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rosalyn51 · 1 year

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How realistic is Downton Abbey?

British Heritage Travel, March 27, 2023

The period mellow drama has fans around the world but today we ask just how realistic is Downton Abbey?

From Boston to Brisbane, Downton Abbey has fans around the globe. The sweeping period drama chronicles the historical events and early 20th-century lives of the residents of stately Downton Abbey, home to the Crawleys - the Earl of Grantham and his family - and all who ebb and flow in its umbra.

Drawing on the upstairs/downstairs tradition of Upstairs, Downstairs, the structure itself is a popular, proven series format. With almost three-dozen characters living at Downton, the viewer is expected to follow and care for, there’s someone or several with whom anyone can identify.

The lavish production of the Edwardian nobility’s elegant world is both dizzying and dazzling. Upstairs, this world is governed by the conventions of the aristocracy as much as by the hierarchical order radiating from the Earl of Grantham, his mother, the Dowager Countess, and his American-born wife, Cora. Downstairs, the pecking order is even more rigid, with the butler, Mr. Carson, and the housekeeper, Mrs. Hughes, unassailable at the top of the social pyramid.

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There are few grays in the Downton Abbey world. Right, wrong, done, and not done are clearly known by all. Much-applauded author Julian Fellowes has made sure that we know black from white in this world as well. There are the good guys and girls and there are the villains. We can’t understand how everyone from scullery maid Daisy to Lady Grantham fails to see that footman Thomas and Lady’s maid O’Brien are a bad lot all around. Among the questions I have been asked most about Downton Abbey is how accurately the series depicts Edwardian and post-Edwardian life in an aristocratic home such as Downton. Are we getting the real picture?

How truthful is Downton Abbey?

In most respects, very. The one element that does not ring true is the easy interaction and conversation between the upstairs world of the family and their peers and the downstairs world of the hired help. That just didn’t happen (or at least not on such a scale). Most of the family wouldn’t have even known a housemaid’s name. These great country homes had back stairways for a reason. There’s not going to have been much interaction between these social sets, let alone much of an emotional connection. Of course, it always takes some element of the improbable to make a story a story instead of a dull narrative.

Downton Abbey is inexplicably situated in distant Yorkshire (probably to avoid having to weave London life into the tale). In “real life,” the series is shot at Highclere Castle, near the Berkshire market town of Newbury - about 65 miles west of London. What was originally, and probably more accurately, named Highclere House, the “castle” has been the ancestral home of the Earls of Carnarvon for more than 300 years. Its present residents are the youngish 8th Earl and Countess of Carnarvon.

Vising the real Downton Abbey

With unknown crowds of others, I went to see Highclere Castle this spring - just to catch the buzz and a few pictures. While Highclere Castle is open to the public regularly only from July through mid-September, they do open for a two-week spring season at Easter. The weather was generally gray and wet on the April Friday I was there, but the place was mobbed and the sun broke out. Most folks were there to visit Downton Abbey. In fact, a huge marquee had been erected on the back lawn to serve as an auxiliary tearoom to the regular café located downstairs in the old housekeeper’s suite.

No, somehow the crowds didn’t dampen the experience at all. I wandered the grounds and gardens, where folk were picnicking and kibitzing with the gardeners.

The stream of visitors into the house was controlled to keep the flow from feeling crowded or hurried. Stewards in each room were helpful with questions, but not obtrusive. The Earl and the estate staff are hardly oblivious to Highclere’s new reincarnation as Downton Abbey in the popular imagination. Each room contains a photo placard identifying how the room has been used and filmed in the series, from the Grand Parlor to the bedroom where the unfortunate Mr. Pamouk stayed, eh, briefly.

It’s a grand house indeed. It ought to be. Designed and built by Charles Barry, the architect of the Houses of Parliament, Highclere is one of England’s showcase Victorian mansions. Certainly the ground floor reception rooms are recognizable from the series. You won’t see Lady Mary or Carson gliding out of the dining room—but it’s easy to imagine..

Downstairs, the old servants’ domain has long been turned to more functional service space. The path of the house visit takes you downstairs to the tearoom and out into the carriage house yard and gift shop. Vestiges of the old service quarter remain. In the lower hall, the old bell board still hangs, where maids and footmen could be summoned by bell to any room in the house. I counted the named rooms signaled on the bell board. There were 64.

What happened to the world of Downton Abbey?

The other question about the series that I’ve received time and again still remains: “Whatever happened to the world of Downton Abbey?”

Part of the enjoyment we derive from period dramas like Downton Abbey is our understanding that these are, indeed, images of times past, from a world that no longer exists and will never exist again. The halcyon life of the British landed aristocracy reflected at Downton Abbey, though, is less than a century old. Why did it disappear so quickly and so completely? Where are Britain’s Downton Abbeys today?

Well, they write books about that. There is a short answer, though, and part of it is found in the series itself: The Great War. Among other effects of the war, Europe’s conflagration virtually drained Britain of a generation of young men. For the men remaining as well as for women, new avenues of employment quickly opened up that competed well against the option of domestic service.

Britain’s economic engine had already changed, however. Wealth no longer lay in the land that supported the old aristocracy; it lay increasingly in the manufacture and in commerce. Social and political power had shifted as well. Through the early 1900s, the working classes increasingly realized the power of their voice and vote. The social institution that best-represented community for nonagricultural workers became no longer the church or chapel, but the trade union. The unions provided workers with social clubs and institutes, a small measure of the economic safety net, and incrementally a better working life. And the unions exercised the political power of their united working-class voice.

