#tw historical slavery

[whereserpentswalk]

There was, once in the ancient days, when Rome had conquered the Britians, a faerie prince had left for the day the realms of fae, where all the faeries danced, he left his tree stump palace and his subjects of kobolds and sprits, and his fellow lords of the fae, and he came to the great villas and groves of England and chose to give the ultimate power of unseelie vengeance, to the mortals he'd consider most in need of such things.

And within his quest, he had found two souls more oppressed than most would ever be in their lives, two slaves, who had lived their entire lives mining tin within the mountains. One red haired, one yellow haired, and neither their names recorded by time.

And the faerie came to the two slaves, with moth's wings on his back, and the horns of a great stag, and an armored exoskeleton shining black-green on his body, with fire in his great golden eyes. And he told the two slaves shivering in the cold before him, "Greetings subjects of humanity, have no fear, for I bring today great fortune in exchange for my sweet entertainment. Choose whoever you believe holds the most of gifts deprived from you, and I shall swap your place with them, and you shall live your lives in their luxury and them in your misfortune. and take what time you need to select who stands highest above you, and whose deserves most to be brought down to your place."

After a few moments putting their pickaxes down, thinking about who could be most privileged, and who their greatest oppressor was, the red headed slave suggested, "Well I don't think kindly of the slaves in the gladiator pits now do I! They have it all good, fighting and winning praise down in Rome, while us real slaves up here are working hard for the empire. If we'd swap places with them they'd learn what work really was!"

The faerie, having in all his studies of humanity learned that humans do not like being stabbed, nor chopped into pieces asked, "Our you sure that the slaves in the fighting pits are the most privileged of people you can think of, I'll give you time if you must need it."

The yellow haired slave raised his hand, "The harem slaves! Oh, the harem slaves. They get to live right in the roman's mansions, all prettied up with perfume, all they have to do is lay back and make love. Never had to work a day in their lives!"

The faerie, having in all his studies or humanity known rape to be a crime worse than murder to most, tried to suggest something else; "The romans! Your masters! Yes, you've mentioned them. The people who enslaved you. Consider that perhaps they may factor into any discussion of your oppression, and who stands above you..."

The red haired slave answered, "Well of course! We've worked so hard for the Romans, and because of those slaves more privileged then us, demanding so much in regard to resources and attention, we get treated like dirt. If all slaves were miners and farmers, the Romans would treat us so well."

And the yellow haired slave added, "We keep the empire running. The empire could survive without the fighting pits and harem boys, but they need us for their metals! The Romans should be proud of us! Great Constantine himself, bless his soul, said that hard working men like us would stand with him in heaven..." (That final comment lead into an argument between the yellow haired Catholic and the red headed Arian, as to who was a heretic, and whose hard work would surely be recognized into heaven, the argument being too long and useless to write down here.)

Eventually, the faerie stopped them both, "Have you ever considered what it would be like to not be slaves? I heard that there were some places where slavery doesn't exist at all."

The red headed slave yelled, "Don't you go insulting us slaves, talking about a world without us!"

The yellow haired slave added, "Yes! We're proud and hard working! My father was a slave, and his father, and his father, and his... well his father was a warrior in the army of Boudica, but you get the point don't you."

The faerie said blankly, "I think I do." And, thinking his entertainment was boring him quite a lot, told them, "Just tell me quickly, who you think is more privileged than you, and I'll swap you with them."

And before the yellow haired slave could contradict him, the red headed slave cried out, "The slaves of Alexandria! That city is paved with gold, with pyramids at every street. I've never been there but I've known some slaves who have. Some of the slaves there are even teachers to the roman's children, able to read and write and all that, and its never even winter. Swap us with them, and we'll be the most privileged slaves in the world!"

And so, the faerie did. And so, the red headed slave and the yellow haired slave found themselves in the boiling streets of Alexandria, ready to be shipped off to a copper mine in lower Egypt. The faerie lord had learned too well that one cannot be freed unless the wish to be. And before the faerie stood two slaves from Alexandria, and hoping there were some people within the world of mortals who knew their own oppression, he asked them, "Greetings subjects of humanity, have no fear, for I bring today great fortune in exchange for my sweet entertainment..."

[kneelingshadowsalome]

prefacing this by saying I have absolutely no information on this period of history, but Rome was sacked and ultimately destroyed by Germanic tribes.

And naturally, the first thing I thought of upon learning that was Invader!König X Roman Maiden!Reader. Similar to your story, I’m thinking he decides to take the Reader as a trophy of war similar to his comrades. You and plenty of other maidens are tied up, thrown across horseback or across shoulders, and dragged off back to Germania. Depending on how dark you want it, König could wait for his little prize to want his cock, or he could have no patience at all and fuck her as soon as he gets a chance. Of course, he’s still somewhat of a gentleman, he’ll make sure she enjoys it, but like it or not his cock’s going in her.

I think this is an opportunity to lean even further into the barbarian König idea, with varying levels of darkness.

Save me dark barbarian!König... 🖤💋

CW: dark content, noncon groping, noncon cuddling, fear of SA, König's idea of hot sex is problematic to say the least, reader's level of enthusiasm/consent is ambiguous

He doesn’t care about your delicate sensibilities or noble background, he’s here to bring your Empire down and your weak men to their knees. It’s about time someone burned Rome to the ground; no amount of foreign perfume can cover the smell of shit in these streets…

But he won’t say no to gold or jewels, they might some day decorate his future wife's neck and wrists perhaps. Neither will he ride homeward without a slave to keep him warm. He hasn’t had a woman in months, the only thing closest to a cunt has been his calloused fist and he’s grown tired of that, nothing can compare with the real deal so a soft little female is exactly what he needs to keep him company when he and his warriors return North.

Your options are either freezing to death or crawling inside this giant’s cloak when he holds it open for you come nightfall, the voyage to Germania bringing with it the first snow and cold winds straight from Hades. You have no option but to go to this man for some body heat, the low rumble in his chest resembling the pleased purr of some untamed beast as he envelops you in wool and a hungry embrace.

He never speaks to you, only talks with his hands that roam all over your body as you cling to him with clattering teeth. Examining the wideness of your hips, the plumpness of your ass and tits, he serves himself a handful and some pinches as if he’s sampling fruit at the marketplace. Rubs your nipples between the pad of his thumb and pointer until you flinch from pain, mutters something pleased when he sees your skittish reaction. He won’t allow you to pull away however, not when you’re finally here, so back to his arms you go as he crushes you against his chest.

He’s amused at your attempts to both huddle closer and squirm away: why are you being so difficult when clearly, you want this too?

He saw how you looked at him back there when he was drenched in blood, that’s the reason he chose you. You’re sweeter than an apple, didn’t even scream when he swept your hair from your face to have a better look at you, you only eyed him with challenge when he inspected your lips, waistline and hips. A scared female would have avoided his eyes and begged not to be killed or worse, but you only lifted your chin and spat on his face, practically begging to get fucked…

And now you’re acting like you don’t want his cock while at the same time, you continue to stare at him like a deer in heat. If you don’t want him to fuck you then you should stop making him hard, but in truth König is only glad that he chose you out of all women. The ride back home won’t be dull with a fiery fox woman like you, he has to be careful that he doesn’t get bitten and bruised… How his men would laugh in the morning if they found out that the vixen he stole has made him hers, little teeth marks decorating his skin and betraying everyone your claim.

He would only be proud of you if you did that; women are quite adorable when they have some fire in them. But make no mistake, he won’t let you go no matter how hard you act like you hate him… Everyone here knows you want to jump on his cock; had he decided to inspect your pussy too while covered in your husband’s blood, he could’ve bet all his fortune along with his horse that you were already wet for him.

He could take you right now on this cold, hard ground, try to see how long it takes to make you wet and pliant. The only thing really keeping him from doing so are his men, no doubt wanting to see how a Roman lady takes their giant leader's cock. But he’s not going to give them the satisfaction of seeing you naked, let alone watching him fuck you, he'd have to kill them all afterwards...

So he settles for making his naughty little slave warm, and both of you a little breathless. He can find a more discreet place for you tomorrow, order a break or two to ease the heaviness of his sacks, the aching hard ons he’s had ever since he saw you. He has to be careful not to break you, and remember to kiss you on your neck, he heard that that’s the key to make women wet and willing.

You seem so fragile and frail when you fall asleep, finally surrendering to him, your body yielding and molding against his. In the morning, you whimper sweetly when he squeezes your now warm, plush body, and plants kisses on your face, your neck. You have no idea that the warriors are already mocking him for “making you wait so long”, that he has listened to stupid jokes all morning with you securely tucked inside his cloak. You bite him when he tries to come too close, all the brutes around you burst to laughter as he howls from pain.

Not feeling at all sorry for him when he rubs his neck and looks at you with drowsy curiosity, you rise and spit again on the ground as if you had just tasted something vile. He can’t stifle his smile then, your idea of foreplay is much more fun than what he had in mind…

And you aren’t flung over his horse, but actually get to ride it with him, the arm around your middle like iron as he keeps you as close to him as possible. You don’t know that he’s reluctant to take an unwilling woman, and that this preference makes him the laughing stock of the group. Neither do you know that König has already pictured you inside his hut, baking bread and scolding children like the firebrand that you are, giving him a naughty little wrestle and a fistfight every night before bed... Shuddering from want like you do now on his horse as he exposes your breasts to the approaching winter.

You are about to faint as tiny snowflakes land on your nipples, melting instantly as this man starts to fondle your tits. Slumping against his blazing form, you can do nothing but accept your fate as the horse keeps walking and the men around you shout and whistle at the sight of your breasts. The rough barks of your captor quickly end their excitement upon seeing your exposed tits, the whistles stop and the men turn their eyes quickly away from you.

The man behind you is now perfectly content, riding in the crisp morning air while pawing your breast with one hand and holding the reins with the other, his groin grinding against you with the movements of the horse, making it clear that he might soon stop this torture altogether and take you to the nearby woods for a quick fuck…

[theorahsart]

Incorruptible Chap 3 pt 3

We are still to an extent, having these arguments in modern day. And I thoroughly agree with Robespierre on this point. I'd rather my country lose any wealth it currently has, when that wealth is at the expense of other people's lives.

