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handweavers · 2 years

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even other artists devalue Craft or view it as fundamentally lesser due to hundreds of years of western imperialism (if we understand imperialism to be the highest form of capitalism) and among Craftspeople there's this endless argument where some really want to emphasize that We Are Artists and Our Work Is Art just like "fine artists" as a way of "lifting" Craft out of its roots in folk traditions, domestic art, and other things associated with women and nonwhite people often referred to as a more "primitive" form of art (I hate the word primitive but it's used a lot in this context), whereas others fight to emphasize that Craft isn't a bad word and these associations are not sources of shame but something to be respected and valued for its own sake rather than trying to appeal to what the western art establishment™ defines as art,

but artists are unbearable as people myself included so it's impossible to talk about any of this without someone

1) going on about the nuances between the individual and the institution wrt institutional critique (yes I get it you went to art school)

and 2) someone else deciding to make the conversation about "what is art exactly, how do we define art" (boring, there will never be an answer that is satisfactory for everyone, about as useful as trying to find a universal definition for god or gender or love, also see #1)

and few are willing to discuss how this, like most things, is a labour/class issue and ultimately regardless of whether you are defined as a fine artist or a craftsperson your labour is still being devalued and exploited and "craft" is seen as lesser because the people who do it are typically from groups with less labour protections (the working class most generally but esp working class women, immigrants, racialized people, workers in the global south, etc) and the solution to that is, as always, a strong working class labour movement. unfortunately many artists esp those working in craft are self employed and have been successfully taught to view themselves nowadays as "business owners" or "owner of a small business" or "entrepreneurs" so trying to explain to them that they have more in common with some digital artist doing 80 hour crunch weeks at a video game company than with the CEO of Anthropologie is like pulling teeth

#if you wont read lenin or learn about dialectical materialism at least look into bauhaus craft theory please god i am begging #if you can write speeches about the nuances between the individual and the institution you can read about dialectical materialism #it wont kill u i promise

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peepeenatural · 2 years

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OMFG YOURE BACK????? so excited I’m gonna be sick

#it wont kill u i promise #i heart u #cw vomit #mmm vom

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fabulousblackunicorn2 · 11 months

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KILL KILL MURDER MAIM

#my brother made dinner and left the kitchen a MESS #he didnt even have to wash the dishes by hand #just load them in the dishwasher #ARGHHHHH #i keep the rest of this house completely clean u can make dinner AND do the dishes for once #it wont kill u i promise #i think what aggravates me more #is that there was the whole mess in the kitchen #and he and his gf ALSO made popcorn and left the pots and pans there #oh how i love to wake up in the morning and find a mess of kitchen rlly makes my day

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lovesickeros · 5 months

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☆ even the gods bleed [ pt 3 ]

{☆} characters neuvillette, wriothesley, furina {☆} notes cult au, imposter au, multi-chapter, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings none {☆} word count 1.9k {☆} previous [ 1 ] [ 2 ]

Wriothesley was not a man of superstition. He did not kneel at the altars until his knees bled, he did not pray until his voice gave out– he did not, contrary to popular belief, suffer divine punishment for his apparent lack of respect.

After all, what Divine would look so deep beneath the waves just for a glimpse of the sinners that inhabit it?

Not them, evidently.

He hadn't slept in the past four days, though. There was a heavy air of something where ever he walked– it followed him like a thick fog, lingering and choking him until it dragged him to his knees like a chain. His thoughts inevitably linger on the striking, extravagant letter so conveniently adorning his desk at the fortress– the broken wax seal, the letter tucked into his pocket.

He'd recognize the seal of the Iudex any day. Wasn't often he spoke to him– but the shaky, distorted words hastily etched into the paper made him pause. Neuvillette always had a steady hand– elegant, flowing script that him of flowing water.

It had kept him up for days.

The implications were..haunting. He'd poured over the letter for hours, illuminated only by faint light of his desk lamp. Yet no matter how many times he tries to see what must be hidden beneath the ink, the paper itself even, he finds nothing but the shaky script of a request that sends a bolt of pure frost through his veins.

He noticed, of course, the odd goings on of Fontaine. He'd heard vague whispers of the Divine's hunt for the imposter– he'd heard, too, of the ceaseless rain pelting Fontaine until even he wondered if the nation would finally sink beneath the waves.

It didn't, though. And that only made it all the more odd. Days of constant rain, just for it to stop suddenly..he tugged his coat tighter around him, throwing up the hood of the cloak clasped even tighter over it with a grunt as he leaned around the corner of the alleyway.

He didn't believe in superstition, but this was too hard to ignore as a simple weather anomaly.

Maybe that was why he ignored his gut– he knew that this was probably a trap, at the very least it was suspicious. But damn it, he couldn't ignore the instinct to follow the only lead he had.

His boots clicked against the rain stricken streets as he stalked through the shadows, mindful of the clinking of machine patrols just a few streets away. Yet every step felt heavier then the last as he took a long, good look at the Palais Mermonia. He almost considered bringing out his gauntlets, but he thought better of it– if it came down to it, he needed information. And he would need whoever was waiting for him alive for that– the dead don't speak and all that.