When the Labour governments came in between the wars, they began a systematic program to dislodge the landed wealth of the hereditary peerage and gentry. Among the primary means of doing so was the establishment of death duties at deliberately confiscatory levels. It was, after all, the land that provided the principal income to the estate - in the form of ground rent. As the old baron died, his family had to sell up significant quantities of land to pay the death duties. That left measurably less rental income to maintain the estate and the family.

What does that mean?

After a couple of generations, there was just nothing left - or not enough left to maintain a home-like Downton Abbey. From Devon to Durham, hundreds of families were left with these huge, magnificent, historic albatrosses around their neck. From the 1920s-1960s scores of such stately homes were simply torn down. Dozens of grand country homes were gradually ceded to the National Trust, who do a monumental job of conserving them for the nation. Most of those still in private hands open their gates, gardens, and doors to paying visitors, whose admissions serve to provide the vastly expensive maintenance costs on such arky mansions. In many cases, that’s not enough, and the enterprising old stock has enhanced their entertainment appeal with everything from safari parks and farm stands to hosting weddings.

Whatever happened to Downton Abbey? It became Highclere Castle. The series has raised the profile of Highclere Castle just as Brideshead Revisited did for Yorkshire’s Castle Howard. The swell of visitors this spring is undoubtedly only a foretaste of the paying guests the house will receive during the summer season, one hopes.

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talentlessmuse · 3 months

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It would pretty definitely get me kicked out, but I would love to take a group of people on a "Stolen Antiquities Tour" of the British Museum. We would go through the museum, and I would identify the artifacts, where they were stolen from, their cultural importance, how long they've been separated from their homeland, and which nation would very much like their things back now. If, by some miracle, I were to actually get to the end of the tour, I would conclude with a discussion about how the British Museum's refusal to return these items is just a modern continuation of their Imperialist history, laying claim to things they have no right to.

I would also strictly enforce a no harassing the staff policy. Most of them are just trying to make a living, and they are not the ones responsible for the refusal to repatriate artifacts. That decision is made higher up the chain.

#history #museum #british museum #artifacts #stolen cultural artifacts #i would totally do a series of museum tours if i could #because the us and france could definitely stand to return some things too #but no one pillaged cultures of their heritage quite like the british

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ronovanwrites · 1 year

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Cover Reveal by Ritu Bhathal!

Cover Reveal by Ritu Bhathal! #FridayFiction #WomensFiction #IndianFiction @RituBhathal

A message from our friend and one of my favorite people, Author Ritu Bhathal! Firstly, let me apologise for not posting for..[a while]. What can I say… Being a full-time teacher in management, having recently been through the OFSTED debacle (we got Good, so I’m not complaining, but still, STRESS!), on top of being mum to two teens at critical points in their lives and development, as well as…

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#Book Blogger #Book Series #Charming #Cultural Heritage Fiction #Historical Asian Fiction #Historical British Fiction #Indian Fiction #New Book #Poet #Romantic

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too-deviant · 1 month

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jackie and wilson.

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summary: you haven’t been given a quest, but you have made it your personal mission to make luke castellan smile.

pairing: luke castellan x unclaimed!reader

word count: 4.1k

content: broody!luke, teenage dirtbag!luke but also not really, sprinkles of mean!luke, r is unbothered and does not gaf about his lil emo boy act, this is four thousand words of r being a pain in luke’s ass, probs will make a part 2 bc i love them your honour

notes: speaking my truth: i am a british gal. any banter in this about the new england states is entirely stuff i got from reddit so plz don’t scrutinise my american states knowledge

the layout of this fic is very much inspired by @murdrdocs if that wasn’t obvious but also icarus if u want me to change it i will jus say the word :00

PART I — she blows outta nowhere, roman candle of the wild

All things considered, you took the news of your heritage pretty well.

Sure, there was a lot of yelling — mostly through the wall after you locked yourself in your room and started packing a bag — but at least you didn’t sit on it in denial for several hours.

Honestly, you should’ve seen it coming.

The first time you realised you could see things nobody else could, you tried to admit yourself into a ward. Your mom went a little panicky, and she never did perform well under pressure, so she caved and said you were special. Too special for the other kids at your school, too special for anyone to know about it.

After that, she got more tense. Eyes darting around whenever you guys went out in public, hand lingering for a second longer on your back before she sent you to school — as if she felt like she’d never see you again. She would stay up at night and read you old Greek tales before you went to sleep, and acted way too serious about it. More serious than when she would read you Dr Seuss.

Honestly, it was a miracle you went unknowing for so long. Maybe you were insignificant, or maybe the Stymphalian Pigeon that tried to kill you after school was just slow — because you were seventeen when you got attacked by your first monster.

You took it out pretty easily — and by that, I mean you outran it through the bustling streets of your hometown until it flew messily into a bus and you dodged your way to your apartment in a flurry. Your mom’s resolve cracked like a thin layer of ice and you were packed and ready to go to this camp she spoke of before the clock had hit four-thirty.

Most of the yelling that you guys did was along the lines of — “I can’t believe you waited this long to tell me!” — and — “I didn’t want you to leave!” — “I get that, but seriously mom, I almost got eaten by a bird today. A little context going in would’ve been nice!”

