Daddy. Is it really that hard to believe you’d recognize your property even after all these years. I heard they put you in a pretty little cage. Didn’t have much else to think about than what you missed most?”

He took you in, just how ethereal you looked under the colourful neon lights. You had your arms pressed against your chest, the shiny material of your matching bracelet and necklace twinkled. He squinted slightly, his lips curled into a smirk while he looked down your body, the one thing that kept him sane after all these years in jail (that and the thought of destroying symbols like super soldiers and make the world a better place once and for all). “Nice dress.”

“My Sugar Daddy got it for me.” You did a twirl, showing off your outfit innocently. “You like it?”

He reached up to his neck and pulled on the collar of his purple sweater, like it was a tie he could loosen up. “So you received everything I sent you.”

You clicked your tongue. “Not everything...” Your head turned to look behind you, where your most priced possession was glowing in its full glory — soon to-be yours, you should say.

“Use your words, Princess. Say it and it’s yours.”

It was your turn to analyze him, to take every ounce of cockiness and pride. “You’re playing with fire.” You walked closer to him, erasing the distance but increasing the tension between the two of you. “All the money in the world won’t get you everything you want.”

He was quick to move, his soldiers instincts never left his body, clearly. His delicate hand wrapped around your throat so effortlessly. It tightened, forcing you to manage your breathing. “Money got me everything I wanted already.”

“What is it, Daddy? What is it that you want so badly?” You clenched your jaw, holding his glance which was filled with lust, instead of rage and grudges.

“You never looked so beautiful.” He leaned closer too, whispering the words to your ear. It was liked the loud club music turned into white noise. He could not care less about the stares and the words strangers exchanged as they witnessed the scene. High Town was not his playground.

But you were his plaything.

*~*~*

History repeated itself, in one way or another. Icons rose and fell. Symbols mattered and vanished into oblivion. Originality turned into plagiarism. Winners would lose it all, losers would dig their graves deeper into the abyss.

History repeated itself. The sight before your eyes was the same one as seven years ago, when all that was on this man’s life before meeting you was this stupid Mission Report of December 16 1991. You met him at a party like this, in High Town before he was banned from the land. He caught your attention doing his ridiculous dance moves, sharing his knowledge about the art pieces showcased around the room. Then he brought you to a hotel, the ones so fancy they had multiple rooms and a vintage record player as part of the decor. Only, it worked, and he put on his favourite Édith Piaf records. Rien de Rien, Le Petit Homme, La Vie en Rose, song after song, you were diving deeper in your memories.. He was popping yet another bottle of champagne open and pouring some in flutes you would never touch for the rest of the night. The same night, seven years ago, it changed your life. At the second you regretted setting foot in Mandripoor, he changed your mind and gave you the best months of your life. You would ride around Europe in vintage cars, dine in gigantic mansions you called castles. You admired the old paintings of his royal family members while he brought you a silk bathrobe to change into after a steamy shower.

You’d get lost in your thoughts, he’d get lost in his ambitions. You two were one and the same, in one way or another. That affirmation sent shivers down your spine. You could not tell if it was a good or a bad thing, a shy voice in your head was reassuring you it was the former.

“They call me Baron again, I guess I’m not doing too bad after all.” His voice snapped you back to reality. He was still wearing that obnoxious trench coat. You hated it, it made him look like a pimp. Although that was not too far from the truth, as the mountain of luxurious jewelry and clothes in your closet proved.

“Do you like being back here?”

“I love it here.” The emphasis on the last word was audible. You nodded in agreement. This place was heaven on Earth for some people, hell for others. For both you and Zemo, it was somewhere in between.

“You’re certainly not here for me.” You laughed, setting the still full glass on the nightstand.

He shook his head, mouthing a negative response.

“What is it, this time? Mission report February 32?”

“Something like that.” He answered, after another silent laugh.

“If only you had made me your mission, your life would have been easier.”

“Yours would have been, too.”

You shrugged. You agreed, but you did not need to say it. He knew. The two of you knew that this warmth washing over your bodies was the answer to all of your problems. Yet, you were fighting the urge to surrender and give in.

History always repeated itself.

All it took was for him to set his hand on your exposed knee. You got flashbacks of the numerous times his hand rested there while you two drove deeper in the country side, in some old Chevrolet, Ford, or any other European brands he could find and buy.

“Say it, Princess. Tell me what you want and I’ll give it to you.”

You swallowed thickly and fell on your knees. He sat straight, as straight as he could on the comfortable mattress, and spread his legs wider. “I want to go back in time.”

He leaned foward and you opened your mouth, your tongue poking out. He spit in your mouth, and you swallowed. The giggle that followed your actions sent blood to his hardening cock. “Just as eager as I remembered, right? You’d do anything to please me.”

“I’d do anything for you, Daddy.” You repeated, the confession left you breathless.

“That’s my good girl.” He brushed your hair with so much tenderness for a moment, you let out a content moan. He changed the mood real quick when he pushed your head closer to his crotch and unbuckled his belt at lightning’s speed.

Your mouth was watering at the sight, a sight that was tattooed in your memory forever. Whatever relationship you two had went beyond fancy presents and sex, it was a connection that tickled your souls and left you a different woman than when it first started. You wasted no time, stroking him a few times as you spit on his blushing tip. You smeared the spit over his sensitive spot and pulled the sweetest moans out of him, which grew louder and more intense when you finally wrapped your lips around his head.

No one compared to you, to your attention to details, to the way you were taking him all in, inches by inches like you were made for his cock and his cock only. No one compared to how blissful you looked pulling back, choking on your own saliva and the lack of oxygen. “You look so beautiful, Babygirl.”

His praise made you bat your eyes, hoping to receive more compliments. You flattened your tongue, licking him from the base to the top before you deep throated his cock again. You never left him untouched, your hands were massaging his walls or exploring his thick thighs while your mouth almost brought him to the edge.

That was when he pulled on your hair and demanded you went back up on your feet. “I bet you’re soaked. All you need is to see a cock to wet your panties.” You nodded as one hand reached up to cup your face, the other to cup your core from under your dress. He could felt the ever growing wet patch. He discarded of your panties in one effortless pull and pressed his pointer and middle fingers against your sensitive clit. He circled it, studying your reaction.

“Daddy...” You breathed out. “I need you.”

“I’m proud of you for using your words,” his finger slipped inside of your entrance, you moaned out his name. “So greedy and needy and easy for me, like the good whore that you are. Is that right? You’re Daddy’s perfect little whore?”

He was two fingers in, all the way to the last knuckles. He pumped in and out of you slowly yet roughly. You smirked when he finally touched that spongy spot inside of you. “I’m Daddy’s. I’ll always belong to Daddy.”

“That’s right.”

He brushed his thumb over your clit, his fingers stopped fucking your hole to abuse the bundle of nerves until tears started to pool in your eyes.

“Be a good baby.” You looked at him with doe eyes, sucking his thumb between your plump lips. “Do what I want.”

And you reached your high. You had nothing to hold you up, except for your shaky legs that threatened to give in under your weight and the intensity of your orgasm. You sucked on his thumb harder, hoping to quiet some of your moans but your screams escaped your parted lips.

In a blink of an eye, you were pushed against the bed and bounced against the body that blocked your every movement. His pants were nowhere to be found, just like the rest of your respective clothes. Your finger tips brushed over the skin of his shaven cheeks, down to his neck and chest. The intimacy, you had craved it all these years.

“I bet that sweet cunt of yours missed my cock.” He spoke, chuckling mockingly when he pushed himself in your stretched hole. You both let out a long moan of satisfaction. He rested inside of you, adjusting to your warmth and tightness. “I was right.”

“You’re always right.” You flattered his ego, and earned a sloppy kiss in return.

His lips moved down to your neck where he sucked hickeys and left small bite marks as he picked up the pace of his hips.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, hoping to bring him that much closer, and deeper, into you.

Zemo pinned your wrists above your head and pumped his cock inside of your tight pussy like his life depended on it. “So fucking wet for me, gonna make me cum, Baby.” He had tried so hard to hold back, not to mark you and claim you again.

“Wait for me.” You begged him, and he brought one hand down to your neck again. He squeezed it, choking you deliciously until your eyes rolled inwards. He tightened his grip ever so slightly and he felt it, he felt the way your walls fluttered around him.

He thrusted inside of you, his hips snapped against yours and the sound of your skin slapping echoed in the bedroom. “Cum for me, Princess. Cum with Daddy.”

And you did, your body exploded in fireworks when you felt his release planted inside of you. He kept moving, rocking back and forth. He leaned back, leaving your neck to rub your clit once again. He was a moaning mess, the overstimulation made it almost painful to keep going but he did not want it to stop, not until...

“Fuck, Daddy!” And a second wave of pleasure hit you hard, it left you panting and shaking even more than before.

Zemo had to pull away quickly, and already missed the feeling of being inside of you.

Your fingers reached between your bodies, dipping into your folds and moving up to your lips as they were covered in his seed. You painted your lips with his white cum, before you licked them and your fingers clean as he watched, completely amazed and mesmerized. “Taste just as good as I remembered.”

He laughed, he was always one step ahead of everything and everyone, but you always managed to take him by surprise. You were just that great, that perfect. He rolled to the side and fell heavily on the bed. His skin was glistening under the light of the chandeliers from the thin layer of sweat.

You pressed your legs together, clenching around nothing. You hoped you could keep his load inside of you, as a proof this had really happened and it was not just one of your daydreams where you two would be reunited.

“I missed this.” You boke the silence with a small voice. Your fingers brushed over the bruises on your neck, and you hissed at the sensitive skin.

He turned on his side, worried for a second that he went too hard on you. The smile and joy on your face proved him otherwise. “I missed you, Princess.”

“I missed you so much, Daddy.”

*~*~*

The sun hurt your eyes, he noticed. He slipped out of the bed to pull on the curtains only to hurry back to you so you could lay your head on his chest. You were still wearing your bracelet, he started playing with it.

His mind was racing, just like his heart. You could feel it rumble in his chest like a loud engine. Something was bothering him.

“Oh, Zemo...” You caressed his cheek, looking up to study his features. “You can fool the smartest people in the world, but you’ll never be able to lie to me.”

“I’m coming home, Baby. I’m coming home now.”

You looked down again, taking a moment to answer. “Let me guess, you’ll take me to a fancy house like Rebecca’s Manderley and Jane Eyre’s manor at the Rochester’s. You’ll show me around, make me feel like I belong. And you’ll leave, high and dry. Again. All the money and presents from your people won’t erase the pain I felt. Not this time, not ever.”

He pressed his thin lips together. Pain, suffering, he was used to it. He had his fair share of it, caused even more to other people. The thought of hurting you, however, was unbearable.

“Every kingdom needs its king...” He paused and moved you, so you were resting on your elbows and your face was closer to his. “And an even greater queen.”

#baron zemo #helmut zemo #marvel imagine #the falcon and the winter soldier #tfatws spoilers #tfatws #one shot: champagne problems

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lewis-winters · 4 years ago

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Some additional dæmon!au headcanons, a continuation of this headcanon list.

Ok so I thought about it some more and decided to change Dick's dæmon from a Caracara to a Gyrfalcon. Still a raptor, but a larger one that has, historically, been used in falconry and hunting and is, in some European countries, a symbol of patriotism and national pride. Dick's daemon is a female, silver-streaked Gyrfalcon that settled sometime after college but before Fort Benning. Her name's Anahida, and she speaks like a queen. Like, literally, I imagine her voice sounds a lot like Helen McCrory's (gee, I wonder why). She's very large and eye catching, but she only speaks when spoken to-- which is rare. In a society as repressed as 1930s - 1940s America, I imagine speaking to another person's dæmon would be seen as rude or taboo. Because of that, Anahida barely speaks and thus, people often forget she's there. There are rumors too, that Dick's the son of a witch, because Anahida likes to fly far above and at a distance, farther than any human-dæmon bond should go. However, it isn't true. They just practiced a lot growing up. Dick's always wanted to fly, in some way or another, and practicing as well as testing how far they can both stretch from each other was their afternoon play time. It's weird. I know. But this is Dick we're talking about. Of course he'd do something like this.

Anahida is the only one allowed to berate Dick when he's being exceptionally petty or self-righteous. She keeps him in check. It never happens often, but it happens enough. Other than that, they're right as rain and very in-sync with each other.

Is anybody surprised that the only other person who will ever address Anahida directly is Lewis? Show of hands? None? Yeah, me too.

Liebgott's dæmon's name is Chaya and, after some pondering, I've come to the conclusion that she's a Bat-eared fox. Very chatty, too. She and Lieb are very blunt, but she's arguably the blunter one of the two. Where Lieb sometimes gives into the urge to hide or repress feelings, Chaya is willing to take more risk. She does this thing where she will boldly go one way, the way she knows is good for them both, stretching their bond even to its thinnest and most painful, just to get Lieb to finally concede and agree with her. They're both stubborn as all hell, that's the problem. Sometimes Lieb will deny himself things for a myriad of reasons. Chaya has no such qualms. She loves him, but she definitely thinks he's an idiot sometimes. It also sometimes extends to how Lieb gets really soft around people he cares about. In the wild, male Bat-eared foxes are the more nurturing of the young, while the females are the ones who go out and hunt. Kind of the same with Lieb and Chaya. Lieb takes care, he hovers and forgets that boundaries exist-- his own, and the person he's taking care of. But Chaya's the kind who remembers, and reminds Lieb that sometimes you can't give all of yourself away, no matter how much you want to. Does that make sense?

(Disclaimer: I gotta admit. The reason why I hesitated with Lieb was because I didn't want to accidentally be anti-Semitic. I grew up in a country that is primarily Christian and Muslim so I am only familiar with Islamophobic visual vocab, not so the anti-Semitic ones. I had to make sure the animals I assigned a Jewish man's literal soul to were not anti-Semitic or used in anti-Semitic imagery by Nazi propaganda in any way. So. Yeah. Um. Pigs, goats, lizards/reptiles, rats, rodent-adjacent, or any animal seen as "pests" or "vermin" were immediately struck out. Nope. Let's not.)

You wouldn't know it at first glance, but Web and his raven dæmon have a very intense love-hate relationship. Annabelle is a very act-first, introspection-never kind of thing. Web is the opposite. Sometimes, Annabelle will act before Web himself will, and she can be very, very vicious. Because of this, Web is afraid of her and Annabelle resents him. They never fight in public, they largely ignore each other, but often when they get into it... well. It gets almost... a bit too violent. Some of the others have never seen a human and a daemon hurt each other until they’ve met these two. Sometimes, Annabelle often thinks that she’s somebody else entirely, a completely different entity from Web, and sometimes, Web thinks she’s a changeling. That maybe some fae or other switched his real daemon out for this cursed one. It’s a really fractured, complicated relationship.

When they’re on the same wave length, though, they’re scary. The only thing they can seem to agree on is passionate and impulsive anger. Web will always regret it afterwards whereas Annabelle is always smug about it. They calm down after the war and they’re back home. During the war, though, they’re both a mess.

Joe Toye’s daemon is a doberman pinscher named Alessia who is just about as quiet and solemn as her human. Classic soldier daemon. He calls her Al for short. When he loses a leg, she doesn’t. I don’t think amputation in the daemon world works that way, at least not according to Pullman’s original text. Going back home with her after his amputation is easier because she’s there to encouraged him and hold him up when necessary. They make a good team. They share similar fears and insecurities so it’s easy for the both of them to understand each other and help each other through it.

Pat has a little american robin as a daemon. Which is really funny, honestly. Big tough guy like Pat, you’d think he’d have a big tough daemon for sure, but that’s not the case with him. He’s always been gentle and unassuming, Pat and so is his daemon. Her name’s Aoibheann (pronounced ay-veen). She likes to sit on his shoulder and rarely flies far away from him. When they jumped, she stayed inside his jacket at all times, tucked away and close. The only time she flies is later on at peace time, when she knows they’re both safe and she can leave Pat for a few minutes without it being too much trouble.

Johnny’s daemon is a mongoose named Corentine, but he calls her Cora. She’s fiesty. Sobel’s rooster daemon, Julius, wasn’t very fond of her. In fact, he was downright frightened of her. It’s why Sobel won’t mess with Johnny. It’s really funny.

Perco’s daemon is in the same family. A weasel. A tiny little thing he can hold in both his hands. Her name’s Jackie. I have no idea why. But it fits.

Ralph Spina’s daemon is a raccoon. It’s adorable. His name’s Nimaphael. But he hates it and everybody just calls him Nim. Ralph carries him around like a baby on a sling, strapped to his chest. Unlike Harry and Saoirse, you can tease them about this. They’re aware it looks ridiculous. They also don’t care.

Bull’s daemon is a sun bear. I know. I didn’t see this coming, either. But I thought about it and... honestly? It fits. Not to mention Bull’s pretty big. He can carry her no problem. Her name’s Xanthia, by the way. And she’s very sweet, if only a little gruff in showing affection. She’s also not afraid to do what needs to be done. If she needs to have a go at an enemy’s daemon, then you know she’ll do it. She definitely isn’t afraid to get down and dirty. It scares the replacements for awhile, until they realize that she only does it to protect her own.

I finally figured out what Merriell Shelton’s daemon is-- it’s a Jaguarundi. It’s a wild cat that looks to be a mix between a house cat and a mongoose. They’re fascinating and they hiss. A lot. It’s a perfect fit. Again, he name is Charlotte, but he calls her Lotte. Imagining them swaggering down the streets of 1940s New Orleans appeals to my aesthetic sense so much I cry just thinking about it.

BONUS:

Kitty Grogan’s daemon is, not surprisingly, a cat. But not a domesticated one. He looks like it at first glance, but he’s not. He’s an African Wild Cat and he’s a sarcastic little shit named Xaphania. Xaph for short. Send me a wink if you understand that reference.

