#sorry for the non factual fact today

[marlasomething]

(my) Mag a Week: Last Guest For Mr. Spider

Hello there!

I am participating in the "a mag a day" idea by @a-mag-a-day which is BRILLIANT and I decided to do "statement a week", rolling dice with the characters and fears that were ftw that week in the episodes I have listened. This week I am publishing late...I have a hell of a week, sorry.

For today I rolled Archivist!Jane Prentiss (HOW DOES THIS KEEP HAPPENING?!) and The Hunt (Eps. 52-57).

As usual, please do forgive my quick tipper and non-native speaker mistakes, Marla

Allons-y!

CW: bullying, possesive behaviour, children's death, childhood trauma, mentions of paranoia

Also on AO3!

Statement of Jonathan Sims, regarding the reappearance of his school bully almost a decade after his alleged death.

Recorded by Jane Prentiss, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London.

Statement begins.

 I want to make something clear: I do not believe in the so-called supernatural. Never have, never will. Still, whatever happened to me last week is rather… odd and I do believe in the archival and research purposes of your institution, thereof my presence in here.

 Someone had, somehow, achieved human cloning in a… worrying manner.

Yes, yes, I know how it sounds, but it is the only logical explanation (though I do not doubt you will be making your own outrageous assumptions the moment I leave this place).

It all began last Friday, when I was leaving work…I am a journalist for The Hill Top Journal, the one managed by Raymond Fielding? You might have heard about it, even if your interests focus mostly around fake information, I am almost confident you also rely from time to time in factual truths.

And there is no one better at giving them than us. I am not being arrogant; this is just an empiric fact, sort to speak.

Anyways, this is all beside the point I was trying to make: last Friday, I was leaving work and I had an er… meeting with one of my closest friends, whose name I won’t reveal unless forced to, since I respect their intimacy, when I was pushed to the ground by a figure that barely reached my hip level. And, though I am completely aware of my quite small frame (both in width and height), a person that small shouldn’t have been able to throw me out of balance so easily.

I looked up, ready to grab the person’s arm and, in case of them being a minor; find their parents for an extremely serious talk.

As I did it, I froze. In front of me, with a cruel sardonic smile I thought I was never going to see again: Mike George, my personal bully when I was growing up while living with my grandmother. It had been over fifteen years since I last saw him, but there was no mistaking him; stocky in a soft way but with the clear promise of becoming rather extremely muscular the moment he decided to ill-mannerly obsessed over sports and going to the gym in an almost pathological manner (and he had been bound to, given his social circles), skin so pale his veins and arteries could be clearly seen palpitating violently every other second, short dark hair and a nose covered in freckles despite the rest of his skin being porcelain-like in that respect. There was no mistake possible to be made: he was him , only that he had not aged a day since the last time I saw him. The time I was certain I had caused his death...

…I guess that, before carrying on with the present moment, I shall explain myself, even if just in general terms.

 When I was very young, my parents passed away and I moved in with my grandmother. I wasn’t an easy, nor a nice, child, but that doesn’t excuse the attitude most of my new classmates showed me. From the stupid fact that I am not white to the jealously it made them feel when I knew the answer before most of them…they took every single breath coming from my lungs as a personal affront, especially Michael George.

He was all the clichés a male-presenting bully of the nineties could be and, just as his role required of him, there was nothing that annoyed him more than his so smart attacks having no effect on me. That is why he started following me after a couple of months where I made sure I only cried in front of my grandmother, who deduced it was because of my parents and just joined silently on my alleged mourning.

Back then I…right now it sounds ridiculous to say it out loud but…I used to have an imaginary friend, based on the character of a rather disturbing supposedly children’s book called A Guest from Mister Spider. She was a spider, I called her Mother because, well, I am not afraid to admit I had certain issues I am still working through and that I went to speak to her every day because, even using my imagination, I ought to be accurate and precise, so I only went where a spider the size of two sumo fighters put together (and a similar, if not more violent, attitude towards people she didn’t like) to the abandon building she liked to hid herself.

One day, Michael George discovered this safe space of mine and…well, started laughing at the fact that I was speaking to a completely empty two-story house in the middle of a street full of people. At this, I did something I didn’t know I had in me to do, though it was more out of the pure instinct than it was well-thought self-defence (I was already targeted every single moment I was at school, imagine if they had known that my best friend was an imaginary spider!).

I won’t lie: the moment I pushed him, adrenaline through my veins, the pray that I had always been finally becoming the predator…but it wasn’t me, I didn’t feel comfortable fitting those shoes and regretted what I had done almost immediately.

It was too late, though. From inside the building came a noise that, to me, sounded too much as someone’s bones being chewed by powerful jaws. However, since my adrenaline was over the rooftop and I was still partly afraid of Michael’s violence, I simply decided to conclude that his neck had been broken and the echo had just distorted the original sound.

Obviously, as I wasn’t a murderer (Good lord!), I started yelling for the help of an adult.

They clearly saw the corpse inside, though I didn’t find it in me to also look to see the lifeless body of my former stalker, and they were going to take me in for questioning when the body disappeared.

Just like that.

It was as if it had never happened.

I never spoke to Mother again, and nobody, not even some of those insane crazy theorists (that, of course, I have to push away from time to time), had claimed of having seen him.

Until now.

 Until I was lying on the street, the boy standing over me with an honest expression of being enjoying himself as much as possible. I tried to mutter his name, but just stuttered, He mocked how I had finally been left out of words to speak, he mocked that I was still a scrawny four-eye badly dressed weirdo (his words, not mine) and said something incredibly mean I didn’t thought he had the intellectual capacity for. “You have too much grey hair in there for such an still innocent person”.

I was perplexed: how could this clone say things like that with such a believable speck? Once again, he being a clone is the only logical explanation came with something completely out of the reach of what the original Michael George had been capable of.

He seemed to notice how much it was costing me to process the whole scene, so he started laughing and told me that “Actually, I have you to thank for. See? The eight-legged bitch you threw me to? She tried to whisper into my ear. To play with her food, I guess. I was going to have none of it and, somehow, I was able to absorb whatever bad energy you had used with me before and…with that extra force, I ripped the spider into small bits.

So, yep: thanks again, Jonny dear”. As he finished talking, I was not only scared, but also straight-up mad. Who on Earth had decided it was fun to toy with someone’s trauma this twisted way?

And, what was even more frustrating, why did anyone decide that, of all humankind, Michael George had to be the one brought back to life? Angry as I was, I rose from the floor and pushed him against the wall and, with my usual luck, a police officer saw me.

Unsurprisingly, he wasn’t precisely critic of my attitude.

“I completely understand some kids need a special hand, Mister, but, please, do it in a more private place. He will learn the lesson either way” as he left, the clone began speaking again.

“I have to respect this attitude. And don’t worry, Sims, you will not be seeing me unless I get superbored. After all, I had been like a lot of years going from orphanage to orphanage all around the World in countries where they speak a proper language” he meant English, the ignorant twat. “Just…keep those angry issues under a thin leash. If you were my actual equal, it would be so much more fun to murder you”.

 I haven’t heard of Michael George anymore since then, though I started to look up in my free time about him and his probable aliases with the help of my previously mentioned friend, who also happened to be a former policeperson (that didn’t end well for anyone involved, but none of your incumbency), and found a rather rich amount of information that I attach to this statement. I hope that you are able to do something useful with it, though I am not completely confident about it.

Especially, after speaking to that assistant of yours; Martin. I don’t like to speak ill of people I barely know but…useless ass. That’s it.

The thing is, that I cannot simply walk into my boss’ office and told him someone had cloned my childhood bully and study my past in an almost predatory way to create the most traumatic, vivid experience possible.

So it’s in your hands…I guess.

  Statement ends.

Well, Mister Sims didn’t lie when he said he had conducted a rather thorough investigation on this…immortal boy? I don’t even know anymore. Not until what happened with Amherst.

Anyway, the only critic I have for Mister Sims is that, next time, he should try and cover better his friend’s identity. Miss Daisy Tonner, as he had even left a printed chat between the information were her number, name and face are perfectly visible. That and, please, Jonahtan, take a little bit more of care of your personal hygiene and laundry.

There where you sat, now it is filled with cobwebs and spiders.

End recording.

  SUPPLEMENTAL: I am tired, so very tired. I have always believed in the supernatural and I thought that, maybe, accepting a job here was the right option. Plus, a way to actually put to well use my degree and instead of feeling useful I am here…talking to one of the worms that survived from John’s…I mean, Amherst’s attack, the poor thing trapped in a crystal jar while Tim is…acting cold? But he had always been cold, so I don’t see why I see that as a problem. Sasha grows increasingly paranoid questioning even me and my position as Head Archivist…AND I THOUGHT I FINALLY MEET A FRIEND THAT I COULD TRUST AND FEEL COMFORTABLE AROUND.

And then, there is the question of Martin. Sweet, tender Martin, that doesn’t value himself enough and seems to have develop a crush on that asshole of Sims…I know he doesn’t like women that way but, if only he gave me the chance…

Wait, what is that worm? Do you really think you could help with…?

Oh, shit.

End recording.

#a mag a day #a mag a week #mag horror #statement #original statement #au #the magnus archives #fanfic #tma #magnuspod #jane prentiss #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #fic #the hunt #the web #the corruption #mag

[helnjk]

Only Us - F.W.

Fred Weasley x fem!reader

This is for @slytherinsunrise ‘s 1k writing challenge! I’m using the song Only Us from Dear Evan Hansen because it makes my heart go 🥺❤️Congrats on 1k, lovely!! I hope you like it 🧚🏼‍♀️

Word Count: 3k 

Warnings: Mentions of the war, PTSD, angst, non-linear healing, alcohol consumption, hurt/comfort

A/N: The tags make it sound really sad but I promise if you stick with it, it gets better!! Also, listening to the song while reading is: a good idea. 

---

The war may have ended, but for Fred, healing was nowhere in sight. 

The nightmares were getting consistently worse. Each night he would jolt awake, sweat coating his forehead and clammy hands grasping for any sort of confirmation that he was fine, George was fine, everyone was safe. It was getting to a point where he could barely reach eight hours of sleep a week, and he could tell it was affecting him in everything he did.

His friends and family constantly sent concerned glances his way, taking note of the bruised color his eye bags were sporting, the shake in his hand, and the heaviness he always seemed to drag along with him. 

“I’m worried for you, mate.” George said one morning, as he found his twin staring blankly at the-by then cold-cup of tea clutched in his hands. He could tell that Fred had been up long before the sun rose, “I think you need a break, a change of scenery, anything really.” 

“I haven’t gotten the faintest idea where I could go, though,” Replied Fred.  

“Think about it,” George urged, but said nothing else on the matter. He settled instead on the rest of his plans for today. 

Instead of taking his twin’s advice, Fred took his twin’s advice. 

He figured since he wasn’t going to be able to get hours in to sleep, might as well use them to numb his pain. A change of scenery was what his twin had recommended after all. Often, he would find himself sneaking out of the flat above the shop, once he knew George was fast asleep, and apparating to the nearest muggle club. 

Something about the reckless atmosphere, the knowledge that all of these people knew nothing of the war that ravaged so many lives, called out to Fred. Here, he could be whoever he wanted to be. He wasn’t some insomniac war-hero with anxiety, he was just Fred. 

Clear the slate and start over

The bass pounding in his ears, sending jolts through his body as he waded through the crowded dance floor, bright flashing lights distorting the faces of the bodies around him, Fred felt more free than he had in a long time. 

His mind was numb, almost empty. It was much too loud and too packed for him to think about anything else except the beat of the music and the heat of the crowd. 

When his thirst became too much, he made his way to the equally crowded bar, signalling the bartender and slapping down some muggle money he had stashed away in his pocket. Something, or rather someone, caught his eye as he reached for whatever was placed in front of him, and all of a sudden his drink and his parched throat were forgotten. 

Y/N. 

Standing at the far corner of the bar, away from the crowd, you stood nursing your drink and swaying slightly to the music. 

You had been in his year when he was at school and you were partners in a few projects, but he hadn't heard from you since he and George left Hogwarts with a bang. He was so entranced with the sight of you, seemingly glowing in the pulsing light, that he almost didn’t notice the jagged scars running down from your temple to your pulse point when you turned his way. 