You threw yourself into a taxi — much to the disdain of your mother, who insisted on at least getting you to the hill. You then reminded her that she would have to pay the fare all the way back to their apartment and it honestly wouldn’t be worth it and that you’d call her when you got the chance. She let you go with a huff, folding her arms across her chest and creasing the silky material of her pink blouse.

The next hour was about as awkward as taxi rides go, even more so when you got out in the middle of nowhere. You weren’t even sure you were at the bottom of the right hill but sent the poor guy on his way anyway and prayed to whoever your divine parent was that you weren’t about to get gunned down by an angry farmer for mistaking his land for a summer camp.

Thankfully, the empty fields shimmered into something worth travelling for when you took a tentative step across its threshold. The sun seemed to get brighter and the breeze became softer. It was nice from where you stood, and it probably would’ve gotten nicer the closer you got.

Had you not tripped over a rock and tumbled down the hill ungracefully, landing in a heap at the bottom, a few feet away from a dirt path that split off in two directions. You sat up with a huff, blowing your hair out of your eyes and squinting at your surroundings now that they were much closer. You didn’t bother to heave yourself up, catching your breath and letting your gaze flitter over the scenery.

It was cute.

Then the distinct sound of horse hooves clipping against the ground evaded your ears, and you looked up to greet the centaur who now stood above you. You thanked the gods for your moms intricately detailed bedtime stories as you pulled yourself up onto your feet and allowed yourself to be introduced to Chiron and Mr. D, who then led you to the four story house that overlooked the valley.

Your induction was swift and sweet — since you pretty much knew and had accepted everything already. There were a couple of glances and muttered comments about how you had gone so long without being targeted, but Chiron had said he wanted you to get the tour before dinner so you could settle straight to bed after the campfire, and caught some young kid by the t-shirt as he ran past, asking him politely if he could send Luke over.

The awkward two minutes it took for your tour guide to reach you stretched on for a painful amount of time, but you would relive it a hundred times over if it meant you didn’t have to experience the agony you called your first meeting with Luke Castellan.

He was tall, with a dark mop of curls that hung over his furrowed brows. His skin was tanned from all the time he spent in the sun, and his shoulders were broad enough to intimidate, but not broad enough that you were intimidated. He was your age, seemingly, and the cuffs of his green cargo pants brushed against his ankles only an inch higher than they would sit on an average person.

His most memorable feature, however, had to be the deep scar that stretched from the top of his left brow all the way to his cheekbone — it was jagged and sharp, cutting across his eye roughly, as if he had been clawed. He probably had. It was raised and shone pink under the sun, so you could tell it was fairly new, but it had healed over enough to indicate that Luke was probably tired of hearing people ask about it. So you didn’t. You barely gave it a glance before you raised your brows at him with a cheeky grin and gave him your name.

He nodded minutely, one of the only movements he made after he’d parked himself in front of you other than the sliding of his eyes from one person to another as they spoke to him. After Chiron and Mr D had given him the rundown, he gave a slight nod of his head in one direction before walking away and expecting you to follow.

You caught up to him, sidling up on his left with a huff and a smile, “I’m getting the feeling that you're sorta sick of this giving this tour all the time.”

He didn’t respond. He just looked at you, and then stopped walking, watching as you froze two steps ahead of him before shuffling back to his side sheepishly. Then he lifted an unbothered hand to the right, “Those are the strawberry fields.” He then gestured ahead, “That’s the beach.” And then to the left, “Those are the training fields.”

Then he started walking again, and you hesitated for only a second before following, “Wow. Don’t give me too much information all at once.”

Your sarcastic comment was ignored, and Luke nodded towards the bank of cabins you were nearing, “These are the cabins. Twelve. One for each Olympian. You’ll stay in the Hermes cabin until you’re claimed.”

“Right.” You nodded, “God of Travellers. Makes sense.”

He let out a breath, not pausing in his stride as he passed through the curve of houses, not sparing a glance to any of them. You took notice of how the other kids looked at him in apprehension, with a hint of fear when he got too close. He cut down an alley between two cabins — one with a dangerous amount of barbed wire across the top and another that glowed gold under the sunlight — before the pair emerged through the trees at a pavilion.

“This is where we eat.” He said. “Dinner is soon.”

“Cool.” You nodded, “What are the options? Because if food here is lacking, then I will be packing.”

You let out a useless chuckle at your own joke, but it landed flat. “Yeah, that wasn’t funny.” You muttered lowly. With a click of your tongue, you glanced over the horizon and pointed at something from afar. A tall structure that stuck out the tops of the trees, “What’s that?”

“The climbing wall.” Luke answered plainly.

“And that?”

“The Amphitheatre.”

You looked up at him, pulling a face he didn’t bother to glance at. Then you noticed a bunch of campers filing through the trees and into the pavilion the two of you stood at the edge of. They entered in groups and made their way to their designated tables, chattering and gossiping as they did.

You looked at Luke, “Well, that was…great. Truly, a riveting experience. I will say, though — your delivery needs some work. The dark and gloomy act works most of the time, but not when you’re giving a guided tour.”

That got him to look at you, and you held back your triumphant smirk. He frowned, “What?”

You shrugged, “I’m just saying, nobody is going to listen to you talk about this place if you describe it like this.” You lowered your tone into a subpar impression of his voice, and you swore you saw his brows twitch. Clearing your throat, you waved a hand, “No need to worry about that now, though. Just point me in the direction of the Hermes table and I’ll be out of your strangely well-conditioned hair.”