The letter's directions led him in a..rather roundabout entrance to a secluded room, evidently, as he lifted his hand and quietly knocked against the door. Two rapid knocks, pause, another knock, pause, four knocks. It doesn't take long until he hears the latch of the door unlock.

The leather of his gloves creaks as he clenches his fists, adjusting his stance. He's ready for a fight, if he must, but as the door quietly slides open he feel the weight on his shoulders relax slightly– the familiar, sharp features of Neuvillette meets him. He almost reflexively smiles at the way his pupils turn into thin slits, a momentary surprise that he quickly hides well behind a cough and the creak of the door as he pulls it open fully.

"Wriothesley. I see my letter has found you well. Please, come in." Polite as ever, Neuvillette steps aside to let him in, but he can see the exhaustion lining his features– the bags under his eyes aren't as well hidden as he thinks, at least to him. "Bit odd to be inviting me all the way out here in the middle of the night, don't you think?"

His tone is smooth as he steps into the room, brushing down his hood and glancing at Neuvillette over his shoulder, watching as he shuts and locks the door behind him.

"I apologize for the..less then ideal circumstances, but I'm certain you will understand when you see for yourself." He wants to retort, but the Iudex beats him to it, vaguely motioning to the room behind him. An invitation– but he wonders if it's worth taking.

His gut says no, but he's feeling a little risky today, he supposes.

He turns back slowly, barely able to make out the two figures he'd missed on the first glance on the other side of the room– though it's hard to mistake the flourish of the Hydro Archon, even in the dark. It's the other figure that makes the breath hitch in his throat, though.

Or maybe, more accurately, it freezes. So does his blood, his whole body even, locked in stasis for a long, tense moment– he can't see them clearly, but his instincts are going haywire. He can feel his vision almost rattle where it rests against his left shoulder, cold leaking through the layers of clothes and into his skin until he has to fight to suppress a shiver.

He'd always fancied himself the hunter– he was the one who dealt with unsavory folks, in the end. But he felt like a rabbit pinned beneath the crosshairs of a gun this time. He could almost feel the teeth of the bear trap snapping shut around him, crushing bone and flesh beneath cold metal.

For a long moment he thinks he feels fear.

And with a sharp click and a burst of light, it's gone and he takes a raspy, choked breath as he blinks away the blurriness in his vision, taking in the room illuminated by the lamp.

He's not sure what he sees is better, though.

Because his body knows that their Divinity is as real as the blood running through his veins.

So why do they remind him so much of himself? Why does he see the look of the boy who died in a pool of blood not his own in them?

It is a sick, cruel kind of familiar.

Wriothesley didn't believe in superstition– but that was born of the unknown. He knew, now. He could reach out and touch the truth with his own two hands.

The throne of the world was a lie.

The thing sitting on it bled red. And if it bled, it could die.

He clenched his fists tighter– and released, letting his shoulders slump with a huff and a half hearted chuckle. "I wasn't expecting you to be in possession of a wanted criminal when you sent me that letter." He could see the gears whirring in their heads, the subtle dampness in the air reminding him just how delicate a situation it truly was.

He wasn't particularly inclined to getting blasted by a jet of water today.

"Relax, I'm not going to spill to anyone else. Seriously– don't get my jacket wet. It's expensive and a nightmare to dry." His lips quirk into a half smile, but it twists into something almost genuine at the laugh covered up by a cough he hears from the Divine. Bingo.

"It's fine, Neuvillette. Let him go." Their voice is like honey dripping from their lips, and he has to close his jaw with his hand before they can see the way it dropped in his surprise. "Of course, most Divine. My apologies." He relaxes at the sharp click of his heels as he joins them on the bed, his posture far more relaxed then he's ever seen. The Hydro Archon, much to his confusion and amusement, is far too invested in playing with their hair to pay much attention to him now that things have calmed, evidently.

Huh.

They seemed pretty cozy about it, he noted. He guesses they three of them had some time to get acquainted.

"So..who's going to explain what the hell is going on?" He probed, crossing his arms over his chest and watching the three carefully– they all looked tired, but even through the exhaustion neither seemed inclined to stray too far from the Divine. "And what exactly your plan is? You can't keep hiding them here forever. Someone will sniff them out sooner or later."

"We are aware," Neuvillette interjects, lips pursed into a thin line and his thin brows furrowed. "But as I'm sure you've noticed, the hunt for the..forgive me, most Divine, but the hunt for the alleged imposter is still at it's peak."

He grumbles in acknowledgment, hanging up his cloak by the door and sliding out of his heavy coat, resting it over the back of a nearby chair. "Hm. Suppose that's why the patrols are so common now a days."

"I'm afraid so. As you can imagine, we cannot simply ask them to..stop the search. It would draw unwanted attention and suspicion. The Divine would be found immediately if we tried to bring them out of the city at the moment." Neuvillette added, looking proper and elegant, despite the circumstances– even in the face of the Divine and the Archon turning on him and tugging his hair into intricate braids. "So I hope you understand that it was a great risk to send you that letter."