In the spirit of anti-racism- I wanna point out that although Robespierre played a small part in speaking up for the rights of black people, it should be acknowledged that the Haiti revolution and abolition movement was vm started by free black people asking for rights, and the slave rebellions organised later. You could read 'The Black Jacobins' for more information about this~

((edit: I used a lot of the same language Banarve originally used on this topic, but on refection I think his wording is too vague (I suspect on purpose...to avoid the ugliness of what he's arguing for lol) and it doesnt give much context to ppl not familiar to Frev, and what he/the colonies are arguing for. So I changed the dialogue. Sorry for anyone who reblogged the original, although thank you anyways :3))

[babyspacebatclone]

I’ve been watching a wonderful collection of historical clothing and dressing.

I just finished this particular video, and wish to share with everyone.

Please note before reading Dido’s history that, as much as she was loved by her extended family, trigger warnings.

Specifically, her mother was an underage slave who was only fully freed by an adult Dido, she was never legally acknowledged by her father, and in general she was treated at best as “better than most illegitimate family members,” including a comparatively limited inheritance in context so yeah… 😠

[fanficsforfun]

Have you guys read Robert Harris' Pompeii? Either way, picture this:

! A word of warning here, this is suggestive and as mentioned in the tags, there's talk about slavery !

You are a child of a wealthy family with a large house and several slaves. It allows you quite a bit of freedom to pursue your interests, even though the role of women was not great at the time. Unlike most other people, you treat the slaves of your family, as well as those of others, with dignity (as any sane person should). One day, another slave is bought into your family. He's older and well learned, he knows a lot about many different disciplines. You find his stories interesting, and eventually ask him to teach you. He (and your parents) are pleased about it. It's not bad idea for a young person to learn about the world, even if they happen to be a woman.

You two get along great, and you enjoy his company. You're always friendly, always showing considerateness. No one pays much attention to your behaviour because, after all, you've always treated the slaves well. But you like this particular slave beyond intellectual reasons. Of course you love the conversations you have with him, but if only you could feel that soft but sinewy body against yours, if only you could just see what he's like under his simple tunic... It's inappropriate to even think such things, you know that. But when you're alone with him, you can't suppress your feelings. And so, under the guise of art leasson, you ask him to undress. You pretend to want to practise drawing with a live model, not just those age-old statues. To your surprise, he consents. And when he's all nude in front of you, you can't take your eyes off him. He's absolutely gorgeous. Maybe not in everyone's opinion, but most certainly in yours. Best of all, since you're pretending to do this simply because of art, you can study him as much as you like.

But what does he think of all of this? Well, he's not stupid. It became clear to him quite quickly that you were interested in him. All the smiles, and the amount of time you wanted to spend with him does tell something. And the bright blush on your cheeks and your lingering gazes when you're drawing him didn't leave much to speculation. So it came as no surprise to him when not so many days later, you asked permission to touch, when you wanted to embrace him, wrap your arms around him, bury your face in his chest. He's not at all bothered by the interest of his younger admirer. You look nice and, above all, you're kind. Rarely has anyone been interested in him because of himself instead of his worth as a slave. Therefore he's not saying no, therefore he lets you touch. As long as his owner doesn't find out...

[creatingblackcharacters]

“On Human Dignity.”  Blackness, Gender & Sexuality

Two things:

As usual, there’s historical and social context that I need explain! This lesson is not what sexuality is, or ‘how to write being gay while Black’. That’s… not that different from you. What this lesson is, is context on how Blackness plays a role in our presentation and understanding of gender and sexuality (as well as your perception of it), and how that’s something you should consider in your characterization, writing, and character design.

I DO NOT KNOW EVERYTHING! The reason this took so long was because I read multiple books and wallowed in my remaining lack of understanding. I cannot join The Tumblr Discourse so do not ask. I tried to be as inclusive as I could, but I learn something new on this app every day, so if I miss something- and I’m bound to- I apologize in advance. Please have grace with me.

TW: Sexual assault mention, homophobia, misogynoir, cannibalism, misgendering

“That’s that White People Shit"

I’m putting the hardest part first; walk with me, you’ll be fine!

I will be honest: this section here, while I do think you should know, I don’t really expect nonblack people to incorporate it in depth. Not because it cannot be done, but because it is a sensitive topic that we ourselves are still struggling with. If you have struggled with anything else while writing Black characters up to this point, this one certainly isn’t for you to touch. Just keep in mind!

There’s an idea I’ve heard before on both sides that Black people are more likely to be homophobic, that queerness itself is white. That is a ridiculous belief, but the root of it ends up right back where you think it would: slavery! I’m sure that you saw me post while I was reading The Delectable Negro by gay Black author Vincent Woodard. I shared those increasingly uncomfortable quotes on purpose! If you have a desire to understand Black culture and Black thought, that means being willing to acknowledge Black pain. How can you avoid stereotypes if you avoid learning their source?  

While I will be using quotes from the entire book, the specific chapter of “Eating Nat Turner” is a succinct explanation of why admitting to the presence of homosexuality, gender fluidity, and queer identity within the Black community is so difficult for my people. While I highly, HIGHLY recommend reading this chapter yourself, it essentially comes down to how admitting to such a potential vulnerability in the armor of Blackness, in gender identity and particularly Black masculinity, would allow white supremacy to destroy us as a people, to do validate doing even more cruel things to us when in a position of power over us. It’s a defensive reaction based in trauma that disregards and discards the queer members of our own community as a threat, a liability when it comes to fighting against the ubiquitous presence of white supremacy.

“Intuitively, Black gay men understood the issue of homosexuality during slavery as a complex phenomenon shaped by a number of factors, including the nation’s unresolved relationship to the legacy of slavery, Black liberatory ideology dating back to slavery, and, most importantly, the maintenance of traditional notions of family and community that originated in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. The legacy and memory of slavery had a powerful effect that left many Black gay men feeling isolated from and rendered invisible within Black communities.

Joseph Beam said it first and best: “I cannot go home as who I am. . . . When I speak of home, I mean not only the familial constellation from which I grew, but the entire Black community: the Black press, the Black church, Black academicians, the Black literati, and the Black left… I am most often rendered invisible, perceived as a threat to the family, or am tolerated if I am silent and inconspicuous.” … As Philip Brian Harper has noted, the Black homosexual functioned in the twentieth century as an index for Black masculine anxieties. These ranged from the very personal and painful anxieties of lynching, castration, and the denial of civil rights to a larger set of anxieties rooted in historical erasure and cultural genocide.”

“Sex and gender they also conflated with homosexuality, made out to equal effeminacy. Many Blacks linked homosexuality to castration and the recent history of Black men who had been lynched and Black women who had been raped in the Jim Crow South and in the North. Homosexuality, in its metaphoric power, had an exhaustive function: It is equated with the absence of family, hatred of Black people, estrangement from one’s kin and culture, and all of those horrific aspects of Black experience about which Black people would rather not speak.”

An example of why nonblack people should consider the depth of such a topic- and their place to do so- before incorporating it into their story comes in the form of Styron’s Confessions of Nat Turner, and the backlash he faced from the Black community for such a sensationalized story from a white author.

“The ten Black male contributors [who wrote Ten Black Writers Respond] coupled cannibalism (overtly and covertly) with homoeroticism and effeminacy. For these Black men, homoeroticism became a way of circumventing and projecting their experiences and pain onto certain “effeminate” Black men: the consumed Black man these Black men equated with the homosexual man. Homosexuality served as a means of containing certain unwieldy and historically difficult topics pertaining to Black masculinity, such as the need for intimacy, gender variance, sexual and emotional vulnerability, and violation. It was as if, in this very powerful and discursive moment, threads that had been all along winding through history wove together in a manner that illuminated the past as much as they clouded and blocked full access to its complicated meaning.”

“On the surface, at least, I do not disagree with these Black men and women. I think their analysis regarding historicity and the diminishment of Black communal ties was mostly correct. Styron’s novel was historically inaccurate, depicting Turner as raised by whites rather than the Black parents and grandmother Turner spoke about in his original “Confessions.” Styron depicts aspects of Turner’s sexual life that are not validated in any documentation coming from the time period, and Styron’s exhaustive probing into the racial hatred and self-hatred of Turner clearly reflected something in his own psyche and white identity that he felt compelled to project onto Turner. Black men were put on the defensive by both the novel and by the institutions (literary production, the media) and individuals who supported Styron as an authentic interpreter of Black historical experience. Many Black men, like Bennett, felt that Styron was waging a literary war that paralleled the contemporary political and police state war against Black men…”

The problem with this mindset and approach within the community is that, while it attempts to protect our community, it silences both the prosperity and the pain of an entire section of it, as well as shutting down important conversation that needs to be had even by nonqueer members. And it’s doing it all to fight against a force- white supremacy- that is going to commit violence against us regardless! Respectability politics forces many Black people to stay silent, to not speak up on things that may rock the boat- but the boat needs to be rocked! Blaming fellow victims of racism is not going to save us!

“That was the irony of this moment. Black people invoked the cannibal discourse that could have freed up and complicated Black male perspectives on everything from social consumption to homoeroticism only to defend Black masculinity and Black culture. Black men were not interested in, nor capable of dealing with, the complex legacy of cannibalism and homoeroticism that so powerfully shaped their responses to Styron’s novel.”

But that does NOT mean that it’s a nonblack person’s place to make that argument! While I cannot stop you, I do want you to keep in mind that- as always with sensitive topics- you may have to face Black people who may rightfully be offended by your depiction if not done with care. Styron studied James Baldwin himself- who faced backlash on his end for saying that it was time for the Black community to face such a conversation- and even then, he still projected his white pathology and opinions onto the story of such a prolific hero in our history. Tread lightly!

“Well they don’t seem gay to me.”- A Eurocentric Standard of Passing

How many times have you heard this about a Black character? And if you’re Black and LGBTQ, how often have you heard it about people (or maybe even yourself?) How do we ‘not seem gay’? What is gay supposed to be? There’s this denial, almost, of Black LGBTQ folks, based in a complete disconnect of understanding of our own forms of gender expression and sexuality.

It’s extremely bizarre, because so much of pop gay culture as we know it is from Black LGBTQs (please refer to my infamous AAVE lesson), but… when we imagine an LGBTQ person, they're white.