Another eyebrow twitch. You were getting the hang of this. Maybe one day you could get him to move other parts of his face!

You half expected the boy to ignore you and walk off — and he did. But it was in the direction of the Hermes table, so you counted it as him showing you the way. Most of the campers were seated by the time you’d arrived, and you were thus forced to sit yourself on the end of the bench, uncomfortably beside him. He was unbothered.

During dinner you were swiftly introduced to some of your peers — Chris Rodriguez gave you a lopsided grin and informed you politely that you would need to sacrifice some of your food before you got stuck into it. Travis and Connor Stoll sidled up on either side of you as you grumbled at the hearth, and yapped your ear off about the fundamentals of camp.

(So all the sneaky stuff Chiron doesn’t know about. Like how you can skip out on archery training if Lee is the one running it because he never has it in him to snitch. Or that the pegasi stables were the go-to hook up spot for summer campers, but the back of the Amphitheater was the go-to hook up spot for the year-rounders. When you asked what the difference was, they winked, and when you asked what happened if a year-rounder hooked up with a summer camper, they chuckled and walked off.)

Chiron gave you an introduction that made you feel like a new kid being asked to tell the class one fun fact about yourself, and around six kids at your table asked if it hurt when you fell down the hill.

Overall, a good first night. As far as first nights at a summer camp for half-gods goes. By the time all the campers had gone back to their respective cabins, you were ready to turn in and clock out for the day.

But you wanted to try one more time. Last attempt, and then you’d let it go.

When Luke — who you had discovered earlier was the counsellor of the Hermes cabin, and apparently a role model for the kids — came over and silently handed you a folded orange shirt with a leather cord sitting on top of it, you smirked.

“Hey, now we can match. How cute.”

He blinked at you, “Everyone is wearing the same thing.”

“The same shirts, you mean.” You tilted your head, “But we’re both wearing green cargos. And white socks. White sneakers.” Your grin widened as you watched his eyes flit down your form, taking in the outfit you had on. You were right — the only difference between you two was the white tank top you had on, soon to be replaced by the shirt he had just handed to you. You thought for a moment that it would work, that he would make a face, or say more than two sentences to you in response.

But he didn’t. He just huffed and walked away, and you watched with an appalled expression. You narrowed your eyes.

Okay, so maybe you weren’t ready to let it go yet.

The next morning, you were rudely awakened by a small child who was sprawled across your torso, having shifted from his own sleeping bag that was beside yours. He couldn’t have been any older than six, his orange camp shirt sitting like a dress on him, and if he wasn’t snoring into your chest, you would’ve thought he was adorable.

But you really needed to pee.

After you slowly but surely lifted him back onto his own pillow, you stood up with a stretch and stepped precariously over the other kids, balancing carefully on the tips of your toes so you didn’t step on any of them. The sun was barely rising, and you were the only one awake, so you held your breath and reached out for the handle of the bathroom door.

“That’s not your bathroom.”

You flinched, losing your balance and toppling back. A hand between your shoulder blades prevented you from crushing any of the kids on the floor, and you steadied yourself before meeting the eyes of the person who spoke.

Luke was staring intently at you, his eyes blinking hard as if he’d only just woken up. He was in nothing but a pair of blue sweat-shorts and you fought the urge to rake your eyes over his bare torso, watching as he lowered his hand back to his side, “That’s the counsellor's bathroom.”

“Right.” Came a low mutter, under your breath. Then louder, you asked, “Well, where is the campers bathroom?”

“Outside.” He answered, “Around the back of the cabins.”

“Out—“ You started, and then realised everyone else was asleep and swiftly lowered your volume, but kept your expression exaggerated. Wide eyes, furrowed brows. “Outside?”

“Yes.”

“But…it’s cold out there.”

“We have a controlled climate.” He said, folding his arms across his chest. His biceps tensed, “It’s never cold.”

You let out a sigh, throwing your thumb over your shoulder and pointing at the door, “Can’t I just use this one? You aren’t using it, and everyone else is asleep, they’d never know!”

He stared at you blankly and stayed silent for a long time. You wouldn’t be surprised if he just never said anything until you walked away, which you were well prepared to do, letting out a deep breath and folding your own arms over to preserve heat as you clambered towards the front door, muttering complaints under your breath the whole time. You made it three feet (or two sleeping bags) away from him when he finally piped up.

“Be quick.”

Turning around, Luke was already making his way back to his own bed, and you ogled shamelessly at his back muscles as you shuffled to his bathroom and made your way inside. You did your business quickly as requested and washed your hands under the low pressure of the sink before cracking the door open once more. The cabin was the same, everyone else still sleeping calmly. Luke was standing by his bunk, now clad in black shorts and his camp shirt. He paid you no mind when you padded back to your sleeping bag, grabbing your bag and stifling through the clothes you had packed.

You walked up to breakfast with the unclaimed girl you had met the previous night — Lana — and listened and she told you intently about the lore of Luke Castellan.

“He never used to be the way he is. He was happier before, always grinning. More than ready to help anyone here. He was…well, everyone either wanted to be with him or be him.”

“And then what happened?”

“He went on a quest. It went wrong. He came back with that ugly scar and he hasn’t been the same since.”