#dæmon au #band of brothers #dick winters #joe liebgott #david webster #joe toye #pat christenson #johhny martin #frank perconte #ralph spina #bull randleman #kitty grogan #the pacific #merriell shelton #bob hcs #bob aus

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ryuichirou · 4 years ago

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I saw one very stupid post on my dash about how snk is OBVIOUSLY nazi propaganda and trying to convert all of us into imperialists and white supremacists. tbh it’s not the first time I’ve seen that kind of stuff and probably won't be the last, but for some reason this time it gave me a lot of anxiety (I got wordy, I'mma need to send another ask, sorry)

(part 2) It's been more than half and hour and I still feel this awful sensation in my chest. It's just overall pretty fucked how to have something you hold dear being misinterpreted in the worst way possible, and I was just wondering what are your thoughts on this situation or how you deal with people claiming all sorts of awful shit.

(part 3) I imagine that as an artist some people probably direct their issues with snk towards you, 'cause I don't even post that much fanart and I've gotten anons "trying to educate me" on why this series is so wrong, after posting drawings. Of course, you don't have to reply, maybe the topic makes you anxious too and I don't want to bother you, so sorry for the depressing topic (｡•́︿•̀｡)

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Tiiish, I want to hug you, I’m really sorry that this happened to you. I hope you’re feeling a little bit better now.

Like we already mentioned a while ago, when we were talking about that darn article, after we read through it and did a little fact checking (and I mean it when I say a little, because there weren’t many facts to check), we stopped caring about it. It’s not research at all, just a manipulatively written speculation on Yam’s motives and worldview, but sadly, people easily believe these accusations because they hate SnK and want to find a valid reason to hate it and shit on its fanbase. Because “I hate it because it’s nazi propaganda” sounds much cooler than “I hate it because it’s popular”, doesn’t it?

It’s easier to ignore the article itself though, and it’s much harder not to think about tumblr posts or those Twitter threads that get very popular (although there are a lot of bots on twitter, trust me…), and it’s especially difficult to ignore it when it’s specifically directed at you. But the only thing that these people deserve is a good ol’ block and (if they’re getting too offensive and abusive) a report for harassment. The thing is, their opinion doesn’t matter: it won’t change SnK’s story, it won’t affect its success and popularity, it doesn’t affect anything other than our mood (temporarily lol). Because they aren’t critics who actually give a flying fuck about the subject matter, they’re just random assholes with a hateboner for SnK, who sit in their echochamber and discuss the same shit over and over again. And if they’re “fans” of the SnK, it’s just them “consuming it critically” 🙄 such a convenient phrase and so easy to abuse.

If we think about these accusations again… they’re so damn nonsensical, it’s almost amazing. I’m not going to reread it or to make a proper counterpoint article out of this ask, so this is just based on how we remember these accusations.

Like, what part of SnK approves and pushes the idea of imperialism in any way? When the entire idea of the story is that war is bad? When people like Onyankopon, whose homeland was invaded by Marley, exist? And it’s never portrayed as a good thing? Having only one country dominating the world’s situation is literally the main reason why everyone’s suffering??

And come to think of it, Isayama is one of the few manga artists to kind of sort of openly critique Japan: he literally drew Kiyomi losing her cool and drooling while thinking about all the profit and wealth she would get from the deal with Paradis. Why do people never talk about that? What is it, if not a critique of greedy and two-faced nature of people from Azumabito clan, who are heavily implied to represent Japan? I don’t read a lot of manga in general, but do you know how many mangakas I’ve seen who directly talked shit about Japan while being Japanese? Two. Excluding Isayama.

Isayama is clearly invested in the Western culture and he understands the World’s History. He understands that political relationships are complex and that there are no “bad” or “good” countries. I don’t want to make assumptions about how much perspective of the world’s relationships the average person from Japan has, but I still feel like Yams has a pretty good understanding of it. He did his research for the subject matter, and while it’s obviously not perfect, it’s clearly there.

These people also claim that SnK is anti-Korean and anti-Semitic, but if Hetalia had taught me anything, it is that if the story has or used to have any anti-Korean undertones, the Korean readers wouldn’t want to have anything to do with it. They would be the first people to ditch the manga, they would be the first people to critique SnK, and rightfully so. They burnt Uniqlo clothes, their overall domestic policy is pretty anti-Japanese, so there’re literally zero reasons for them not to destroy SnK if they see it as anti-Korean. But the size of the Korean SnK fandom suggests otherwise, doesn’t it.

And the “big noses = Jewish caricature” argument, seriously? How anti-Semitic can you get? Who the fuck looks at people and goes “oh, those have big noses, bet they’re caricature of Jews”?? Sorry I’m getting heated lol The argument about “Asian artists portray Westerners with prominent noses because that’s what we look like to them” has been done a lot of times, I’m not going to go over than again.

And god forbid Isayama to use Germany and Europe to draw a story where his characters are (approximately) Germans and Europeans! Let’s go fetch our pitchforks to punish Isayama for using their aesthetic to make his story look more believable and authentic, right? “Oh, those areas where they hold Eldians resemble places from real life”, like no shit???? Ofc they would??? That’s what references for making the story more grounded are used for??? If I were to write a story about a fictional place based on a real one that I don’t live in, I’d use some visual references to help me to make it more believable??? Why do I even need to explain that?

In my previous post I talked about the armbands and ghetto and stuff, but I’ll reiterate: even if there are thematic similarities, it doesn’t mean that the story mirrors our history. And it doesn’t mean that there is an analogy, since Eldian’s situation is quiiiite different than what Jewish people had to go through. It’s just thematic similarities. And it still doesn’t plant any specific idea in the reader’s head, other than “having people shoved into ghettos with 0 civil rights is a horrible thing”, and I can’t comprehend what’s anti-Semitic or imperialistic about it. Also I’m sorry, but nazis are not the only people who genocided a bunch of people, breaking news. Nor did they invent armbands. Same goes for Japan in WWII.

And now for my favourite argument: Erwin is nazi because his name is Erwin and he was born on the same day than some nazi guy died… I won’t even talk about why this idea is hilariously stupid, I just want to appreciate the level of nitpicking that’s going on here.

So… yeah. People who have nothing else to do but to complain about the show they hate don’t matter. And people who consider themselves a part of the SnK fandom and still say this bs (yep, there are people who do that) are huge hypocrites. The heck are they doing in this fandom then?? Of course, any story is up to interpretation, but this is so backwards?

Sorry for rambling so much… anyways. We’re happy enough not to encounter any hate related to this topic, but we think it’s because we ship Ereri and people already hate us for that, so the majority of shit we get is related to that, I guess we’re a lost cause for them. We’ll see if anything happens after this post though.

But once again, I’m very sorry that you had to go through this. Please remember that this isn’t personal at all, and people who harass strangers on the internet just want to flex their high moral ground while acting like complete assholes. You don’t have to explain anything to them, you don’t have to talk to them, you don’t have to listen to them or give them any attention. I hope you’ll never stumble upon anything like this; but if you ever do, please block them, don’t even bother reading their attempts at “educate” you. Isn’t worth it.

Please have a good day, Tish. And everyone who’s reading this reply.

#replies

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madamlaydebug · 4 years ago

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The Seven Functions of the Pyramid

1. Power generator and distributor

2. Preservation

3. Transportation

4. Energy balance

5. Prophesy

6. Resurrection

7. Divine unity

The ancient Egyptian/Ethiopian empire used a certain form of electricity that was generated and distributed by pyramids. It is different than modern electricity in that the modern type is a low form of electricity that requires transmission wires.

All the substances of the universe have a range or spectrum of frequencies. You are familiar with the most common spectrum - that of light. Scientists have named the extremes that they know of this, calling them infrared and ultraviolet. That means if you look at the seven colors of the rainbow, starting with red then orange then yellow, green, blue, indigo, and violet, then the light spectrum starts from below red (infrared) and goes all the way to beyond violet (ultraviolet).

Similarly the other forms of matter also have a range. Solid matter comes in a range of solidity, from soft solids like lead to very hard ones like diamond. Liquids also have a range, starting with thin liquids like pure alcohol or substances such as benzene, to thick liquids like gels. This is true for all the seven forms of matter through the gases to the ether, light, electricity, and magnetism.

Modern generated electricity is a lower-spectrum type, barely above static electricity (the type that makes your clothes cling). The ancients used a higher form of electricity that did not require wires for transmission. It was transmitted directly in the ether (i.e. in space) the same way radio waves are transmitted. It was transmitted to the temples, which served, among other things, as receiving stations. So the temples had antennas used to receive the transmission. These antennas can still be seen today erected in front of some of the temples. Modern people call them obelisks. There is one near you in Central park, New York that was stolen by Americans from one of the temples, and many more that were stolen by Europeans, perhaps the most famous one being the one called Cleopatra's needle.

Now, the ancients had great reverence for technology. To them it was a gift of nature coming directly from the Gods - the 144 Chiefs of the Black nation. So they did not treat it as casually as modern people do. Today everyone in western countries has access to electricity, including batteries, and they use it casually. There is no reverence whatsoever for this gift of the Gods. The ancients used it only when necessary, including it in the appropriate rituals, and only for projects that were for the benefit of the general society rather than individuals. Other than that they went about their business the usual way, using ordinary hand tools.

For this reason modern archeologists claim that the ancients did not have the knowledge of high technology such as electricity because they see the ancient Egyptians going about their business using hand tools and physical labor most of the time. Yet, there are many instances where they have seen the manufacture of certain implements such as stone coffins that were obviously made using some kind of high-speed machinery. They dismiss these instances as exceptions, and so never mention them in their studies and reports. There are many sculptures and other pieces of art found that are made of very hard stones such as diorite, including vases with very thin walls, narrow necks and wide bottoms. When they look at them, it's quite obvious that they could not possibly have been made by hand. They were certainly made using some kind of rotary machine that required electricity. These are the kinds of items that they bury in the basements of their museums because they do not fit their theories and explanation concerning the level of ancient technology.

The ancients understood the concept of balance in all its aspects. They understood that balance is necessary in all things, including the use of technology. Even though electricity is to be used to make life much easier, it is not supposed to be exploited to the point where it replaces all other uses, especially the uses of hand tools and physical labor. Such behavior leads to a deterioration of the human body. It discourages the exercising of our muscles using natural activities. Our muscles need natural activities in order for our bodies to remain in a state of good health. It does not help the body to replace natural activities with artificial activities such as weightlifting and gymnasium exercises. The everyday activities of the ancients, such as farming, washing clothes by hand, milling grains, making wine, rowing boats etc ensured that their bodies never went lacking for natural exercise and the muscular fitness and balance required for good health and long life. That's the reason they kept their ancient ways even in the midst of technology that was vastly superior to that of the modern day.

Every person had to reach a certain level of initiation before he could use it. The technology was not given for free or for money as it is today. It was earned by knowledge and understanding obtained in the rituals associated with it. They understood that all technology has a higher purpose above that of merely making life easy - it lends to the overall balance of the forces of nature. Without this balance, the life of a society will degenerate to one of two extremes; the extreme of greed, where the gifts of nature are used solely for the satisfaction of physical desires with no spiritual value whatsoever. This is what we see with the way the light-skinned people use technology today. The other extreme is that of over-technologization, which leads to over-intellectualization - i.e. giving up the heart for the sake of the head. This is the case with the extraterrestrial races today, who have given up all emotional life for the sake of the intellect, to the point where they have lost all capacity to love or to empathize.

These two extremes illustrate the end result of the unbalanced use of the gifts of nature.

Knowing this, the ancients were able to keep using high technology for thousands of years without the harmful effects we see today such as the ecological disaster that is being foisted upon mother earth by the light-skinned races, or the genetic deterioration that comes as a result of losing one's capacity to feel emotions, such as is being experienced by the extraterrestrial races.

The pyramids were also used for the preservation of life forms, or the function that has been attributed to Noah's ark. Periodically, it becomes necessary to preserve life forms on earth, both of animals and plants, so that they may continue after certain events that devastate the earth during its periodic cleansing. I will talk more about this function and events at some other time.

Pyramids are also used for space travel. This requires the manufacture of a monolithic pyramid. This is a large pyramid (much larger than the Great Pyramid) that is made of a single stone. The stone is obtained in space from among the debris of large rocks that orbits alongside the planets, that are called asteroids.

When our first ancestors came to earth from Sirius, they used twelve such pyramids, each one occupied by 12,000 men and women.

They landed the pyramids at twelve different locations on our earth, that were the energy nodal points of that time. The pyramids remained there for a long time in the far, far distant past, trillions of years ago. Such pyramids are always used when large groups of people leave to settle a new planet. We will see their use again here on our earth in the near future.

Pyramids are also used to balance the earth's energies. They are placed at the 12 primary nodes of the earth where space energies enter our planet. Every inhabitable planet receives energies from other stars in space that are essential for human and other life. These energies must be balanced as they enter the nodal points, otherwise they could upset the earth's magnetic shield. The earth's magnetic shield is crucial for keeping out things in space that could cause harm to the planet, such as large meteors and harmful rays. Our earth and other planets in our solar system are still bombarded by such things because our solar system is still evolving. They will cease when the entire solar system reaches a state of perfect stability, where all its energies are in perfect harmony with the energies received from outer space.

The Great Pyramid also acts as a prophetic 'book of stone'. It's constructed in such a way that it tells the future story of the age we are in. Every King or Queen who rules the earth builds a stone pyramid as part of their ordination. In its construction, they 'write' the future of their 25,000-year reign. They do not write it in Hieroglyphs, but in the sizes and types of stones used, and the way they are placed, as well as the way the chambers are constructed. A person who is initiated into its mysteries can read the future events of the earth from it.

It is also used as a resurrection 'machine'. I've already described the two facets of resurrection for which the Great Pyramid of Giza is used.

Lastly, and most important, the Pyramid is used to facilitate divine unity during rituals. This is a function that belongs to the 24 Elders.

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buzzdixonwriter · 4 years ago

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Hoo U?

A spirited discussion is raging on Facebook now, the good kind of spirited discussion, an enthusiastic exchange of ideas and ideals, not a snark fest.

The top is a deceptively simple one: Who are the characters various actors played?

Let me clarify: It began as a trivia challenge to name actors who have won Oscars for playing the same character.

And there in lays the debate.

How exactly are we defining a character.

This all sounds trivial, and to be frank this part of the discussion is, but it’s gonna get deep by the end.

Trust me.

So here’s the kickoff:

Marlon Brando won a Best Male Performance Oscar for playing Vito Corleone in The Godfather; Robert DeNiro won a Best Male Supporting Performance Oscar for playing Vito Corleone in The Godfather II

Heath Ledger won a Best Male Supporting Performance Oscar for playing the Joker in The Dark Knight; Joaquin Phoenix won a Best Male Performance Oscar for playing the Joker in Joker.

(Trivia bonus: Kate Winslet and Gloria Stuart received Oscar nominations for playing the same character at different stages of her life in Titanic, and Winslet and Judi Dench were both nominated for playing the same character at different stages in Iris as well; plus Peter O’Toole was nominated twice for playing Henry II in Beckett and The Lion In Winter which technically counts as a sequel…)

The Facebook debate is over whether Ledger and Phoenix were actually playing the same character.

Now in the case of the former, The Godfather II is a continuation of the same story in The Godfather by the same creative team with much of the original cast reprising their roles, the Oscars going to two actors who played the same character at different stages of their life (BTW, where's the love for Oreste Baldini, who played Vito as a young boy?).

The two films were re-edited and combined with The Godfather III to make a nine-hour and 43-minute miniseries The Godfather Trilogy.

It is clear the creators’ intent from the beginning was for audiences to accept Baldini / DeNiro / Brando as the same person at various stages of his life.

The Ledger Joker and the Phoenix Joker cannot possibly be the same character for a wide variety of internal continuity issues separating the two films. The creators of Joker went out of their way to state their version of the character was not The Dark Knight version.

Unlike The Godfather movies, you can’t link up the various live action Batman / Suicide Squad / Joker stories into a single coherent narrative (especially since you have to drag in the live action Supeman and Wonder Woman movies and TV shows as well).

. . .

Can different actors play their version of the same character in otherwise unlinked productions?

Of course they can.

Stage plays do it all the time.

If you start with the same exact text, then clearly any number of actors can play Hamlet or MacBeth or Willy Loman.

The problems arise when one goes afield of the text.

. . .

In 1932 Constance Bennett made a movie called What Price Hollywood? that did okay but really didn’t set the world on fire.

In 1937 Janet Gaynor remade that film as A Star Is Born, the story changed to give it a tragic yet uplifting conclusion; her version was a big hit and Gaynor received an Oscar nomination.

In 1954 Judy Garland remade A Star is Born as a musical and that proved a big hit, and Garland received an Oscar nomination.

In 1976 Barbara Streisand took a swing at the material with a country-western version of A Star Is Born and while she got an Oscar nomination, audiences were unreceptive.

In 2018 Lady Gaga remade A Star Is Born and received both an Oscar nomination for her role and an Oscar win for her song.

Question: Are they all playing the same character? Each played a character that started their film with a different name than the other versions, but the Gaynor / Garland / Streisand / Gaga versions all end with the central character proudly proclaiming they are “Mrs. Norman Maine.”

Same character?

. . .

There’s no argument that William Gillette, Basil Rathbone, and Benedict Cumberbatch all played Sherlock Holmes, even when their productions took certain liberties with the stories.

But Sherlock Holmes is not an idiot, and Michael Caine played Holmes as an idiot in Without A Clue.

Was he playing the same character as Gillette / Rathbone / Cumberbatch?

(Ironically Peter Cook played a very recognizable and wholly credible Holmes in his farcical send up of The Hound Of The Baskervilles with Dudley Moore.)