Without thinking, he made his way towards you. It was almost like a scene from those muggle movies Hermione went on about, the way your eyes locked and how his heart pounded in his chest, almost in time with the beats of the music.

“Fred Weasley, as I live and breathe!” You exclaimed once he was near enough to hear you, throwing your arms up and wrapping him in a tight hug. 

“Y/N,” He said, eyes dancing with amusement at your enthusiasm which was clearly because of the liquor running through your veins, “It’s been too long.” 

“It has,” You agreed with a smile, “Now what’re you doing all the way here in the muggle world? I’ve heard you’ve got yourself a pretty successful joke shop.” 

He shrugged nonchalantly, trying to hide the fact that you caught his attempt at escapism, “Just needed a breather, and what better way to do that in a muggle club? Perfect place to go when I don’t want to know anyone and I don’t want anyone to know me.”

 “Oh I’m sorry! Did you want to be alone? I can sod off, I don’t mind.” You rushed out, going to gather your things and move so that he could have some privacy.

 “Don’t be daft,” He chuckled, putting his drink down and taking a seat next to you, “I was the one who approached you, wasn’t I? Reckon it would be nice to have a chat with an old friend.”

 You quirked an eyebrow at him but didn’t argue, it was nice to see a familiar face after escaping the wizarding world for so long.

 “Alright then, Weasley.” You smiled, looking into his eyes. 

 After that night, Fred couldn’t seem to get you out of his mind. You had changed since he last saw you in school, well, the war had changed everyone, but still he was intrigued. He didn’t mention anything about the scars on your face and you didn’t speak a word about the bags under his eyes or the tremble of his hands. When you were together, it was just the two of you, everything else seemed to just fade into the background. 

 He asked for your owl address and suddenly, you two were exchanging letters daily. You told him how you worked in the muggle world, taking a break from most things magical in an attempt to clear your head from everything that went down in the war. In return, he told you about his near death experience and how it affected him in his everyday life. 

 George took notice of his twin’s change in demeanour. He could tell that the nightmares still plagued him and sometimes sleep still evaded him, but now it seemed like Fred had a skip in his step. The light in his eyes that faded the day he woke up in the hospital bed was slowly starting to filter back in. 

 You often found yourself smiling giddily to yourself whenever the twins’ large barn owl tapped at your window. These letters from Fred were slowly becoming the highlight of your day. Something about them was just so raw, so real, that you couldn’t help but pour your deepest thoughts and feelings into a parchment in reply. 

 Soon, letters turned into coffee dates and surprise appearances at your job to take you out to lunch. Your days were filled with unending laughter and the pit in your stomach was slowly easing up. 

 The first time Fred kissed you, you were outside the door to your flat. He wore a slightly bashful expression and a blush slowly creeped up his neck. The kiss was sweet and soft and everything you were searching for after the war. You invited him inside after that.  The night was filled with a steady flow of kisses shared on the couch and whispered words of admiration and acceptance. 

 Try to quiet the noises in your head

 “Sometimes I’m afraid that I’ll never be the person I used to be,” Fred spoke up one night as you were wrapped in his arms and he trailed soft touches along your arm. It was a peaceful evening, the both of you content with basking in the presence of the other. 

 You shifted slightly in his arms to get a better look at him. His gaze was unfocused, “What do you mean?” 

 “The war took so much from me and everyone I love,” He elaborated, “I used to be so reckless, act first think later. My main goal in life was to make people laugh, to bring happiness to their days. Now I don’t know if I can ever fully be happy myself. It’s hard when the nightmares and the anxiety are holding me back.” 

 You took a deep breath, “Do you know how I got these scars?” 

 His eyes shifted towards you, running along the white and slightly puckered flesh along the side of your face. He shook his head, no. It hadn’t been a topic he wanted to bring up in fear of offending you, and you hadn’t really acknowledged them either. 

 “I’m muggleborn. The war was tough when basically the whole world was trying to track you down and take you away,” He hummed in agreement, knowing first hand what it felt like to go into hiding, not knowing what the next day would bring, “Greyback and his group found me eventually.” 

 Fred sucked in a breath at the mention of the werewolf, but you shook your head with a small smile gracing your lips, “I’m tough. I got away as quickly as I could, but not before he gave me these to remember him by.” 

 In a flash, Fred had pulled you on top of him, making sure to wrap his arms securely around you. You let out a surprised gasp at the sudden movement, but made no move to escape his grasp. He peppered kisses all along your scars, not leaving one inch of the skin uncovered. 

 You sighed contentedly when he finished, leaning your head against his chest, “The war changed all of us, simple as that. I don’t think we’ll ever be the same people we were before. I still get freaked out when I have to sleep alone at night, and I tend to double and triple check if all the locks and wards are in place, but when I’m with you everything seems to melt away.” 

 The silence was so deafening that you were afraid that he could hear your heart hammering in your chest. You had never really voiced any of these concerns outloud before, and you were afraid that you’d said too much. 

 “The only times I’ve ever been able to quiet my mind after the war are when I’m with you.” He says this so factually, but so quietly that you almost didn’t hear it. He doesn’t wait for you to reply, “I can see a future with you, and I haven’t been able to see a future for myself in a long time.” 

 The two of you lapsed into silence, taking comfort in the presence of the other, and no other words needed to be said. 

 You don't have to be scared you're not enough

'Cause what we've got going is good

 Slowly, things seemed to fall into place. Fred began enjoying once again the creative process that the shop demanded, throwing himself into collaborative work with his twin. You were getting more and more confident integrating magic and the wizarding world back into your life. Of course, you still loved your muggle job but you had missed the thrill and ease that the magical world brought into your life. 

 A routine formed between the two of you as well, slowly incorporating more and more time spent together until you finally decided to move in together. 

 The first time you had woken up because of a garbled shout, your heart almost burst out of your chest. You hadn’t realized you were reaching for your wand until you saw the culprit of the sound. Fred was sat up beside you and you could see his silhouette running a hand through his hair.

 You were quick to notice his stuttering breath and the sheen of sweat coating his forehead. Silently, you sat up and shuffled closer to him, leaning your head against his shoulder. The moonlight filtered through the window, casting a shadow on his face, but you could see the gears turning in his head. 

 “I’m sorry,” He muttered after long minutes of silence.

 “You have nothing to apologize for,” You whispered back, pressing a soft kiss to his neck, “I’m here and I’m not going anywhere.” 

 “I just feel like they’re never going to leave me alone, the nightmares,” You heard him mumble, “And I don’t wanna drag you through this shit with me.” 

 You snake your arms around him, pulling him to you with his head resting on your chest and beginning to rake your fingers through his hair before speaking again, “You’re not making me do anything love. I’m here, you’re okay, we’re okay, and that’s all that needs to matter right now. We’re in this together, remember?” 

 “Together,” He echoed, burying his face in your chest and taking all the reassurance he could get from your body so close to his. 

 The next time you panic as the sun sets and your flat turns dark, he’s there to hold your hand  and reassure you that he’s there and you’re safe. He lets you double and triple check all the windows and doors, and presses a mug of calming tea into your hands when you’ve tired yourself out. 

 You’re found curled up on the couch, grasping the warmth that the cup of tea provides, and he drapes a blanket over your chilly legs. 

 “C’mon then, make some room for me,” He says gently, and you scoot over enough for him to take a seat beside you.

 “Sorry,” You murmur, still clutching at your mug of tea, eyes slightly glazed over, “I know it’s a lot to deal with when I get like this.” 

 “Nonsense, love,” He says, pressing a kiss to your temple, “If I get to wake you up in the middle of the night because of a nightmare, then you have all the right to make sure we’re safe before we settle in for the night.” 

 The two of you sit in silence, Fred’s calming presence slowly easing you out of your stupor and your heart begins to slow. That night, he carries you up to bed and tucks you in once he notices that your eyes have shut and your breath evens out on the couch. 

 You learn each other’s ins and outs, what makes him tick and what makes you laugh. It’s a slow process, but you could see a light at the end of the tunnel. 

 The war and all of its casualties begin to seem further and further away, the more the both of you learn to live with your own demons and eventually let them go. 

 You and me

That's all that we need it to be

And the rest of the world falls away

 “Oi! If it isn’t the bird that’s caught my brother’s fancy!” 

 A smile stretched across your face as you entered the brightly colored shop and heard the familiar baritone of your boyfriend’s twin. You heard him before you saw him, up on the second floor, leaning against the banister with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. 

 “Hey George,” You called up to him, “Fred in?” 

 “Of course you’re only concerned about dear old Freddie, got no time for a chat for little old me?” He teased, making his way down to you and giving you a friendly embrace.

 You laughed lightly as you returned the gesture, “I’ll always have time for you George, but your brother’s supposed to be on his lunch break right now and I wanted to try that new restaurant that’s opened up down the street.” 

 “Oi, Freddie! Your bird’s here to whisk you away from doing any actual work around here!” He called out, which made you laugh even harder, and then turned to face you again, “Don’t forget, because mum won’t let me hear the end of it if you do, but you’re invited to lunch this Sunday! The whole family’s excited to meet you.” 

 You nodded your head just as Fred poked his head out of the door leading to the back office, “Here already love? Give me a mo’ and I’ll be right out.” 

 -

 The moment your feet touched the ground outside of The Burrow on Sunday, your heart began to race. The unique house, held up by mostly magic no doubt, seemed to loom over the pair of you, and suddenly all your fears came rushing back.

 It was a gorgeous day out, the fields surrounding the house seemed to glow in the sunlight. Laughter and conversation flowed through the open windows, and you could see glimpses of silhouettes moving around inside, but you were suddenly unable to take a step forward. 

 Fred was absolutely beaming beside you, it was the first time he had been back at the Burrow since he met you, and he couldn’t wait to introduce you to everyone. They had all been curious about the girl who was able to get him out of his rut and teach him how to live again.

 He noticed your hesitation though, and gently took your hand. 

 “You alright love?” He asked, rich brown eyes locking with yours. 

 “Just nervous,” You admitted, “Don’t know how they’re going to feel about me when they take a look at my face and see that I’m literally and figuratively scarred.” 

 These insecurities had plagued your mind the duration of the week leading up this moment. Fred was loving and kind and looked past all of your imperfections, but old habits die hard and they rear their ugly heads at just the right moment. 

 As if he could read your mind, he took your face gently in his hands, thumbs gliding over skin and reassuring you with his gaze, “I love you, and my family will love you too. We’re in this together, remember? You and me.” 

 Just like when you had first reencountered each other at the dimly lit club, the whole world seemed to fade around you and you leaned into his touch. Here was the man who held your heart in his hands, who bared his soul out to you and learned how to heal with you. Nothing could get in the way of how deeply you felt for him. 

 You took a shuddering breath and nodded your head. It would be okay. You were with Fred, and he was all you needed. 

 Grateful for the most beautiful soul in front of you, you pressed a sweet kiss on his lips, “I love you too. Together.”

#slytherinsunrise1k #fred weasley #weasley twins #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley imagines #fred weasley fic #fred weasley fics #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley x y/n #only us #dear evan hansen

[permets-2]

Your tag that says why do we have to say this, I get it's a hypothetical question but JFC this is the most racist fandom I've ever been in. I can't conceptualize why, but it is. It's the epitome of white queerness and feminism, and is just tiring.

Okay I’m so sorry this is probably a longer response than you wanted but I’ve been thinking about this for a while now and yeah. Let’s talk. 

Why is the Les Mis fandom so racist?  