You made a comment that the scar wasn’t ugly, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d add on that it made him look pretty hot. But you did know better, and you knew that Luke was three people ahead of you in the line and could probably hear what you were saying. So you kept that tidbit to yourself and ate your cereal in silence.

When breakfast was over, you stood from the bench and turned, only to stop short when you realised Luke was standing behind you. Looking up at him, you raised a brow, “Yes?”

“I’m showing you around today.”

“You showed me around yesterday.”

His lips tightened, “We’re actually doing stuff today. Seeing what you’re good at.”

“Oh.” You ran your tongue over your teeth and nodded, “Well, where do we start?”

“Archery.”

Turns out, you were pretty awful at archery. Even after you’d stopped firing arrows into the treeline, you still never hit the middle of the target. Lee had to correct your posture four times, and you broke six arrows. Eventually, you decided that Apollo was not your father, and shuffled over to where Luke stood beneath the shade of a tree — where he had been standing the whole hour.

“Y’know, just because you’ve got this broody bad boy thing going on, doesn’t mean you have to linger in the shadows all the time.” You commented, picking at your fingernails and readjusting the long sleeve you wore under your camp shirt, “You just look weird.”

Luke pointed at your cheekbone, “You’re bleeding.”

You huffed, “I know.” You kept holding your bow too close to the side of your face and the feathers of the arrows kept scratching you whenever you let them fly. Lee mentioned how most people make that mistake the first time round, but you’d done it so much that he’d cut your lesson short and told you to get a bandaid from one of his siblings. You didn’t.

He stared at your cut for a moment, like he was thinking hard about something. But he didn’t, and pushed himself off the tree he was leaning against and brushed past you, “Let’s go to the forges.”

You were better at blacksmithing than you were at archery, but the sword Charles Beckendorf was helping you weld still came out wonky and discoloured. He was a nice kid, funny, and your lowered spirits from your previous task had been quickly uplifted despite you not having much skill in his department. He let you keep the sword anyway, and you swung it jokingly at Luke as he led you to the Amphitheater.

You made swooshing noises as you did so, chuckling when he didn’t so much as flinch, “Don’t act so tough, Castellan, I could take you out even with a dodgy sword.”

“You couldn’t.” He muttered, “I’m the best sword fighter here.”

You let out an over dramatic gasp, running ahead and swivelling around so you could meet his eyes, “Holy shit, was that…did you just…tell me something about yourself?” You grinned and his frown deepened, “Aw, Luke. We’re getting somewhere! This is amazing, I’m so proud. Soon enough we’ll be best frien — “

Before you could finish your incessant teasing, Luke grabbed your forearm and yanked you in front of him just as a kid on an out-of-control Pegasus toppled past you. You watched him disappear in mild shock, before looking back at the boy in front of you, “Hey, thanks. Almost got trampled. How embarrassing.”

He narrowed his gaze, “Do you not take anything seriously?”

You shrugged, “Not really. I’d ask you the same question, but…” You made a face. It was obvious that he was very serious, even if he never used to be.

“Let’s go.” Was his boring response, moving swiftly past you and into the Amphitheatre so quickly you would’ve assumed he was trying to get away from you. (Which he definitely was).

You weren’t really all that bothered, not when you were having so much fun pissing him off.

It took all of ten minutes for Luke to put your sword fighting lesson to an end. Not only had you insisted on fighting with the wonky sword rather than a working training one, you also kept pushing him with your hands whenever he got too close.

“That’s not how you’re supposed to do it.”

“Hey, it’s working, isn’t it?”

You were pretty shit at it anyway, so you didn’t fight him when he said you were cutting your lesson short. You simply tucked your weapon onto the sheath he’d handed you and followed him down the hill to the dining pavilion.

“So, where are you from?”

He didn’t answer you for a couple of minutes, something you’d been well prepared for. But you couldn’t help but ask — he intrigued you. A little too much, maybe.

You continued, “Because you seem like a Mass guy.”

Luke stopped in his tracks, turning to you, “Mass…achusetts?”

“Yeah.” You nodded, fighting off your amused smile when he pulled a face. Finally, an expression!

Truth was, Lana had told you he was from Connecticut. You just wanted to see how he’d react, if he would react at all — apparently he isn’t immune to everything.

“I’m from CT.” He made it very clear, and you tried your hardest not to laugh. “Okay? I'm not some Boston Masshole, got it?”

You raised your hands in surrender, “Got it.”

He stared at you for a second longer, as if to ensure you really did have it. Squinting at your amused smile before nodding and continuing his walk. You thought it would go back to silence, but apparently you’d lit a fuse.

“I mean, what makes you think I'm from MA?” He asked, his tone of voice so appalled you’d think he’d been accused of some sort of crime. “Do I smell like shit?”

A chuckle, “What?”

But he just whirled on you once more, lifting his arm and gesturing to his pit, “Do I? Do I stink of shit?”

You didn’t feel like sniffing him, so you just shook your head, still laughing, “No.”

“Then what — ?” He stopped, narrowed his eyes, “Where are you from?”

You tried to hide your smile, but it was getting really difficult. The last two days he’d been nothing but broody and miserable, one word quips being his only form of communication other than dark frowns. But one mention of Mass and he’s suddenly down to chit chat? You couldn’t help but laugh — unfortunately, it only spurred him on.

“You think this is funny?” He scoffed, nodding, “Yeah, bet you’re from Maine too.”