Did George C. Scott play Holmes in They Might Be Giants? Almost everybody else in the story thinks he’s a New York banker who’s suffered a nervous breakdown and only thinks he’s Holmes, but Scott believes he is Holmes 100% and throughout the film other people he encounters accept him as Holmes at face values.

He functions as Holmes throughout.

And in the end, the audience is left in a weird place, not really knowing what his fate may be, not absolutely sure if he is a bonkers banker but maybe…somehow…he is Sherlock Holmes…

. . .

Did John Cassavettes in Tempest and Walter Pidgeon in Forbidden Planet play the same character? Were either of those roles Shakespeare’s Prospero?

Did Christopher Lee play the same character in Horror Of Dracula and its sequels, in Count Dracula, and in In Search Of Dracula? (The producers of Count Dracula sure went to great pains to explain their version was a different and more accurate version than the Hammer version of the character, and In Search Of Dracula cast Lee as Vlad Tepes who was the real life historical figure Bram Stoker based his novel on.)

For that matter, is Count Orlok in Nosferatu: A Symphony Of Terror actually Dracula? A European court awarding lawsuit damages to Bram Stoker's widow sure thought so.

Along similar lines, was Bela Lugosi playing Dracula in Columbia's Return Of The Vampire? Universal's lawyers sure thought so.

Did Jim Caviezel in Passion Of The Christ, Max von Sydow in The Greatest Story Ever Told, Paul Newman in Cool Hand Luke, and Michael Rennie in The Day The Earth Stood Still all play the same character?

Did Toshiro Mifune, Clint Eastwood, and Bruce Willis all play the Continental Op?

Did Clint Eastwood play the same character in all three Dollar films?

Did Vincent Price, Charlton Heston, and Will Smith all play the same character?

Did Leonardo DiCaprio play the same character Steve McQueen played in The Great Escape (even if just for one brief scene) or did he play a character who played a character Steve McQueen played in The Great Escape?

Ooh, here's a good one!

Lon Chaney Jr starts Ghost Of Frankenstein playing the same monster Boris Karloff played in the original Frankenstein / Bride Of Frankenstein / Son Of Frankenstein trilogy, but by the end gets Ygor's brain (Bela Lugosi) transplanted into his body and speaks / thinks / acts briefly as Ygor in Frankie’s body.

However, Frankenstein Meets The Wolfman while maintaining continuity with all four previous films cast Lugosi as the monster (because Chaney had to play the Wolfman, duh) without dialog. Glenn Strange then assumed the role again in continuity with all previous films for House Of Frankenstein, House Of Dracula, and Abbott & Costello Meet Frankenstein, occasionally speaking briefly in the role.

Who was Strange playing in his films? The original Karloff monster or Ygor in Frankie's bod? Are those two distinct characters?

. . .

All the above is fun trivia to debate, but it links to a much more serious question: Who are you?

That’s not a trivial matter. What constitutes out identity? What makes us who we are?

I lost my father years ago to Alzheimer’s. As my brother Robert observed, the only member of a family not affected by an Alzheimer’s diagnosis is the person suffering from it themselves.

I would talk to my father on the phone, and he was always pleasant and cheery, but about three years before he died I realized he had no idea who I was, I was just some voice on the other end of the line that mom wanted him to talk to.

My father was by nature and easy going kinda guy, and that certainly made his last few years easier for my mother and brother Rikk to cope with, but one night when I was visiting, trying to get their affairs straightened out so he could enter a nursing home, he got irritated with my mother as she was trying to help him and raised his hand as if to slap hers away.

My father never raised his hand against my mother.

Ever.

He taught me and my brothers that was something no real man ever did.

He might sound gruff on occasion but he never raised a finger, much less truck our mother.

The fact he did so in the throes of Alzheimer’s indicated that whoever he once was, he wasn’t that person anymore.

We got him into a nursing home and he lasted a little less than a year there, his mind and his memory and his personality deteriorating rapidly.

Who was he at the end?

I didn’t go to his funeral.

What was the point?

The father I knew and loved had departed long before they buried his shell.

My grandmother, on the other hand, remained her cranky, irascible self until a week and a half before she died, finding the wit to crack one last memorable joke before her body began shutting down.

. . .

The question of identity is related to consciousness, and these are referred to as “the hard question” by physicians and physicists and philosophers alike.

What makes us “us”?

How do we know who we are?

What constitutes identity?

There are no easy, pat answers.

We have textbook definitions that dance around the issue of identity and consciousness, providing enough of a foundation for us to recognize what it is we’re discussing, but no one has yet come up with a clear, concise explanation of what either phenomenon is.

It’s like saying “apples are a red fruit.”

Okay, we know what you’re talking about, but we also know that description falls far, far short of what an apple actually is.

That’s why trivial discussion like whether or not Heath Ledger and Joaquin Phoenix are playing the same character is a lot more important than it seems.

(BTW, they aren’t. Phoenix won his Oscar for his version of the Rupert Pupkin character in a violent remake of The King Of Comedy.)

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things2mustdo · 4 years ago

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When I ask myself what films in recent years have been my favorites, I find that the answers all seem to have a few things in common. One, the movie must tell a compelling story; two, it must rise above its genre to make a larger statement about life or some universal idea; and three, it must be technically well made. All great art—including film—can serve as a vehicle for the presentation of ideas, and the promotion of a certain virtue. Although the mainstream American film industry has become more and more a sad repository of feminist cant and lowest-common-denominator commercial pandering, the foreign film world has undergone something of a renaissance in the past fifteen years.

The best films of France, Germany, Spain, and the UK are edgier, more intelligent, and more masculine than anything found in the US. It was not always so. But the work of great European directors like Jacques Audiard, Gaspar Noe, Nicolas Winding Refn, and Shane Meadows leaves little room for doubt that the true cutting-edge work is being done in Europe. (Argentina deserves honorable mention here as having an excellent film industry). The mainstream, corporate-driven US film industry has effectively smothered independent voices under an avalanche of political correctness, girl-power horseshit, chick-flickism, and mind-numbing CGI escapist dreck.

Movies that deal with masculine themes in a compelling way are not easy to come by these days. Honest explorations of masculine virtues are repressed, marginalized, or trivialized. One needs to scour the globe to cherry-pick the best here and there, and in some cases you have to go back decades in time. Luckily, the availability of Netflix and other subscription services has made this task much easier than it used to be. Access to the best cinema of Europe, South America, and Asia can be a great way for us to catch as glimpse at a foreign culture, as well as reflect on serious ideas.

I want to offer my recommendations on some films that I believe are an important part of the modern masculine experience, in all its wide variety and expression. Out of the scores of possible choices, I decided to pick the handful of films that are perhaps not as well known to readers. My opinions will not be shared by all. I encourage readers to draw up their own lists of films dealing with masculine themes, and hope they will reflect on the reasons behind their choices. Below are mine, in no particular order. In italics is a brief plot synopsis, followed by my own comments.

1. Straw Dogs (1971).

A mild-mannered American academic (Dustin Hoffman) living in rural Cornwall with his beautiful wife becomes the target of harassment by the local toughs. Things escalate to a sexual assault on his wife, and eventually to a brutal and protracted fight to the death when a local man takes refuge on their property.

Dustin Hoffman reaches his breaking point in “Straw Dogs”

This is a classic example of the type of movie that could never be made today. Arguably Sam Peckinpah’s most daring film, it contains a controversial rape scene that seems to leave open the question whether Hoffman’s wife (played by Susan George) was a victim or a willing participant. Faced with his wife’s betrayal, and continuing harassment from local miscreants, Hoffman’s character finds himself completely isolated and must learn to stand his ground and fight.

A chance incident later in the film sets the stage for a blood-soaked confrontation which is as inevitable as it is necessary. Peckinpah presents a compelling case for the cathartic power of violence, and the achievement of masculine identity through man-on-man combat. It is a theme I find myself strongly drawn to. Controversial, powerful, and unforgettable, Peckinpah proves himself an unapologetic and strident advocate of old-school martial virtue. We would do well to listen. His voice is sorely missed today. (Note: avoid the pathetic recent remake of this movie). Honorable mention: Peckinpah’s The Wild Bunch (1969) and Bring Head of Alfredo Garcia (1974).

2. Sorcerer (1977).

A group of international renegades find themselves down and out in Nicaragua, and volunteer for a job transporting unstable dynamite across the country to quell an oil rig fire.

Due to inept marketing when this movie was first released, it never achieved the credit it so fully deserved. A motley group of international riff-raff (including the always appealing Roy Scheider) seeks redemption through a harrowing trial. But will they get it? Is it even desirable to escape one’s dark past? The answers are complex, and director William Friedkin refuses to supply easy ones. The characters in this film are doomed, and they know it, but they still hold true to their own code. Which is itself honorable. Consequences must be paid for everything we do in life, and often the price comes in a way never expect. Dark, brooding, and humming with a pulse-pounding electronic score by Tangerine Dream, this film has deservedly become a cult classic. The ending is a shocker you’ll never see coming.

Roy Scheider undertakes the most perilous journey of his life in William Friedkin’s 1977 masterpiece “Sorcerer”

3. The Lives of Others (2006).

A coldly efficient Stasi (East German security service) officer (Ulrich Muhe) is enlisted by a Communist party hack in a surveillance program against a supposed subversive writer and his girlfriend. But monitoring the writer’s life awakens sparks of nascent humanity in the Stasi man, and he eventually must decide whether to follow orders and destroy the writer, or to sacrifice himself to save him.

This German masterpiece was made with great fidelity to the look and feel of 1980s East Germany, and the results are evident in every frame. It belongs on any list of the greatest films ever made. The masculine virtue here is of a different type than viewers may be used to: it is a quiet, understated heroism, the type of heroism that probably happens every day but is hardly noticed. There is no bragging here, no chest-beating, no big-mouthed bravado. (In short, none of the wooden-headed caricatures that pass for masculinity in the US). The ethic here is about love and self-sacrifice, the noblest and greatest virtues of all.

The ethos of self-sacrifice is now considered old-fashioned and almost a punch-line, but historically it was valued very highly. It features in nearly all the old literary epics and dramas of Europe and Asia. Actor Ulrich Muhe pulls off a minor miracle of characterization here with his portrayal of a Stasi man named Weisler, whose special wiretapping assignment against a playwright transforms him from heartless automaton into awe-inspiring hero. The movie made me wonder just how many quiet, unassuming men there must be out there, whose toil, heroism, and sacrifice has never been, and never will be, acknowledged. The ending is transcendently beautiful, and moving beyond words.

4. Homicide (1991).

A police detective (Joe Mantegna) is assigned to investigate a murder case. The case awakens in him stirrings of his long-suppressed ethnic identity. Unfortunately, he will eventually be forced to choose between conflicting loyalties. And the consequences will be devastating.

No modern American director has probed the meaning of masculine identity more than David Mamet, and all of his films are meditations on themes related to illusion, reality, masculinity, and struggle. Homicide, a nearly unknown gem from the early 1990s, is perhaps his profoundest. Mamet knows that a man must make choices in his life, and for those choices, consequences must be paid. And very often, we find ourselves derailed by the mental edifices we construct for ourselves. The Mantegna character is led through a complex and increasingly ambiguous chain of events, only to find that at the heart of one mystery lies an even more inscrutable one. Beware the things you seek. You may not like what you find.

Joe Mantegna deals with the fatal consequences of his decisions in David Mamet’s “Homicide”

5. A Prophet (2009).

An Algerian Arab is incarcerated in a French jail, and is drawn into the savage world of Corsican gangsters. Forced to kill or be killed, he is drawn into a pitiless world that recognizes only cunning and brutality. He finds himself straddling two realities: the world of his own nationality, and that of the Corsicans. And to survive and emerge triumphant, he must learn to play all sides against each other.

This film must be counted among the greatest crime dramas ever made. You simply can’t take your eyes off the screen. The lesson here is that a man must learn to survive on his wits, and do whatever is necessary to stay alive. The Corsican boss whom Al Djebena (Tahar Rahim) works for is just about the most malevolent presence in recent screen memory. Part of France’s continuing internal dialogue about its immigrant population, A Prophet is not to be missed.

Tahar Rahim learns a thing or two about Corsica in “A Prophet”

6. The Beat That My Heart Skipped (2005).

An intense young man (Romain Duris) works for his father as a real estate shark in urban Paris. His “job” consists of intimidating deadbeat immigrant tenants, vandalizing apartments, and forcibly collecting loans. He also plays the piano. Eventually, he is forced to decide which life he wants: the path laid out by his shady father, or the idealistic path of his own choosing. He’s seeking redemption, but will he find it? And at what cost?

Again, we have here the themes of redemption and moral choice. Romain Duris has a screen presence and intensity that rivals anything done by Pacino in his prime, and some of the scenes here are fantastic. (His seduction of his friend’s wife, Aure Atika, is one of many great scenes). All men will be confronted and tested by crises and situations beyond their control. How they respond to those situations will define who they are as men. Duris’s character proves that redemption can be achieved, if wanted badly enough.

Romain Duris embodying screen intensity

7. Red Belt (2008).

Martial arts instructor Mike Terry is forced, against his principles, to consider entering a prize bout. He is abandoned and betrayed by his wife and friends, and must confront his challenges alone with only his code and his pride.

Another great meditation on masculine virtue and individualism by David Mamet. In his own unique dialogue style, Mamet showcases his belief that, in the end, all men stand alone. At the moment of truth, it is you, and only you, who will be staring into the abyss. Our trials by fire will not come in the time and at the place of our own choosing. But when they do come, a man must be prepared to hold his ground and fight his corner. Watch for Brazilian actress Alice Braga in a supporting role here. We hope to see more of her on American screens in the future.

8. Fear X (2003).

A repressed security guard (John Turturro) is searching for answers to who killed his wife. His strange behavior and ticking time-bomb manner begin to alarm friends and co-workers. One day he finds some information that may be a lead to solving the mystery. This discovery sets him on the path to realization. Or does it?

I am a big fan of the films of Nicolas Winding Refn (The Pusher trilogy, and Valhalla Rising), and this one is perhaps his most penetrating examination of a wounded psyche. It failed commercially when it first appeared, as many viewers were put off by his artistic flourishes and opaque ending. For me, this film is the deepest study of grief and repressed rage ever committed to film. All men will be confronted by tragedy, grief, and inexplicable loss during their lives. How we handle it will define who we are. The greatness of this film is that it explores Turturro’s claustrophobic, neurotic world in a deeply personal way, and at the same time suggests that he may actually be on to something. This film covers the same philosophical ground as Francis Ford Coppola’s The Conversation, in that it hints at the ultimate ambiguity of all things.

John Turturro confronts the unrelenting darkness of his own psyche in “Fear X”

If you are a Netflix subscriber and watch movies frequently, as I do, you may find it useful to keep a notebook near your television and jot down the titles of movies you see, and a few notes about what you liked or didn’t like. You’d be surprised how much you can learn from movies. There are just so many good and bad ones out there that having some system for keeping track of them will be time well spent.

#movies #films

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jeanjauthor · 3 years ago

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In mediveal times how long did a noble family have to exist for to be considered noble and not new money? 10 year, 50 years (son/grandson), 100 years (great, or great-great-grandson), or something so big like 200 years?

I'm going to be bluntly honest.

I have no frikkin' idea.

But we can think it through logically, at least a little bit, as well as draw parallels to modern or recent-era situations that are similar.

(This post ended up rather long, so I’m inserting a Keep Reading cut for the rest of y’all...)

We have a lot more writings on the Georgian/Regency eras (1700s onward) regarding the newly rich versus old money...but that's because there were more opportunities to garner new wealth, through the exploitation and colonization of explorers in the Americas, merchants traveling overseas over much longer distances due to better ship design and navigational charts, etc.

We have complaints about sea captains buying noble titles, giving money to their sovereigns who, for whatever reason, needed more income than they garnered from taxes, etc. People who were ennobled for enslaving foreign regions and extracting local resources for European consumption, so on and so forth.

Part of that was because prior to the boom in exploitative exploration & colonization, there was literally only so much land that could be parceled out to heirs or sold to the newly wealthy merchant classes, and land was still seen as the biggest economic stimulus point (the constant need for herds and crops to feed everyone, etc).

Even mining operations and foundries for smelting iron, etc, were still not advanced enough to be productive enough, because science and technology weren't far enough along for these things to provide enough metal to spark the Industrial Revolution until the turn of the 1800s and later.

We can conclude that the means to amass a lot of wealth was, therefore, difficult to acquire prior to colonization and industrialization. This was not to say that it didn't happen! There were always wars against one's neighbors, there was cross-country trade that could make one rich, someone could stumble across a gold mine (literally, a source of precious metals), so on and so forth. The Crusades were initially about Christian religious fervor...and the acquisition of the wealth of their supposed enemies, the Muslims (who weren't enemies to begin with, btw).

People in the Middle East were literally sitting at a crossroads of trade between Europe, Africa, and Asia, so yes, they had access to a lot more cross-continental commerce than anywhere else. And when the invading crusaders brought back some of that wealth--spices, silks, exotic jewels, dyes, decorative objects, and ideas (yes, those can be a source of wealth! Cross-pollination between different groups sharing ideas almost always leads to new innovations!)--it sparked avarice in the hearts of a lot of people who saw a potential opportunity for acquiring more wealth.

Those who came back with that wealth...possibly bribed their sovereigns, bought lands, became the newly rich...except back then there wasn't quite the same class divide barrier to break. Because those who could afford to go to the Holy Land to conquer & rob it of its wealth had to be able to not only walk themselves there, with enough funds to provision themselves along the way, but needed the equipment to be able to successfully capture rich targets. Horses, armor, weapons, so on and so forth.