(Disclaimer that this is based on my own experiences in this fandom, I don’t speak for all Les Mis fans of color, obviously. Also that this is not a post to “prove” the Les Mis fandom is racist. If you need that before you wanna know why, you’re part of the problem.) (There’s a tl;dr at the end)

It’s because at the end of the day, anon, no matter how many Black Grantaires are drawn and no matter how many Asian Cosettes we get, Les Mis is media primarily by, for, and about white people. I mean, on a factual level, Hugo was white, and let’s not forget he had some wild thoughts on race - saying that white people were “the highest type which the human race has so far reached” and talking about the “inferior races,” saying that Europeans would “civilize and cultivate” Africa in the letter he wrote to The London News regarding slavery in America and John Brown. Also, obviously, all the characters are canonically white. That’s part of why content of the Amis as involved in BLM protests is so harmful imo - no matter the surface story you’re depicting, no matter how you draw them or write them, these are characters who are rooted in and steeped in whiteness, and The Black Lives Matter movement is not for or about them as white people. And, however you rewrite this story, it doesn't change the fact that you'd be imposing a narrative created by a white supremacist on a movement against white supremacy. This is not to say headcanoning/drawing/writing characters as whatever race you want is wrong, or that there isn’t power in artists of color reclaiming stories that have excluded or erased us for so many years! Lord knows I live and breathe for Amis of color, especially when they’re culturally well-represented. But it would not only be naive but also factually inaccurate to pretend that Les Mis is a story for People of Color, or a story that contains acute discussions of racial dynamics, let alone actively dismantles white supremacy.

 Also, anon, the culture surrounding Les Mis source material is steeped in whiteness and exclusion. Musical Theatre is one of the most financially exclusive forms of art - tickets are often upwards of $100 each especially for a big name show like Les Mis. I could talk forever about the ways theatre is used as a tool of classism and racism, but in this instance, it boils down to People of Color are directly and indirectly denied access to the world of musical theatre, as audience, writers, directors, performers, etc. We basically see only white people playing the characters of Les Mis in professional (and non-professional) theatre, which is another less tangible barrier to communities of color. You’d think the brick would be more accessible, and on a factual level, sure, most people can find a copy for $9 at Barnes and Noble or get it from the library. But by God, the amount of academic elitism in high school essays to tumblr posts about the brick is off the charts - classic lit has a long history of pushing out People of Color. Why is Hugo one of the most well-known names in all of literature and not Hurston? Baldwin? Du Bois? (This is rhetorical. We know why.) There’s a lot of reasons why the brick and musical alike have been kept away from people of color (that i could get into, starting in 1619, but honestly we’d be here a while)- making this, once again, a piece of media by, for, and about white people.

 Which is not to say there aren’t people of color in this fandom, or that we don’t belong here. I know so many Les Mis fans of color in our online community (myself included) who love it here and are so grateful for this space. It’s just harder - we have to write things off all the time. Why is almost 100% of cosplay white people? Why are most all the most popular creators white? Why, when characters are drawn/headcanoned/written as POC, does it play into stereotypes- why are Joly and Combeferre (the doctors) and Cosette (the woman who does not get much agency) the ones depicted as Asian, why are Eponine and Grantaire (the characters who Hugo explicitly calls ugly) the ones depicted as Black? (My broski @everydayatleast as a great post about that here) Why are we so set on blond Enjolras, no matter what ethnicity he’s depicted as?

And here’s the kicker: because of the plotline of Les Mis, we tend to ignore any issues of injustice in our own fandom. We think that because Les Mis is about equality and revolution, we’re automatically culturally and politically progressive. We think that because “Enjolras says Eat The Rich” and “books like these will never be useless”, we have achieved Wokeness. We think that when we stan these activist characters, we’re checking our activism box. We think that because we’ve got a diversity of genders and sexualities we’ve checked the box of representation but that’s another can of worms I will not get into. And this is almost always unconscious, I don’t think any of us are actively and maliciously trying to be racist! There is nothing wrong with having a background of whiteness! There is nothing wrong with being factually or culturally white as a piece of media (or, like, a person)! It is when we fail to be critical of the ways this whiteness affects others that we create racist spaces. (Which, as you said, anon, is how we get White/Non-intersectional Feminism.)

This is not directed at anyone in particular in the slightest, and this is in no way intended as a callout - I have so much love for this online community. And no, I don’t mean every single one of you is actively and aggressively being racist on Tumblr every single day. But yes I do mean the collective us as a fandom contributes towards a culture of racism every day, myself included. We as a fandom can do so much better. As Moose said when we yelled about LM racism for a hawt couple hours today, “In a fandom that purports to be about equality and social justice, we have to live up to our own ideals”.

(tl;dr - the Les Mis fandom is racist because it is a piece of white culture and writen by/for/about white people, Broadway and classic lit is rooted in exclusionism and there’s a lot of forces keeping people of color out of our original source materials, and because of the narrative of Les Mis being about revolution and social progress, we feel like we’ve achieved that and aren’t critical of our own shortcomings)

(phat thanks to my bro moose @everydayatleast for editing and contributing and Yelling with me!!)

#Les miserables #les mis #les amis #fandom racism #sollie speaks #if you feel hurt offended ashamed bitter guilty targeted while reading this post #maybe its time to do some thinkin #Things i did not include in this bc i have self control: the complexities of Black Javert and White Valjean #White Enjolras with a raised fist (aka BLACK POWER FIST?) #how i see almost no art of latinx/hispanic amis and even less indigenous amis #i think once i saw a middle eastern feuilly #how i looked through the faculty of prestigious univerisity classics departments and found 2 people of color out of hundreds of total facult #white people dont clown on this post challenge #other people of color would Love to hear your thoughts on this #seriously lets chat #would also love if yall (poc) have thoughts for you to message me instead of publically vibe checking me #plz im doing my best here #A series of disclaimers #first op is a person of color if that wasnt clear #listen to black creators and black voices especially for issues around BLM #second i have not read all of hugos letters #but i read this one on slavery a while back for apush and it stuck with me #hugo was racist #and im not saying like hes cancelled or some shit #because fuck cancel culture #just please can we be CRITICAL here #third PLEASE dont come for me about saying cosette has no agency #this is not what this is about #you are missing the point #fourth seriously this is not a callout

[ailuronymy]

Hello, Grey. Hope you’re doing well.

First off, a note for your information. I’m autistic, and tend to come off as incredibly direct without meaning to. Do read straightforward bluntness in this ask as genuine, matter-of-fact forthrightness, please. No aggression or derision is intended by anything I write hereafter.

Recently you made a post responding to an Anonymous ask referring to a question about non-binary cats in Ailuronymy’s character generator that was asked by the same Ruddles five years ago. I couldn’t follow your argumentation in either post, nor understood what you found wrong about the original question of that Ruddles.

Grey’s notes: hello there. I’m putting all of this under a read-more since there’s already a lot of words here. I would like to settle this matter and so I hope this might give you some answers–but if not, I’m sorry but I’m not really looking to continue the conversation any further. I didn’t really volunteer to have to deal with this kind of thing when I started writing a blog about pretend cats, and while I am very happy to try to educate and do what I can with the knowledge and little platform I have, this particular kind of education not what I’m here for and I’d prefer not to spend my time on it more than is necessary.

I have absolutely nothing against nonbinary people. I also consider real-life commonality a possible valid argument for commonality in a character generator for a fictional world that is integrated into a version of real Earth.

This is where we disagree. In real life, non-binary people are (allegedly) less common than binary people. I’m willing to agree with you on that. However, that is also not actually the issue I have and to explain what I mean by that I want to raise two points:

1. why should a for-fun name or character generator be expected to reflect real-world statistics?

2. why is the non-binary entry the sticking point, and not the the statistical over-presence of albinistic cats, for example, or white cats with blue eyes that aren’t deaf, or tortoiseshell toms? 

If I made a character generator for a pseudo-medieval fantasy, would you expect me to carefully ensure that the ratio of kings to peasants was correct? Would I be expected to put several thousand peasant entries in, and only one monarch, so that it would “accurately” reflect the “real world” (note: pseudo-medieval fantasy is not a real place or time, just like the world of Warriors is not)–or would people recognise that a character generator is merely a prompt and not something that needs to be taken literally? A character generator is simply holding up an option to you, which you are free to take or leave or change as you desire. 

The fact that the non-binary entry is the issue and none of the others I’ve listed–all of which are “statistical errors” within the context of the generator–reveals that this is not actually a concern about accuracy. If it was simply a concern about accuracy, then the person would be considering all of the ways in which my generator does not deliver an accurate reflection of “the real world.” But it’s not about accuracy, it’s specifically about the non-binary entry. And that is why I have an issue with this stance. 

If you can look at an otherwise error-filled generator and express concern only about the fact you have to see the word “non-binary” more frequently than you think is correct, that is a bigoted mindset. The non-binary entry in the generator is exactly as common as “tom” and “molly”: a one-in-three chance. You have two-out-of-three chances to see a binary gender, which is still a majority. 

I understand if you don’t want to spend your time on this, and respect your decision to do so if you so choose. However, I would like to understand why the above argument I mentioned isn’t valid in your eyes, and what makes inquiring about the generator ratio’s incongruence with real life ratios in humans instantly bigoted, since I wasn’t able to follow the reasoning there. How can asking a mere question that, to my eyes, seemed innocent, qualify as being bigoted? Isn’t the definition of bigotry more in the direction of an actively damaging, enduring prejudice?

It is not a good faith question, even if the person asking isn’t intentionally trying to be prejudiced or is asking the question in genuine curiosity. The question itself is not innocent. I think it is a mistake to refer to any question as “mere” because many questions can in fact be insidious, hurtful, inappropriate, malicious, or intentionally derailing. 

I would also like to point out that “sealioning” is a technique that certain people use to exhaust people by asking questions. That’s not what the anon who asked me was doing (I believe this was entirely an isolated incident and not actively malicious), but it’s not uncommon for marginalised people to be asked seemingly innocuous questions with the intent to exhaust, derail, infuriate, or belittle them. I can recommend watching carefully for this kind of behaviour, because it often takes the form of “polite” or “innocent” questioning--and then getting performatively upset when the person eventually refuses to engage anymore. 

Answering questions takes time and effort and energy, especially when the question is “explain why you should have rights” or “I don’t see why [thing that hurts you is bad], please explain in detail,” so sometimes people get fed up and lash out after being needled at length with similar. (This is kind of a detour, but I felt it’s worth acknowledging the way in which question-asking can actually be weaponised against marginalised people).

Anyway, as I said above, to isolate the frequency of the non-binary as an issue in a context where statistical accuracy is not assumed or required and would not be expected of other traits reveals that the person asking has an issue with non-binary being as present as it is. What does the person asking this question seek to achieve? If the non-binary entry in the generator is reduced in frequency to a “normal” or “accurate” level, what does that actually accomplish? 

One could certainly make the argument that it’s fallacious to relate real-life commonality to generator commonality, bringing forth whichever reasons one might choose; but instead in your response back then you chose to instead personally criticize the commenter while skipping over their actual question. How come? What made it invalid to address?

Sometimes I am tired and people make me cross with the things they say, so I be short with them and say exactly what I think of their behaviour, rather than hold their hand like a kindergarten teacher. If I was asked the same thing today, I would probably have been gentler and attempted to be more informative, because I have become gentler as a person in the five years since I answered that ask. I’m sure you can understand. Sometimes I’m not playing 4d chess and don’t have the wisdom and forethought of the sages. Sometimes I’m just a cranky old guy writing about cats who gets interrupted and has to tell someone to get over their nonsense. 

The Ruddles from back then didn’t imply viewing non-binary people negatively in any way, did they? (Genuine question; due to being autistic I’m not good at reading peoples’ intentions, and even worse at it over text.)

The implication is the question. Perhaps this person really did believe they “don’t have a problem with non-binary people”–but they clearly had enough of a problem with the word showing up 1/3 times on a generator to come and request for me, the creator, to make the word less common so they did not have to see it as much. That is not something a person does when they legitimately don’t have a problem with non-binary existence. 

How did what they asked have the potential to hurt anyone?

The question is hurtful implicitly because it calls into question the validity of the non-binary entry taking up space in the generator, and I suspect that could possibly hurt people’s feelings to read. 

But the big issue is actually what that person might also do. The question itself can do very little, but the unchallenged prejudice that caused the question to be asked at all can be very hurtful if left unchecked. That’s why I go to the effort to answer questions here. 

Why did you consider their train of thought about relating commonality in the generator to commonality IRL unkind or self-centred? It seems an obvious and innocuous connection to make, to me. Where does kindness or the lack of it come into the matter? How I understood, the argument appears focused only on factual observations of our reality, rather than making any statement disliking the inclusion of non-binary as an option in the generator, or equivalent.