Your laughter continued, little giggles spilling out of you whenever you thought about the situation too hard. You shrugged, “I don’t think I wanna tell you after this.”

Luke nodded like he was expecting you to say that, “Something a Mainer would say, I’m sure.”

You grinned wide, very proud of yourself for getting a visceral reaction out of the boy — even if you had to piss him off to do it. Just as you went to reply with a witty comeback that would have him ranting and raving for the rest of the night, the dinner conch sounded, interrupting what you’re sure would’ve been a very entertaining conversation.

You walked on past him, not stopping, but slowing down so you could cough into your fist, “Flatlander.”

You didn’t look back but you did hear him scoff in shock, and you were sure he stood there frozen for at least twenty seconds because he entered the pavilion way later than you did. He made a point to fix you with an annoyed stare as he sat down a few people away from you — and Chris raised a brow.

“What’d you do to him?”

You shrugged, digging into your mashed potatoes before anyone could tell you to wait until you’d made your offering, “Told him he looked like a Bay Stater.”

He chuckled, wincing under his breath and shaking his head, “You’re evil. I like it.”

You smirked and said nothing — but whenever your eyes flickered over to Luke, his were just flickering away from you.

#@lia’s works #joined a new england subreddit for this fic #so pls give it some love #taking requests #luke castellan #luke castellan x reader #pjo

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briarcrawford · 11 months

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World-Building Tools and Resources List

If a link has a ⭐ beside it, it means that it is a resource that I personally use regularly, or have used in the past. Most often, this will be links to programs or other like resources.

If a link has a 💖 next to it, that means that I really like the content of the link. Most often, this will be for links to media, such as videos.

Please note that I have not tried everything on this list.

APPS AND PROGRAMS

⭐Fantasia Archive (Free)

Tennessine Flag Maker (Free)

Fantasy Calendar (Free limited version, subscription full version)

Bubisco (Free limited version, paid full version)

Campfire (Free limited version, subscription full version)

World Anvil (Free limited version, subscription full version)

Legend Keeper (Free trial, subscription full version)

One Stop for Writers (Free trial, subscription full version)

Inkarnate (Free limited version, subscription full version) - suggested by @trager-bombs

WORLD BUILDING QUESTIONS

Reedsy

Ellen Brock Editing

SFWA

GENERATORS:

World Maps:

Donjon’s Fantasy Map Generator

Mewo2’s Fantasy Map Generator

💖Azgaar’s Fantasy Map Generator

City/Village Maps:

💖Watabou’s City Map Generator

💖Watabou’s Village Generator

Eigengrau’s Town Generator

💖Probabletrain’s Modern City Map Generator

Street/Neighborhood Maps:

💖Watabou’s Neighborhood Generator

Location Details Generator:

Rangen’s Country Generator

Rangen’s City Generator

Donjon’s Fantasy Calendar Generator

Rangen’s Laws Generator

Springhole’s Random Holiday Generator

Springhole’s Landmarks Generator

Arkimedz’s Star Map Generator

Donjon’s Demographic Generator

Springhole’s Plant Generator

Languages:

Vulgar Language Generator

Madequa’s Glyph Generator

Money:

RanGen Currency Generator

Springhole Currency Generator

MAP MAKING

Cartographers Guild (Map Tutorials)

⭐Wonderdraft (Map Maker. Paid )

MISC

Dan Koboldt (a blog about getting the science right in Fantasy and Sci-Fi)

💖Food Timeline (shows what what people ate in history)

💖Orbis: helps estimate travel time based on distance and travel type

YOUTUBE

Ask a Mortician: Has videos about historical death customs

English Heritage: The Victorian Way: A series all about Victorian life

💖Modern History TV: Medieval Life

Tasting History: Historical Recipes

Hands on History: Viking history mixed with advertisements for their tours

Grimfrost: Viking history mixed with product advertisements

The Welsh Viking: Viking history

The British Museum: History told through artifacts

#worldbuilding #world building #fantasy world #fantasy worldbuilding #writing #write #writer #author #writing fantasy #fantasy writer #WritingBasics #WorldbuildingOther

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proflaytonbigbang · 7 months

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Welcome to the Professor Layton Big Bang 2024! This event will be dedicated to the Professor Layton series in anticipation of the upcoming release of the long-awaited New World of Steam!

Info + Rules - Twitter / X - Instagram

What's a Big Bang? 🎩 ▸ A Big Bang is a collaborative event between artists and writers: Writers will write a new fic, and artists will be paired up with a writer based on their summary to create an artwork accompanying the fic. All creators will work for several months, to release everything on the same day, creating an "explosion" of content (hence the name)! What kind of content will you have? 🎩 ▸ We're looking for artists and writers! Plus, in homage to the amazing work of Puzzle Master Akira Tago on the series, we would also love to have puzzle makers onboard, to include a little puzzle to solve in each project! What would be the requirements for the Big Bang? 🎩 ▸ The Big Bang will be "divided" into two tiers to join:

Tier 001 (Future British Gentleman): In this tier are welcome writers who aim for a smaller wordcount, from 1,000 to 5,000 words (with lower exceptions possible for non-traditional writing, poetry for example)! The art pieces for this tier won't need necessarily to be fully colored or to have a background.