They'd also have to attach themselves to some noble's entourage if they weren't noble themselves, and that meant they'd have to share their plunder, etc...or be counted a brigand at best. (Let's be blunt, the difference between sanctioned plundering and brigandry is having the approval of a big group of people regarding your actions.) This meant that most of those that made their wealth off of the Crusades often did so as second and third and fifthborn sons, who weren't going to inherit much anyway--or bastard sons, who by law couldn't inherit without their family jumping through legal and liturgical hoops.

The ones who profited the most off of these plunder campaigns were therefore most likely already a part of the ruling class--or at least the mounted warrior class, which was seen as close enough to being the same thing. Compared to the long-distance merchant classes, who rode or sailed long distances to trade items only produced locally (and thus rare elsewhere) for exotic ones they could bring back and trade at home, the bastards and fourth-born sons had an easier time getting to be acknowledged as "acceptable new money."

Most merchants who did get wealthy tended to do so in free cities, or in city-states that were already mostly democratic (albeit the kind confined to wealthy male citizens) in nature, such as Venice and Genoa, where they did not have kings, or did not have a strong kingly or nobility presence (unlike Paris or London, etc, which were the seats of monarchial power).

But there is one more factor to consider: The Black Death.

Prior to the first major sweep of bubonic plague through Europe in the 1340s, the vast majority of European medieval life was pastorally centered, with the vast majority of people being serfs legally obligated to work the farms for the local lords, a few freemen, the clergy (who were slowly focusing on attaining lots of wealth themselves), and the nobles who were supposed to watch over and protect everyone from outside marauders, etc (to various degrees of belief & efficacy; some were genuinely good leaders who wanted to protect and share the wealth, while others were exploitative SOBs, and most were at some stage in between those two extremes).

When a quarter to a third of everyone died, however...that left crops rotting in the fields, people were weakened and devastated, whole reams of knowledge were lost with the deaths of those who were the masters of their crafts, and...well, the wealthy staggered under the weight. IF they survived themselves, of course.

The vast shift in the availability of workers meant the surviving workers started demanding many of the freedoms they had been previously denied--they literally took their possessions and left their serf-bound homes to go work for anyone who was willing to pay them a lot more and give them more legal freedoms. (Modern folks really need to take notes!) And because all ranks and stations were being hit more or less just as hard as any other caste level, that meant those who could have enforced the peasants staying on their lord's demense-lands were unable to bring enough of them into play to herd the wayward serfs back to their quasi-slavery.

After all, if you had 100 warriors, 50 of which were needed to keep a watch out for brigands and guard the castle, you could afford to send out 20-30 of them to spread out, search for, and round up a stray serf who had run away, while keeping the remainder in reserve. (Remember, serfs who ran away to free cities and stayed there successfully for a year-and-a-day were considered free men and could not be dragged back to their farms...but that left 366 days in which they could be caught and dragged back.)

But if you lost 30 of your warrior-class, you'd still need 50 to guard the castle and its lands--possibly more in such restless times!--and you'd only have 20 to spare, period. Which meant in a practical sense that you'd only have 5-10 at most you could send out (needing to keep a reserve at your home base), which meant searches for runaways were far less efficient--either they'd have to search fewer areas with large enough groups to capture and return, or they'd have to split up, find the serf, run for help, and hope the serf was still in that same area when they got back with enough forces to capture the serf without risking injury to themselves or to the peasant in question.

Prior to the Black Death, upward mobility was a rare thing--you practically had to save the life of the king in battle, etc. This was of course easier to do in the 700s than in the 1200s, but still not an easy thing. And even then, you'd have to prove you were "noble enough" to be accepted by the upper classes. We know this upward mobility of the wealthy-but-not-noble was restricted because we do have increasingly stiff sumptuary laws--aka what non-nobles were allowed to wear.

Literally, wearing winter ermine--the white fur of the ermine mustelid with the black-tip tails--was reserved for royalty and very high ranked clergy and sometimes very high ranked nobility depending on timeperiod and culture. Indeed, a lot of furs became increasingly social-rank-dependent, to the point that only squirrel fur was considered "open for everyone." Yes, only squirrels, because even rabbits were considered to "belong" to the local lord, and poaching them for eating, never mind for wearing, became a punishable crime.

You had to have permission from your social betters to wear luxurious furs and other items....so we can conclude that upward mobility was not much of a thing...up until the devastation of the Black Death upended social order, and the vast majority of people seized back many of their natural rights and forced social status mobility upon those who held all the wealth and the power. (*ahem* Do Take Notes, People. *stares in Covid Pandemic* (Yes, I have no chill on this point, there are TOO MANY PARALLELS to what we're suffering today, socio-economically.))

Anyway! if you're thinking medieval pre-pandemic, there wasn't as much social mobility. Post-pandemic (and there were several waves of the Black Death and other plagues, btw, including a devastaing plague in 1655, not just the most famous one of the late 1340s/early 1350s), there was a lot more elbow room for jostling your way toward the top.

However, the best hope one could have for social mobility was to buy into a noble family. Usually via a marriage contract, wherein the non-noble brought in a great deal of wealth to a potentially impoverished noble family, with their offspring to be considered part of the noble family.

This was often done by someone with an ongoing source of wealth, such as merchant enterprises, or someone who could, say, create exceptional glassware, or whose family line held trade secrets in a lucrative profession, such as the thread-of-gold makers in London, ladies who were taught the secrets from an early age and whose skills were sought far and wide--or the lacemakers of certain regions in France, the Low Countries, southern England... Though to say it was "often" done isn't exactly an indication that it was done often, just that it was more likely a means to acquiring social status than saving the life of a king, etc.

So those are several of the possible ways to become wealthy and high in social status. As for "new rich vs old money"...that's a complex and lesser known subject. Most of the records we have from the medieval era were from legal documents and/or household ledgers, neither of which lend themselves to including personal annotations on things like, "A suckling pig and 2 pounds 16 shillings - Mercantile Atteborough paid this much to be included as an honored guest at the Feast of St. Barnabas in my southern manor keep."

Or maybe, "Goodwife Ashton paid 20 shillings to be able to wear a mantle lined with sable marten fur throughout the winter despite it being above her station, the rude hen" or "My son decided to give a length of silk to the village baker's daughter, even though I told him that she had no right to wear such things until after they were wed and elevated into the family fold..."

We do have a few sources mentioning such things from earlier eras, but writing was such a laborious process, the materials so costly (parchment is literally the inner shaved skin of an animal, often a goat or a sheep, and nowhere near as cheap as paper to produce...but paper breaks down so much faster than parchment over time), that most people tended to not meander about various subjects, but instead saved writing for "truly important" subjects--keeping monetary accounts, tallying things for tax-time, writing about God, and for those few scholars who had the wealth and support system, writing about the natural world, the dawning of science and reason, so on and so forth.

So we don't know how much these things were considered, only that they were considered to at least some small extent.

With all that said, we do know that the longer a family bloodline remains in power, the more determined they are to keep that power, which means concentrating it in the upper classes. (This is dangerous biologically, as inbreeding is...um...yeah. BAD.) In later years, those being allowed to join by marriage would be under heavy expectations to fit in, obey the head of the household/bloodline, and copy the manners and traditions of the class they were joining. But again, not many records of this.

Not all marriages were made for love. We see love as a marital concept among the higher classes only being developed after the rules of Courtly Love had been established for long enough that love as a possibility for high-ranked persons was considered possible. Prior to that, it had been as much or more a business transaction to increase familial power and wealth. But while for the common peasant a marriage was often made based on love and/or compatibility/mutual respect, there were still plenty of families in the in-between ranks who insisted on deliberately matchmaking or at least vetting "prospects" by how much wealth or social power each party or family held.

Again, we don't know how much the consideration of depth of a family's noble or wealthy lineage played into these calculations in the Middle Ages. We do know from the post-colonial era that many noble families back in Europe were scandalized by colonists & other overseas exploiters making loads of money and then not only trying to buy themselves a noble title, but in trying to act like they were the social equals ot the nobility.

"American heiresses" (or anyone from any overseas colony) would come to places like London to enjoy "high civilization." When they did so, their wealth would attract prospective grooms, but their breeding (aka, lack of it) would almost invariably scandalize the prospective groom's social peers and/or family members...until the Industrial Revolution created so many rich "commoners" that the nobles actually lost most of their social status power.

This nobility clout faded especially when America came to economic and cultural prominence on the world stage--a land that prided itself on having zero nobles...but that was not to say America didn't (and doesn't) have a ruling class. We just use different names, and we still have our own Old Money groups, who hoard the reigns of power for themselves and their heirs. Rockefeller is a family name known throughout the nation, as is any politician named Kennedy, for example--and now we have names like Gates and Bezos and Musk...though Gates is technically more old-money than the latter two. (Slightly.)

Unfortunately for the Old Money groups, it is now far too easy for "upstarts" to make billions, diminishing the Old Family names...but make no mistake: Most of these new billionaires still come from money, because they've leveraged their older family ties and associations to wedge themselves into these positions of visible economic power. (Musk bought himself into Tesla; he didn't actually found it. Gates, on the other hand, actually did found MicroSoft and did a lot of the actual programming work in his early days.)

...With all of that said, we only need to look at one more item to determine how long it would take Newly Rich to become Old Money: Time. Depending upon the region and the era...? About 3-4 generations would be my best guess.

Life was short and hard for many people in the Middle Ages, due to the lack of advanced healthcare, with a lot of people dying fairly early on from infections, illnesses, injuries, and the like. While the upper classes would have a lot more access to good food and be less likely to suffer from famines, giving them a better chance at a longer life due to having their nutritional needs met and their bodyfat being a little higher (it's a cushion against ilnesses and injuries, folks; stop being fatphobic!), they would still suffer, and often die much younger than a typical modern-day person might, even one living in modern-day poverty. (Wear your goddamn masks, people!! *ahem*)

When you live in a world where getting to live to be a grandparent or even a great-grandparent is a solid accomplishment, changes will be accepted much more quickly by each successive generation. Mostly because "that's the way it's always been" will have a shorter timeframe needed, due to the lack of grandparents raging on and on about "...that old upstart Timothy bought himself land and the funs to put up a keep on it! He's no more a lord than George the Goose Boy!"

The longer something goes unchallenged in the day-to-day lives of the people experiencing it, the more it seems like it should exist that way. (*STARES HARD AT THE LAST 40 YEARS OF ECONOMIC SUPPRESSIONS.*) And by that metric, given the average shorter lifespans even if you don't count early childhood deaths in mortality statistics across the broad span of medieval times in Europe...it wouldn't take more than 60 or so years for everyone locally to accept that New Money is now Old Money.

...Or that acceptance could happen even faster, if the New Money is clever enough to "share the wealthy" by investing their time, money, and effort in building good relations with their wealthy/high-class "neighbors." This would include publicly deferring to "their betters" and copying the social mannerisms of the upper class without mockery and without overstepping the bounds of what they could reasonably be allowed to do with their newfound status. Truly savy social climbers would be cautious and smart about flaunting their new power, planning for the long term haul rather than reveling too much in the moment.

Note that this statement is building good relations, not spending absurd amounts of money on lavish parties, ostentatious clothing, etc...which brings us to the Old Money side of the equation. Again, this is based in my observations on various peripheral socio-economic factors, and not on direct evidence.

The one thing that would irk the Old Money types pretty much every single time is newcomers being overly flamboyant with their wealth. Especially since the flamboyantly wealthy often end up the stupidly impoverished within a short span of time--to be accepted, the newly rich would have to understand the balance between claiming their wealth and status, and investing it to maintain that power. Wasting it wouldn't be viewed well by those who were raised generation after generation with lessons of how to maintain, expand, and increase their family's wealth and power.

It would be far better for a rising family to absorb and adopt higher-ranking privileges slowly and steadily, rather than greedily grabbing at all of it, all at once. And if they reach out to a neighboring Old Money family "for advice" and show some humility, moderate amounts of flattery (again, not in excess), asking to be treated like a nephew or niece in need of a mentorship, the Old Money family might actually take a proprietary interest in this upcoming family, giving them lessons, helping them get better access to things that were reserved for the upper classes.

Flattery is only good in the long term if there is some genuine sincerety behind it (or the one you are flattering is a narcissist, but they rarely hold onto power for long without serious help from outsiders). Instruction can be obtained with flattery, but also by in being respectfully attentive. And making sure you're not a rival to the Old Money neighbors around you can go a long way toward gaining their acceptance, too. By handling one's rise to power with these things in mind, it could actually allow the Newly Rich to be accepted that much faster, to within a matter of years or decades (with a great deal of luck), if not by one or two generations sooner than usual.

As mentioned above, sometimes Old Money doesn't actually still have the wealth that everyone assumes they have, and they need to accept New Money into their family--aka via an economically advantageous marriage. Sometimes they do have that money, but the sources of reliable wealth and political power are shifting, and the Old Family wishes to diversify its portfolio (so to speak). And sometimes they just want to diversify their power structure. This can include gaining access to up-and-coming industries, being able to have a say in how and where they're used (iron smelting, for example).

Just be aware of the fact that most of the time, if anyone accepted Newly Rich into their Old Money family, it was often an established male accepting a rich but socially-lesser female--aka the "American heiress" syndrome mentioned earlier. While the heiress wives would be...tolerated...if they toed the line, only their children would be considered "much more socially acceptable" because it would be presumed their fathers were raising the children in the Old Money Ways.

(Keep in mind that this is a worldwide trait for patriarchal cultures, not just European in nature. For far too many years, India's caste system allowed women from a lower caste to marry into an upper caste rank, but men were not supposed to marry a woman from a higher caste. This was a method used by the upper casts to deliberately focus familial power higher and higher on the social ladder. And, of course, it allowed high-caste males the social access/right to marry gorgeous low-caste women.)

Most females in a patriarchal society would not get the chance to marry into New Money unless they genuinely had a choice. Most often, they did not, because their families would want to continue concentrating their influence (including matrilineal! revisit this video I posted a while back on just how much influence a matrilineal family line could have on European politics: https://youtu.be/sl4WtajjMks ) into known avenues of power and influence.

...One last caveat: prior to the invasion of the British Isles by the Normans, who treated the local Anglo-Saxons, Celts, etc, as conquered peoples, replacing their nobility with incoming Normans who fight alongside William the Conqueror, many of whom were literally ennobled and given titles and lands etc, practically on the spot just for being a fellow Norman fighter...social mobility into the ranks of the nobility was easier.

If you had the money, the resources, the horses, etc...boom, you were a part of the local power structure. Afterward, there was a stronger incentive to diminish local power & wealth in favor of emphasizing incoming invaders' power and wealth, to be able to subjugate away those who were the original locals. This led to a lot of suppression of social mobility in order to retain power. Not just in the British Isles but elsewhere, as other regions heard of what the Normans were doing, and decided to do it themselves to their own people.

Prior to the 1066 invasion, it was possible for a warrior of commoner birth to go off raiding and looting, bring home a lot of wealth, and be lauded for his (or her!) rise in socio-economic standing. (Whether or not they were Northmen who went a-viking, since plenty of peoples did go raiding for wealth, etc; Scandinavians were just really good at it, far more so than most of the peoples they raided.)

Post-invasion, those in power started to choke down on who could do what, when, how, where, and with whomever else in order to consolidate their socio-economic power. (Seriously, sumptuary laws are mostly a post-1066 thing, along with strict laws of serfdom, up until the Black Death turned everything upside-down.)

So if you're writing a story set prior to the 1000s, there'll be much more opportunity for wealth-based social mobility and its acceptance. But afterwards, much less. But this exists on a continuum/spectrum that varies not only depending on what timeframe the story would exist in, but also where in terms of location, and what kind of social rise-to-power avenue is taken.

After all, someone gaining a lot of money in Genoa or Venice through trade would be heavily lauded by their home society, whereas someone doing the same in, say, Krakow (deep-continent) would be viewed far less companionably by the upper-classes, because trade was not as huge a part of their local culture--trade existed, but it wasn't central to how the locals & their rulers viewed themselves.

Like I said, I don't frikkin know for sure; there isn't enough hands-on documentation in common circulation. But humans have been humaning since before written records began, and we can make some reasonable guesses to help fill in the gaps.

(And if anyone claims you got it wrong, just cry "--IT'S FICTION!! It doesn't HAVE to be that accurate!!")

#answers #medieval moneybags #medieval new rich versus old money

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xxcxcs-blog · 3 years ago

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Everything You Need to Stock an at-Home Bar

So you finally found the bar cart of your dreams, and you’ve loaded it up with your favorite liquor. While those are two very important steps to curating an at-home bar, to really make your setup recall that of your favorite watering hole, you’re going to want to add some barware and cocktail equipment. But that can be an intimidating task, especially if you’ve had more experience drinking cocktails than making them. The good news is that you don’t have to spend a lot of money. “Most people in their home bar really don’t need that many tools,” advises Joaquín Simó, a partner at New York City’s Pouring Ribbons who was named Tales of the Cocktail’s American Bartender of the Year in 2012. “I say you start with the absolute basics and concentrate on the things that you like to use.”

If you’re in a pinch, Martin Hudak, a bartender at Maybe Sammy, says you can always use bartender tools you may already have on hand: “For your shaken cocktails, you can use empty jam jars or a thermos flask. For measuring, spoons and cups, and for stirring, any spoon or back of a wooden ladle.” But Stacey Swenson, the head bartender at Dante (which currently holds the No. 1 spot on the World’s 50 Best Bars list), notes that if you’re going to put stuff on display, you might want gear that’s both practical and stylish. “You want something that’s functional and also something that’s pretty,” she says. “If you’re putting it on your bar cart, you kind of put on a show for your guests.” With the help of Simó, Hudak, Swenson, and 28 other experts, we’ve put together the below list of essential gear for any cocktail-lover’s home bar.