There’s a phrase some people like to use that says “facts don’t care about your feelings.” But we are not facts and we can choose how we interpret and deliver facts to one another. Unkindness features in this question in the absence of considering how non-binary people might feel seeing themselves represented in the generator, and how it might feel to have someone quibbling over “commonality,” like they are a hypothetical to be debated, instead of real people who will read the question on my blog.  

Many people have thanked me over the years for including the entry and I care about how they feel. I felt that the person asking that question cared only about comforting their own worldview, instead of ceding some space in it for others–at no personal cost.

As far as I can tell, there ought to be some layer of personal prejudice that seems invisible to me in the original Ruddles’ question, else your response wouldn’t make sense - and I doubt that’s the case, based on what I’ve read from you the last few years.

I understand that you may not want to respond to this for whatever reason. Maybe it would take too long, maybe you don’t want to open this can of beans, or consider me a lost cause for my confusion.

That is fine. I accept your choice.

But if you do want to help me understand, I’d be thankful for a short explanation about your reasoning, so I can gain the contextual information to evaluate whether my own viewpoints, that wouldn’t have considered the initial Anonymous question from 2015 to be anything but an innocuous inquiry phrased a bit unfortunately, have the potential to cause hurt in the future.

I’m afraid I can’t really give a short explanation, given how much you’ve asked for me to clarify in this message, but I hope this reply clarifies what you’re struggling with. 

For what it’s worth, I think caring about the impact you have on others is the best possible place to come from as a person, so I don’t think you’re a lost cause. Best of luck to you in the future. 

I don’t want to unintentionally (or intentionally, for that matter) make anyone’s life worse, especially not that of people belonging to a group that already faces so many undeserved struggles in this world. That’s why I chose to write this, even if it may seem overly lengthy or not worth the effort to some.

Take care, and thanks for reading

Anony Mouse

#ask #submission

[steveramsdale]

Big dipper Blog - 10.10

This blog is, essentially, the same as last week’s. There are some alternative factual details, but they are superficial. Anyway, you could just reread (or remember) last week’s offering and save yourself a bit of time. If you do decide to read on, we could make it more fun. You could try to decide for yourself the highest high and the lowest low. Remember, it’s just for fun. There’s no prize, so don’t write, text or email.

I think, as people, we are supposed to grow, to learn, to develop. That’s the most startling revelation you’ll read today. Adversity can be, I’m told, an opportunity for such personal growth. It may, in fact, be true, that I have been learning about myself. I wonder if my ‘issue’ is that if one thing is wrong, it affects everything else. See what you think.

On Saturday, my chief goal was to get the car de-registered and get the papers I need for me to be able to export it. The police centre I needed to go to was advertised as opening at 9:30 so I had time to get up and get sorted. I had a wonderful colleague on notice to be available for telephone translation if necessary.

I took a 6am trip to the shop through the park. Many people were already out running, I’d say 100 or more and it’s not a big park. Much of Tashkent has given up on lockdown.

Soon it was time to head off for the simple process of taking my car off its registration here! Google maps took me behind the centre where there was no gate. It was not difficult to find a way round to the front. That was the last time a problem was easily solved on Saturday. When we got the van and went to register it for the first time, the father and son who sold it to us, took me and helped. Even so, when we got there, they accepted the help of a man who was at the centre to do just that - help, for a fee, people through the process. He charged me about £20 but probably saved us 3 or 4 hours by knowing what to do and going to the front of queues. When I returned to the scene of this lengthy but problem-free process, there were, again, these free-lance ‘sorters’ and I decided it would be worth accepting help. The price was about the same. However, the first problem emerged in minutes. The address. I knew, back in September, that this would be a problem one day, would bite me on the bum. Sorry, I forgot to say that this blog would contain strong language and adult themes. I have a credit card-sized, well, card which is my ownership document (log book). It has all of the details about me and my van. So, of course, the address is our old address. Now, in my passport, I have my new address. I did not sort this out. The people at the centre said they could not de-register me until I changed the address (of course I questioned this), and that I could not change he address there but had to go to the centre in Yunusabad. I paid about £2 for something and my assistant asked for (and received) about £5 for his help. I set off for the other centre.

Long-time readers may (won’t) remember that at the original registration, we also went to two centres - the wrong one first. The centre I had to go to now was that ‘wrong’ one. I love symmetry, and here it was. When I got there, again came the offers of help. There were more guys here and they wanted £60. I declined, at this rate. I first drove into the inspection hall. Here they check the car against the ‘tec-passport’ as the credit-card is called. They match up the chassis number, etc. I had the papers from the first centre, so that went through without a hitch. Thereafter, the day was just a big hitch or series of small hitches that’s looked like one big hitch. We return to the Uzbek system, seen at the Kazakh border (remember) of needing to go from window to window, room to room. However, I was soon (a relative term) told that I would not be able to deregister the van until I had proof that I was leaving the country too. This would be in the form of a stamp in my passport given by my landlord! This cuts a longer story short and, by now, includes Miss Viktoriya as my telephone translator. I was certain that this could not be right (by the way, the miss-matched address was no longer an issue. It would mean, for example, that an Uzbek could not export a car to a relative in Russia! I tried explaining this, we went back to the main hall to talk to the boss a couple of times, but no one was changing this story. I phoned Pim, the export guy who has helped with every stage of this van conversion, and he put me on to a colleague. We talked and he also spoke to the officials there but got the same answer. Pim then told me that his people would look in to it more on Monday (yes, this story goes on) and help to sort it. The woman I had been dealing with insisted that I go back to the other centre and get my £2 back - which was an incorrect charge. She even phoned them to arrange it for me. I didn’t go back. Not for £2.

As an aside, there has to be a better way for the authorities to organise this free-for-all. The system is not a system. Queuing is almost non-existent and the mass of people at peak times is ridiculous. The spivs there to help....It is bad enough in normal times, but while a pandemic is still around....

So now I was free, for the rest of Saturday and Sunday to worry and consider the prospect of being unable to send the van (and the ridiculous amount of other stuff) home. Here is where I realised that this one problem took over everything. I heard that cafes and restaurants would be allowed to re-open on Monday and immediately thought of Ecorn. I should have been more happy. I wasn’t. I did decide I would go and have a chicken caesar sandwich after work on Monday.

Monday was a tough day. There quite a lot of end of year stuff at school, practical stuff, which I’m finding stressful. Then there’s this. The rule is ridiculous but it seems to be the rule! Then, some good news - someone offered to help me. I had called Ekaterina, the woman who deals with staff visas and registration. I thought that she would know about this stamp I needed or would be able to find out. She did not know about the stamp but said that she would go with me to the car centre to find out about it. I still had the papers. We went after my last lesson and when she was free. We went to the office of the ‘Saturday woman’. She wasn’t in the office but her colleague remembered me and said I could go to the main room. We went across and up to a free window. Ekaterina spoke to the police officer there. He immediately told us that no such stamp was needed and, had I brought the car, or even just the number plates, he could have done it there and then! We had gone in a taxi. I asked if there was time for me to go and get the plates then, but there was not. I resolved to go early the next day as he said it would take about 30 minutes. And suddenly the world was full of sunlight and joy again. I looked with pleasure upon my fellow Uzbeks, pushing to the front of queues and standing too close to each other.

We shared a taxi as Ekaterina lives quite close to the centre. I enjoyed (really enjoyed) my Ecorn sandwich. Life was good again. As an aside, these were my first taxi rides since The 22nd March. I saw Z—- JB so I’m sure KB is out there somewhere. Will I see it?

On Tuesday morning, as planned, I went back to the Gai. It opens at 8 so I was there at 7:30. The officer from the evening before was the first to arrive and had the key for the room (more of a hall, really). My first lesson of the day is at 9. School is a 15/20 minute taxi ride away away (I was going in to school to do some of the other jobs I have to do), so this would be a doddle. I was the only customer. I had the number plates and the documents and handed them over. The officer began the process. After about 20 minutes we went over to the cassa (the payment room. He took me. It was about £6. The woman there said I should go back to get my refund (I had given her my receipt from the other place). I agreed that I should but did not say I would not. A taxi there and back would be about £4! We returned to the main room. he continued the process. Time continued to move on. More customers began to arrive. Many went to my guy’s window and he flitted between my job and theirs. None of them could see the ‘maintain distance’ stickers on the floor. These were very obtrusive, written in Uzbek and Russian and invisible to local men. As time ticked on, it was clear I would be late for my first lesson. I sent my students an email. I waited. Eventually, my officer moved across the room, to a computer. This is it. he’s going to print my papers. After about another 20 minutes, I saw the ‘printing’ notification/animation appear on his Windows ME screen. And, five minutes later, he was handing me the paper work. It was done. My first lesson of the day was abandoned but I had what I needed.

One more observation here - no one in Tashkent will be getting coronavirus of the chin.

While I was feeling sorry for myself, over the weekend, I saw people collecting rubbish being moved on by the police. I have mentioned previously, that there are always people sorting through the rubbish bin. The mostly seem to be collecting plastic bottles but take anything of value. This group of four had huge bags of plastic and were near ‘my’ bins. I have no idea why four police men were moving them on. I wondered how many plastic bottles you would need to collect in a day to ‘make a living’. I also wondered what these people had done wrong, ‘stealing’ my rubbish. I also wondered why I had been feeling so sorry for myself trying to sort out my ‘huge problem’. Perspective. It had gone. It has returned but I did not know it could be so fleeting.

I did some lessons at school on Tuesday and began all of the sorting, packing and tidying tasks. Mafirat, my TA, was in too. The internet is not great at school! It was good tom see people, but I was not entirely comfortable.

On Thursday, working from home again, I decided to go for coffee out before work. While walking round I saw two kittens playing and stopped to say ‘hi’. One had jumped into a ditch but the other stopped and looked at me. It the looked back at its mother (I’m guessing but 99.9% sure). She came stalking round a bush. She was ready to attack me if necessary. It was not necessary.

The fire engine and disinfectant squad were also back. While I was out, they sprayed all the way up the stairs in my building, so I imagine they were going through all of the buildings.

Thursday was also the day I would take the van. I had loaded everything. I had stuck the paper transit number plate in the front window. I was ready to go. It is a short drive to Pim’s warehouse. Of course I was stopped by a police man. he wanted to know why I was driving without number plates. As soon as I showed him the paper plate stuck in the window, he was fine. At the warehouse, about six guys unpacked everything and re-packed it in their boxes. It was (is) a ridiculous amount of stuff. And so, I left Munisa with strangers, to travel alone on the journey we should have made together.

And if I did stop at Ecorn and have another caesar sandwich, that’s nobody’s business but mine.

There were children playing inside my building. This is the first time this has happened. I could hear three or four playing further up the stairs - laughing and running around. Later, while I was talking to Mairi and Fred, they were outside my door. They were having a good time. I don’t know why they were playing on the stairs and I don’t mind. It was nice to hear voices and laughter.

Also on Thursday, in my last lesson of the day, guided reading, two notable things happened. A high and low (you decide). In our morning English lesson, we had defined some vocabulary, including ‘bittersweet’. We had talked about the meaning, in terms of taste, of the two parts of the word. They said they were happy that they understood it. The guided reading was Kensuke’s Kingdom. I had not realised it was the last chapter. We were suddenly at the end. I can assure you there are no spoilers ahead. As I was reading, I suddenly found myself getting emotional. The two main characters were interacting and I felt that I was going to cry. In fact, I did. The events of the last two or three paragraphs got to me. They are relevant to my situation, I suppose. This has never happened to me before in a lesson. I always tear up at the end of Sister Act 2 (the cinema’s greatest achievement) but this is a new one. One of the students said “Oh Mr Ramsdale, don’t cry!” The postscript didn’t help, but I regained my composure.

We talked about the complex emotions of the ending. One of my brightest students only every joins in through the chat. I looked in the box and she had written one word. -‘bittersweet’. My work here is done.

I know it’s been a longer one, but there are a few loose ends and thoughts.

Returning to an old them, I heard ‘unite together’. I also heard ‘plateaued off’. Unnecessary, people. Perhaps I should have said ‘returning back to an old theme’.

I saw JB. Driving over to the centre, I saw E___JB. So they’ve been out for a little while. Appropriately, the driver got that plate from one of the centres I went to this week!