If you’re Black and queer, you have to be this stereotypical, flamboyant RuPaul-esque figure. Can’t be regular degular. If you’re gay, you gotta be Uber Gay™. If you’re trans, you better pass with Complete Gender and Pizzazz. If you’re nonbinary, you’re not ‘androgynous’ enough. If you’re intersex or asexual, you’re practically not real. If you don’t fill this (white, western) mold, you must not be right. When all you have to be in order to be gay… Is be gay.

I shouldn’t have to put on extra performance to qualify as queer in your eyes! Do you know what looks are considered “androgynous” in my community? What behaviors are deemed “masculine” versus “feminine”? Do you know anything about my queer culture, or are you subconsciously comparing it to your own?

I want you to recognize that whatever image of queerness you have in your mind for your favorite or original characters, if Black people of all shapes and sizes aren’t included, there’s a problem! Because what are you seeing in others, that you’re not seeing in us? Is that, perhaps, a you problem? And why are we not worth the added effort of queer layering that others are?

THAT SAID!

“Oh I know what that’s like, I’m gay-”

This one mostly- if not always- comes from white queer folk. I’ve linked The Last Interview with James Baldwin. It’s so short. PLEASE take the time to read it. I’ve always adored how James Baldwin expresses himself, and while I could never stand so close, I have studied how he conveys his thoughts. But there’s almost nothing I could say that he doesn’t say better.

“A Black gay person who is a sexual conundrum to society is already, long before the question of sexuality comes into it, menaced and marked because he’s Black or she’s Black. The sexual question comes after the question of color; it’s simply one more aspect of the danger in which all Black people live. I think white gay people feel cheated because they were born, in principle, into a society in which they were supposed to be safe. The anomaly of their sexuality puts them in danger, unexpectedly. Their reaction seems to me in direct proportion to the sense of feeling cheated of the advantages which accrue to white people in a white society.”

The idea that “I know what it’s like to experience this oppression as a Black person because I’m gay” is not true. It’s like saying “oh look at my tan, I’m as Black as you now”. Stop it. Think back to that first section on history we discussed- no, you and I are not the same. We can discuss our existing connections, our intersection and have sympathy and empathy with one another on human dignity. We don’t have to act like we’re the same to do that! So don’t go headstrong into your writing (or life) saying “oh I get that completely, it’s because I’m queer”. There are more tactful ways to express your intent of solidarity.

'Queer' vs 'The N Word'

We’re gonna nip this one in the bud, because we’re leaving that argument in 2024. You know the one- “saying queer is like using the N-word- as a reclamation/slur!” What this argument reveals, used by EITHER SIDE, is how y’all don’t actually have community with Black people.

It implies that either “we don’t like it” or “we do”. Yet another binary that does not exist! There are plenty of Black people that despise that word, regardless of context. That think it brings us down. And then there are those that use it as a reclamation of an identity that was used to demean and dehumanize. Either way, one party is not going to walk up to a stranger and force it on them- that would cause an actual fight! It’s not improving your argument. As a whole, I would say stop using Black politics in general to improve your arguments when you are unaware of the overlap, or maybe the lack thereof, between Blackness and queerness in your argument. It shows. I’m not your tool; I’m not your Negro!

I’m not here to tell anyone whether queer is a slur or not. I don’t use it as one, but I recognize when people are uncomfortable, when it is being used as one, and I will use different language when I am speaking directly to someone who says “I do not like that word, describe me as __”. I am just here to say that we’re leaving that argument behind.

Black =/= Gender

Blackness and the concept of Gender have a fraught, confusing history. Not human enough to have rights, but human just enough to fail to meet Eurocentric standards of gender.

One example of this is the term “stud”. Studs are an example of Black women traversing gender presentation, the origin of which is because Black people are perceived as having “lesser sexual dimorphism”- i.e. you can’t tell who’s a woman or not. It’s an in-community joke that doesn’t make sense spoken outside of its historical context (thus, no, your white butch is NOT a stud within this context).

Another example: Megan Thee Stallion is one of the most stunning, feminine women I have ever seen… And her entire career, people have called her a man. Because she’s brown-skinned, Black, confident, loud, and openly sexual, she’s deemed manly. I can’t stand it. Plus her height- and mind you, Taylor Swift, of the same height and probably a higher number of bodies over the years, has never once been called a man or lost any of her “feminine” charm despite it. Why is that? If one of her men had shot in the foot, trying to kill her, there would be an uproar. Why is that?

There is an internal contradiction that being a Black woman is being inherently “gender nonconforming”. The first reason is that I will never be allowed to truly be a “woman” because to be a woman is to be white while doing it. White Tears, Brown Scars by Ruby Hamad is an excellent book on this dynamic in all women of color, and Black activists like Angela Davis and Kimberle Crenshaw have written and discussed the topic as well.

The second reason is I have to play the role of whatever ‘gender’ is expected to get me through this life. I have to be more ‘masculine’; strong, assertive, and proactive, a hard worker willing to sacrifice it all every day, in order to protect my family and myself in a world where a lack of resilience might kill me. I cannot allow weakness to stop me from taking care of my community, because Black women are supposed to show up and save the day. Find a Black woman! they say. She’ll fix it! And odds are, I do know how to fix it because I’ve probably had to address it before.

But then I’m acting ‘out of a woman’s place’ by being so ‘hard’ and expecting people to listen to my authority. So in order to play a Black woman’s place, I have to balance that with… Somehow not intimidating people by being more ‘feminine’, submissive, vulnerable, sweet and motherly (because if I’m not a good breeder and mother, I am a bad woman). I scare people if I don’t. If I don’t do that, then I’m not a good Black woman. But if I don’t harden myself and be strong and assertive to protect everyone, and tough through everyone’s problems with infinite sacrifice, then I’m not a good Black woman… You see how the cycle gets confusing! (The Delectable Negro and Black on Both Sides also speak on this, and how this is rooted in the creation of the Mammy!)

I spoke about it earlier, but that same inability to be defined as a human, defined as white, haunts many Black men in their goals to be seen as ‘equal’ to white men and receive equal treatment. By seeking to fit a standard of whiteness, they are never going to attain it (and often, that comes back home in not-so-good way)! E.g.: this is the original issue that Louis had in AMCs' IWTV- Louis never actually wanted to be a vampire, Louis wanted to be treated like an equivalent human- and that was unattainable to him not because he wasn’t a human being, but because he wasn’t a white one!

The Racist Counterproductivity of TERFs

Sigh. If you are of this belief, but here to better your writing, I feel like I should say this to you. I want you to listen to me. (TBH, I’m going to delete anything asking me for opinions on this because I don’t want to potentially entertain even a singular troll). Besides, my argument is pretty simple and resolute.

The gender binary is rooted in bioessentialism, and bioessentialism is rooted in white supremacy. You know what else benefits from white supremacy? The white patriarchy.

How are we gonna escape from the patriarchy and white supremacy… if the ideology you believe in… is rooted in white supremacy and patriarchy?

And it’s not just the TERFs- look within yourselves as well! How are we going to make the world safer for trans people, including white ones, if you aren’t willing to confront your own racist biases? If you are unwilling to release the shackles of gender essentialism and the benefits of whiteness, none of us are getting out of here. You are reinforcing the very walls you wish to dismantle!

To offer another side of the conversation, Black On Both Sides by C Riley Snorton has been an interesting read! Essentially, the conversation is on how Blackness and transness intersect, how being Black in and of itself can be and is a transitional, gender fluid experience. It, along with The Mismeasure of Man by Stephen Jay Gould and Medical Apartheid by Harriet A Washington, goes into the history of how the Black body was seen as a different species altogether, and how phrenology, biological essentialism, and examples of sexual dimorphism were treated as an example on how we are an inferior group. Yet, this lack of understanding of our bodies (despite the constant access to it) allowed for us to maneuver within such a system.

An example, of how Blackness has an effect on our perception of gender:

"Cobb suggests that this blackening may have been an anticipatory gesture; when James Norcom (Jacobs’s enslaver) published a description of her in the 1835 issue of the American Beacon, he presumed that she would be “seeking whiteness and dressing as a free woman, not accentuating her Blackness” and finding a “cross-dressing” and ungendered mode for escape. Although the description of sartorial arrangements seems to conform to passing’s logic of movement for protection or privilege, Jacobs’s use of charcoal to darken her complexion tropes—by inverse logic—on more commonly held beliefs (and fears) about racial passing.

As “passing” became a term to describe performing something one is not, it trafficked a way of thinking about identity not only in terms of real versus artificial but also, and perhaps always, as proximal and performative. Like a vertical line with arrows on either end, passing is figuratively represented by moving up or down hierarchized identificatory formations. This articulation of vertical identity also coordinates with forms of binary thinking, typified, for example, by the language of “the opposite” sex. …Brent/Jacobs’s blackened blackness gives expression to her condition as fungible within the logic of U.S. slavery, in which the system of colorism, as Nicole Fleetwood has argued, “produces a performing subject whose function is to enact difference . . . an act that is fundamentally about assigning value.”

As it relates to the scene of Jacobs’s brushing past Sands, her status as “it” also indicates how blackness-as-fungible engenders forms of nonrecognition, as Jacobs’s performance elucidates how blackness and going blacker become an embrace of the conditions that might allow one to pass one’s friends and lovers undetected. In this encounter, fungibility sets the stage for gendered maneuvers on a terrain constituted by modes of viewing blackness, in which Jacobs’s blackness and going blacker color her gender as well as her face."

The Black Trans/Nonbinary/Genderqueer Experience

Rather than try to summarize opinions on something I had not lived, I wanted to platform some Black trans, intersex, and genderqueer opinions for you all to consider! I asked three questions, and I’ve typed out the responses and placed them as their own post for the sake of space. I don’t care if it’s long- read them! You want to write these characters; you should hear the perspectives of the people you wish to write about!

The Black Intersex Experience

Nothing I could say that someone that is actually Black and intersex couldn’t say better!

Here is a page on Tumblr that compiles resources on the intersex community and its history that I found; while it’s not Black-specific, I have seen the page post topics related to.

The Black Aspec Experience

An interesting thing about identifying as asexual or aromantic while Black is that from all angles, people will simply not believe you because Blackness itself has been sexualized. I talked about this in my lessons on stereotypes, but one of the ways that the sexual assault and violation of Black bodies was dismissed, was to emphasize that not only were we incapable of being r*ped, but that we were naturally inclined to being hypersexual beings and that if we weren’t controlled, we would bring it onto ourselves. Black women were jezebels; Black men were mandigos, vicious savages that would assault pure white women if not chained like beasts.