Editor’s note: If you want to support service industry workers who have been impacted by the coronavirus closures, you can donate to the Restaurant Workers’ Community Foundation, which has set up a COVID-19 Crisis Relief Fund, or One Fair Wage, which has set up an Emergency Coronavirus Tipped and Service Worker Support Fund. We’ve also linked to any initiatives the businesses mentioned in this story have set up to support themselves amid the coronavirus pandemic.

According to Simó, all shakers “technically do the same thing, and there are very cheap and very nice versions,” so there’s really no superior option when it comes to function. That said, many professional bartenders use Boston-style shakers, which are basically two cups that fit into each other and form a tight seal to keep liquid from splashing all over you. “If you want to look like a bartender at Death & Co. or PDT, and you want the same kit, then you’re probably going to go metal-on-metal,” or “tin-on-tin,” Simó notes. Six of our experts recommend these weighted tin-on-tin shakers — which come in a range of finishes, including copper and silver — from Cocktail Kingdom, a brand that nearly every bartender we spoke to praised for its durable, well-designed barware. Grand Army’s beverage director, Brendan Biggins, and head bartender, Robby Dow, call this “the gold standard” of shaking tins. “Behind the bar, there’s almost nothing worse than shaker tins that don’t seal well or don’t separate easily,” explains Krissy Harris, the beverage director and owner of Jungle Bird in Chelsea. “The Koriko Weighted Shaking tins seal perfectly every time and easily release,” she says. And because they’re weighted, they’re less likely to fall over and spill.

For some people, a two-piece setup like the above shakers might be tricky to use comfortably. “Say you’re a petite female — if you have very small hands, then maybe using a Boston-style shaker may be a little harder,” explains Simó. In that case, a cobbler shaker may be the better choice, because it’s smaller than a Boston-style shaker and thus easier to hold. The other convenient part of a cobbler-style shaker is that the strainer is already built into the lid, so you don’t necessarily have to spring for an additional wine tools. Karen Lin, a certified sommelier, sake expert, and the executive general manager of Tsukimi, suggests this shaker from Japanese barware brand Yukiwa. “The steel is very sturdy, and the shape fits perfectly in my hands,” she says. “It is also designed well so you can take it apart easily to clean.”

You know how James Bond always ordered his martinis shaken, not stirred? Well, if you were to ignore Mr. Bond’s order and make a stirred martini — or any other stirred cocktail, like a Negroni or a Manhattan — you’d set aside the shaker to use a mixing beaker instead. A mixing beaker is essentially a large vessel in which you dump your liquors and mix your drink. And though you can purchase handsome crystal ones for hundreds of dollars, both Simó and Swenson agree that they’re kind of superfluous for a basic bar kit. “I don’t think you should spend any more than $25 on a mixing glass,” says Swenson. Harris agrees, saying that since they are the most broken item behind the bar, you should stick to a well-priced option like this mixing glass from Hiware that “doesn’t have a seam, so it’s stronger and very attractive.”

One of Simó’s hacks to getting a glass mixing beaker for not that much money is to use the glass piece from a French press, which is something else you might already own. If you want a dedicated one for your bar cart (that could serve as a backup for your French press), he says you can buy a replacement glass like this one, which has a capacity that is particularly useful if you’re making drinks for a lot of people. “I generally will take one or two of the big guys with me when I’m doing events, because then I can stir up five drinks in one, and it’s really convenient,” Simó explains.

According to Paul McGee, a co-owner of Lost Lake in Chicago, “finding vintage martini pitchers is very easy, and they are perfect for making large batches of cocktails.” Plus, they’ll look more visually striking on your bar cart. This one is even pretty enough to use as a vase when it’s not filled with punch. The photo shows the pitcher next to a strainer, but you’re only getting the pitcher for the price shown.

If you’re making a stirred drink, a mixing or bar set spoon is also necessary. “Three basic styles exist: the American bar spoon has a twisted handle and, usually, a plastic cap on the end, the European bar spoon has a flat muddler/crusher, and the Japanese bar spoon is heavier, with a weighted teardrop shape opposite the bowl,” explains Joe Palminteri, the director of food and beverage at Hamilton Hotel’s Via Sophia and Society. None of our experts recommended specific American-style bar spoons, but Simó told us that one of his favorite Japanese-style spoons is this one made by bartender Tony Abou-Ganim’s Modern Mixologist brand. “It’s got a really nice, deep bowl to it, which means you’re able to measure a nice, level teaspoon” without searching through your drawers, according to him. Simó continues, “The little top part of it has a nice little weight to it, but it’s not too bulky. So it gives you a really nice balance as you’re moving the mixing spoon around,” making your job a little easier.

Should your at-home bartending require a lot of muddling, Swenson recommends getting a European-style spoon like this, which he says will still allow you to stir while eliminating the need to buy a dedicated muddler. “You can actually use the top of the spoon to crush a sugar cube if you wanted to for your old-fashioned. I have one of those, so I don’t have to have two tools; I’ve got both of them right there.”

You don’t necessarily need a strainer if you’re using a cobbler shaker, since it’s already got a strainer built into the lid. But if you’re using a Boston-style shaker, you should get what’s called a Hawthorne strainer to make sure the ice you used to chill your drink doesn’t end up in your glass and dilute the cocktail. Three experts recommend this one, including Lynnette Marrero, the beverage director of Llama Inn and Llama-San and the co-founder of Speed Rack, who says it’s her absolute favorite because “it is light and easy to clutch and close correctly.” If you choose to buy this Hawthorne strainer, Simó also recommends getting “the replacement springs that Cocktail Kingdom sells,” telling us they’re a good way to give a worn-out strainer a face-lift. “They’re really, really nice and tight, and you can generally slip them into any Hawthorne strainer that you have.”A jigger is what you use to measure the liquor into the shaker or mixing glass. A hyperfunctional, albeit nontraditional-looking, option is the mini measuring wine decante from OXO. “I know some bartenders, including the ones at Drink in Boston, one of the best bars in the country, swear by those graduated OXO ones because they love the ability to read them from both the sides and the top,” explains Simó. “You can measure in tablespoons or ounces or milliliters, and it’s all on the same jigger.” Part-time bartender Jillian Norwick and Ward both love it too and keep the stainless steel version on hand (which looks a little nicer when left out). Noriwck adds that she’s in good company: “The peeps at Bon Appétit love it.”This fancy-looking jigger combines the functional appeal of the OXO measuring wine glass (it’s basically a cup that grows wider to accommodate different amounts of liquid) with the aesthetic appeal of a classic bar tool. It also makes measuring a snap: “This handy measuring bar table and stools is super-easy to use and enables the imbiber to essentially build all the ingredients of a drink in one go,” says Confrey.If you’re going for a more classic look but still want something practical, Simó recommends this double-sided metal jigger that has a one-ounce cup on one side and a two-ounce cup on the other. The one-ounce side on this strainer also has a half- and three-quarter-ounce lines etched into it to make it even more precise. “That gives you a lot of wiggle room” and will allow you to measure for most basic cocktails, Simó says. “From there, you really just have to learn what a quarter-ounce looks like in there, and you’re pretty much good to go.”

Biggens, Dowe, and Swenson prefer a Leopold jigger, which has a unique bell shape (with one bell holding an ounce, and the other two ounces) as well as lines etched on the inside marking both quarter- and half-ounces. “They’re really easy to hold and they have some weight to them,” Swenson adds. “Somebody who’s not really experienced using a jigger is going to be fine with something with a little bit more weight to it. And they look cool.”

Though it’s easy to want to get a different type of glass for every type of drink you make, that’s really unnecessary when you’re first starting out. According to Simó, “You can make 90 percent of drinks into a good, all-purpose cocktail glass like a rocks or a collins glass.” (While this section contains our bartenders’ favorite glasses, if you want to shop around, you can find most of these styles at various price points in our list of the best drinking glasses.) A collins — or highball — glass is the one that looks like a chimney, and generally you’re looking for something that’s about 12 ounces, like these collins glasses from bartender-favorite brand Cocktail Kingdom. “You don’t want a 16-ounce Collins glass because you’re going to be hammered after your second Tom Collins,” advises Simó.

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brujoenlafrontera · 5 years ago

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hi!!! I’m a puertorriqueño/nicaragüense enby looking into resources for learning bruja stuff, any good place you know to start?

I’ve gotten a couple of asks about this lately, and i’m so happy to know there are more latinos finding their way to the practice, tumblr’s brujeria tag often gives the impression that theres so little of us out there reclaiming our practices but getting asks like these brings me a lot of faith that thats not true :) first and foremost:

GETTING INTO BRUJERIA IS HARD.

it really is. baby brujos like us know that better than anyone- getting started, is often the hardest part of doing anything, and its no different with brujeria. it can feel so overwhelming and feeling lost is natural. from my experience, although i am still a newbie ive been able to find a lot of information out there, here are the best places to find info, sorted by priority:

FAMILY! a little self explanatory, but brujeria at its best is truly is an inherited, familial practice. If you can, before delving into internet resources, definitely connect w your family if you’re able to and ask them for guidance and about their experiences!

Your family is always the best resource over anything you can find online; theres so much misinformation out there or information not relevant to your region and if someone in your family already has established practices, always trust them first

Do some thinking back to all your cultural traditions, quirks, stories, and superstitions that you’ve learned from your family across time and never thought too much about- and rediscover them under a new light

KEEP IN MIND: brujeria is NOT a singular , concrete practice w concrete rules in itself, the term blankets a lot of traditions across latam, the caribbean, mexico, but imo its always best to stick with brujeria related to your heritage and where your connection is.

this can be hard for people (like me!) with huge family taboos toward brujeria that make it unsafe to ask around about, and/or limitations in family connections (also like me unfortunately). I personally can really only get the tidbits and stories that my family accidentally slips out when I occasionally see them. i try to write them down as much as possible, but the info i can get is limited... and thats where the following comes in.

ONLINE COMMUNITIES. i.e, youtube, tumblr, instagram brujx communities. notice I haven’t said “internet” in general- the reason why i trust community based social media more than random individual websites you find on google is because, in the case of brujeria and honestly any non-european craft, you’re often gonna find a LOT of white people writing blogs, books, etc about their “spiritual experiences” in latam countries and wrongly/incorrectly taking ATR or indigenous traditions (like with smudging). I know, with social media, although those same white people are also on insta and tumblr, it’s a LOT easier to see the face behind the accounts and differentiate who to trust, who’s legit and has real experience to share, rather than a nameless, faceless, website that is actually some colonizer sharing colonized ideas who thinks theyre on a spiritual journey taking traditions all willy nilly. And the fact that in social media, its much easier to find a lot of good brujas at once bc they tend to follow each other lmao.what ive personally done to find information tho is essentially SCOUR tumblrs, insta accs, and watching tons of youtube videos for posts, accounts, videos, etc, and narrowing down good info from there through , namely:

CHECKING WHO YOUR SOURCE IS!!!

ASKING YOURSELF FROM WHAT EXPERIENCE THEYRE SPEAKING FROM

ALWAYS TAKING EVERYTHING WITH A GRAIN OF SALT

AND STICKING TO INFO FROM CULTURES OPEN AND RELEVANT TO ME.

again, brujería is different depending on where your family is from in latam, and if you have an established connection to indigenous and/or black roots, so it’s useful to use keywords relating to that when searching (like if ur black, you can look into ATRs(african traditional religions) which tend to mix deeply with brujeria, if ur indigenous, finding other people from your tribe is great, and if youre not pursuing your already learned traditions you can think about connecting to them more deeply(altho indigenous traditions are their own thing, sometimes they do mix with brujeria too), and apart from familial roots, if ur catholic/christian and/or want to explore it, saint work/catholic brujeria might be a good fit for you!)

tumblr: there are a couple of fantastic brujxs on this site with great blogs and resources who have sadly left the site, but i still go through their posts heavily for spells, rituals, scraps of info! etting started w brujería is hard bc there’s really not that much info out there right now, but i compile as many good brujeria posts i find on my acc.

@brujeria-n-bongs great for catholic brujeria, now at @Upliftherbs on instagram

@brujeria-lost @barberwitch @reina-morada @highbrujita

@naomi121406 is by far the most active and informative tumblr resource ive found, shes an afro-indigenous diaguita curandera from argentina so shes also really helpful if ATRs are in your path!

Im not black myself and dont follow ATRs so i don’t really know many good blogs for afrolatine brujxs out there but if anyone would like to tag some in the replies thatd be awesome!

instagram: Ive found that instagram #brujeria tags has a pretty healthy active stream of posts. You’re gonna have to sift through a lot of them to get to the good stuff though- imo a lot of hispanics use the brujería tag not to mean “latine brujería” but just the spanish word for witchcraft, so a lot of white hispanics will put wicca/neo witchcraft in the tag. imo that’s really not something i’m personally interested in bc it’s not true to brujeria’s traditional nature, is very white/eruropean , and that wicca shit basically just got here. its a relatively a recent thing😭 so i try to stick to bruja accounts that aren’t influenced by that.

youtube: The youtube brujería tag is hit or miss? and again, contains a lot of wicca. But there are some good practitioners on there like The Mexican Witch! You just gonna look around, and dont be afraid to click on videos by really really small youtubers; they often are the ones with the most informative and legit things to say!

Everyone’s path as a bruja/o/x (sjdf trying to be inclusive w gendered language is difficult) is different but here are some topics i think are great to look into as a beginner!

ancestors: start at the bottom and figure out who they are, where theyre from, and set up an altar. it’ll help you a lot with figuring out your identity and path as a bruja later on.

setting up a grimoire

divination: tarot is actually what got me into brujeria at first! tarot isnt strictly traditional and is european in itself but its a wonderful tool for connecting to dieties, saints, etc as well as super fun and helps a lot with introspection

ritual abrecaminos, aka road opening spells!

amarres (love spells... proceed with caution)

limpias, mal de ojo

saint work: even if you’re not catholic (im ex catholic), a growing number of us (especially lgbt latines like @/upliftherbs on instagram) are starting to take back and decolonize our view of saints like La Virgen Maria and removing her from the rigid european/colonized interpretation thats been forced into us

candle spells in general (i fucking love candles tbh, cheap, easy, fun, and WORKS)

spiritual colognes, how to cleanse

finally, here are some helpful posts yall should definitely read and think about moving forward!

about using tumblr as a resource

about looking into brujeria as a part-white part latine

bruja psa + about reclaiming lost indiginety

honestly naomi’s entire brujeria tag is great and super informative for beginners and basically holds answers for almost anything at this point

hope this post helps yall out!

EDIT: oh lord now that this is posted the outline format i tried to use is all kinds of fucked up please dont mind the odd numbering lmfao tumbr hates organized formats

#brujeria #witchblr #POC Witches #witchcraft #baby witch #mine #basics

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outshinethestars · 4 years ago

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The Single Greatest Act of Hypocrisy in European History (Hetalia fic)

So, the Berlin wall was down, everyone was reunited, everything was awesome.

Prussia himself was perfectly happy, far happier than he ever expected he could be (Prussia didn’t know why he wasn’t dead, and he didn’t know if he would die, and he didn’t know if his living was hurting Germany somehow, and he didn’t know if his being alive meant that something catastrophic was about to happen to Germany, and he had never been perfectly happy and at peace before and he didn’t know what to do with himself and-).

However, in this modern world of happy perfection there was one great, glaring imperfection .

Hungary and Austria’s love life.

Or rather, lack thereof.

When Prussia had asked Hungary about it (yes, really, he’d asked, okay maybe not directly, but she’d known what he meant) she’d said something about times changing and moving on, and how they were their own nations now and who knew what the future would hold, a relationship could complicate things.

And it had been quite a long time since they were married, and it honestly hadn’t been the happiest of marriages then. It wasn’t like Hungary needed Austria, seriously, it was Austria who needs him, but Prussia could tell by the way she laughed about it that she still loved him, and sure she was perfectly fine without him, but she missed being with him. She just wouldn’t admit it.

And of course, Austria, the idiot, had no idea.

The problem, in short, was communication. Austria and Hungary needed to talk about their feelings (don’t laugh).

So, this wasn’t the first time that Prussia had done this. It wasn’t even the first time that he had done it to Austria. Prussia had, in fact written countless fake love letters to Austria over the centuries, posing as all sorts of people, much to other people’s anguish and Prussia’s own amusement.

Prussia had never, however, done this with good intentions before.

It somehow made the whole thing feel morally iffy.

But Hungary was pretending that everything was fine when it wasn’t, and Austria was pining. He wasn’t even trying to pretend not to be pining, because Austria, the melodramatic sop, let his emotions dribble all over the place. Not, like, loudly, because he was a gentleman, or whatever. But his pining drooped everywhere, annoyingly obvious if you knew him at all, which Prussia unfortunately did. He was pining so piningly that his whole country was covered in Essence of Pining, a miasma so thick that it threatened to leak over the border. Ew! Gross! No! Something had to be done.

Enter the Awesome Prussia.

Prussia was very good at what he did. The handwriting forgery was not the easy part , but it was the part that Prussia was so practiced at he could almost do it in his sleep. He’d forged the handwriting of almost every nation in Europe, as well as nations outside of Europe, people who weren’t nations, etc.

The trickier part was the actual content of the letter. Prussia had written these before, but never like this. No, this time it needed to be sincere . No clever insults that are only apparent on second or fourth reading, no subtle undertones that imply that the sender is an idiot, only deep, genuine heartfelt love, the love that both parties felt, but were too stubborn to come out and admit. Idiots. (really, don’t.)

The letter to Austria was by far the easier of the two, even though Austria was about as attractive as a damp rag. Less attractive, actually, damp rags are useful. Still, it wasn’t too hard to write a fake love letter to him, firstly because Prussia had done it before, and secondly because because as far as Prussia could tell Austria didn’t have the good qualities God gave damp rags, any good qualities he could think of to mention were ones Hungary had told him about, and finally because he knew Hungary pretty well, so impersonating her wasn’t too hard or, like soul-crushingly horrifying or anything.