Let’s finish with Trump. I mean that in both senses of that sentence. This week he again asserted that testing causes cases of the virus, so testing is bad. He also said that if people stop calling others racists, racism will quickly go away. At what age do toddlers acquire the concept of object permanence? He’s not there yet. If we can’t see him, will he cease to exist?

And that’s it. What sort of week has it been? Bittersweet.

See you next time.

[csykora]

Hey hey hey! I was wondering how i could find that post ab Kuzy and the struggle to adapt for North American hockey?? My dad is saying international hockey is easier to play than North American (as a justification for why Nylander is doing better @ worlds than this szn but that’s a diff story) and I’m trying to prove a point (Russians aren’t bad hockey players just because they (historically?) struggle in North America!) thanks xxx

Hey there.

**The following is not an opinion on Willam Nylander. I am agnostic. I suspect he may exist and you all cannot make me do more than that.**

Lemme chat with your dad a min? I got questions.

what does he think makes one game harder?

Factually we know what the difference is, right: one rink is wider than the other. 

how does that then make that game different?

Restricting the width of the rink, the skaters’ room to move, changes the goals of the game.

Any moment that I have the puck and you do not seems like it should be good for me. If I have it, you aren’t scoring a goal with it. If I try to score a goal with it, maybe I score, but maybe I mess up and you get it and you score a goal and that’s bad. Shooting is giving up possession in a meaningful way.

But in a narrow rink, we’re always closer together, it’s easier for you to smash into me, so you have more chances to take the puck away from me. Some of the time you’ll manage and then you’ll have it and you can score goals with it. I just plain probably won’t be able to keep possession all game, trying to do that would be risky for me, so it makes sense for me to try to score goals before you do.

In a big rink, if I’ve got the puck—oh, I’m so sorry! I didn’t hear you across all this ice, wide enough that I can push off and hit peak speed going any direction, not just end to end. Did you say you want this? Did you want to smash me and take it and try to score some goals with it? Sure, you can try. Catch me and my several speedy friends first.

Corner work and board battles are less practical for you, so holding possession becomes more of a virtue for me. Goals still happen, but they happen when one team outshines the other enough in skating or passing that it makes sense for them to award themselves a point. An equal or even ultimate goal is to keep control until the clock runs out.

With more ice on the wings, wingers become more like centers. They have to spend more time managing their space, rather than mostly finishing plays that their center managed down the middle. They’re judged more for what North Americans see as classic center beauty (speed and awareness, as they’re expected to travel the full length of the ice, puck control as they skate, passing). Kuznetsov and Malkin were wingers in Russia, because they suck at faceoffs, and in Russia that’s seen as the only thing centers really do that wingers don’t, to the point that Kuznetsov and Malkin on the wing didn’t seem like a waste.

What North American men call ‘overpassing’ starts to happen: instead of the first person in with the puck aiming for a goal, the puck carrier will pass back and forth with other players until someone feels secure to shoot. This slows goals, which, remember, aren’t the only goal.

The other two NHLisms that Kuznetsov struggled with, by his own account, are the idea of dumping the puck and the idea of shooting over passing. These are not hard for him to do. They are foreign to him, hard for him to remember to prioritize doing. He thinks they’re irresponsible and rude, because they don’t contribute to the goal of his game.

In the NHL, they do. And that’s fine! The NHL plays on small ice and has its own goals and values and skills, and they’re awesome. They are no more or less awesome.

Now your dad might say, G, if non-North American hockey is better adapted for big ice than North American style, 

how come Canada does so great in competition, huh?

What do we know about Team Canada?  Sidney Crosby can have Steven Stamkos and Patrice Bergeron on his wings if he wants. You don’t crack that roster if you’re not a top 10 center, even on defense.

I think North Americans tend to know that and think, “well centers are good so more centers is just better,” but if that were always true we would train all wingers to think like centers. A three-center line doesn’t work well on narrow ice, where the winger needs board skills and finishing skills (and, frankly, to be less of a diva). It does work as a bridge when the two games meet in competition.

I just described what international hockey is, not how hard it is.

which is harder, jumping a horse or jumping on a bike?

Now, I might say riding a horse is easier, because I know how to do it. Or I might say it’s more complicated, because again, I know what all it takes to do it.

Both those answers are honest and both are less useful than I don’t know how to ride a bike.

When my brother does well in a bike race, I’m not gonna ask him hey if you’re so “good” at this why’d you fall off the pony that one time then huh? I’m not gonna make him race me.

Or if I did, and I crushed him, I wouldn’t say my sport is better, I’d say oh right I’m on a horse, they big. If he won at 50 yards and I won at 200 yards and at 5 miles and he won at 50 miles, I’d say wow, it’s like a bike and a horse are good at different things in different situations.  

Different kinds of hockey aren’t as different as that, but my point is that it’s possible for two things with two different goals to have two different ways of doing them well. And someone coming over from one thing to judge how you’re doing the other is silly.

Another question to think about:

If international hockey is easy, why do North Americans who go to the KHL also suck?

I don’t think your dad has heard their stories, because let’s be clear I don’t think your dad knows international hockey, but those players exist and have the same darn struggle as Russians in the NHL.

Now, your dad could argue that that’s because we’re pitting North American D-listers who have to go to the KHL against a league of Russia’s A-listers, but frankly that’s offensive to Amur, who’ve assembled a crack team of Russian D-listers and are also very bad.  

Americans who go to Russia don’t immediately dominate with scoring. They take a while to learn the game, and then they start to excel in the ways that you can excel in the KHL’s game.

why have Russian players historically struggled?

We’ve seen individual players have trouble adapting. We’ve also seen Alex Ovechkin, so, you know, he fucks any generalization. Kucherov’s doing okay. Svech sure looks alright.

Russian players make up a very small percent of the NHL today. “Russian NHLers” is barely a big enough test group to sample flavors of toothpaste, much less make sweeping claims about people’s experiences.

And there are so few of them because historically speaking, Russia is real big and not real friendly to North American business interests (which is what NHL teams are), so NHL teams don’t maintain scouts there.

Can you name a player from East Russia? I guarantee it’s not cause there’s no ice there! But it’s a wild huge amount of space to cover. When KHL teams take days and–I can’t stress this enough, have repeatedly died in travel accidents–just to get to games, the NHL is not investing in that.

The NHL doesn’t try to draft Russians unless they’ve already made a name for themselves at international tournaments. Imagine if only the Canadian boys who got to go to Worlds and scored points there were on anyone’s radar. The NHL’s business model is to get quick dibs on obvious talent and let the rest bubble up.

Which is one of many things that makes the modern NHL and NHL fans’ devotion to the draft difficult. There are good reasons that some kids go undrafted who are as good as the drafted kids, so fans have the idea that non North Americans who are left to develop are devalued. (The idea that anyone should be ready for the NHL right out of the draft is really new and really, really wild, like, biologically-speaking. 18 years is the age you can sign a contract, it has nothing to do with your physiological or athletic development).

Big question: does your dad like international hockey? Does he follow the Swedish or Russian leagues? Does he like William Nylander?

You say ‘that’s a different story’ but honestly I think that is the story.

Because if we agreed that actually, Nylander is talented at some things, then the argument that anything Nylander does well must be easy to do doesn’t make sense. It’s a bit like seeing Nylander ride a bike and asking why he couldn’t ride that pony. Maybe Nylander is better at one thing than the other thing. This rests on Nylander being bad, and/or Swedish hockey being bad.

If your dad is honest, he doesn’t like William Nylander, and he doesn’t like Swedish hockey. And that’s fine! He didn’t have to justify that. 

But he is back-engineering an argument to justify not liking them that rests on already not liking them. 

And he’s kind of digging at the value of anyone who likes what he doesn’t approve of: “easy” is a heavy word. The implication is almost that Nylander is worse for doing something “easy” well but being too lazy to work hard in North America

I swear if I get a single comment asking me to think about Nylander beyond his hair I am turning this blog around

Your dad isn’t behaving well in this argument. Relatable, but not well.  

I’m not saying shame your dad! I hope he’s otherwise great. But I encourage you to ask questions that encourage him to self-reflect, more than trying to feed him facts. Mostly because that won’t work. And it won’t be a failure on your part when you don’t say the perfect facts in the perfect way to make him acknowledge them. This is between him and his hockey gods, you know?

I think a lot of us could stand to learn not to argue like he’s doing, but a lot of us could stand to learn how to talk to someone who is arguing unfairly without taking too much on ourselves, trying to justify what we like back to them when neither of you have to justify shit. 

So if it will bring you joy to shove these points at him, good luck, have a ball. If not, go watch some Swedes be good at Swedish hockey, and have a blast.

[catbowserauthor]

TMNT 1987 Story: What Is Intelligence? 1

I couldn’t find a post where I put this one up so I decided to add it. My first 1987 TMNT universe story after I watched “Donatello’s Duplicate.” Still one of my favorites I’ve done!

***

Splinter frowned, his furry brow scrunching up as he tried to focus. He had gone to his room to meditate, as was his custom before retiring. The Lair was quiet for the most part, save the occasional rustle from Donatello’s lab. The wise sensei gave a half sigh to himself. Donatello had a bad habit of becoming obsessed over some of his projects and it seemed the day’s events had not changed that. Well, no, he supposed that was an unfair assumption. After the disaster in which his intellectually minded son had cloned himself, Donatello became far more accepting of the ways that he contributed but his other sons had also been quick to apologize for taking such skills for granted. It always did Splinter’s heart well to see lessons learned, even if they weren’t learned easily. Such was life and life as a teenaged boy was hard enough, let alone adding a mutation on top of it. So, to see appreciation and regret expressed for past actions, on both sides, gave a swell of pride to his spirit.

However, that did not change the fact that something was amiss. He could faintly feel Leonardo and Raphael sleeping soundly, and Donatello would be in his lab at least a few more hours and no amount of threatening would convince him otherwise. Even a father had limits on what he could get his child to do. That left—

“Sensei?” the voice was spoken softly but firmly from the doorway to his chambers.

Opening his eyes, the rat master spied his youngest child, Michelangelo, peering in from the doorway, slowly. He had been trying not to disturb him yet it appeared by the look on his face that he desired his counsel. That was a bit unusual. Typically, it was Leonardo who sought him out and Michelangelo, if he needed advice, usually went to his eldest son. Given the time of night though, his carefree son would not have wanted to disturb the leader. Michelangelo was always trying to make things easier for him, as much as possible and if Leonardo had been asleep, he would not have bothered him. All his students knew that Splinter would occasionally be up late in meditation and self-practice.

“Michelangelo…come, my son.” Splinter gestured him in with a hand and the orange banded teen obliged, entering and settling on one of the tatami mats with Splinter’s nod.

“What troubles you?” The elder mutant frowned to himself. He usually could feel or sense his pupils without issue. Now, however, Michelangelo was kneeling right in front of him and he was having a hard time getting a lock on his spirit. The only reason behind that was if the teen was suppressing it. That happened, often, if one was experiencing emotions that were upsetting but they felt guilty about addressing. It happened occasionally with the others but it was far more common with his youngest student. Truthfully, Splinter suspected that Michelangelo had no idea he had such command over his spiritual energy. In any event, it would explain the deeply troubled expression he carried.

“I…well, it’s…” Michelangelo sighed as he stumbled over his words, feeling a little embarrassed. After all, here he was, disturbing his master and he couldn’t even spit out the words. Totally uncool. “I…couldn’t sleep.” He finally stumbled out. Biting lightly, the turtle lowered his head, “Mondo sorry to be buggin’ you, Master Splinter.”

A light chuckle and the nin-jitsu teacher reached out and squeezed his son’s hand, “It is not a bother, Michelangelo if you are in need of me. I am here.” He eyed the teen, “However, for all my skills, I am not a mind-reader,” he added gently.

“Right. Duh. Well, I’ve been thinkin’ ‘bout what happened today. With Donatello’s clone.” He frowned. “It was totally nutso. Lucky for us that Donatello is a good guy, right? Not some totally rude-dude..”

“I hear a comment that protects a question.” Splinter stated matter-of-factually.

Caught, Michelangelo heaved a half-choked breath of exasperation. “Well, kinda…sorta. I mean, I know my bro is good. He’s cranky sometimes but he’s good. But…that clone said something earlier. It’s totally bogus I’m still worrying about it but…”

“What was said, my son?” Splinter inquired simply.