Tier 002 (Puzzle Master): In this tier are welcome writers who want to go after every picarat, starting at 5,000 words! The art pieces for this tier will need to be fully-colored and to have a background. If there's interest, each collaboration would include an original puzzle to solve as well!

We're currently in our Creation Period, which means we won't be welcoming any new writers or artists. Our release period will start on September 25. Please stay tuned for updates!

A true gentleman always helps get the word out! Thank you! @faneventshub @layton-heritage-posts @layton-npc-appreciation-week @littlelaytonproblems @nocontextprofessorlayton @weekly-layton-puzzle

#professor layton #layton #layton series #fandom event #big bang #layton big bang #professor layton big bang

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weirdowithaquill · 7 months

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Traintober 2023: Day 1 - Free Day

Preservation on Sodor:

Sodor must be one of the most interesting places to look at when it comes to railway preservation, if not also road, sea and air preservation. For starters, the island’s railways are all still primarily run by vintage steam traction – but there’s also Harold, who is in his 60s or 70s at this point, Bertie the bus (who is nearing 100), Trevor and Terrence and George – not to mention the fact that the island seems to continue to have antique ships within its waters, including steam ships and fishing trawlers.

But of course, I want to focus on the railways – and in particular how Sodor must be the British hub for heritage railways, museums and other attractions. For starters, Sodor has by far the largest heritage railway system in the world for its size, with over 80 miles of mainline, several branchlines, a narrow-gauge railway, a mountain railway and a miniature gauge railway. It also has a massive fleet of engines – 80 by the Reverend’s count on the NWR alone – making it possibly the single largest working heritage railway in the UK, if not Europe. This would instantly attract many preservationists wishing to run their locomotives, meaning that mainline excursions and visitors would be a frequent sight on the island. This in turn would bring in tourists, who would make money for the NWR and the railway the engines belong to, as well as helping the Fat Controller if one of his enignes is unable to work. It would also give us as railfans the chance to see unique motive power on a variety of trains - like a Coronation Class pulling a slow goods, or a Hughes Crab on a China Clay train - things we don't get to see anymore.

Furthermore, Sodor is home to Crovan’s Gate Works, the largest steamworks of its kind in Britain. For its influence, I am going to turn to 60163 Tornado. When Tornado was built, her boiler had to be manufactured in Germany because there was just no one in the UK able to produce a boiler of the type, while the superheater header needed to be attempted by three foundries before it was assembled correctly. Crovan’s Gate Works, which is able to maintain a full fleet of engines including Gordon – who is also an A1 with many similarities – would have been able to do both in a far timelier manner. The same would go for all locomotive repair programs in the UK. Crovan’s Gate would either host locomotives or manufacture parts for them, becoming a hub for preservation across the country. Engines like Stepney or Green Arrow would be able to be overhauled at the Works, rather than be taken out of service. This would effect how many steam engines are in working order in Britain, if not Europe, as the refurbishment time would be significantly shortened - something that is compounded if said locomotive shares any components with a Sodor engine - like Talyllyn, Dolgoch, Flying Scotsman or any of the Black 5s, Panniers or Autotanks in preservation.

This brings me on to the last point: International Tourism. Sodor must be one of the most visited locations in Britain in this universe. For starters, there’s all the fans of the book and TV series (which are both canon and referenced in the books). This means that Sodor would have tens of thousands of families coming to the island from around the world annually to see the ‘Eight Famous Engines’ or the ‘Steam Team’, bringing in a massive amount of revenue for hotels, local businesses and the railways themselves. But there would also be the railfans who come with the aforementioned railtours, as well as international railfans who want to see steam in action in a mainline setting – something nearly impossible anywhere on the planet. Sodor has at least one airport (and probably two, considering in real life there is an airport on Walney Island near the real-life Vickerstown), six ports connected to the NWR, and a rail and road link to the UK. The island has the infrastructure to handle the flocks of tourists, and this would in turn benefit much of the rest of Northern England. This would majorly benefit the preservation world by bringing in funding for Sodor, which is in turn able to fund things like track upgrades, or overhauls for engines beyond their own railway. It also gives other railways a good place to promote themselves, as Sodor has a guaranteed market for tourists who may travel to these other railways.

You cannot understate how much these books have done for Sodor, and for railway preservation as a whole.

So, Sodor is at the very least a centre for preservation in the UK, with railtours, overhauls and masses of international tourists – but it’s also where a lot of engines were likely rescued from. We see it in Oliver and Douglas, but engines know of Sodor and its safety. I can imagine an alternate universe in which engines keep turning up throughout the 1960s, being brought to safety on Sodor and then sold to heritage railways, being overhauled at Crovan’s Gate before moving to their new homes. Sodor would act as an intermediate in this era, being able to do the paperwork to preserve engines due to its position in the national network while also being aligned with the cause of the heritage railways. Sodor is a safe haven for steam, and this would have a significant impact on its position as a preservation hub for the UK.

Back to the Master Post

#railway series #weirdowithaquill #thomas the tank engine #railways #traintober 2023 #railway preservation #rambles

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calabria-mediterranea · 19 days

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Lamezia Terme, Calabria, Italy

Lamezia Terme is located on the eastern border of the coastal plain commonly called Piana di Sant'Eufemia, which was created by drying a wide marshy area. It is the third largest city in Calabria by number of inhabitants and has a relatively recent history.