Hungary, on the other hand, had innumerable good qualities, and Prussia had no idea which ones of them Austria actually appreciated. And furthermore, writing to Hungary involved impersonating Austria. It involved getting into the headspace of Austria, it involved getting into the headspace of Austria deeply, amorously in love with his best friend. Ew! Yuck! Who would ever want that ??? Also, Prussia had only written Hungary a fake love letter exactly once. It was supposedly from Poland, the fallout was fantastic, and Hungary had made him promise, on pain of terror, Never to do that again.

… This was for a good cause, though. Hungary would forgive him.

… … Right?

He didn’t really need to send a letter to Hungary. She could see Austria’s egregious pining as well as anyone else. But still, there’s a difference between knowing and being told outright. Just because someone knows you love them, doesn’t mean you don’t still have to tell them. Austria was a wimp. (...)

Anyway, Hungary wouldn’t be any less furious with him for writing a fake love letter from her, he’d never done that before. Might as well go all in.

The letter came on a sunny spring morning. The sky was blue, the birds were singing, everything was beautiful and as it should be.

Hungary’s heart stopped a little when she saw Austria’s familiar handwriting on the envelope.

It was a love letter, and it was so incredibly romantic and heartfelt, that she teared up a little in spite of herself. She read it through, and then read it again.

Some highlights include:

“I think of you often. I think that I have never stopped thinking of you, you who have always held my heart in your keeping. But now that there are no barriers between us, no physical ones at least, I cannot seem to think of anything else. My thoughts are always turned towards you, and it breaks my heart to wonder if you ever think of me in return.”

And:

“Though it’s embarrassing, I’ll admit that I spend hours of every day staring out my window, the one that faces you. I miss you so very dearly. All my music is mournful, yearning music now, I try to play more cheerful things and my heart is not in it.”

It concluded:

“I don’t know if you have feelings for me still. I know that we were not married long, and our marriage was not always a happy one. I only write this to tell you how I feel, and to ask: are you willing to try again?

If you have moved on, if you have no romantic feelings for me, I will understand and accept it. I cannot promise not to be hurt, but I know such feelings are selfish, and I will hope and endeavor to one day be a better friend to you than I was once a husband.

Yours eternally,

Roderich Edelstein.

Hungary thought of all the reasons she had to not to pursue a romantic relationship. They all seemed so hollow and empty in the light of Austria’s letter. She wanted to speak to him in person. She called him.

Austria, meanwhile, had received his own letter. He had suspected it was some cruel joke of Prussia’s at first, but upon reading it all doubts left his mind. The letter sounded like Hungary, it felt like Hungary, and it was such a very kind letter. He didn’t think that Prussia was capable of such kindness even as a joke. He had read the letter five times and paced around his house with it held tightly to his chest, as if he could inscribe its words on his heart. He hadn’t dared to hope. He had no idea what to do with himself now. His phone rang.

“Hello,” he said, not sure yet if he was relieved by the distraction or annoyed by it.

“Hello Austria?” It was Hungary, her voice uncharacteristically shy, “I would like to speak to you. Could I come over to your house this afternoon?”

“Yes, of course, yes!” Austria said. In his heart, he was agreeing to a proposal of marriage.

“I read your letter,” Hungary said, taking it from her pocket.

“My letter?” said Austria, “But you wrote…”

Both of them realized in the same moment.

Prussia will Pay , Hungary thought.

It was like a swooping empty feeling, the realization that all those things in her letter, all those things that had made her heart warm and her eyes tear up, had been empty, hadn’t been real at all. And almost worse than that, it was a betrayal. She would never have dreamed that Prussia would do this to her, not like this, not with something he knew she cared so much about.

“Give me yours,” she said to Austria. Wordlessly, he handed it to her.

She began to read and… She couldn't be angry anymore.

Whereas the letter Prussia wrote impersonating Austria was sweepingly romantic, hers was much more frank. It detailed her feelings, all of them, as if Prussia had looked inside her mind and scooped them out of her.

“But what do you see in him,” Prussia had asked her once, it must have been close to a century ago now. Here were all her answers. Sprinkled in lovingly between all her present hopes and fears. All the things she’d told him in conversation, and all the things in between that she hadn’t said, but he had recognized all the same. He had remembered all of it, understood all of it, and put it all into words for her. She thought it might be, in it’s twisted, Prussia sort of way, the sweetest thing anyone had ever done for her.

It ended thusly:

“I’ve told myself so many times over the past few years that I don’t need you. And in all honesty, it’s true that I don’t. But I think that we, as nations, sometimes get too swept up in what we need. We forget that it’s alright to want things, that what we want matters too. I don’t need you, but I want to be with you. I’ve decided that what I want, what we want, is important enough to overcome any difficulties that might come.

With love,

Hedervary Erzsebet”

He’s right, Hungary thought, he shouldn’t have chosen for me, but he’s right.

Austria cleared his throat cautiously, “You read this,” he said, holding the letter she’d received in his hands, “and then you came to see me?”

Hungary smiled at him. What did it matter that it had taken Prussia’s meddling to get here, they were here now.

“I meant this,” Hungary said of the letter she’d just finished, “every word. I didn’t write it, but I should have.”

“I would have written this too,” Austria said, “if I’d gotten up the courage.”

“Please, as if you could come up with something as romantic as “ your smile is like the sun coming out from behind the clouds, it warms me to my very soul,”’ Hungary laughed. Now that she didn’t feel quite so lied to, the whole thing felt ridiculous, “Do you really stare out your window in my direction for hours every day?”

Austria blushed, “That could have been an exaggeration.”

“It could have,” Hungary agreed , “but was it?”

“No,” Austria admitted. Hungary grinned at him.

“You’re adorable,” she said.

“How did he know about this ,” Austria said, hints of outrage coming back to him, as the situation truly sank in. He pointed to a part in the letter that read,

“ I wrote a piece for you. I didn’t mean to, it began as something else, but as I wrote it, and as I played it in my house, in the loneliness, every note was for you. So I scratched out the title and wrote For Hungary at the top of the page.”

“I imagine he broke in and went through your things,” Hungary said.

“He did break in and steal all my underwear once. And,” Austria added thoughtfully, “Someone has been cleaning the house while I’m not looking. I thought it might be you?”

“Austria, I love you,” Hungary said, and oh how easily she said those simple words now that it felt as though her soul had been laid bare, “But I don’t love you nearly enough to be that deranged. Apparently Prussia does, though.”

“Prussia,” Austria sniffed, “is simply deranged. I think I’ll start making messes on purpose now.”

“No you won’t. I’ll be coming here often, and I refuse to be in a pigsty.,” Hungary said.

Austria sighed. “I suppose I won’t then,” he said, “Really, though what was the point of all this?”

“The point,” Hungary said, “Was that we, or, well mostly me, were being ridiculous, and he put a stop to it.”

“What, and there’s no ulterior motive?” Austria scoffed.

Hungary shrugged, “You can keep reading the letters until your eyes bleed, but I doubt you’ll find any.”

Austria shook his head, “My love life was rescued by Prussia ,” he said, “I don’t know if I’ll ever recover from the ignominy.”

Hungary laughed, “I won’t tell,” she said, “It is an irony, though. Prussia would die before he’d admit he has emotional needs. Now, come play me the music you wrote for me. I’ve been wanting to hear it all day.”

#hetalia #fic and fic-like things #my stuff #aph Prussia #aph hungary #aph austria

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fitzpirations · 4 years ago

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some images from recent reads, I suppose. I read Octavia E. Butler's Kindred and Art Spiegelman's Maus books in rapid succession. Unfortunately I didn't include any of my own snapshots of this experience- I was truly too engrossed- but I've discovered in an interesting turn of events that Kindred has been adapted into a graphic novel, which felt fitting, so I've included a picture of that. Also this strange little dog and dialogue from a record I'm selling. It's almost like I work at a record store, except I interact with no one and cannot play the records myself.

But on to my thoughts on the books, of which I have many. I should say that I didn't intended to pair them together, rather I wanted to read Kindred and it was available to me at that time, and I wanted to read at least one graphic novel this year to try it out, and Maus seemed to be the perfect story to try it with. And boy. Maus. But really, the stories sort of pair well together- Butler's Dana even compares her experiences being transplanted to a plantation as that of a Jew during the Holocaust- she mentions both as unimaginable struggle and labor, if I'm recalling correctly.

I've also included a snap of Spiegelman's Prisoner on the Hell Planet, which was reproduced in full in Maus. I suppose I enjoyed its introduction as a way to tell the reader more about Art, while also shifting the artistic style for a moment. There is so much of the story we're getting in very specific parts- and later I would find that Anja and Vladek, Art's parents, were called so in the book to be easier for readers to understand, and that their own names were slightly different/less anglicized.

To say the greatest tragedy in the books was Anja's lack of a voice would be painfully incorrect, and I'm sure quite rude. The relentless horror Art's parents, and therapist, and step-mother, and those living around his father on vacation and all the friends his father lost, that horror was constant, described to Art by his therapist as BOO! or AH! but at all times. Always on edge. Dana's experience was like this also, and neither character knows when they are at risk of speaking out of term, always they have to be tactful and cunning to survive another day.

Obviously, Dana's situation is different, and she's living a fictional life. Her struggles were real, but they have slightly less authority, given they are also an imagined approximation. So much of both stories is trying to imagine the unimaginable, Art writes

-I have to interject here and admit I cannot find the quote. I have already returned the books to the library, you see. But Art explains, somewhere, that it is impossible to imagine, in better words. There was another quote from his mother, I think, at the start of book 2 that I should have written down, where she speaks on surviving, of living. I can't seem to find it online either, but I will undoubtedly return to the books later in my life. -

Both Butler and Spiegelman must imagine horrific things, they must try to piece together a story and to tell one for those who died and can't share theirs.

Anja's diaries being introduced, but later being revealed to have been destroyed is something that feels richly symbolic for both stories. The Weylin house is not still standing at Kindred's end, and so much of Vladek's life- his house, his friends, his family and neighbors, his neighborhood, his country, his place of work, his family heirlooms, his own son- all of these things are gone. The story of the past is difficult to tell because so often proof of it can be challenged, erased. Our authors are faced with the task of imagine, of walking in the skin of those who have suffered before them, and of creating a story. there is, in both books, no reason for suffering. It just is. I kept waiting for more mention of the horror of Kindred, more questioning, more why? But very early on our narrator Dana stops asking, because there is no reason good enough. It is the same in Maus- if not more so, there is no use acknowledging the why. There would never be a why good enough.

But back to Prisoner on the Hell Planet- for just a second. We get to see a side of Art much more interior, not built on worry or in conflict with his father, but more so in conflict with himself, imprisoned in his mind, recently returned from a psychiatric hospital, recently losing his mother to an unexplained suicide. We get his story through Maus the same way we get his father's, his mother's, and even his wife's. Some. We can't imagine so much of any of their own stories, but I love the placement of Prisoner because it shows so much interiority, and a sort of unfolding narrative that occurs outside Vladek's story. Here is a child who struggled with the weight of his family's guilt, who struggled with their continuous life and eventual deaths. Vladek tells Anja "To die, it's easy. But you have to struggle for life!" and we get glimpses of Art's struggle; his struggle to comprehend his parents' struggles, his struggle to connect with his father and make him proud, his struggle to be the "perfect son" his "ghost brother" Richieu was destined to be.... there's so much there, as there is in Kindred, things that are not mentioned, things that could be stories of their own. And this I love. It keeps going, struggling, surviving, clawing and pushing. It is like this way for everyone, really, and to see it laid out in such specific but hidden terms in both stories really fascinates me.

Both books get an infinite 5/5 from me, and they do what all great books do, they make me think, and question, and cry, and laugh. The style of both is striking, and the voices so distinct. It is an art in of itself to be able to hear characters through word choice, and in both Kindred and Maus I could hear them so clearly- hear Vladek's gentle manner towards his son, always happy to tell him more "darling," hear the whispers in the ghetto and in Auschwitz, hear the inhuman screams of those whipped in Kindred, hear Sarah's voice and Luke's voice and Nigel's and Rufus's, their drawl and their word choice so specific- hear the Eastern European accents of Mala and Vladek and even Francoise's own specific voice, it was an incredible and immersive experience.

There is so much to remember, always, the start of my next Kathy Reich's book reads nous nous souvenons. We remember.

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cyberneticpeoplespolis · 5 years ago

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Covid 19 and the New Era

Initially published on the OA blog here.

Part 1: Goodbye to the end of History

31 years ago, US political writer Francis Fukuyama wrote an essay titled The end of history. In it, he summed up what many were feeling at the conclusion of the Cold War: without a grand historical conflict between world superpowers, what further challenges could there be to the system we live under today: capitalist liberal-democracy? In this essay, and his later books, he wrote that with the collapse of the Soviet Union, most world governments would shift towards a liberal democracy, with an emphasis on transnational government much like the European Union, and with this new epoch would come a period of unparalleled peace. Events might still occur, he said, but the overall trend of civilisation would be towards endless peace, endless profit, and endless technological advancement that would eventually lead to humans having control over their own evolution.

What Fukuyama might not have predicted is that his simple thesis would become one of the most criticised essays of all time. Barely had the ink dried on his paper when scores of writers poked holes in his analysis – something very easy to do, for Fukuyama wasn’t much of a philosopher, but rather a political hack who summed up the dominant view among liberal thinkers at the time. In this, he was wholly successful, but he also ended up being correct in ways his critics couldn’t have predicted.

The next 31 years of history were some of the most uneventful, in terms of real movement, of any decades that had passed before – sure, not all countries became liberal democracies, and sure, history continued to chew up innocent lives and spit them back out, and sure, a few terrorists showed up here and there – but it seemed that no single event could ever truly change things beyond occupying the evening news for a few weeks. We have just emerged from the one of the most viscerally boring periods in human history, at least for the more sheltered populations in the west, and it’s important to recognise this.

Fukuyama’s end of history was not a new thesis: as the postmodernist Jaques Derrida, was quick to point out, Fukuyama had simply regurgitated some of the most turgid liberal philosophies of the early Cold-War era; the idea that liberal-democracy had emerged victorious, and that socialism had been proved wrong once and for all through the many perceived failures of Soviet societies. All that had changed was that Fukuyama said it at the right time: it truly was the end, capitalism had found its perfect justification in neoliberalism, a set of ideologies based in the idea that capitalism was a perfect, trans-historical goal of humanity, that only needed to be sufficiently untethered from regulation and sufficiently protected by a growing military and police forces in order to function properly. In this proper version of capitalism, untethered from the need to legitimise itself in the face of opposing ideologies, there was no need for capitalist societies to change to face new threats, for what can challenge an ideology that is so totalising it can convince people that it’s the only thing that exists? The only thing that has ever existed. A universal default.

In that sense, Fukuyama was perfectly right. History did grind to a halt for three decades. Not just the history of those decades, but all history, for every society throughout history could be painted as nothing but a stepping stone to this universal conclusion. There was no challenge to neoliberalism in that time, no great ideological foe to defeat, no workers’ movement to crush, and the best that the neoliberal states could offer up as some immense civilisational enemy was a pitiful force of Wahhabi terrorists – a by-product of the previous era, and therefore hardly a new historical agent. All that was left for the world to do was to reckon with the leftovers of the Cold-War period (the Wahhabis, remnant socialist societies, and shrinking unions), products of the last true period of historical movement, and wait for whatever technological innovation that would come next and inject some feeling of forward momentum into an otherwise stagnant society.

In time, even technology failed to deliver a feeling of progress. Each new technology of the period wasn’t truly new: all that capitalism could deliver was slightly faster and more powerful versions of technologies based in the previous era of major public scientific investments. Internet, wi-fi, cell phones, miniaturised processors, satellite communications – every single one of these technologies was a product of Cold-War era military or public scientific investment, albeit with a better marketing team. It is almost as if capitalists could produce no new innovation whatsoever, other than a faster, slimmer version of existing tech, that broke more often.

In this sense, one of the two defining features of the past 30 years that gave life a sense of movement and progress, communications technology, proved to be nothing but a latent product of the previous era, that came up against a wall as soon as the legacy technologies it relied upon reached the limits of exploitability. The same would soon be proven true of the other great symbol of neoliberal progress: economic growth.

Since the beginning of the end of history, economic growth has skyrocketed. Only part of this was due to imperialism – the ability for strong states with financial capital to spare to offload their surpluses onto the global south. That would have been a source of actual value were it the primary cause of this continuous economic boom, since it would have meant greater exploitation of labour. Instead capitalism developed along the much easier route – pure speculation in financial markets and tech companies, both of which are largely phantasmal.

Capital was creating a bubble – not of any one market, such as the late 90s tech bubble or the late 2000s housing bubble, but rather it was making a bubble out of capitalism as a whole. Who could have guessed what would pop it?

Part 2: What the fuck is going on?

Sometime around December 1, 2019, a few people got sick in the Chinese city of Wuhan. Many writers have spent thousands of hours speculating about the potential causes of transmission. Was it from a shopper at the Huanan Seafood Wholesale Market? Did the disease come from the actual produce at this market? Was it a bioweapon? Was it a bat? A Pangolin? Was everyone at the market just too weird and Chinese to not get the disease? What comparatively few news sites have focused on was how on earth a virus could cause an economic crisis so great that we have nothing to truly compare it to.

This is because it could have been anything. It could have been a completely different virus in a completely different country, it could have been a sudden war erupting, it could have been a plane crash, it could have been a Wall Street Executive slipping on a banana peel. The system of global financial markets had been systematically hollowed out and prepared in every possible way to collapse at the drop of a hat sooner or later. To understand how, we need to understand three things: the underlying philosophy of neoliberalism, the way a modern financial market operates, and the general theory of economic crisis put forward by Karl Marx in his unfinished third volume of Capital.