Here is a page for Black people (!!!) with these identities to gather. Again, BLACK PEOPLE with these identities. Here's another!

The Bit You Actually Showed Up For

So! Given all that historical and social context: really, it’s just about application! You have to ask yourself certain things to catch when you’re about to dip into a bias or stereotype while you’re writing.

Black Queer Joy- A Conclusion

I know I’ve shared a lot of history here, and it’s not been the happiest stuff. THAT BEING SAID!

I must personally say- I am honored to be Black and bisexual. There’s nothing else I’d rather be. I am so happy to be who I am. It’s hard as hell living at the intersection, but the intersection is lit! There’s so much love, history, culture, creation, and so much power here; I’m standing on the shoulders of cultural GIANTS and my chest is full, my chin is high with pride. I love it here!

Being Black and queer itself is not a miserable experience! Your characters should feel joy, because we feel joy! There’s so much that we have to offer the world, it’s practically blossoming from us. I don’t want anyone to walk away from this going “let me go pity the next one I see and tell them how hard their life is”. We don’t need you to feel sorry, we need you to have solidarity! Either show up and do the work, or leave us alone. You can’t join the party at the intersection and then flee when it’s time to fight for it!

Listen to Black queer people in your spaces- dear god, it never fails how conversations of queerness and gender and feminism will leave Blackness completely out, and then be shocked when none of us want to show up. Like I said before- you will never dismantle the walls barring you from your own freedom until you address ours.

Support Black queer creatives, content, perspectives, and people- when you tag on that “support Black trans women” bit at the end of your posts, don’t just speak lightly- understand what that means, and stand on it! Because it’s the thought that counts, but the action that delivers!

[jellykyunnie]

˗ˏˋ Historical Au: Slave!Jinwoo x Noble!Reader ◛⑅˚ ༘ ♡ ˎˊ˗

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚𝕊𝕦𝕟𝕘 𝕁𝕚𝕟𝕨𝕠𝕠˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

・┆✦ Entry : 036 ✦ ┆・

‼️[ TW: Slavery, Violence, Yandere Jinwoo, Familial Abuse, strong language. Please don't read this fic if it is triggering or uncomfortable for you. I do not condone slavery nor do encourage such acts. This is simply a work of fiction ]

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅ Cai Bot Link ♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

╰┈➤ ❝ [ Devotion or Obsession? ] ¡! ❞

"A gift for you, my dear child" Your father mused as an 18 year old teenager, tattered and chained, was dragged to the floor and forced to kneel in-front of you Jinwoo looked up at you with expressionless gray eyes, his face was covered in dirt and his shirt was extremely filthy. "Hi." Jinwoo greeted you humbly.

"Father!" You shrieked, flicking the fabrics of your dress as you hurriedly knelt towards the slave and tried to support his limp figure.

He was hardly even concious with his bleary and sleepy eyes, his clothes are covered in grime and dirt as his face was dusted with blood and something else. He looked not much older nor younger than you, and yet all this man was made of was skin and bones.

"Why so upset, my dear?" Your father sneers, humming as he swirls a glass of wine in his his hand. "It's your birthday after all. Daddy thought that should be gifted, no?"

"But I didn't ask for a slave or anything at all!" You protest, only to be met by a domineering glare that instantly made you close your mouth.

"Be grateful, you goddamn pig" He bites, making you feel even more terrified than you already were. "If it weren't for the fact your fucking wench of a mother making a goddamn fuss before dying you wouldn't be here. The least you could do is accept whatever the fact I give you"

He calms down, continuing "That child was only a few silver coins. If you dont want him I could always give him to your sisters or work him to death."

"N-no!" You protest immediately, shivering at the thought of what your father might decide to do. "I-I'll keep him... I'll take care of him."

"There's a good girl," He chuckles, "Start with the imprinting."

You gulp, anxiously looking at Jinwoo who was tired beside you, he looked like he just wanted to to be done with everything.

"Your... Uhm..." His eyes would sweep towards you with an empty grey gaze. "Name?"

"Jinwoo." He says shortly.

"Alright, uhm, Jinwoo..." You hold your palm out. "It'll tickle, I have't done this before s-so—"

"It's fine." He cuts you off, stretching his scarred left hand towards yours and pressing it together.

You tremble at the touch, not of disgust— But instead you were nervous. If you screw this up, you might get another beating or worse,... Something might happen to Jinwoo.

So with the little mana you hold; you started pouring energy out as a soft gentle light comes as the brilliant and pretty things somehow turned into pitch black and purple shadows— Twisting and churning before attaching themselves to both of your ring fingers.

Jinwoo seemed unamused, but your father certainly was.

"Now, get out of my sight" Your father simply said after recovering from the spectacle. "Your sisters are about to arrive, you bring a sour expression to their wonderful faces, so leave"

You could only respond with a polite bow as you helped Jinwoo up to his feet and guided him out of the main house.

There wasn't even a carriage prepared for the both of you as you silently walked towards the far west inside a forest and then finally arriving at a crude but somehow decent looking manor.

Jinwoo watched and followed you as you guided him to a dusty bedroom and sat him down before fetching a small chest with ointments and bandages. Though his gaze was still empty, he was looking at you with curiosity, wondering why exactly you're doing this.

"I'm your slave," Jinwoo breaks the silence. "Aren't you supposed to leave this to your servants?"

"Hahah... Sorry." You apologize, making him quirk up an eyebrow. "Your master is pathetic, I have no servant in my name."

He doesn't question that situation, instead asking; "Then why do it yourself? I can patch myself up just fine."

"Maybe... Because I feel guilty?" You fidget, applying ointment on him after wiping his arm. "It's my... Birthday and yet because of it you're here. I'm sorry."

"Don't." He simply said, not meeting your eyes as he looks out to the distant skies. outside your broken window. "It's not your fault. And besides, here is better than just wherever."

The silence ensues, nothing much being said any further as you directed Jinwoo to an empty room. He was given a decent place to sleep in. It was odd, since this bedroom seemed more comfortable compared to yours that was even more shabby and dusty.

⋅ ˚ ₊ ‧ ଳ ‧ ₊ ˚ ⋅ ⋆ ౨ৎ ˚ ⟡ ˖ ࣪

It an odd situation, not once did you have ever treat Jinwoo as a slave, you were often on your own in your little garden at the backyard and farming vegetables for both of you to eat.

Jinwoo actively avoided you for quite a while, before deciding that since he lives with you and is technically leeching off of you— He might as well be useful.

And in those days where he helped you, the walls that Jinwoo had built around himself crumbled the more time passed by.

For a while, he was happy, you were happy.

You were both happy.

That was until you had to attend a gathering with your family that had abandoned you.

Of course, you had to dress in your shabby and outdated dress, to which everyone in the ballroom responds with mockery and spite. Jinwoo expected it, sure he's mad, but there's nothing he could do since he is nothing more but a damn slave who cant even defend his own master.

With heads hung low like cowards, the both of you decided to just stay in a corner and be as far away from any and all interactions. It went well for the first hour.

Admiring the brilliant lights and listening to wonderful music around you. Nobility is truly such a beautiful thing, golden plates, silver spoons, brilliant and gleaming jewels stitched into fine fabrics made by highly respectable and sought after tailors.

Jinwoo wanted to admire the scene with you, he truly did.

After all, he spent most of his days being dragged through the mud, his body being flogged over and over just for the fun of a drunk knight, or worse— Hard labour with only a piece of bread you can barely chew on due to how hard it is.

Compared to the grueling days he spent sleeping on the dirt, compared to the devastation he had as he cradled his dearly beloved little sister's corpse when she died of starvation— The sight of these luxurious tiles is mercy upon his pitiful soul.

...

Jinwoo's face drained of it's colours as he watches your elder sister yell at you for simply trying to greet her. A simple greet.

That was all it took for you to be on your knees frantically saying sorry with your voice as humble and as quiet as it can be.

He felt so hopeless, so frozen as he sees your pretty face scrunch in grief at your own actions that isnt even in the wrong in the first place.

So why must you kneel? Why must you humiliate yourself like this?

They stare at you with those sly eyes, as if finding your misery a source of entertainment. Sneers and chuckles would come with each insult being thrown your way.

Was it your fault you were born as the bastard child of the duke when it was your father who willingly went to brothels and slept with multiple women. It was only your mother who stepped up confidently to demand your father to take you in despite the fact that she is currently dying of birth complications. Your mother did all of that just so you could live a comfortable life.

And instead here you were, being punished over something you didn't do.

Isn't family supposed to love eachohter? Jinwoo loved his baby sister so much. So why is he watching another older sibling throw wine at their own blood just for breathing?

Jinwoo felt so... Devastated, his dear companion, his master. His own master— Is being ridiculed right in front of him.

The person he was sold to, the person who took care of him—

"Don't touch him, eonnie!" You scream, throwing yourself right in front of Jinwoo despite the fact you're already soaking wet from the wine splattered all over your pretty face and your already ruined dress. "Please, he's innocent. He's imprinted to me, but he shouldn't receive any punishment. We'll go, eonnie, we'll go. Please don't touch him."

You're protecting him.

That bastard woman would have continued her assault if it werent for her dear father stopping her and saying it's a waste of time dealing with a bunch of lowlifes.

Thus, the two of you were escorted— No, thrown out the main palace.

Jinwoo followed behind you towards the path of your shabby manor, and as the blowing wind caressed your skins,... You broke down.

"Sorry, sorry, Jinwoo." You sob as the man threw his arms around you. "I'm sorry, it was my fault, you shouldn't have seen that. I'm so sorry, Jinwoo. I really am. Please forgive me. Don't be mad at me.

"Why are you asking me those questions?" He asks, his soft voice barely even able to control his trembling voice. "You're my owner, shouldn't I be begging for forgiveness?"

"No, no," You sob even louder.

And Jinwoo couldn't do anything else but comfort you.

⋅ ˚ ₊ ‧ ଳ ‧ ₊ ˚ ⋅ ⋆ ౨ৎ ˚ ⟡ ˖ ࣪

Jinwoo didnt know how, but he managed to put you into sleep right after taking you home. He delivered some spare clothes to you for you to change in. He tucked you in under the shabby blankets and watched over you.

His gaze was stuck on you, contemplating deeply while guilt slowly clawed at his heart.