He rubs his chin, huffing in amusement– a solid plan, maybe, but his power didn't extend too far out of the Fortress. He had his connections, sure, but what use were they when he had to get the, uh, "imposter" out of Fontaine? Smuggling them out wouldn't be easy, and then there's the point of where to take them they'd have to contend with.

"Yeah, yeah– I get it. But it's not like I can just smuggle them out or keep them in the fortress. Even if we got them out of the city, we'd have to find somewhere to bunker down, and if someone spots any of us lingering there.." Archons, what a mess he'd gotten himself into. He was really looking forward to the next time he could kick his feet up with a cup of tea.

"I understand. I have already made plans, in fact." Neuvillette hesitates, and he can feel the temperature drops a few degrees. "I..cannot share them in full at the moment, but it is not for a lack of trust." Neuvillette reasoned, hands folded neatly in his lap– not that it hid the way they shook slightly. He wanted to ask, but he thought better of it.

"Eh, I don't hold it against you. The walls have ears, even up here." He deflected, running a hand through his hair. He really hoped Sigewinne wouldn't ask too much when he gets back. "I trust your judgment." He hesitates for a long moment, pulling out a simple, neatly folded letter of his own.

"Memorize the code words, then burn it. I'll be waiting for your next letter." He murmurs, plucking his coat and cloak and tugging them back on one after another, shuffling back over to the latched door. He hesitates again, his hand lingering on the door.

"I just hope your plan is worth the risk, Neuvillette."

He leaves before he can respond, the harsh click of the door ringing in his ears even as he steps back into the shadows of the night.

#sagau #genshin sagau #self aware genshin #genshin impact sagau #self aware genshin impact #imposter au #genshin cult au #genshin impact cult au #furina #neuvillette #wriothesley #furina in the back just awkwardly sitting there bc she aint fighting wrio KHSDKHFKHJ #she was there for his trial when he killed two adults as a CHILD shes not fighting the adult version no ty #also writing reader to be as lowkey eldritch horror as possible. they r just playing nice rn but :)#reader collecting fontaine chars like pokemon cards #anyway wow i wonder what his plan is...wonder who it is he's involved besides wrio.......haha #cough cough #:]#looks at my other fics. haha.........ha....#anyway #slowly bringing in the key players one by one but it's probably gonna be in multiples now #if u guess correctly who neuvi is making plans w u get a lopsided gold star sticker that says “good job!” :]#i promise the lore will make sense soon (it wont im making it up as i go along)#if u see any typos no u didnt #zzzzzzzzzzzz gn #fic tag

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dustteller · 2 months

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Now that I am mostly over the Absolutely Feral stage of my Radiant Emperor Obsession and can think again, I want to do a proper write up on how the series handles colonialism. I need to get my sources together and make it all pretty and stuff, but the gist of it is this.

I actually really respect SPC for not making it A Thing. Like, the colonialism is an inherent part of the serting, and a lot of important moments hinge around it, but there's also a pretty clear refusal by the author to turn it into A Statement. I think they do a really good job of walking the fine line between aknowledging it and making it clear that its an important part of the setting, without turning the book into a political thesis on Why Bad Actually.

I think a lot of fantasy authors that frankly have no business making their books into political science treatises try to be super philosophical about it, and inevitably have almost all their points ring flat bc the main character almost always ends up perpetuating the system they spent the whole book critiquing. The classic example being, of course, "We've destroyed The Evil Empire! We will now replace it with The Good Empire, which is functionally identical to The Evil Empire except Good bc our Main Character is in charge! This will totally change the systemic issues we've spent the last three million words exploring! How? Don't worry about it, absolute power only corrupts you if you're A Bad Person!" (atla. atla i am looking at you. my love for you does not mean I am letting you off the hook.)

The Radiant Emperor books interact with and aknowledge the colonialism. The empire canonically falls at least in part because of one guy's willfull ignorance of the differences between his culture and that of two of the people he loves the most, because his culture supercedes theirs to the point where he does not even consider the posibility of this difference truly existing as a real-life power imbalance. And still, these books are not about that! That is not the main theme! It is important. It is handled pretty well, it is aknowledged, and it is not The Point. I really appreciate that more understated approach that SPC takes, because ironically by refusing to partake in dramatic philosophical grandstanding the media often ends up making way better and more nuanced points, because then their point actually fits into the story they are trying to tell.

#white men really read three of the foundational texts of political science #none of which are from the last century and a half mind you #and immediately decide they're qualified to wax poetic about how politics should work actually #also white people really loooove writing about colonialism and imperialism while refusing to engage with any decolonial literature #you read The Prince and Hobbes' Leviathan huh. so did all polisci undergraduates. you are neither smart nor special<3 #like seriously at least read some of W.E.B. Du Bois. its the most basic accessible uncontroversial decolonial literature out there #it wont kill u i promise <3 try venerating a black man even half as hard as u do basic white men it'll change your life for the better.#by making you more interesting at the very least #ok ok i got derrailed there #thank you SPC! I appreciate you! please write more!#i promise the actual write up will be. less ranty.#my thoughts #the radiant emperor

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