Under neoliberalism, austerity is everything. The existence of everything, often including human life, has to be justified in terms of cost-effectiveness, self-reliance, and interoperability with the rest of the system. This is why social welfare, such as Work & Income New Zealand, operates by giving the absolute bare minimum to beneficiaries, and why all government departments, with the exclusion of Defence, Police, and Corrections, have to operate on paper-thin budgets, constantly needing to justify any expenditure whatsoever in terms of net-benefits to the economy. It is also not a rational ideology, in that in pursuing its goals of profitability and lean government, the means are much more important than the ends. A health system stretched thin (the “ambulance-at-the-bottom-of-the-cliff model”) might actually be more costly to society than a health system which is budgeted to act preventatively and deal with unexpected crises, but this doesn’t really matter. Likewise, stockpiling, preemptively initiating spending, or even paying for proper maintenance can come to be seen as unnecessary luxuries in a system in which everything must be justified in terms of short-term profitability.

This is why the richest country in the world ended up with a shortage of basic medical supplies. Under ideal circumstances, each hospital should have had just enough masks, gloves and smocks to last a normal week, just in time for a new shipment. The same is true of most systems of logistics and supply under neoliberalism – things enter the warehouse, the shipping container, or the truck, just in time for them to leave. If anything stays in the warehouse, or is stockpiled, then that is an inefficiency in the system. Every minute those hospital gowns spend in the warehouse means a surplus is developing, which means profits lost for the manufacturer and shipping company.

The same logic rings true for financial markets. Each sector of the economy deals in just enough liquid assets (money) to operate under normal circumstances. If too much money circulates in the economy at any one time, then we get inflation – the decline in the value of currency. In a crisis, excess liquidity can be a good thing, which is why the US markets are being flooded with trillions of dollars, but under normal circumstances, these simple laws of financial supply and demand create an incentive for capitalists to invest their cash assets as soon as possible, never leaving anything in reserve in the event of a crisis.

But all of this, supply and demand, surplus and shortage, is somewhat obsolete under late capitalism. Contrary to popular belief, most microeconomic problems are pretty easy to solve using the microeconomic levers most accessible to capitalists such as changing prices, production or wages. Capitalists make them out to be huge, complex issues so that price regulation can be painted as naive meddling in the arcane market, but really, these simple problems like overproduction, underproduction, low demand, and the like, can all be fixed using the tools of the private sector. Larger systemic problems (macroeconomic issues), such as sovereign debt, low competitiveness, trade deficits, and poor consumer buying power, can also be fixed, but through the financial levers available to the state, such as bailouts, stimulus packages, elimination of reserve requirements, and massive liquidity injections. What can’t be fixed, at least not permanently, is the general downward trend in profits relative to investment.

The more serious problems of late capitalist economics – wafer-thin profit margins, constantly slowing rates of growth, and constant fears that consumers are “killing” various industries – are all products of one phenomenon that Karl Marx identified as far back as 1857, the discovery of which he called his “greatest triumph” but which remains a lesser known Marxian theory. This is the tendency of the rate of profit to fall, a hypothesis which explains why capitalism is doomed to perpetually swing between boom and bust, until it reaches a crisis from which it can’t recover.

Central to Marx’s theory of crisis is a much more famous theory – the labour theory of value. Put simply this is the idea that all the value that capitalist society places on a commodity comes from the workers who harvested the raw materials, worked in the factory that made it, and built the machines that filled the factory. The work being done by living workers is supplemented by the machines that other workers have made to assist them in their work.

The living people involved in this system are the organic component, while the machines, products, and other lifeless objects are the inorganic component. Taken together, the ratio between these components is the organic composition of capital (OOC). When there are few workers but many machines in a factory, the OOC is lower, and so the productivity of these workers is very high because the machines allow them to multiply their efforts. But high productivity creates a problem – if all of this work can be done by fewer workers, then unemployment will surely rise, wages will go down, and fewer people will be able to pay for the products from the factories. Eventually this leads to a crisis of consumption, which is what we are currently experiencing, and unless you’re over 50 or so, you’ve probably been experiencing one your entire life.

In a consumption crisis, wages are far too low for people to buy commodities or easily reproduce their capacity to work. Since the 1970s, wages have stagnated in most Western countries, but until now capitalists had many ways they could “kick the can down the road,” delaying the crisis for another few years and making higher and higher profits in the meantime. For example, to absorb the huge surpluses generated by an economy undergoing a consumption crisis, Capitalist states could offload their surplus values onto colonies and nations in the global south by creating new markets, or waging wars and thereby investing in weapons and reconstruction. A good example of this was the 2003 Invasion of Iraq, which ended up costing trillions of dollars, allowed for billions to be invested in weapons manufacturers, and opened up a handful of new markets in the bombed out ruins of Baghdad or Fallujah.

This is one way to offset a major crisis, which we might call the ��fuck the rest of the world” method. The other method is a bit harder for the capitalists, which is to massively increase consumer buying power through various measures. The most straightforward of these is the one capitalists are most loath to do, since it undermines neoliberal ideology, which is to simply give people money. This was done in Australia in 2008, when each Australian was given $300 and ordered to spend it immediately. Many other countries, even the US, are now rushing to copy this method of stimulus. Another method, which has been growing since mid last century, is by artificially raising a stratum of consumers through employing people in “bullshit jobs,” a term used by economist David Graeber to refer to people engaged in work that doesn’t seem to do anything. This includes a lot of professionals: secretaries of secretaries, managers of managers, supervisors of supervisors and the like. Finally there is another method which is gaining traction among some of the more far-sighted capitalist technocrats, the Universal Basic Income (UBI), which would give people a flat rate of just enough money to fulfil their duty to the economy as consumers. Such a move would represent a last-ditch effort by capital to avoid the looming consumer crisis, which at time of writing appears to be a tsunami whose waters have only reached chest-height.

However, all of these means can only delay the inevitable. A capitalist system undergoing crisis can only offset the real crunch for so long. In 2008, the global capitalist system experienced a major shock when a speculative housing bubble popped in US financial markets. If the crisis continued, the capitalist class would have had to sell off huge amounts of assets, including industrial machinery. This would have solved the underlying productivity crisis for a time by restoring the huge imbalance between the organic and inorganic composition of capital. But this imbalance had been building for decades. Could the capitalist system survive the shock? Mass sell-offs are nothing new – the first response of the US government to the 1929 Wall Street Crash was to encourage these sell-offs, only to find out that doing so would massively increase public unrest from both capital and workers.

In the end, the crisis was instead offset through fiscal policy, as the US federal reserve removed barriers to debt and artificially preserved the value of assets by paying off capitalists with sums that often exceeded the value of their entire business. For this reason, the recovery from the 2008 crisis was slow, but the crisis itself was short-lived. The speculative bubbles weren’t quite popped, but enough air was let out to delay the inevitable, for about 12 years, as it turned out.

Part 3: Infinite new era

It is still entirely possible that the capitalists will be able to kick the can further down the road, and avert the current crisis through arcane fiscal finagling or through truly barbaric methods like forcing US and UK workers back into the workplace well before it is safe to do so.

But it seems equally possible that the world as we know it is over. By this I don’t mean that we’ll soon be living in a Mad Max-style apocalypse, but rather that period of “the end of history” is finally over. Capitalism will probably recover, either through solving the crisis through the above means before it gets worse, or it will allow the crisis to reach its conclusion and engage in massive selloffs of fixed capital, which might extend its rule by several decades by restoring some degree of profitability relative to investments. What that could mean for our people and ecology is anyone’s guess.

But whatever the results of this crisis are, one thing seems very clear. For the first time in our lives, workers have been forced to sit at home and think – not between shifts, or under the endless stress of being a beneficiary expected to look for work that often doesn’t exist, but just thinking, and getting bored. I don’t remember a time when capitalism gave an entire class of people the opportunity to get truly bored, apart from the upper classes, who get to call it ennui.

The politics of idleness are interesting. A few thousand years ago, the backbreaking labour of slaves, poor citizens, and women created the opportunity for the first truly idle class – the Ancient Greek philosophers who are credited with the entire foundation of our moral and political systems. For the next few thousand years, the only people who were allowed to be idle were the sons of rich nobles and merchants, and only with the birth of capitalism did common people find themselves idle – the unemployed newly-displaced rural folk who waited outside the great cities of Europe, waiting for jobs at the new textile factories to open up. Many of these people became the backbone of the first workers’ parties, often millenarian Christian-socialists and underground brotherhoods like the Chartists, Luddites, or League of the Just, which Marx and Engels would later co-opt and rename The Communist League.

Idleness in these times was feared greatly by those in power, and rightly so. Nothing worried them more than huge surplus populations growing restless, organising in their idle time, and realising their position somewhere near the bottom of a great social pyramid. From time to time these surplus populations grew so great that entire nations had to be set up just to get rid of them: the unemployed and wretched masses of the British Isles found themselves criminalised and subject to transportation to the penal colonies of the Caribbean, the Americas, and later New South Wales. Luckier surplus citizens found themselves in the free colonies, such as Perth, or New Zealand.

But are we truly surplus to requirements? Surely after the crash we’ll get our jobs back?

Many economists aren’t so sure. Unemployment modelling already shows rates are going to grow higher than during the great depression, and that’s without a much more pessimistic Marxian analysis of the crisis. To be surplus is a new experience to many of us. Idleness will force us to reckon with our position in the pyramid of society, just as those 19th century oligarchs were afraid of all those years ago.

The ideological backbone of capitalism as it currently exists has been broken. Neoliberalism has shown itself incapable of dealing with Covid-19. But what we make of this realisation is up to us. The ideological backbone might be broken, but the real nuts and bolts of the system: the police and politicians, bosses and workplaces, will still remain. Given enough time, they will use this crisis of legitimacy to forge a new kind of capitalism: maybe a society with a UBI? Or a form of eco-capitalism? Or maybe they’ll go the other direction, and lead us down a road to fascism, or Trumpian nationalistic fervor? If I had to place bets, I’d put it on a mix of all of the above, as usually seems to happen in a crisis of legitimacy. After all, the last great crisis of legitimacy happened during the Great Depression, leading to both the social-democratic compromise of the New Deal and Michael Joseph Savage’s welfare state, as well as the horrors of Nazism.

In truth I don’t think it matters so much what path capitalism chooses to take in order to legitimise itself in this new era, because unless the agency of that choice lies with working people – with beneficiaries, Māori, migrants, the multitude, the proletariat – it will leave us worse off. It might end the crisis, but we’ll live with the knowledge that the next one will be worse, and once again our lives will be utterly beyond our control.

So agency should be our watchword in this new era. So long as we lack agency, we are only a few years from collapse. So long as we lack agency, the response to crises will be arbitrary. New Zealanders got lucky in getting a rational response to the crisis, but next time we might be more like the US or UK – sending thousands more people to die in the name of profits. Taking power, then, is the only way to ensure that this total lack of agency never happens again.

So far in the things I’ve written for this blog, I’ve not actually included a call to join Organise Aotearoa. In a system built on broken promises, who am I to make a promise to readers that things will get better if only we fight for a revolutionary overthrow of the bosses, police and markets that put us in crisis again and again? As an organisation, we are young, and we are emerging from a very beaten-down, hollowed-out, and disparate left-wing movement. Revolution doesn’t seem realistic to many people, but then, neither did capitalism being crushed by a virus a few weeks ago. Socialism will never just happen – it takes work, and a sense of realism. We have a lot of work to do, but only in this period of transition can we see the possible futures laid out before us – apocalyptic misery, or social and economic justice. To fight for this is always worth the effort.

The best summary of the times we’re living in come from this quote I’m quite fond of:

“There are decades where nothing happens; and there are weeks where decades happen”

#coronavirus #covid 19 #socialism #fukuyama

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tisfan · 5 years ago

Text

Title: A Thousand Words Written by: @tisfan 3023 Square: S5 Tony Stark/T’challa Rating: teen and up Triggers/warnings: none Tags: were creatures, Tony Stark Does What He Wants, Wakanda, Created for: @tonystarkbingo Word count: 1897 Summary: Tony knows he’s not supposed to cross the border, but the call of a prize winning photograph is strong. When he finds his subject, things are more than they appear...

Fic for the Photographer / werecreature mood board

“And how am I supposed to know where the Wakanda border is,” Tony Stark, award winning photographer, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist, and self-proclaimed major annoyance, demanded.

The guide only gave him one of those insufferable looks. “You will know,” he said. “And you must not venture over the border. Those who go to Wakanda often get sick. The disease will take its toll on your mind and body. If you even come back at all.”

Tony had used his considerable money and influence getting this far. One of his colleagues -- and his most loathed rival, if you wanted to pick nits -- had spotted a rare black panther. Keeping in mind that panthers were not, in fact, a real species at all, and Justin Hammer had all the keen insights of a brick, Tony was doubtful.

But the pictures of the great cat fleeing into the jungle had garnered national attention.

And Tony could take better pictures than ones of a blurry black cat. It might not even have been black, just bad lighting.

Whatever.

The point was, a melanistic tiger was a worthy photo subject, especially given how endangered tigers were, and that Tony could shine a spotlight -- metaphorically speaking -- on the species through some really good photos.

The problem was the creature seemed to live around the northern end of Lake Turkana. Which bordered on Wakanda. And Wakandans were very unwelcoming to visitors. Given that most of the rest of the continent had been invaded by northern Europeans and stripped of their rights and resources, and Wakanda had been spared that fate, Tony didn’t really blame them.

But that did mean that they wouldn’t give him permission to enter their country on a wild cougar chase.

He didn’t even get a meeting with the Wakandan ambassador himself; his message went through intermediaries, and all he got back was a no. No explanation or apologies. Just. no.

Tony didn’t take no for an answer; he never had. It was both his best quality and his most annoying one.

He was going to get those pictures, with or without the Wakandans’ permission.

Of course, it would be easier if he could find the panther on the southern side of its territory. The Kenyan government had been all but falling over itself to accommodate him. Well, he’d have to hope.

Or sneak across.

“Why isn’t there any coffee from Wakanda,” Tony wondered, changing the subject. The guide wasn’t going to be going with him. Wildlife photo shoots were almost as dangerous as wartime shoots, and no one who could avoid it wanted to be that close to animals that might look at you like you were a snack. (Wartime photography was more dangerous, Tony knew for a fact, after spending three months as a prisoner of Ten Rings. If nothing else, a large cat wasn’t cruel. Just hungry. It wasn’t worth the cat’s time to keep Tony alive. If he was going to be kitty kibble, it would be over quickly, and he wouldn’t wake up from nightmares for more than four years now.) Tony’s mouth kept going without conscious input from his brain, because that’s what it did. “Kenya AA is some of the best coffee in the world. Burundi is an excellent bean. Why-- is there single source Wakanda bean?”

The guide gave Tony a condescending look. “The Wakandans do not grow coffee,” he said.

“Waste,” Tony muttered. “Well, I’ll stay out of their territory. No coffee, now that’s a hardship.” He would know Wakanda borders by all the sleeping guards. Got it.

He recalled the conversation, looking down at the grass. He didn’t know much about grass, really, except that it was green (usually) and growing on the ground (primarily) and that sometimes people made a fuss about how long it was in the yard.

You will know the Wakanda border when you see it.

Yeah, okay, so why didn’t anyone bother to mention the grass was fucking purple? You’d think that would be a relatively easy thing to say. Purple grass means do not trespass here.

And it wasn’t just purple, Tony noted, kneeling. It was glowing. Very faintly, in the growing darkness, but it did make the small area very, very noticable.

Probably more so at night than during the day. Purple grass, it could be a thing, right?

Unfortunately for the purple grass, the damn panther had been seen-- well, just on the other side of that hill. Tony’d spotted it out in the plains, running along after some long-legged deer. Antelopes. Whatever. Probably not a gnu, except that Tony wouldn’t know what a gnu looked like if it bit him.

He’d gotten a few action shots, but even with the telephoto lense, he really hadn’t gotten any good, personal shots.

He was just going to have to ignore the guide and cross over the border. Right? Wouldn’t hurt anything. In, take some pictures, out. No one had to know.

Stepping into Wakanda territory shouldn’t have felt like taking a step on the moon, but somehow, it sort of did.

Everything seemed softer, more natural, better. Fresher. Tony was obviously being influenced by the mythos and mystery that surrounded the place. Stupid, primitive monkey brain. He ignored the sense of awe and foreboding and crept toward the jungle.

He’d seen the great cat enter the trees, dragging its kill-- surely it would be too occupied with its meal to notice him. Animals didn’t hunt for sport, and eating an already killed and tasty gazelle was a better use of calories than catching one scrawny human photographer whose muscle tissue was flavored by cheeseburgers and kale smoothies.

He tugged on the night vision goggles, which brightened the landscape up considerably, and it wasn’t long before he saw the cat, laying on the branch of a tree, overseeing a small clearing. Tony was just to the edge of the woods and found himself a blind spot to sit, upwind of the great cat, before he noticed--

There were already people in that clearing, sitting outside of a low tent. One was kneeling near the gazelle, the other was poking at a small box that looked very much like a microwave, but couldn’t be, because no one dragged a microwave out into the jungle, did they?

Tony turned his camera carefully; with people nearby he had to be even more careful about making noise. A cat might be evaded. People were predation hunters. If they thought he’d desecrated their country or something, they would track him down.

One woman, one girl. The cat was watching them, and they obviously knew it was there. They were speaking a language that Tony didn’t know, and had never heard. But they were addressing some of their remarks to the cat.

Maybe that was it, Tony decided. Some cultures raised hunting dogs, or falcons, and those animals, over time, had grown into different colors and sizes that arose in nature. Look at the black lab, to the pekinese, to the dachshund. No one would think they all originally came from wolves. The black panther could be nothing more than a specially trained domesticated cat.