Tap, Tap, Tap.

"You'll get her killed." A voice suddenly says, and Jinwoo shot up, blocking his arm in front of you as you slept.

"Who—"

"Shut up"

The voice suddenly came from behind him, and when Jinwoo looked back— He could see a pair of purple eyes glaring at him. He can't quite see the face of the man, it was too pitch black and the moon isnt out tonight. He tried grabbing the vase on the sidetable but something had stopped him.

He can't quite tell, but it was as if the air itself is holding him back as those wicked and purple eyes glanced at him from the darkness right beside your sleeping form.

"You really think a damn vase can scare off an intruder?" The man scoffs. "You're pathetic."

"Who are you?" Jinwoo asks again, struggling to move as quiet murmurs surrounded him.

"Some guy" He answers.

"You must be one of those—"

"Ssh." The purple eyes gaze up at him again. "You'll wake the princess up with your voice."

Jinwoo shut his mouth, biting down on his lip as once again he felt so utterly hopeless. Not to mention the air around the stranger was absolutely wicked and somehow... Demonic? Otherwordly?

It was a feeling akin to staring at the abyss, the unkown that makes your skin crawl and itch.

That man is dangerous.

Dangerous But Not Hostile.

"That sister of hers," The man starts, his voice a little tense. "Will get her killed in a few years."

"Excuse me?"

"She'll die, and her blood will be on you, Jinwoo" He grits his teeth. "Just like your sister's who died from starvation, just like your mother who died from sickness, just like your father who died in your arms saving you from a bandit— Her blood will be on your hands just like theirs that is already on you."

"....."

"So quiet, now, huh? You're crying?" He sneers, the voice suddenly coming from behind him. "Crying wont do you any good, you fucking idiot."

"So what exactly do you want me to do?" Jinwoo yells, struggling as he tried to face the man. "I'm not strong, I'm built like a twig. I'm trying, okay? But I'm just a slave. This house is goddamn shabby, I've been trying to fix everything but it's lacking. I can barely even help in the farm, not to mention it's almost winter soon and if she wont die by that bitch's hands then she'll die because of this house! What the hell do you think I can do? I'm trying here and nothing is working!"

"...."

Of course he doesn't want to be in this situation either. Who does? He already lost his family, his blood, his precious kin— All gone and he couldnt do anything about. It was a hopeless situation. Of course, he tried getting a job in the capital since you let him roam as he pleases. He tried some odd jobs, several of them ranging from ordinary helper jobs to cleaning shoes to selling newspapers; nothing is working.

He lost his family because of his weakness, and because of that same weakness he'll loose you too.

"Hypothetically, you are given a guide to becoming extremely strong to protect her but in the process you loose your sanity along the way as well as your emotions" The voice says, his footsteps echoing in the quiet room as he walked around Jinwoo like a ghost. "How far are you willing to go?"

"Farther than the limit."

"Even if you lose your limbs along the way?"

"Yes."

"Even if you get mauled by beasts?"

"Yes."

"Even if you go mad by the power you'll soon hold?"

"Yes."

"Even if you must become a murderer?"

"Yes."

"I'll do it."

"I'll do it all for her sake."

"Good" The voice hums, satisfied.

Jinwoo starts feeling dizzy, his legs giving in as he felt himself collapse on something soft.

"Protect her." The stranger's tone becomes gentle. "Where I failed to do so, be better than me. Devote yourself to her. Protect the heart that is more precious than anything in this world. Even if you go through hell, you must protect her. You must love her. Give her all the adoration you can ever give. Because I couldn't protect my princess. So don't make the same mistake."

⋅ ˚ ₊ ‧ ଳ ‧ ₊ ˚ ⋅ ⋆ ౨ৎ ˚ ⟡ ˖ ࣪

Jinwoo had received the system from that night ever since. He had been busy from then on, often going out in the day and coming back in the evenings tired but somehow... A little different.

He'd go on long trips sometimes, which you honestly didn't mind so long as he promises to come home.

Soon enough, that same lanky, 18 year old boy— Is suddenly a head taller than you that you physically have to strain your neck just so you can meet with him eye-to-eye. Jinwoo had become from a lanky boy to a different person in just a blink of an eye in a matter of months.

Each long week he disappears; he comes back even more mature and lax in his demeanour. The next thing you knew, Jinwoo enrolled himself as a hunter.

You're proud of him, of course you are.

That's your Jinwoo.

Your precious, precious and sweet Jinwoo who always stuck by your side even if you are a noble who had no servant to her name and a manor fit to be deemed as a haunted home.

The wealth would soon come pouring in with each succesful hunt Jinwoo goes through. And the more powerful his bounties were, the more famous he became. The money he accumulated directly went into rebuilding the shabby manor into an opulent home worthy of a duke's daughter. Your filthy, ragged dresses were replaced by finely crafted fabrics. Your neck and ears would be adorned in the meek but captivating jewelry.

Of course, he still had that title of slave over his head but weirdly enough... Jinwoo seemed to carry it as a badge of honor.

Why?

Because he was yours.

What he is, is yours.

Naturally, jealous eyes come your way as the your dear hunter is now the most sought after. Who wouldn't want him anyway? Tall, handsome, a hunter— He is the embodiment of what is lusted for with a man.

And yet he never once bat an eye to those arrogant nobles who offered him the finest of fine wealth could ever give.

Love letters from all over the kingdom pine for your precious Jinwoo.

And yet he still chose you.

Those steely grey eyes of him would solely be for you and you only.

He looked a you like you are his precious goddess.

You Jinwoo is so... So Innocent and lovely.

Even as he held your father's severed head on his hand.

Even as a pool of blood puddled beneath his feet. Even as his grey orbs have turned purple. Even as the opulent pearl tiles reflected his maddened figure.

Your Jinwoo is just so... So lovely.

His heart, oh, his heart belonged to you. His innocent, pretty little master who looks up at him with a bewildered but awestruck gaze— He knew you weren't mad.

"I did it all for you, princess" Jinwoo would coo, cupping your face and swiping his thumb affectionately over cheek. "They were trying to make you cry again. We can't have that"

He whispers, leaning down to kiss your forehead. "After all, I am yours. We're already binded by a contract. Even if it didn't exist I'd still choose the same choice I have made now."

He holds up his hand, pressing his palm against yours as the tattooes rings on your ring fingers glowed purple.

"See? Even our mark is like wedding rings" He intertwines your fingers together before bringing it up to his lips and kissing the mark on you. "It's okay. It's okay. This is for your own good."

"This is all for your sake, my precious god."

"This bloodbath is an offering for you."

꒰ A/N: idk what I made nor do I wanna know. The plot is all over the place wheeze. I'm quaking at writer's block. I should not write for Jinwoo until I get the energy back. I'm so mindblocked with him maybe it's because I cant draw fanart of him atm. ahhhhhhhhhh ꒱

ʚ(੭´͈ ᐜ `͈)੭ .｡✧･ﾟ: ~♡ —! stories written by kyunnie; translations, reposts, plagiarism are strictly forbidden.

[carveredlunds]

"He looked like a boy, masquerading as a gentleman": A meta on Amadeo, Venice, The Picture of Dorian Gray, and standing on the cusp of adulthood

TW: Discussions of SA, underage SA, human trafficking, slavery, and NSFW content

From a historical perspective, Armand's life as a teenage enslaved boy in Venice in the early 16th century gives us a chance to discuss the culture of male-male attraction in Venice during this period, specifically the contemporary understanding that older men could be attracted to young boys. This historical grounding can, in turn, offer insight into why Armand is trapped on the cusp of adulthood, how this manifests itself in his physicality, and how his story can be cautiously and sensitively used as a mirror for the real experiences of enslaved people in Venice during this period. I will be referring to him by his birth name (Arun), the name Marius gave him (Amadeo), and the name the Children of Darkness coven gave him (Armand), where appropriate.

In 1496 in Venice, illegal sexual relations between young boys and older men were so prevalent that 'special patrols [went] searching for boys who were patientes (sc. passive partners), monitoring schools for fencing, dance and song, where youths might be found in the evenings, and once again looking for companions of unequal age.'[1] This was roughly 27 years before Arun was purchased from a brothel by the vampire Marius de Romanus. Due to Armand's fractured memories of this period, it isn't clear when he was forcibly trafficked to Italy, but it is likely that he was bought by Marius in around 1523 at the age of 15 (assuming he was born in 1508, given that he says he's 514 in 2022).

As a physically attractive enslaved boy, Amadeo would have been understood as an object of desire ("object" in a literal sense, with no personhood of his own) to the older men around him. In his recent study Forbidden Desire in Early Modern Europe: Male–Male Sexual Relations, 1400–1750, historian Noel Malcolm discusses the contemporary evidence for the attraction of men towards adolescent boys. Malcolm explains that older men desiring teenage boys was a common and accepted part of Venetian culture, provided one did not act on those desires, and that attractive young men were often described similarly to women in surviving sources and contemporary literature.[2]

The important thing to note here is that teenagers were supposed to be desired before they started to show signs of maturity, when they could almost be considered sexless. As Malcolm writes, when 'a young man's looks became properly masculine (with facial hair, developed musculature, etc.), that is, fully differentiated from a feminine appearance, was precisely the time when he ceased to be seen as desirable by the great majority of older men.'[3] Due to poor nutrition, this might have occurred later for teenagers in the 16th century than it does today, but it was usually between the ages of 17 and 23.[4] Given that Amadeo was an enslaved child, and therefore probably not well-fed, he was likely late to develop. Putting aside the fact that in the books Armand is 17 when he's turned, Queen of the Damned offers some evidence for this:

'Did Daniel know that Armand had been a boy when all this had begun for him? Seventeen years old, and in those times that was young, very young. Seventeen-year-old boys in the twentieth century were virtual monsters; they had beards, hair on their chests, and yet they were children. Not then. Yet children worked as if they were men.'[5]

In light of this, it is worth mentioning that Armand has the slightest hint of facial hair. You can see this clearly in close-up shots, for instance these ones in my gifset. Here's one clear example:

With his long hair, his high cheekbones, and his thin frame, Amadeo would have fit perfectly into the feminine, feminised, youthful archetype that Malcolm describes. It would have been socially acceptable for older men to be attracted to him in Venice in the 16th century. According to Malcolm, 'When early modern writers described good-­looking boys, the terms they used were drawn from a standard repertoire that existed primarily to describe female beauty: coral lips, pearly teeth, ivory skin, and so on.'[6]

Obviously, the last point doesn't apply to Amadeo. Instead, he would have been desired because he was exoticized by the Italian network of artists that Marius "donated" him to (that is to say, his Otherness would have been sexualised, as a young boy possibly from Bengal as @depressedraisin suggested here). This exoticization is apparent in how Amadeo is portrayed in The Adoration of the Shepherds — kneeling, enraptured, with a look of subservient wonder on his face. (For an incredible meta which delves more deeply into this aspect of Armand's history, I recommend reading "Armand, colonialism, and the weaponisation of anti-Blackness" by @shesnake.)