Still hurting a bit from the words, Michelangelo repeated, “He…came into the living room and was totally gettin’ on Raphael’s case. Making all kinds of uncool cracks about his brain. So, I tol’ him to ease off, that Raphael’s smarts were as good as mine.” Silence for a moment and Master Splinter merely waited. Michelangelo was grateful for that; his sensei had such patience. He didn’t deserve it sometimes and yet sensei always gave it. It was totally bizarro but this was eatin’ at him! “He…said that “compared to you, he’s a rocket scientist.”” The teenaged ninja went quiet after that. Leonardo had jumped to his defense and that eased his heart some of the hurt but it had still cut and cut deep.

“Hmm.” Splinter mused a moment, “And yet, I sense something else, my son.” He admitted to his child, squeezing his hand tightly. “What is the deeper hurt that keeps you in pain?”

“Well…” he thought a long moment before replying, “I guess…I mean, I know the clone WASN’T Donatello but…well, he was based from him, right? So…doesn’t that mean that…Donatello…thinks that about me? Least…a little?” Michelangelo carried so much hurt in his voice that Splinter thought he would begin crying at any moment. Not that he was against such a thing but he hated to ever see any of his sons so hurt. Especially Michelangelo. It wasn’t just a matter of him being the youngest but he was also the most emotional, the most sensitive. He always had been.

“My son,” he stated finally, “I do not think your brother thinks that of you. Despite their teasing, your brothers respect you for your own gifts and talents.” Splinter finally stated, though he knew it would not carry much weight.

Michelangelo could tolerate Raphael’s teasing because as much as he teased, there were also times when he was sincere and genuine despite how he would deny this. He and Raphael tended to stick together more, as they were both non-leader types. Michelangelo had always desired to impress and respect his two other brothers, the ones who carried the trait of leadership. “However,” Splinter felt inclined to add with a gentle hand to his son’s head, “Your heart may need to hear it from Donatello to fully believe it.”

Michelangelo drooped his head a little further. Deep in his gut, he had a feeling that was going to be the suggestion. He suspected that had Leonardo been awake, he would have said the same. Raphael, in his own sarcastic way, would have told him to “go ask the brainac yourself.” He knew it and he knew that Splinter was right. He would go over all kinds of scenarios and possibilities in his head about what his brother thought until he talked to him. Sometimes, being right was such a drag. “Guess you’re right, Sensei. But…how do you ask someone if they think you’re brain-dead and not have it go totally wrong?”

With a simple clearing of his throat, his father responded, “I have found that a simple ‘can we talk?’ is an excellent beginning.”

“…right.” The teen remarked as he stood, stretching his cramped legs a little, “I…guess I’ll talk to Donatello in the morning…”

“Your brother is still working in his lab, despite my suggestion to get some rest,” Splinter interrupted. “I suggest you speak with him now.”

“I was afraid you’d say that.”

#tmnt #the 1987 turtles speak japanese #1987 tmnt are a family #big brother donnie #michelangelo loves everyone #words hurt #words have power #donatello’s duplicate #aftermath #michelangelo is a sweetheart #family communication #multiple intelligences

[kingedwardviii]

What are your thoughts on the narrative regarding David/Edward and Wallis portrayed in The Crown? Sorry if you’ve been asked before!

Hi! I was asked something like this a while ago, but it was before season 2 which kinda changed my view on the show a little bit. 

I’m actually still working on a pretty substantial series of posts for my other blog about the various allegations in episode six of season two, which are a mixture of complete bullshit and things deliberately taken out of context. But here is my latest post, with actual citations, about the various Nazi related rumors and the problems with that narrative. The odd thing about The Crown is that unlike most fictional portrayals of the royal family, you get the feeling that the research was done but then kinda ignored to make the plot go in the direction the writers wanted it to. 

Other than the fundamental issue of whether or not the Windsors supported the Nazis (tldr; they didn’t) after the jump are my pros and cons about the accuracy of their portrayal in both seasons. It has been about six months since I’ve watched any of it, so I might be missing a few things, though I did refer to some notes I had about season two. 

Pros:

-There was an impressive attention to detail when it came to recreating their clothing, Wallis’s jewelry, and some of the details in how they decorated. A lot of research and effort must’ve gone into it, and I was happy to see Wallis’s cross bracelet, the pug pillows, and many of David’s real outfits replicated. 

-There was a definite ring of authenticity to David’s letters home to Wallis, at least for the season one episodes. Since the season two plotline of him coming home during Billy Graham’s visit and being banished by Elizabeth was 100% fake, obviously the letters there weren’t based on anything factual. Apparently for reasons having to do with copyright, the letters in season one were rearranged and a lot of it was rewritten, but as someone who’s read the real letters and pretty much knows them backwards and forwards I was fooled at first into thinking they were real letters just cut up out of context. The nicknames were real, though I think the show implied they were more malicious than they actually were since David and Wallis had nicknames for *everyone*. He did call her Peaches, a detail other dramatizations have missed. 

-Wallis and David could both be kind of petty, bitchy, overdramatic people, especially when it came to the royal family. This came from a genuine place of deep hurt which you need some level of background knowledge to understand, but that is certainly a very realistic aspect of their personalities and their dynamic as a couple that comes through when you read their letters from any point after the abdication. 

-There aren’t really any fictionalized portrayals of David and Wallis that go into their life after the abdication, and even less so if you’re talking about after the war. I think The Crown did a good job showing their relationship in a realistic way, and showing the complexities of his feelings; though she didn’t get as much depth. It seems to be hard for some writers (both of fiction and “non-fiction” that is more like fiction) to wrap their heads around the fact that the Windsors, her especially, were bitter about living in exile, had their share of regrets, but also did genuinely love each other. They most certainly did not live happily ever after, and even had tension in their relationship over the abdication, but also showed a lot of affection for each other and tried to make their marriage work. Though I think some of this was the realistic chemistry and it’s more of a credit to the actors, who probably studied over old photos and videos quite a bit, rather than the writing or directing. 

-Considering they got a relatively small amount of screen time, the depth that we got of his characterization was pretty impressive. Peter Morgan does have something of a gift for telling you a lot about a character in a relatively small number of scenes, which is noticeable with other characters such as Tony Snowden and Jackie Kennedy as well. 

-David and Wallis Windsor were 100% the sort of people who would’ve thrown a birthday party for one of their dogs. I have no evidence something like this happened but if you read how they write about their dogs in their letters, it seems plausible. 

Cons:

-Wallis’s character is not given much agency or a voice of her own. She gets less screen time as David and has no real relationship with the protagonist of the story, so this makes sense on some level, but I also feel like there were some missed opportunities there. For instance, along with David’s letters to Wallis, we have her letters back to him which are an incredibly important, but often ignored, source of insight as to her personality and her feelings towards her husband. The royal family seemed to view Wallis as a one-dimensional villain character, and the media at the time and even today treats her as more of a plot-point than a complex human being. Even though The Crown at least shows her as affectionate towards David (which is accurate) and not totally lacking in humanity, there is no real attempt to subvert or reexamine the incredibly misogynistic narrative the royal family and their supporters built around her and some of the inaccuracies I’m about to mention play into this.

-Wallis is shown as being present during the abdication flashback scenes in season one, even being in the same room as Queen Mary in one of them. She wasn’t there, she was out of the country during most of the abdication crisis and, crucially, Queen Mary refused to ever meet her at all, during or after the crisis. The closest they came was over a year earlier when Wallis, at a series of large events David had gotten her into, was in the same room as King George V and Queen Mary and was briefly presented to them. I am guessing this is just a case of bad historical research; any biography of the people involved, even a bad one, would’ve set them straight. But it creates a very misleading impression because they missed something very significant to understanding David’s attitude towards his family: Queen Mary considered Wallis so far beneath her she refused to even be in the same room as Wallis once she knew David wanted to marry her. After the abdication, the rest of the royal family mostly followed her lead, so at the time both seasons of The Crown are set, Elizabeth II has only ever met Wallis once (or maybe twice), fleetingly, when she was a little girl. This was also widely covered in the press, so Wallis had to deal with the fact that not only did her in-laws hate her and blame her for the abdication, but the entire world knew that. Also, though the show doesn’t touch on the tension between Wallis and David over the abdication (except perhaps that weird exchange at the party in season two), which is probably the right choice given the time period covered, to make a very long story short if you want to understand Wallis’s side of that story the fact that she wasn’t there when David abdicated and he didn’t tell her until it was already put into motion is pretty fucking crucial. Making her seem more involved in that situation also serves to make the royal family’s treatment of her seem more justified than it actually was.

-That they even referenced (much less treated as factual) the ridiculous story about Wallis sleeping with the Nazi diplomat Joachim von Ribbentrop is pretty disgusting. This is a somewhat distinct issue to the fundamental problems with the Nazi narrative as a whole that I covered in the post linked above. Not only is there no evidence whatsoever for this story, but it can be directly traced back to a misinterpretation of another false rumor that Wallis was overly friendly with Ribbentrop’s predecessor Leopold von Hoesch, Wallis at least knew Hoesch, who it’s worth noting was not a member of the Nazi party. Ribbentrop only met Wallis a few times, fleetingly, at parties. Of all the ridiculous “affair” stories, this one is the least credible (and none of them are credible), doesn’t really make any logical sense, but is also the most widely repeated. The reason for that is this particular story uses the decades of baseless slut-shaming that has been heaped on Wallis to give credence to the extremely flimsy narrative that she was some sort of Nazi agent. And because Wallis isn’t given a ton of agency or characterization, the viewer might find this allegation believable even though it seems to contradict what little we are told about her. Whatever pre-conceived notions you have about Wallis that might stem from misogyny, either through false allegations or taking an overly judgmental attitude to things that are true, will make you more inclined to believe the Ribbentrop story, and then that story in turn props up an entire narrative about her being a Nazi collaborator. It’s bullshit, but it gives people a more socially acceptable reason to hate her in this day and age and prevents any sort of feminist reexamination of how Wallis was treated. 

-Though we see a few bitchy comments from the Queen Mother, by and large the royal family’s nastiness towards David and Wallis is downplayed in season one, and then given a completely bullshit justification in season two. The entire plotline of the episode in season two, as it pertains to David asking Elizabeth if he can return to England and her telling him off because for being a Nazi, is completely false. It goes to show how much of an impact that The Crown has had on how the royal fandom views David and Wallis that people now seem to genuinely believe Nazi sympathies had something to do with the royal family’s banishment of the Windsors. The royal family viewed the Windsors as negatively (or possibly more negatively) before the war, than after it, and their vendetta against Wallis started before the visit to Nazi Germany, even. Their complaints about the Nazi Germany visit, to the extent that we have documentation of them, center around it being a publicity stunt rather than it involving the Nazis. David and Wallis were allowed in Britain more often after the war than before it. In the 1960s, Elizabeth II finally agreed to meet Wallis, agreed to let the Windsors be buried in Britain, and actually invited Wallis and David as a married couple to an official engagement; this was the closest to a “reconciliation” that ever happened and all of it was after the Marburg papers were published (which if you skipped the link earlier, didn’t exactly say what Peter Morgan would have you believe they did), and after episode six of season two of The Crown is set. I am going to guess season three of The Crown will not cover any of that because they doubled down on the Nazi angle to such an extent that it’s not only incredibly historically inaccurate, but pretty much rules out any reconciliation between David and Elizabeth unless they want to retcon some of it. Elizabeth II was mostly following the lead of her parents when it came to her views on Wallis and David, and her parents were pretty open about their feelings: they were bitter and angry about the abdication and how it impacted their lives, and they also held a lot of backwards, sexist views about Wallis, views that were not kept secret either in public or private. To the extent that Elizabeth’s attitude towards them changed during the ‘50s and ‘60s, she became less hostile to them because of changing attitudes about divorce and women’s rights, not more hostile to them because of anything to do with Nazism. 