Which would be fascinating, but he’d have to consider very, very carefully if he wanted to publish those pictures, since it would be immediately obvious that he’d trespassed to get them. Didn’t matter. He’d decide later. Pictures now. He would be no sort of photographer at all if he let the opportunity pass him by.

Tony took dozens of pictures; of the two women, one with black hair, the other with white, but both beautiful. Of the cat, lounging in the tree. Of the dead gazelle, neck neatly snapped but unmarred by the cat’s teeth otherwise.

Finally, whatever meal the one woman was cooking was done, and she said something to the other -- the smells were amazing. Tony’s stomach reminded him that he hadn’t eaten in a while, but he didn’t dare even try to get one of his granola bars out.

He focused on the meal. One, two… three. Three plates. The woman hesitated, sighed, and then made a fourth plate.

Tony blinked, then realized to his horror, that the cat was--

Coming right at him.

Tony took several pictures by reflex alone, which is the only reason why, later, he could convince himself that he hadn’t gone insane.

“You may as well come to dinner,” the cat-- the CAT? Said, walking toward him, body moving, and then shifting up onto two legs, and finally, a man stood there in front of him, noble and strong and pure and-- smiling?

“Tony Stark. I should have known you would not be so easily disuaded.”

Tony blinked and looked up at the man. There was something cat-like about him in his grace and figure. Very long, dexterous fingers reached down. “Come on up out of there. We’ve known you were there, the whole time. Do not think you can sneak up on the tribe of the Panther God. One of these days, it will get you into trouble.”

Tony reached for the man’s hand, not entirely sure if he was dreaming, or hallucinating in the last moments of his life.

“You know me?”

“I am T’challa,” the man said. “You requested an audience with me, to plead your case. Of course I know who petitions me.”

“Your majesty,” Tony said. And then, because his brain was still running full cycle, he blurted out-- “You’re like, a werecat?”

T’challa scoffed, and the girl behind him made an even ruder noise. “No. We are not cursed monsters, like in your horror movies,” T’challa said. “It is a gift from the gods.”

“I don’t believe in God,” Tony said automatically.

“That’s all right, Mr. Stark,” the girl said, bringing a mug of something fragrant to drink. “God doesn’t believe in you either.”

“What happens now?”

“Now? Now you drink, and you have dinner, and after dinner, we will return you across the border,” T’challa said. He pressed the cup into Tony’s hand, and there was something in his eyes that didn’t allow for refusal. “You will, unfortunately, contract one of the jungle fevers. You will wake up in a few days, and you will have forgotten all about this night. You have seen nothing. You will remember nothing.”

“What--”

“It’s that, or we could kill you,” the girl said.

“Shuri--”

“I’m just saying, there are options.”

“But I--” Tony protested.

“We are not stealing your memories,” T’challa said, and led him over to the fire. “We are only taking back that which you first stole from us. It is fair, and right, and you will never miss it.”

It was fair.

But-- the things he’d seen, that he’d photographed. They couldn’t be lost. And maybe they wouldn’t be. His camera uploaded automatically every ninety minutes. If he could just delay, the pictures would be on a Stark satellite and then downloaded to his home network.

“All right,” he said. “Dinner, and you can tell me about your gods.”

When Shuri rolled her eyes, Tony added, “Does it matter? I won’t remember it anyway. What possible harm can it do for me to know, just for tonight?”

T’challa laughed, warm and rich and appealing. “You are a stubborn man,” he said. “I like that. Sit, share a meal, and listen to our tales.”

Ninety minutes…

Surely, the stories would take ninety minutes.

#tonystarkbingo2020 #tony stark/T'challa #werecreatures #tony does what he wants #3023 square S5

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margridarnauds · 4 years ago

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ronan & olympe for the ship opinions? (also please let your previous anon know that they're the funniest person in the world and i love them)

So…interesting thing, there. And something I’ve been increasingly thinking about as I think back on my last few years of fandom, my evolving feelings towards M/F shipping, and how fandom, as a whole, treats M/F ships. I’m going to apologize in advance for the length since I KNOW you didn’t sign on for 1.5k words of reminiscence.

Also: BEAGLE ANON, YOU’RE THE FUNNIEST PERSON IN THE WORLD.

When I first started out with 1789, in about 2015 or so, I was actually pro-Ronan/Olympe. Like, I wanted NOTHING more than fix-it fics where they retired to the country and had babies. I listened to La Guerre Pour se Plaire for HOURS, getting caught in the gothic atmosphere and the passionate, conflicted lyrics. But, at the time, the overall fandom environment was…well. Not conducive to it. And I was young, and I wasn’t strong in my opinions yet, so I stood back and kept it to myself. I think that might be part of why I ended up backing away from 1789 when I did. Yeah, I liked it, but I didn’t have a strong sense of community, and most of the attention, at that time, was in the Mozart, L’Opera fandom, and I wasn’t a major picture there. I attended streams, yeah, but I wasn’t a CONTENT creator, and it was easy for me to fade into the background, I think. Maybe because I was too afraid to be a content creator, back then, because that would involve possibly expressing my own opinions. I accepted that Ronan/Olympe was No bad, terrible, awful based on that desire to fit in, because it was so much EASIER. Just like I accepted that French 1789 was a disaster, that MOR was much better, and that, really, it wasn’t worth the effort. Just an inferior musical. (The problem, of course, was that I NEVER liked MOR as well as I liked 1789. Maybe it’s better put together, but I don’t ENJOY it as much, and imo it drags quite a bit at a few places, a problem shared by its German counterpart.)

I came back to 1789 around…2017, with the European Musicals Streaming event, with the Takarazuka one totally stealing my heart, specifically Lazare/Ronan. Suddenly, I was IN, and I was creating content. Yeah, most of the French musicals fandom didn’t give a flying fuck that I was creating content, with most of my support coming from my friends and Takarazuka fans, but I was CREATING CONTENT, for the first time since I joined fandom. I was finally starting to figure out my way in fandom, finally starting to get noticed. In 2018……..for reasons I won’t give out, at least publicly, there was a massive rift in the old French musicals fandom, a lot of bridges got burned, and, naturally, I was far enough from the fire. But this DID give me a shot at carving out my own 1789 experience, for once, without them hanging over my shoulder. I do think that the reason why the 1789 fandom’s as strong as it is now is because of that rift, because it left a sort of power vacuum. Suddenly, there was a space for other French musicals, and we didn’t have to worry about the constant comparison to MOR. BUT. Keep in mind. 2-3 years ago, the overwhelming consensus on Ronan was pure, unadulterated hatred. There were a few Ronan content creators in an already small pool, but the general consensus was that Lazare was better in every way and Ronan was a terrible protagonist. (I know fully well that some old members of the French musicals fandom, to this day, won’t engage with Ronan content. At all. And I can say this as openly as I do because I KNOW they don’t follow me.) As a Peyronan shipper, I was in an awkward place, especially as time went on and I realized that I actually did like the little shit. One half of my OTP was absolutely beloved, one half was hated, and, while there was definitely some content on the Tumblr side of things (I definitely did NOT single-handedly invent the ship out of thin air, I don’t take credit for it, and I’m grateful to everyone who kind of. Took me in), the fan fiction side of things still tended to lean Ronan/Olympe. If, today, it seems like the fandom consensus is Ronan/Lazare, that’s because I fought tooth and nail to get my own place in the fandom.

I…suppose you could say that I justified my place in the fandom by tossing Ronan/Olympe under the bus. It was easier, that way. It meant that I could forge alliances with anyone who wanted Solène/Olympe instead, though I was still on dangerous ground since I still wanted precious Lazare with Ronan, and, of course, the show would be better without Ronan. (You’ll note that the VERY FIRST fic I ever published on AO3 was Solène/Olympe. Why? Because I knew it would be a safe option to test the waters. That. And I really did just write it the night before my GRE.) But, at least I wasn’t a Ronan/Olympe shipper, right? I was safely gay. (Biphobia, thy name is fandom.) When I talked about Ronan, I talked about him as gay, I talked shit about Ronan/Olympe whenever I had the chance. All properly tagged, of course, in the proper channels. I’ve never been the sort to actively hurt someone who DID ship it, I just took pains to not associate myself with the Icky Het Ship. When I talked about Ronan, I talked about him as GAY, VERY GAY, not a hint of bisexuality to him. Because if he was bi, that might mean that Ronan/Olympe had a leg to stand on, you see? You’ll note that, to this day, I almost never acknowledge Ronan/Olympe as a thing that HAPPENED in any given fic continuities, because it was so much easier if he simply fell into Lazare’s arms instead. Wiping that little spot clean. And. Well. Here I am. About 5 years after I first got into 1789. And, looking back, I wonder if it was REALLY that bad, or if I just nodded my head because it was easy at the time, since it’s only been in the last year that I really, really began to develop my own spine. (Honestly, props to Marie Antoinette the Musical and, specifically, Morléans as a ship for that one.) For the most part, I’m proud of how far the fandom’s come in the last five years, and I’m proud of the work that I, individually, have done to help get it there, whether it was streams, gifs, or fanfics. But sometimes, I do worry that anyone coming in who ships Ronan/Olympe, like I used to…might feel out of place, and I never want to treat them like I was treated back in the day.

Do I ship it? Not really. That ship’s sailed for me (I didn’t mean to make that a pun but here we are). I’m fairly firmly Lazare/Ronan and Solène/Olympe (though I’m not as firmly pro-the latter as the former, simply because I REALLY don’t have as much material to go off of there.) Not just because of the old pressure, but just because…looking at it in, say, the French cast…there’s really no chemistry there. At all. The Takarazuka Olympe looks mildly terrified to be in Ronan’s presence at any given moment. I DO actually kind of like it in the Toho production, especially with Teppei Koike and Sayaka Kanda, since the two of them fit together SO naturally and their voices are like two pieces of the same puzzle, but I’m not sure it’s something I’d particularly want to create content for. In fact, when I tried to write Ronan/Lazare/Olympe as an OT3, my HARDEST dynamic to write and justify was Ronan/Olympe. I do think that “La Guerre Pour se Plaire” is a stunning song, musically, it’s probably one of my favorite French musical songs. I do kind of tend to see Ronan as gay, simply because Takarazuka Ronan in particular is………..forceful, to the point that I can see him forcing himself to believe he’s in love with Olympe in order to distract himself from Lazare. I feel like the French cast, while arguably realistic in it showing Ronan/Olympe’s relationship having problems, also shows a couple that, really, beyond the physical attraction, couldn’t have made it work had both of them survived. And I feel like fandom, back in the day, was far too willing to take Olympe’s side over Ronan’s in that dispute, ignoring how Olympe’s own relationship to her side of the conflict is…kind of toxic to her. And while Ronan went about it in an ass-backward way (“I will kill your friends and family! To remind you of my love!”)……..he did make some Points. And Toho Ronan/Olympe, particularly Teppei/Sayaka, are more two kids in love who just want to give it a shot. (Kato Kazuki/Nene Yumesaki were more….forceful, manly hero/prim and proper governess with a spine of steel. Which is OKAY, but not really personally as interesting to me.) I do give the Toho credit for really, really making me see that, okay, it might not be for me, but it CAN work on stage. Mostly. (I still hate that forced kiss.)

I will say that there are times where I find myself writing Lazare rather similarly to Olympe in terms of him going through the same feelings of guilt, shame, and duty, and I’m just like “....hm. What have I really changed? Did I just substitute Lazare’s face for Olympe because it was easier? Or copied the existing dynamic and pasted a dude’s face over Olympe’s?” (I do think that there are definitely DIFFERENCES to Olympe VS Lazare, it’s just...eerie in those individual moments.) I do think, at the end of the day, the story of forbidden love during the French Revolution....we’ve HAD it before, in the La Revolution Française musical, and in my opinion it does work best as a queer narrative. And, unfortunately, Ronan/Olympe just...isn’t developed particularly well enough on stage to justify it as an EPIC ROMANCE.

Overall, I think that I’m fairly settled in my ways at this point, but I also don’t hate it to the extent that I once did. It’ll never be my favorite, I can’t really see them getting married and having kids, and, frankly, the relationship just isn’t as interesting to me as the alternatives since we’ve SEEN it played out on screen, and I can’t really see myself making content for it or really engaging with it in any meaningful way outside of reblogging gifsets/reading fics, but like. I don’t HATE it anymore. I’m neutral to its existence. And, when it comes down to it, I have read fic/engaged in content for it, because, at this point, it’s STILL part of my favorite musical. If I could have done things differently….maybe I would have stayed with it more, for longer. Maybe I’d have written that happy country babyfic (you know. In 18th century France. Where raising babies in the country was so painless). Maybe I’d have gone over to Peyronan earlier and not looked back. Maybe I would have written Ronan more consciously as a bisexual man instead of a gay man. Who knows? Maybe I’m just a tired bitch these days and so am hyper-dissecting everything. But I definitely never want anyone coming into the fandom to think there isn’t a place for them just because they ship Ronan/Olympe.

#vierschanzentournee

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sisterofiris · 5 years ago

Text

On Ukraine

The lovely @upyrica requested a post about my impressions of Ukraine for their birthday, to which I happily obliged. I visited the country for two weeks last summer, staying in Lviv, Kyiv and Dnipro and travelling to Zaporizhzhia for a day. I will start by giving my general impressions of the country, then share some quotes from my travel journal about each city I visited.

Red - I hope this is to your satisfaction! Have a wonderful birthday, and try not to consume too many of us mortals by your brilliance.

General impressions

The first thing that needs to be said is that I unreservedly love Ukraine. Having studied the language and learnt about its culture for several months before travelling there, I was worried it would not live up to my expectations - but while it didn’t always correspond to them, overall it definitely exceeded them. It also bears mentioning what, exactly, I hoped to get out of this trip: I wanted to experience a new country as it is, in whichever ways it would show itself to me. If I had come with other intentions (sightseeing, a beach holiday...), my experience would have been different.

Before leaving, I was told various stereotypes - that it was an ugly country, all the buildings were Soviet apartment blocks, the people were cold and unwelcoming, I wouldn’t be safe, and so on. These were all untrue. I saw some gorgeous Central and Eastern European architecture while I was there, not only in the famously pretty Lviv but in every city I visited. Although I travelled alone, I only felt unsafe twice (once in the backstreets of Kyiv, once when a drunk man followed me around a bus station, something which could have happened anywhere), and most of the time I actually felt safer than elsewhere, in part due to people’s kindnesses and willingness to help.

It was also refreshing to be in a country where tourists are relatively rare outside certain attractions (I didn’t visit Chernobyl, for instance), and where I could blend in and experience things with and like locals. Speaking some Ukrainian definitely made interactions easier, and the people I talked to were all very enthusiastic to tell me what I should see and do, and to ask what my impressions of Ukraine were so far.

If I had to describe the country in a single word, it would be “alive”. It felt like a place where things move fast, and where people are working hard to improve them against all odds. I was struck by the difficult history of Ukraine, but also how Ukrainians have grown from it. Yes, all those things you hear about in history books, or on the news, happened - the Holodomor, the Chernobyl nuclear disaster, the 2014 revolution, the war in Donbas - and yes, they have left their mark on the country. But Ukraine is also so much more than that.

Impressions of Lviv

The streets here are mostly cobblestone, and with a large number of potholes and irregularities on the footpath. Many of the buildings look old, but most are very pretty. It is hard to describe the architecture style; all I can say is that it is unmistakably Central European. The streets around Rynok square are particularly lovely, with cafés, flowers, souvenir shops, and the ubiquitous Ukrainian flag.

While in the old town, I came across a family dressed in traditional clothes. The husband and wife were singing a folk song in harmony while their two boys played nearby. Later, I returned and they were all crouched in a circle, gathering the money they had earned. As they counted, they sang softly, all together, a song about Ukraine.

Impressions of Kyiv

Now I truly understand why the Ukrainian flag is yellow and blue - the land is sprawling fields under a great, wide sky. Even so, it is not quite what I expected: villages are sparse, far more so than in Western Europe, and between them is wilderness, sometimes grass and sometimes forest. Never in my life have I seen so many birches, and most other trees are pines. All are tall, with thin stalks that reach far up before branching off. The landscape is hillier than I’d imagined, too.

I came to the Sofia cathedral and Khmelnytsky memorial after sunset. The sky was a soft pink and blue, darker than the buildings around the square in their gentle pastel hues, and the domes of the cathedral still shone, and Khmelnytsky raised his arm, a black silhouette against the sky. Peace and war, I thought. The sword and the cross. The blood of centuries, and this moment’s serenity.

Impressions of Dnipro

Riding southeast, the hills gave way to enormous fields and endless steppe. The sun set over the land and made everything golden, and a flock of birds manoeuvred across the sky in perfect unison. When I arrived in Dnipro, the sky was pink. How beautiful it all seemed, with the square and its buildings in the architectural style I have seen so much here. How much more beautiful this country is than people say.

Dnipro is so much more relaxed than Kyiv - trams glide down wide, clean streets lined with trees, and the city generally has a modern, friendly feel. As we walked along the waterfront, couples, families and friends strolled by, laughing, sitting on beanbags in the grass, listening to live music, eating ice cream and candy floss. The river was blue as anything, and the sky wide and bright.

Impressions of Zaporizhzhia

While exploring Khortytsia Island, I wandered uphill to see a stone circle, then climbed a kurgan for the view. It was stunning. The landscape rolled out like a carpet to the horizon, half industrial, half wild, and the bright blue river Dnipro parted in two at my feet. Crickets sang and the grass rustled, and it was warm and windy.

Here most of the people around me are locals, or maybe tourists from other parts of Ukraine - or possibly Russia. So long as nobody speaks to me, it is easy to blend in and feel perfectly comfortable and safe. Here I am, just another Ukrainian going about my day. If anything, I feel at home.

#ukraine #off-topic but whatever #also go give red money in exchange for art commissions/tarot readings because they're awesome

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