If we assume (besides his obviously lightened skin), that The Adoration is a fairly accurate portrayal of Amadeo at 20 years old, then the main difference between him at 20 and him at 27 is his slight facial hair. As discussed previously, the appearance of facial hair was a marker for young boys growing out of their desirability and into adulthood. Turned at 27, Armand is now stuck in this liminal space between boyhood and adulthood, and this is visibly apparent in his facial hair. His youth is mentioned in the show on a few occasions. When Louis first sees Armand in 2.01, he says that he 'looked like a boy, masquerading as a gentleman'. Madeline calls him 'young man' in a patronising tone in 2.06.

Interestingly, Armand's youth is mentioned more often than his race, though in the 18th-century flashback in 2.03, Nicolas asks Lestat, 'do you know this gypsy?' This is the only microaggression we've seen Armand face so far, but it offers a tiny glimpse into the kinds of comments that Armand will have faced for his entire life, both as a human and as a vampire. Obviously, Armand is not Romani, so the racial slur of "gypsy" does not apply to him (not that it applies in any context, but I mean it's literally inaccurate). However, this erasure of origins is common in contemporary historical references to people of colour. As historian Imtiaz Habib writes in Black Lives in the English Archives, 1500-1677: Imprints of the Invisible, Black people were often referenced in early modern sources using 'cryptic citations', referred to interchangeably as '"blackamore", "moor", "barberee", "barbaryen", "Ethiopian", and "Indian".'[7] Regardless of their country of origin, they were lumped together as one people.

In this way, Armand's lost origins could be seen as a representation for the surviving fragmentary evidence for people of colour from across the globe in English archival sources. He himself describes his memories in 2.04 as "fragments". This may be read as a metaphor for the sparse and fragmentary surviving archival evidence for enslaved people's experiences in the early 16th century, especially enslaved children. Where the evidence does survive, it is limited, and enslaved people's stories are usually recounted through the lenses of their white owners or observers, with their own voices lost to history.

There is another aspect of Armand's life which may be mirrored with the life of a real specific enslaved person. In Contested Subjecthood: Runaway Slaves in Early Modern Venice, historian E. Natalie Rothman recounts the story of Omar, an enslaved boy from Zara, living in 17th century Venice, who was given the name Pierantonio by his enslaver.[8] He had a long history of service since childhood, and had been baptised in 1648 when he was 10 years old, and, at the age of 32, was seeking permission to be married. Rothman writes that Omar's story:

'suggests ways in which enslavement as a child could actually facilitate effective forms of social, as well as spatial mobility, while curtailing others. His long years of service as a baptized slave were eventually rewarded by formal manumission [release from slavery], the acquisition of a trade, and insertion into a network of patronage that secured his ability to forge new kinship ties in Venice.'[9]

Likewise, it was Amadeo's long and loyal service to Marius, since childhood, which ultimately allowed him to become a vampire ('facilitate effective forms of social, as well as spatial mobility'). If Amadeo had not been Marius' property for as long as he was, if he had not had "skill", as he puts it, then Marius would not have shared the Dark Gift with him. It might be a slightly clumsy comparison, but vampirism could be seen as what Rothman describes — the reward of a trade and new kinship ties. However, though he had been rewarded, Amadeo was not yet freed from his service to Marius. He was now frozen in that place between boyhood and adulthood, having not quite lost what made him special to Marius, but not being the same boy he was.

Finally, this liminal state is manifested not only in his slight facial hair, his long hair, and his youthful features, but it is also realised in The Adoration. I made a gifset overlaying a quote from The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde with scenes of Armand looking at his portrait, which is relevant in this discussion. Armand is almost Dorian Gray in reverse. He might have lived for five centuries, but he a part of his soul is still trapped in that portrait, in a position of unwilling subservience. The fate Dorian Gray laments has happened to Armand. He has grown older, and taken on the countless sins of his vampiric life, but his picture has remained the same — frozen in servitude, representing that young boy who was adored for his beauty.

Bibliography

1. Noel Malcolm, Forbidden Desire in Early Modern Europe: Male–Male Sexual Relations, 1400–1750 (University of Oxford, 2024) p. 44. 2. Ibid., pp. 179-81. 3. Ibid., p. 180. 4. Ibid., pp. 46-7. 5. Anne Rice, Queen of the Damned (Warner Books, 1996) p. 102. 6. Malcolm, Forbidden Desire, p. 179. 7. Imtiaz Habib, Black Lives in the English Archives, 1500-1677: Imprints of the Invisible (Taylor & Francis Group, 2007) p. 2. 8. E. Natalie Rothman, Contested Subjecthood: Runaway Slaves in Early Modern Venice, Quaderni storici, NUOVA SERIE, Vol. 47, No. 140 (2), Riscatto, scambio, fuga (AGOSTO 2012), pp. 425-6. 9. Ibid., pp. 426-7.

[thewhumpcaretaker]

⚜ 𝕋𝕙𝕠𝕤𝕖 𝕎𝕙𝕠 ℍ𝕒𝕧𝕖 𝕊𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕠 𝕃𝕚𝕧𝕖 𝔽𝕠𝕣 - ℂ𝕙. 𝕏𝕍: 𝔻𝕣𝕠𝕡𝕡𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕃𝕖𝕒𝕤𝕙𝕖𝕤 ⚜

*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ ✧.*★ Thank you to @kavalyera for the beta read!

Summary: Vincent makes his case to retain control of the Myrmidons.

TW: minor character death, discussion of slavery

The sun had not yet found the time to bleach away the final traces of the crimson pool that had darkened the Castel Sant’Angelo’s bridge four days ago. Not that there was any red clinging to the cobblestones. It was, rather, a little shinier, a little cleaner, where Santino D’Antonio’s body had lain, in contrast to the surrounding stones. No other evidence remained under the golden glow of mid-morning, and in the distance, commuter traffic played an indifferent hum, hardly knowing how the underworld held its breath.

The Marquis toed at that polished spot before taking his seat at the black marble conference table that had been hauled out to the midway point of the bridge. Chidi took up a stand behind him, feet planted and hands clasped, his steady presence backing up his Marquis in every way possible. He could almost feel Vincent buzzing with nerves, longing to expel them in some biting way. “You know, all the cleansers my people use at cultural sites are approved for historical preservation,” said Vincent to Sr. D’Antonio conversationally. They’d both been careful to arrive a few minutes early. “Such as those which lift the grime from the surface of oil paintings. Nothing harsh enough to bite into the stone. Conservation is of the utmost importance in such cases, don’t you think?”

“That ‘grime’ was my son.”

“How true. That absolute smear of grime was your son.” Chidi had to stifle a laugh.

But The Harbinger tapped his watch meaningfully, as distant bells began to chime. “Gentlemen. The clock tolls nine. The time has come to present the case. But first, Sr. D’Antonio, please remind all present of the terms by which the Marquis must abide, should the ruling be cast in your favor.”

With his eyes narrowed in open contempt: “The Marquis must surrender forty percent of the Myrmidon army to the High Table at large.”

“Very well. And the Marquis? If you are acquitted?”

He shrugged. “Sr. D’Antonio has slandered myself and my family. He will die.”

From their seat beside The Harbinger, The Adjudicator nodded evenly. “I accept these terms on behalf of the High Table.”

“Wait – “

“Do you withdraw your claims, Sr. D’Antonio?” they asked.

Reluctantly, he settled back into the seat. “…No.”

“Very well,” said The Harbinger. “Sr. D’Antonio, please present your case.”

Giovanni had selected legal representation in the form of some droning bureaucrat Chidi had never seen before, who laid out the same points Giovanni had stated a few days ago. He used more words and examples but not, to Chidi’s mind, any more persuasive force. But then, Chidi was only halfway listening. Without turning his head, he’d focused his attention on the long parade of armored cars filing into the Castel’s parking lot, and grey-suited figures climbing out of each one, settling into formation at the end of the bridge.

The plaintiffs certainly did turn their heads. Their own cars were blocked in, and the entire entrance surrounded. Vincent’s people had closed off the street for several blocks in advance of the operation. By the time the second squad took up position, Giovanni’s representative faltered mid-sentence and Giovanni himself demanded, “What is the meaning of this?”

“They’re my witnesses,” said Vincent. “Please, do go on.” He gave the prosecutor the kind of encouraging smile typically offered to precocious elementary students in the midst of rehearsing for a school play. The man stuttered indignantly for a moment, but there was little he could do except oblige.

Chidi looked down at his charge. Vincent sat with studied grace, shoulders squared and legs crossed, face impassible, silver strands glittering through the pale blue of his blazer like shooting stars at noon in a cloudless sky. Impossibly beautiful. He’d had so little time to share happiness with this perfect man, and now it was all threatened…his nerves strained so taut with sympathy for Vincent that time itself seemed to distort. Had thirty minutes really not passed yet? Or were ten minutes passing each time he blinked? Either way, the moment approached. The prosecution would end, and Vincent would make his stand.

And then he was standing up, the moment had come, and Chidi felt like his own knees might buckle. Only focusing on Vincent’s body, the every rise and fall of his chest, kept Chidi upright. He’s here in front of me. We’re okay, nothing bad has happened yet. We can win this. And either way…we’re together. Vincent shot him an almost imperceptible glance and both men felt the same surge of confidence. For once, Vincent didn’t have to face his battles alone. If you only knew what it means to me to be here for you in a moment like this, sir…

“Well.” Vincent broke into a slow clap. “That was very entertaining. But I notice that we haven’t heard from a single Myrmidon. It’s their lives in question, no? And the last thing I would want is for any Myrmidon to feel like a slave. Because, as we’ve discussed, Sr. D’Antonio, we all know what that feels like. So, let’s have the conversation.” He turned to the crowd, from which a young, low-ranking Myrmidon was running up with a microphone. “Thank you,” said Vincent, glowing with magnanimity, his honeyed voice now flowing across the crowd even to the far end of the parking lot.