-Around the time of David’s appearance in season two of The Crown, he was writing a book (Windsor Revisited, published in 1960) which he did go to Britain to research. Furthermore, at this point he’d already written his memoirs (A King’s Story, published in 1951) which were an international bestseller, so the idea of him coming to Britain to work on a book should hardly have seemed surprising or questionable to anyone. Also by this point David had basically given up on ever being given a position in Britain again; when George VI and Queen Mary died and nothing changed, he basically gave up because he realized the Queen Mother’s attitude was not doing to change and she would remain an obstacle even if her daughter was nominally head of the family. 

-The idea that the royal family was (or even still is) trying to cover up some sort of connection between David and the Nazis isn’t really backed up. Churchill, who had been a close friend of David for many years, did try to suppress Nazi documents that mentioned him, as did President Eisenhower, who was friendly with the Windsors, but also who was involved with capturing the deposits of documents to begin with and felt the Nazis didn’t tend to make very reliable sources. Bertie, on the other hand, said the documents probably should be published. Two of the men involved in sending the documents to the American researchers, insuring their publication, were closely tied to the royal family. One, John Wheeler-Bennett, who found out about the “missing” documents and insisted they be included in the publication with the help of American historians, was subsequently chosen by the Queen and Queen Mother to write the official biography of George VI and later was knighted by the Queen for service to the royal family. The other was Tommy Lascelles, and according to Wheeler-Bennett, he actually made the microfilms of the documents that were sent along and later published. More damaging than anything that has actually been published is this idea that there is more of it out there that the royal family is still concealing. Not only is there no reason to believe there is anything more out there or that the royal family has “covered” for David and Wallis, we know that the one chance they had to do so, they weren’t cooperative and may very well have helped undermine Churchill’s attempt to do so. And they really didn’t have a motivation; the narrative now is that David and Wallis were Nazi sympathizers or even collaborators, and perhaps that now is slightly damaging to the prestige of the monarchy, though it’s not like they didn’t have their share of questionable figures already and it’s not like other monarchies in Europe haven’t faced similar allegations, most of them more credible. But in the late ‘40s and ‘50s, if you read contemporary newspapers and magazines, the Duke of Windsor was still a relatively popular figure and polls suggested the public thought he should be allowed to live in Britain again. Even when he died in 1972, there was a large public showing of grief and sixty thousand people waited in line for hours to view his lying in state. For the main branch of the family during that period, it probably looked much better to encourage the public to think David was a bad apple and they kicked him out of the country so he couldn’t do any damage (especially if Wallis is blamed for corrupting him) than to say there was a decades long family feud where everyone (including George VI, the Queen Mother, and Elizabeth II) behaved badly and they kicked a popular member of our family out of both public life and private family events because of personal drama and attitudes about divorce that look more out-of-touch with each passing year. 

-The back story between Churchill and David is largely left out; their one major scene together in season one seems to hint at it (one of Churchill’s lines suggests he’s helped David before and it didn’t end well), but the little bit we see of Churchill in season two doesn’t hint at it at all. And theoretically that would’ve happened first; even though the whole show is written by Peter Morgan it almost feels like two different writers, one of whom knows that Churchill was a friend of David for decades and his primary supporter during the abdication crisis and one who either doesn’t know that or is choosing to go in a different direction. I am leaning towards the latter idea since I feel like David’s plotline in season two was written entirely in response to criticism from people who largely don’t know that history who thought the show was being too sympathetic to David and Wallis. I’ve seen some of these same people treating this as a plot hole, wondering why Churchill would’ve had dinner with David “knowing” all of these supposedly horrible things David did, but in real life they did remain friendly and Winston and Clementine Churchill had even went to stay with David and Wallis in France during the period he was out of office. Though arguably there’s a lot of back story relating to David and Wallis in general that perhaps should be included but isn’t. Especially for a show that loves giving back story about characters to try and explain their actions.

-Wallis never smoked, but weirdly most period dramas seem to want to show her as a smoker. She didn’t smoke, she hated the smell of it, believed it was unhealthy, and was constantly nagging at David to cut back. But if you’re someone that just likes to watch period dramas about her instead of reading books, you’d probably think she did smoke because almost all of them make that mistake. Or it may be some sort of deliberate stylistic choice because smoking while dressed in period clothing with period hair and make-up looks cool. Plus in old movies, “bad girl” characters always smoked and that is usually how Wallis is portrayed. 

-David and Wallis were in New York when he was informed of George VI’s death, which he found out about from the press rather than his family or the local consulate. They were also in New York when he was informed of Queen Mary’s illness and left to go see her. David’s sister Princess Mary, who doesn’t really exist in The Crown except a few off-screen references, was visiting New York at the time, and they travelled to Britain together to come see her. Princess Mary was the only person in the family who remained on good terms with David, and actually boycotted Elizabeth and Philip’s wedding when he wasn’t invited to it. Wallis was also in New York for the burials of both George VI and Queen Mary, not their house in France. 

#Edward VIII #Duke of Windsor #Duchess of Windsor #this is a LONG one lol #The Crown

[loudlytransparenttrash]

What's your opinion on people describing life experiences/testimonies as 'your truth'? I've noticed that phrase lately in popular culture (Oprah mentioned it not too long ago in a speech she gave). I'm conflicted by that phrase, bc truth is described by Merriam-Webster as 'the body of real things, events, and facts; actuality'. W/ that said, how can there be a 'your truth' if the concept of Truth is meant to be objective, not subjective? I hope you don't mind a non-political question lol

I think it’s important. We all have different lived experiences which means we all have different perceptions of the world and what’s reality for one isn’t reality for another. What this ‘your truth’ has turned into is if you feel it’s true, then it’s the irrefutable truth because you say so, it’s not allowed to be challenged. The left champion feelings over facts so it’s only there you’ll find ‘your truth’ being valued over the truth. The idea is to treat the truth as a story sharing experience like a therapy session, with the person opening up about being vulnerable and victimized. On the surface there’s nothing wrong with shutting up and listening, but what all too often happens is the person sharing their truth can make generalizations and push completely dishonest and incorrect statements, but none of it can be questioned in any way because it’s their truth and to question the person sharing it is to criticize them and their experiences. No one wants to criticize and blame a victim, so we all too often do just shut up and accept it. 

By using this tactic, they’ve set up a fixed game where they engender sympathy and restrict questioning for whoever feels victimized. If you are a good person then you have to shut up and agree with whatever is said no matter how far off base you know the person sharing their truth really is. If you don’t accept everything they say at face value and nod your head sympathetically, then you must be against them, you’re blaming them and you are a bad person. You often hear feminists and minority activists stating because [insert so-called privileged group] do [insert literally anything], all women and minorities live in fear. See how that works. You can make blanket discriminatory statements against entire groups of people which no one is allowed to suggest are unfair or wrong without being accused of being misogynistic, racist or “trying to silence women’s/minorities voices.” Mentions of privilege, patriarchy and white supremacy all inevitably follow. 

These efforts do nothing but shut down the conversation they claim they want to have. In fact, they admit they don’t even want a conversation. When someone is sharing ‘their truth,’ it’s made clear it’s not an invite for dialogue or an exchange of information, it’s your role to just listen and accept their truth as nothing but the truth. But the problem with treating the truth as a therapy session is it must eventually be treated as such. Part of regular counseling therapies is having someone there to assist in grounding us and being confronting and overcoming irrational thoughts and ideas. They are not there to simply validate everything we think or feel and that shouldn’t be our job either when we’re told to just shut up and accept this person’s truth. At what point can we allow the truth to remain untruthful? 

There are two kinds of people: those who can think for themselves and are really interested in the truth and using facts, and those who don’t bother with it as they believe what the majority tells them must be the truth. To them, the truth is whatever’s socially acceptable to speak about. We usually tend to be more supportive of an emotional argument than an honest one. We are instructed to simply believe and get on board with what we are told as challenging one’s argument is an act of delegitimizing what they feel and in today’s guilt culture, such a crime must be avoided at all cost. I don’t often use stories of my own to explain my views and my beliefs as it’s usually irrelevant to the factual information I try to share. I think my lived experiences have made me who I am today, but I always try to let facts (real facts, not what my friends told me) formulate my opinions rather than my turbulent feelings. ‘Your truth’ is important to shape you, but it absolutely shouldn’t shape the truth :) Ps, sorry for turning your non-political question into a political answer haha xx 

[sharingshane-blog]

Why the Bloody Hell a Christian!?

I am religious, self-identifying Christian.  This part of me has had significant influence in whom I am today.  It is not something that I discuss often; yet, it is also not something I keep secret either.  It does usually take people by surprise to learn this fact about me.  I just finished writing a blog post about one of my idols, Emma Goldman, who was a staunch atheist.  I am transgender and bisexual, and I believe it is okay for me to live fully and authentically as myself.  I have date men, women, and non-binary folks happily and without remorse.  I am a steadfast leftist and a large critic of the church not just in the United States but around the world too.  I am also a critic of organized religion in general. I usually advice against looking for savior figures.  That is in part how dictators come to power.  I have extremely close atheist and agnostic friends.  I also have Muslim, Jewish, and even Satanist friends. I have also suffered abuse and ostracization from my church growing up which contributed to a lot of the psychological issues that I possess today.  I do also agree that the Bible does contain homophobic, ethnocentric, sexist, and genocidal content.  It also contains slave apology, human sacrifices, and rape defenses.  So, the question that may be running through your head at this point may be, “Why would you identify as a Christian?”

Well, let me start with why I do not talk about my Christian faith that often.  It is rooted solely in the way people perceive me when I talk about my faith than what I say about my faith.  Since Christianity is so mainstream in the United States, there is already widespread knowledge about the basics of the religion.  When Christians give out little booklets saying, “Did you know Jesus—?” it comes off like they are insulting the intelligence of anyone who is not perceived to be with the “in-group.”  I think sometimes many Christians lose sight of the fact that anyone outside their small group of other think-alike Christians are just as human and capable of cogitative reasoning as them.  Many people outside the realm of Christianity know the basic tenets of the Christian faith, and many even know and understand the Bible better than most self-identifying Christians.  Evangelism in the sense of educating people about the basics of the faith is essentially unnecessary in the United States, and I want to avoid coming off as an evangelist to other people.  When I speak about my faith, I do not want others to perceive me as that evangelist.  I want to communicate that I believe they are intelligent individuals with their own interpretations of spirituality that are completely based on valid perspectives of the world.  It is demeaning and degrading the way most Christians interact with others outside their little Christian in-group.  

Furthermore, there is a level of stigma growing against Christians on the left.  I am a leftist and potentially communist even.  Most of my friends are self-identified as atheist or agnostic.  Also, many of them have dealt with real abuse from the church in the past.  This is also true of my LGBTQ+ friends.  Unfortunately, in these groups, sometimes I must minimize my references to the Bible because it could potentially trigger traumatizing memories.  I can empathize since have also experienced trauma from the church, and I have a difficult time with Christianized language and contemporary worship music. I rather speak of Christianity in a deep philosophical way or in an extremely pragmatic way.  Enough with the bullshit abstract concepts with no explanation redundantly displayed in every single church!  I get that Jesus loves me, a basic tenet of Christianity.  But what does it mean for him to love me? What is love?  Does his love have limits?  But back to the trauma stuff.  Since the church has hurt these communities quite repeatedly in the past, it is absolutely understandable that individuals in these communities have built a stealthy resentment towards Christianity as a whole.  I have been an agnostic twice and sometimes I really do doubt whether I want to be associated with the label “Christian.”  I do possess strong convictions despite minimizing how much I discuss it.  It does still play an instrumental role in my life.

Back to the original question, “Why the bloody hell am I still a Christian?”  Before I move forward, I will not and cannot give objective evidence for the existence of God and specifically the Christian God.  I am aware that many of my views are dogmatic and originate from anecdotal observations rather than factual content.  Many intellectuals cannot agree on a solid argument for the existence of God, so do not expect such an unrealistic feat from me.  If you were to go down the route of a strictly logical path I would say that agnosticism is probably the most reasonable conclusion based on factual evidence.  The best arguments from the perspective of theism are abductive arguments, arguments that attempt to give the best possible explanation for a phenomenon.  Occam’s Razor, the simplest explanation taking into account all the facts is the best explanation, is the method in which to find the best possible explanation for a phenomenon thereby strengthening an abductive argument.  For example, our ability to comprehend and discover science is one such phenomenon in which arguably the best explanation could be the existence of God or at least intelligent designer.  However, there are also many evolutionary explanations for the phenomenon as well.  Next is figuring which is the simplest explanation that also takes into consideration of all known facts.  Abductive arguments never prove that something is objectively true but merely most likely true.  The conclusion is subject to change based on new data that may arise every day.  Only deductive arguments if the premises are true and the conclusion necessarily follows from the premises can give objectively factual conclusions. (Example of a Deductive Argument: If A then B; if B then C, therefore, if A then C).  All of scientific reasoning exists outside of deductive argumentation even scientific discoveries that are blatantly true.