“My friends. My siblings. My children.” Vincent paced from one railing to the other, slow and pondering, forcing the plaintiffs’ necks to crane after him. “Every one of you has someone you care for deeply. My father called them ‘leashes.’ And they are. To love is to be bound. But it is a grave misunderstanding to think that this binding comes from any external threat. In my short time in leadership, I have learned that every person’s desires carry the leash. No one else can do so. You want what’s best for the people you love. And you want what’s best for yourselves. That’s what rules you, not me. So I happen to offer myself as a path to a better life. That’s all. And I want to clarify, above all, that if you don’t take it, fine. I won’t kill you and I won’t kill anybody you love. I don’t need to. Regret will kill you. The world will kill you. Maybe even your wrongs against me will end up killing you. You spill a High Table secret, you piss off the people who care for me with your blatant disrespect, you cross me myself, and I can’t be held responsible for what happens to you. I don’t want things to be that way.”

Hundreds of eyes followed him, some lighting with hope, some unreadable, some internally seething. But none moved. How surreal, Chidi thought. If they all mutinied at once, they could kill Vincent and Chidi both. But they couldn’t bring themselves to do it.

“Maybe you haven’t thought about this choice. You could try to find a ‘normal life,’ you who have already been cast out once before…”

“Or you could stay. I protect you from your own kings and presidents. I treat you like my own family, because you are loyal to me. Do you want to be a citizen of the United States, of Russia, of China, of Afghanistan, of Chile, of all the so-called governments who try to govern us out of existence and fail, who promise so little, just a peaceful life, and don’t even deliver on that, no matter how loyal you are? Do you want to live under the High Table at large, which demands fealty regardless, from every living person, no matter whether you are aware of it or not? Or do you want to live under the Gramont branch, where your needs will be looked after and all that is expected of you in return is the fulfillment of your own greatness? Yes, sometimes, that will include acting as a soldier, as every citizen is asked to do. But I, personally, will protect you against petty disputes because no one kills our own, even in revenge. I will see that you get justice for the grievances against you, because our boot is on their throat and not the other way around. I will always put a roof over your head, and most likely, it will be richer than anything the world’s most promising financiers could earn for themselves in a whole lifetime. I will clothe you and feed you with exactly as much decadence as befits any servant of mine. I will give to you what you need to be the peak performers in the entire world. I will take care of you when you are sick – no fees, no questions asked, just care. I will honor you in your old age and memorialize you when you die. And yes, most importantly, I will do the same for the person you love most. Because love is the true motivator. We are a family. We are a sick fucking family who will kill and die and live for each other, and no one will ever understand us, and no one will ever stand against us.”

“Now, my children: you are going to walk past me one by one. And either you will kiss the ring of your parrain [godfather], with The Adjudicator and Harbinger as witnesses, thereby acknowledging that you understand yourself to be a free citizen, swearing to serve me for the benefits I offer…Or you will pass me by, and we’ll be nothing to each other. You’re free! You’ve always been free. Do what you want to do.”

Chidi was the first, of course. Leaving his mark before anyone else could touch that malleable fleck of gold. Taking Vincent’s hand to his lips and bowing low, looking up at his chosen master through the bars of his own lashes, and reading there the gratitude, the wonder, the benevolence, which ignited in response. The love answering to love.

He lingered, to be sure that no onlooker could mistake such devotion for mere discharge of duty. And then he took his place on the other side of the bridge and turned back, facing down the whole of the Myrmidon army, daring any of them to reject the man for whom he had just shown such affection. They’d have to stand right next to him afterwards. Come challenge the Marquis’ most loyal guard dog. I’ll kill you with my bare hands. Maybe not today, not in front of the judges, but one day, and you know it. Love itself has granted me the power.

So they filed on, through the crystalline autumn sunshine, by the dozens and then the hundreds. The day wore on. And they kissed Vincent, and kissed him, and kissed him. A whole army showered him with kisses while he smiled on them. Chidi made them do it, without saying a word.

It was afternoon by the time the whole affair came to a close. Vincent was sweaty and his hair spray had begun to wilt under the heat, but he was beaming. Not one person had passed him by. He sank back into his chair, sighing. “I rest my case.” Only Chidi could see how earnestly he was smiling, or make out the note of restrained buoyancy he held down at the bottom of his voice. Oh Vincent…have we made you emotional?

Again, their eyes caught across the crowd. Both were sparkling.

The Adjudicator, who had long ago shed their heavy black coat and gloves, rose with both draped neatly over their arm. “Impressive. I’ll begin by stating that anyone who can command such loyalty is an asset to the High Table. This has been instructive in understanding why the Myrmidons function so formidably. More to the point, it has been instructive on the topic of their employment and its true nature. I can now confidently offer a ruling. The Marquis Vincent Bisset de Gramont is acquitted.”

For the second time, Giovanni interrupted in protest. “You can’t be serious! This is entirely outside the spirit of the law. Surely you of all people understand that these traditions were set forth to preserve the integrity of the High Table as a whole, and all its constituents.”

From the end of the bridge, Chidi watched Vincent’s figure turn on him coldly. “I would remind you of what you told me just three days ago: that when business was good for my family, it was always good for yours, and good for the Table. The Gramont seat is by far the highest earning. I would even go so far as to say we’ve personally bankrolled your operation in the Netherlands. Nobody, Sr. D’Antonio, wants the Myrmidons eradicated. Rather, it is you who put a personal vendetta above the good of the Table. And no one, I’m sure I don’t need to remind you, is above the Table.”

“But this is a farce! These people have no choice, they – “

The Adjudicator quickly put a stop to the squabbling. “Silence. The spirit of the law is not in question. The letter is. If the letter doesn’t match the spirit, that is to be brought to the attention of the Elder through the proper channels (though of course, the Marquis speaks quite rightly in suggesting that the Elder has little reason to wish for the Myrmidons’ dispersal). For the time being, the letter of the law is fully intact. The Myrmidons have every right to leave without facing any immediate deaths as retaliation, either their own or their loved ones’, so I consider this matter settled. Let the decision be carried out.”

He fell into confusion then, as fundamentally confused men do when their luck has run out, shouting desperate things that all ran together. But the Myrmidons had already closed around him – the Marquis’ personal detail specifically, with Chidi among them, in a tight circle of grey suits and one blue. A dozen guns fired at once into the chest of the man who had tried to interpose between Vincent and those who ought to adore him. Tomorrow, the stones of the Castel Sant’Angelo bridge would be even more thoroughly polished.

They walked away with shoulders nearly touching and not caring that the whole army might see how close they stood. Who could call open affection anything but a strength after it granted Vincent such a victory? Vincent wiped some thousand kisses off his ring with a handkerchief and whispered, “Quand nous serons seuls, toi et toi seul l'embrasserez à nouveau. Compris? [When we’re alone, you and you only will kiss it again. Understood?]”

“Oui, Maître. [Yes, Master.]”

◃ Back ⚜ Next ▹

Image Sources: One | Two...I've had this saved for so long that I truly can't find its source anymore, I'm sorry. But I think it was from Pinterest.

[hussyknee]

From the blog of K. J. Charles dated 19th April 2024, copy-pasted for Tumblr history nerds and historical fiction writers.

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Eponymosity!

A quickie blog post today, inspired by Benjamin Dreyer’s entertaining rant on the distinction between eponymous and titular (it’s in footnote 1 for a clearer explanation than I am inclined/able to provide), and also by the fact that one of these sneaky little bastards nearly got me in a recent book.

So. An eponym is simply a word taken from a person’s name. Obamacare is an eponym, so is Reaganomics. If you hoover your carpets, the verb comes from the eponymous brand of vacuum cleaner. (We do not use the capital letter, no matter what the Hoover corporation may think: that ship has sailed, as demonstrated by the fact that I hoover with a Dyson.)

If you write historical novels, eponyms are one of those damn things. They tend to be extremely and usefully specific in meaning, but they are also extremely specific in dates, meaning you can’t rely on the old “well it was probably around for decades before it made it into the dictionary” line.

Here for your advisory is an incomplete list of eponyms that may trip you up, depending on period.

Boycott: The name comes from 1880 (Ireland, Charles Boycott, a shitty land agent who was socially and economically ostracised). The practice is older: there was a widespread boycott in the UK of slavery-produced sugar starting in 1791, during which sales plummeted by something like 40%. It is totally historically plausible to have a consumer or personal boycott in your Georgian or Regency novel, but you can’t call it a boycott for several decades more.

Chauvinist: Named for a French vaudeville character. Meaning ‘blinkered nationalist’ it dates from 1840; you can’t use it for a male pig until 1960.

Fedora: The hat beloved of men who spend too long on the internet getting angry about Star Wars sequels actually used to be a symbol of female liberation and cross dressing. Comes from the 1887 play Fédora starring Sarah Bernhardt.

Fuchsia: You will be able to spell this if you remember it’s an eponym for Mr Fuchs. The flowers are so named in the UK in the 1750s, the colour not till the 1920s. Do not put your Regency heroine in fuchsia, is what I mean.

Maverick: Supposedly from a US cattle owner, Samuel Maverick, who let his calves run wild. 1880s US at the very earliest, more probably 1930s. Yes, that is irritating.

Mesmeric: He may have compelling eyes but they ain’t mesmeric before the 1860s. The hypnotist Mesmer flourished in the late 1700s, giving us mesmerism (hypnosis); mesmerise wasn’t a verb till the end of the Regency, and even then it still meant ‘to put into a hypnotic trance’.

Sadistic: Marquis de Sade, as you already know, but NB that sadist/sadistic aren’t in general use till the 1890s or so when sexology got going, along with masochism (also an eponym).

Sandwich: 1762 since you ask.

Silhouette: The outline picture is named for French finance minister Etienne de Silhouette. Used in France from 1760. However, despite there being a craze for silhouettes in England, the actual word didn’t come here till the mid 1820s, which is sodding annoying if your novel about a silhouette cutter happens to be set in 1819 I’M JUST SAYING.

Sweet Fanny Adams: This UK usage originally referring to something no good, now often used as an alternative to ‘sweet FA/fuck all’, came in from 1869 and cannot be used before 1867. You really don’t want to know where it comes from but here if you must (be warned, it’s genuinely grim). (My note: tw for CSA and child murder.)

Thug: Originally from India. Used to describe the Thuggee (as Brits then called it) sect from 1810. Didn’t become generalised to all violent lowlifes till 1839. You can’t be assaulted by thugs in a Regency unless they are actually Thugs.

Trilby: Another hat your Regency gentleman can’t wear. Comes from George du Maurier’s mega hit Trilby published 1894, which also gave us svengali (the name of the baddie in the book).

Feel free to add to this in the comments, there’s always something!

Death in the Spires, my Oxford-set historical murder mystery, is out now. The silhouette book, The Duke at Hazard, publishes in July.

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End c+p.

KJ Charles is one of my absolute favourite writers in the world and the contemporary star in the crown of the MM historical romance genre. Her blog is also worthy of following because she reads incredibly widely and diversely and posts book recommendations as well as good advice about writing.

Re: Dreyer's rant, I am absolutely a prescriptivist, and if you use the word "nonplussed" in that unholy way I'm blocking you. We colonized folk of the former Raj didn't learn the intricacies of this cussed language for you to change meanings on a dime because you couldn't be bothered to crack open a dictionary.

[ashubii]

The Briar Legacy - Decades Challenge Intro

Since I've started playing & will be working on posts (slowly, I'm slow, I'm old), I thought it might be good to make a sort of intro post about this legacy & challenge before I start posting.

On my previous blog i began an alternative Decades challenge that started in 1850. Then I had game issues and the save file became corrupt. I had to delete a lot of CC and ultimately decided I would restart, but instead begin in 1890, using much less CC this time. Originally my founders were Rosie and Robin Briar. I've decided instead my official founder will be their son, Gavin. Now, the Briars already have a nice little homestead set up (courtesy of my dear friend Haids), but I do want this to be a proper challenge. So Gavin will be moving out to start a life of his own and I will be following the rules as closely as possible (these rules, to be exact; the same rules I followed for In The Rose Garden).

I will be cross-posting on Wordpress, though WP will be slower and the posts lengthier. If you want to read my first Decades challenge story, here it is! For the Briar Legacy, I'll be using a WP Blog I had made for the first attempt. It has not been updated yet for this new beginning, but you're welcome to follow it if you'd like! https://briarsintime.wordpress.com/

Now, some disclaimers, below a cut for your viewing convenience:

Consider this legacy ‘historical fantasy’ more than anything. It’s the Sims, and while the creation of historical CC has grown exponentially since my first challenge, it’s still difficult to create perfect historical accuracy.

Similarly, while I will do my research and try to incorporate aspects of real history into this, I am mostly playing the challenge for the fun of it and am not going to focus too heavily on realism.

This will be mostly gameplay, but there will be some storytelling woven in and a few posed/scripted scenes. I'm not going to do as much of this as I did in Rose Garden, it's a lot of work. But there will be some.

American history can be pretty grim, especially when it comes to the treatment of others, but there are some things I am not comfortable writing about and will not include in my game. Primarily: racism, homophobia, sexual abuse, slavery, the treatment of Native Americans, etc. Anything dark will be given a warning.

In the Rose Garden featured screenshots and some content that could sometimes be NSFW. Since I am also posting here on Tumblr, I have to abide by Tumblr content rules in my screens and posts. There may be some hints of nudity, but I will try to keep it scarce and/or well-censored. On Wordpress, I’ll put a warning at the start of any post with NSFW images or themes. Here on Tumblr I will use the common hashtag #simspice (also for any sim deaths there will be the #tw: sim death tag, or #tw: sim pet death)

[meerawrites]

I don’t engage drama, or meaningless shouting, or unproductive discourse in any form. However, I would like to thank @methotrex8 for stepping up as a white ally, and not letting the troll have any remaining logic or semblance of moral high ground to stand upon.

If we’re talking “fake history,” the concept of whiteness is fake. It was invented sometime between the 15th, 17th, or early 18th century during the “age of exploration” to justify chattel slavery of black peoples, and gender essentialism towards everyone. India, the subcontinent, has had some cultural consistencies since well before the birth of Christ. 🤷‍♀️

We made it to the moon for cheaper than NASA or Russia, or any colonial power ever has! (very positive)

Take that Great Britain and screw you all colonizers and imperialism (extremely derogatory).

[oplishin]

a (long) note on hamilton's messy politics:

tw: discussions of antiblackness and slavery

i feel like the Point of hamilton's raceblind casting is that it wants to argue that though the founding fathers' legacies are messy and racist, there exists a version of America that embraces its ideals and extends them to the people of color it has always discriminated against. there is no united states history without black and brown people. hamilton's casting attempts to highlight that through casting these significant white historical figures as people of color, and through presenting the story of america through a historically black artform. it's earnest and idealistic and naive in a way that no longer really translates in today's politics.

there exists, however, a fundamental tension between what the musical is trying to communicate and what its characters actually are- racist white slaveowners. it's an unavoidable cognitive dissonance. the musical sees this tension and kind of pokes at it- hamilton criticizes jefferson at numerous points for his support of slavery; "immigrants, we get the job done" has gained a retroactive subtext since 2016.

ultimately, though, the musical kind of just. doesn't know what to do with the tension its created. if you remove any mention of slavery from act 2, nothing substantive changes (i've only decided it's important to act 1 because of laurens). its inclusion feels superficial- it's a Thing about jefferson for hamilton to poke at, an incredibly distasteful easter egg about sally hemings. the musical doesn't challenge washington's presentation as an legendary war hero (the throwaway line "young man, i'm from virginia, so watch your mouth" is doing a LOT of heavy lifting). real guy alexander hamilton's relationship with slavery is... more complicated than the musical presents, and i find the fact that the musical ignores the fact that its heroes' racism because they're the Good Guys really lame.

this is all not to mention the musical's complete lack of discussion of the genocide of indigenous people that made this ~earnest, idealistic~ country possible. the musical doesn't want to engage with actual historical treatment of black and brown people on any impactful level, and that kneecaps the execution of its message.

this tension that exists between its casting/presentation and the actual history it discusses is fundamental to the identity of Hamilton. it chooses not to reckon with the fact that hamilton married into a slaveowning family because well, we need to find him sympathetic in order for the entire Plot to work. the musical's incredible choreography, music, writing, character work, performances all rest on this rotted foundation

[new-tella-us]

Lore questioning

Because I am curious. Also TW for slavery because Damien.

Oh my god, an early morning post instead of an ungodly late night one? Shocking.

Okay so, I have a question about the lore of Seduce Me. What was the Demon Lord's plan with Damien after one of the boys (presumably James) took the throne?

Diana said that Damien was "Doomed to be a lowly slave as soon as the eldest took the throne" but.... wouldn't James just undo that??? James would be the motherfucking k i n g, even if he couldn't undo slavery in general (since we see how that goes) he can just undo Damien's servitude? And even if he couldn't because of like idk "upsetting the balance" or something, couldn't he just make Damien's stay far more pleasant? Like:

"Why yes, he can read, my slaves must be educated. You are not allowed to mistreat my slaves for they are MY property, not yours."

Was he hoping that the sons that literally convinced him not to kill Damien would suddenly lose interest in helping him? The only thing that I think would make sense is if Damien was doomed to be a slave of a different kingdom. Like there was a trade that happened and it goes in effect mere days before the heir is to be crowned king.

Also, if Damien isn't a slave at that point, what is he? He doesn't serve the Demon Lord so he's not a servant, he's given free reign to roam (and there's no hint in the canon that he's bound to the castle) so he's not a prisoner, he's not an heir or a noble or a concubine for obvious reasons. Is he just some nebulous role? Or is he like one of the roles I just mentioned but different? Like if there were historical records, would they call him a servant or slave despite that not being 100% accurate.

I know in my version, he would be classified as a prisoner as he's bound to the walls of the castle but what would he be in canon?

[hamiltonconfessions-but-better]

TW: slavery

Hello. I am the one who made the “disconnect between the amrev historical Hamilton/musical Hamilton” confession. I have been seeming to be getting a lot of backlash for it though.

In response to what many people who are saying that because we like it, we are racist. That is fully untrue. We understand what happened, we understand the practice of slavery and how it happened. We understand and acknowledge those who were enslaved. And we understand the Thomas Jefferson and Sally Hemmings 🍇ing. We are not denying it happened, and we do not support what they did in any way. Though, like any other early American historians, we are interested in the people, events, and overall history of the American Revolution. We are interested in the founding of our nation.

I 100% believe there should be more black representation within the discussions and art within the amrev fandom, though we are mostly made up of the historical Hamilton fandom. Hamilton himself was mostly an abolitionist. (And before you come at me again, I understand Hamilton may have owned some enslaved people for the approval of Philip Schuyler.)

But in other words, historical Hamilton fans or amrev fans are not racist, and we do not support the practice of slavery.

confessions referenced: 1

[meerawrites]

Re: race issues in Rice’s books.

I usually avoid fandom spats at all costs cause I have a life, I am a South Asian fan of both (though I prefer the books on world-building cause they're simply more familiar to me), but I am also South Asian and note the many race issues in Rice's books that could've been handled far better. That said, I am not at all opposed to the show. Keeping that in mind…

Note, this piece I wrote before the show aired.

These are fictional vampires who kill people regardless.

A preference in either direction is not a statement of morality.

Louis in either adaptation is still predatory and a hypocrite who owns people, whether that is chattel slaves (further reading) or the sex workers who, in Storyville are likely not doing that by choice.

Fandom racism and misogyny exist in every fandom, even so, a preference is not a statement of morality.

Horror is horror you are supposed to question and feel a degree of discomfort.

Black fans pointing out the race issues in Rice's books is necessary actually, just as I, even though I adore Lestat, point out the moral quandary of body thief.

Okay, but do tell me and explain to me from the grass root about the sudden hate of the man one and only Louis de Pointe Du Lac from the book Interview with the Vampire??? Like doesn't the show and it's fandom constantly told us that the show is the same to the books and the characters are the exact copy of their book counterpart. So how come many/some show fans who get to read the books hate him if they're the exact same characters? How you gonna love one and hate the other if the continuous preaching of similarity and faithfulness is true like whatttty? How did anyone come up to that I'm genuinely and seriously confused.