Sorry, I was once a philosophy student, and I hope to return to school again at some point soon (which, by the way. much of my philosophical curiosity stems from my religious background).  My reasons for being a Christian are not objective and not reasons for which you should become a Christian yourself if you are considering the possibility. They are merely justifications for why I consider myself a Christian.  For starters, I deal with intense abandonment issues and chronic feelings of loneliness due to my extensive history of trauma.  The belief in a loving and caring God who will never abandon me has helped fill those gaps.  Of course, that does not mean that I don’t question the reason I have experienced so much evil if such a God exists unless I potentially deny his omnipotence.  That is a valid question.  I remember though, years ago, I was dangerously suicidal and was taken to the hospital. While waiting for a bed to open in the psychiatric hospital, the doctors put me in a secluded room with no intellectual stimulation, just blank white walls, for about 22 hours.  About maybe 16 to 18 hours in and eventually someone gave me a magazine that I would normally not have expressed any sort of interest in except under dire circumstances such as that.  My friend who dropped me off at the hospital is Catholic (one of the good ones) and she gave me a rosary as a source of strength.  I hid it under my scrubs so as the cameras that were watching my 24/7 would not pick it up.  In the room next to me, there was an older man who was belligerent and violent against the nurses.  He made quite a ruckus all night, and it was frankly triggering and disturbing.  I thought I was losing a sense of myself. I clutched tightly to that rosary all night long.  After an ambulance transported me to the psychiatric hospital the next day, two nurses stripped searched me which of course meant that they took the rosary from my hands.  I cried profusely because I felt like that was the only part of myself that I had left. So, there is definitely a sense of identity and strength I get from being a Christian; it is at the very least useful or practical for me to identify as a Christian.  Christianity, particularly the scriptures involving Jesus, is also the reason why I am a leftist today.  It is also surprisingly the reason I became more accepting of the LGBTQ+ community after my extremely conservative upbringing.  Acts describes the early church, pre-Constantine’s conversion in 312 A.D., as being strongly communally based.  People shared food, shelter, and clothing with one another and no one went without.  This strikingly sounds like an anarcho-communist utopia.  The understanding of Jesus as the Son of God was of the upmost importance, and Jesus’ denouncing of the ethnocentric ideology of Jewish religious leaders telling his disciples to go out and tell the world about him brought the gentiles into the community with him.  One of the first recorded converts in the Bible was a eunuch from what is modern Ethiopia.  It was not only a gentile but also a sexual minority.  Jesus had a strong message about community and non-judgmental stance towards others.  He rebuked people who valued power and wealth over other people.  This particularly included the rich, religious leaders, and other people of power.  He told a rich man to give away all his possessions to enter the Kingdom of Heaven which the man left distraught.  He healed the servant of the Roman centurion and it is highly likely according to Biblical scholars that they were in a homosexual relationship given the historical precedent of that time.  Jesus is crucial and central to the Christian faith.  Christianity does not exist without him.  Why else would it be call CHRIST-ianity?  And of course, modern-day Jews and Muslims at the very least recognize Jesus as a great prophet (The Koran also states that Christians and Jews will also be rewarded in heaven alongside Muslims).  What sets Christianity apart is that one of the most basic tenets of Christianity is the belief in the divinity of Jesus Christ.  When looking at Christianity, what is essential is looking through the lens of Jesus when interpreting the rest of scripture, what is human-informed and what objectively divine.  I believe that much of the Bible is divine to an extent but at times grossly misconstrued by human beings.  Christianity has been interpreted in ways in which have wielded immense good and immense harm today.  In other words, it is easy to imagine that this would be true for the history of the Judeo-Christian faith.  It has been used today to justify genocides, but it has also been used to build free clinics for people who do not have access to healthcare (the church I have been attending).  Religion can be extremely dangerous if interpreted in a grotesque way with self-interest plaguing one’s reasoning.  I do not think; however, it is something necessarily intrinsically wrong with religion.

I will probably do more blog posts on this topic, specifically on queerness and the Bible.  With how I interpret the Bible, I can easily justify living openly queer.  I will give a brief synopsis in how I justify the way I live in light of being a Christian.  Most of the verses which speak against homosexuality are in extremely specific sections with absurd rules such as never defend your husband in a fight by grabbing other man’s penis or washing yourself three times after a nocturnal ejaculation.  Maybe, the most substantive verse would be from Paul in Romans and Corinthians; however, Paul has also said that women should never speak in a place of worship which even by most conservative Evangelical Christian standards is too sexist.  We are talking about an extensive history of patriarchy and ethnocentrism, wanting desperately to separate their culture from other cultures by committing genital mutilation and refraining from homosexual acts plaguing the society for many centuries.  The Bible was exclusively written by men in this context trying to interpret something divine.  I do not believe the Bible is inerrant.  The Bible gives little insight in terms of varying gender identities.  It speaks against transvestitism a “crime” one cannot commit if they identify with the gender that they are attempting to express. Transvestitism does not equal transgenderism and equating the two would be an invalidation of a person’s gender identity since you are insinuation that a transgender man for example is really just a woman presenting as a man instead of a man in his own right.  But furthermore, with the increased greater understanding that sexual orientation and gender identity is rooted in one’s being and not a lifestyle which someone follows by their own volition, one must consider the idea of whether anyone could be excluded from Jesus’ community based on some uncontrollable trait.  The obvious answer to this is no, and most conservative Christians would agree with the premise.  However, they either deny queerness is an innate trait, or that it is a mental illness, or a trait that must be suppressed.  The third is absurd, because you would never tell someone to be a specific race in order to be accepted in the Christian community.  It a trans-woman is a woman, then there is no way to change the fact that she is a woman.  Even if she dresses masculine and never medically transitions, she is still a woman. She would actually be cross-dressing technically!  Since gender has to do with one’s internal identity and not necessarily one’s presentation, no matter how much she tries, even if she comes off as a man is not a man. Telling people to suppress their identity has only led to a mental health crisis in the queer community and high suicidal rates.  Is a God who tells people to suppress a portion of themselves that he presumably created for no other purpose but the prospect of getting to heaven one day truly loving?  I would argue not.  I would go as far to say that if you do believe that queer people should suppress themselves, there is the insinuation that God wants to make certain people suffer unnecessarily (unnecessarily is key here, not that we should never have challenges, but we should never have to suffer unnecessarily) and does not truly love certain people.  That last bit is a heretical statement.  

Phew!  That was a lot and thank you for bearing with me through all of it.  Thank you for your time and your patience when reading all of this.  Sorry if it mostly sounded like a bunch of thoughts loosely stringed together.  That is essentially what my life is at this point. I hope from this you may have been able to get a different perspective of what it might mean for someone to be a Christian or why I am still a self-identified Christian.  I also hope that you have been able gain a better understanding of me.  Maybe you have more respect for me or maybe you have lost all respect for me.  Either one is fine.  You may have whatever opinion you want of me.  I have heard it all: delusional, deceived, misled, crazy, etc. That is okay.  It is sad though in the midst of trying so desperately to fight for a completely egalitarian society.  I am comfortable for the most part with the label.  I have found a church that accepts my gender identity using correct name and pronouns.  I had the fortune of being in the church when I came out, so most of the parishioners knew my birthname but still switched out of respect for me at the very least. The official church directory has my preferred name there.  Not every individual is accepting, but the vast majority are including the priest who defended me when someone made some transphobic comments using scripture.  The church has been a source of slow healing for me from all the abuse and trauma I have experienced, and they have helped me during some dark times such as when I was homeless and hungry.  That is what the church is meant to be, a place of safety and love.  I have broken down in tears before during some of the services out of being so overwhelmed by the kindness and acceptance I got from them as opposed to people in my past. In fact, they were more accepting of me than my job who just cut my hours more and I eventually lost the job soon after coming out publicly.  After my abusive ex-boyfriend from back when I thought I was cisgender and straight became a full-blown fascist, I decided to dedicate my life to loving others. This is where it has brought me so far, a staunch Christian leftist.   

#christianity #community #love #acceptance #identity

[vaylor]

A heartfelt apology

There are some of you I have blocked or unfriended. There are some of you who, in the course of our dialog, I have treated with condescension, sarcasm, or disrespect. I was wrong to do these things, and I apologize. 

To those of you reading these words without context, allow me to take a moment to both provide an explanation and to share some insight into the thoughts that have brought me to offer this apology. I think it goes without saying that this year has been harder than most for pretty much all of us. I know it certainly has been for me. In my case, one aspect of the difficulties 2020 has brought to me is that it has, at times, put my ethics and my emotions at odds with each other, which is not a circumstance I am accustomed to. 

Before this year, I was never one to block or unfriend people I disagreed with on social media. Mostly I use these online tools for communicating with people about music. Further, I always had a sense of pride that I could scroll down my feeds and see so many different opinions and so many different kinds of people that cared enough about me to want to connect. Really the only time I would ever engage people on non-music issues was if I saw something that was factually inaccurate. Even then, I would come away thinking “don’t feed the trolls” (a phrase Emilee must say to me with alarming regularity these days, and she’s right to do so.)

Starting this year, the dialog started shifting. It was no longer just disagreements about policy or politics. I started to see people advocating dangerous, life-threatening behavior. I started to see people saying things and taking positions that were, to my eyes, overtly racist. 

I have always been a firm believer in free and open dialog. I have always prided myself on being able to hold civil debates with people I completely disagree with. Part of my deepest sense of ethics is that we are all made stronger by being exposed more ideas, more voices, more views. Part of what I have always understood about the honor I feel of being a citizen of the democratic world today, and the United States in particular, was that this inclusive ethos is integral to our society. In the United States, our motto is even “from many, one” (e pluribus unum) after all. But still I found myself emotionally reacting to ideas so strongly that I felt the only way I could continue participating in social media was to filter out the voices I found so dangerous that I could no longer allow them to reach my eyes. I consider this a failure on my part.

In my heart, I do not believe for a moment that, because you disagree with me politically, you are my enemy. I do not believe you are a bad person. I do not believe you to be lacking in morals or intelligence. But still, at times, I felt as if I was trying to explain to Rwandan Hutus that Tutsis are people, too, or more accurately, it sometimes felt like trying to explain to the citizens of Little Rock in 1957 that school integration was a good idea. It hurt my heart. It still does.

The thing I am struggling to incorporate into my thinking is the net effect of targeted economics. That is, our markets have recognized that outrage is a powerful motivating force. Perpetuating outrage builds strong bonds with your targeted demographic resulting in more ratings, better sales, and stronger loyalty. Here in 2020, we’ve collectively been subjected to these market forces for a generation now. Social media in particular is built specifically to maximize your engagement, and so is profit-driven to stoke outrage. This results in the fact that everything about our entire outlook on life is, on some level, determined by the news, the products, the entertainment, the social media, and the activities we engage with. 

We are all told daily that there are groups of people in this country that are actively working to end everything we cherish. After a time it is completely understandable that we might view anyone that associates with those groups with suspicion or contempt. This inevitably leads us to where we find ourselves now - with an increasing number of people who no longer see compromise as acceptable or even possible. And while I understand that this is an unfortunate side-effect of using outrage as a marketing technique, that understanding does not make the effect any less real.

So now my problem is this; I still believe in more voices and more ideas. I still believe that, at our core, we are all good people trying to do our best in the world. I even believe that our 2 party system is, at it’s heart, a choice between compassion (left) and fairness (right). But how do I make room in my heart to compromise with those who will not compromise, to build a coalition with those who reject as evil all views but their own? I’m not sure I know how, but I know I must. This again is my failing.

If you take nothing else away from this, know that I don’t hate you or think you’re stupid. I love you and want to build a better world with you. I am sorry for ever making you feel otherwise.

#rants