Established in 1968 from the fusion of three pre-existing towns: Nicastro, Sambiase, and Sant'Eufemia Lamezia, it is not only an important regional and national hub due to its strategic location in the centre of the region, but also a crucial business hub for the region's economy. These three towns have contributed to the city's diverse cultural heritage and historical significance.

Lamezia Terme is most famous for its international airport which is situated a few kilometres outside the town.

The Baths of Charon

Despite its modern origins, the name is much older: it derives from the first political community attested on this territory, the Lametìnoi, dating back to protohistoric times.

The Baths, on the other hand, refers to one of the main resources of the area, the Terme di Caronte, known since Roman times as Aque Angae. These four springs are located on the slopes of the Reventino mountain massif and, combined with the current of the Bagni river, give rise to different degrees of temperature: the highest reaches 39°C, hence the name Charon.

The secrets of ancient Terina

The first human settlements in what is now modern Lamezia Terme were discovered in 1865, when jewellery was found in the area of Sant'Eufemia Vetere, which was later sold to the British Museum in London, which still preserves it today.

This discovery, known as the Treasure of St Euphemia, was the first in a long series, which during the 20th century confirmed the ancient settlement of Terina. It was not until 1997, however, that it was decided to initiate a systematic search that identified a well-structured urban layout, of which we now know a living quarter built with parallel axes that define a regular urban grid. According to the most widely accepted hypothesis, this would be the extension of a pre-existing structure dating back to the 5th century BC.

Two rooms of the Lametino Archaeological Museum are dedicated to ancient Terina. Lametino Archaeological Museum housed in the Monumental Complex of San Domenico. Divided into three sections: Prehistoric, Classical and Medieval, will give you an insight into the history of this area, from the earliest times. There is, for instance, a hydria, which is a vase, dated between 380 and 370 BC, as well as everyday objects.

The ruins of the medieval castle

There is still much to discover in Lamezia Terme, especially in the historic city centre. On Hill of San Teodoro, stands the Norman castle of Nicastro about whose origins there is some dispute. Built on the hillside, a unique strategic position to control the surrounding plain all the way to the sea, according to some dates back to Byzantine era, according to others Svevo-Normana.

All that remains of the original structure are four towers, the ramparts, walls and a buttress with a small loggia; the earthquake of 1638 caused great damage to the structure, but at the same time contributed to the legends that populate it.

Photos by Pino Elia

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daphnefisherofficial · 7 months

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bugna: TAKIPSILIM | destiny's twilight

CHAPTER ONE

Pairing: MCU Moon Knight System (Marc/Jake/Steven) x Avatar Fem!Reader

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CHAPTER ONE - SHADOWS OF THE PAST.

TWO MONTHS LATER…

The grandeur of your ancestral house in Guildford enveloped you as you strolled through its opulent corridors. Intricately carved wooden paneling adorned the walls, while rich crimson carpets absorbed the echo of your footsteps. The air is filled with the faint scent of polished wood and aged leather, exuding dignified timelessness.

Ascending the grand staircase, you run your hand along the mahogany handrail, feeling the smoothness of centuries of use. Reaching the landing on the second floor, a series of oil paintings greeted your vision. Painted by the likes of Van Gogh, Monet, Gauguin and Millet, each frame you passed through expressively telling stories of their lives’ hardships expressed through masterful strokes that evoked love, pain and unwavering resolve.

You finally reached a pair of imposing double doors, elaborately carved with intricate designs and gilded accents. Pushing them open, you step into your refuge within this grand manor. You took in the soft early afternoon light streaming through the lace curtains, the interior awash in soft, muted colors that evoke a sense of calm and serenity. The master bedroom itself bore an air of regal charm, with the walls adorned with exquisite silk wallpaper featuring delicate floral patterns. A four-poster bed draped in satin was situated at the very center, the bed linens made of the finest Egyptian cotton and the plump pillows neatly arranged in the head rest.

Seating yourself at the foot of your bed, your eyes caught a familiar oil canvas painting facing your direction - a self portrait of you dressed in a filipiniana gown while holding a soft-feathered fan on your right hand. Brief images of the very day you were painted flashed through your mind, remembering your shy, palpable smile as you took a graceful, elegant pose towards the handsome yet unrecognizable painter as his right hand carefully glided his paintbrush across the canvas.

You’ve been having these recurring dreams again as of late. But you cannot figure out for the life of you who the mysterious subject of your night recollections is.

Mildly shaking your head, you made your way towards your antique writing desk situated near a large bay window, overlooking the well-manicured gardens outside. The scent of freshly picked flowers finally distracted you from your musings, mingling with the aroma of polished wood. Carefully arranged, your flower vase was strategically placed beside an assortment of your night study essentials - an inkwell, quill pen, notepad, a hardbound copy of Atlas of Ancient Egpyt, and a work laptop with multiple tabs open.

Against one wall, a towering bookshelf houses an impressive collection of leather-bound tomes, each one a testament to your intellectual pursuits. You returned the hardbound copy of Atlas of Ancient Egpyt to its previous resting place, vowing to return to it after your overseas assignment. That book was an essential to you since you work full time as a museum curator for the British Museum. Back then, that career path wasn’t meant for your gender in the olden age. But as the world changes with time and equality between sexes have been more embraced, you found yourself living your life long passion of promoting cultural heritage and ancestral discovery.

Typing away at your laptop, you’ve mostly dealt with a lot of email exchanges involving procurement and acquisition of artifacts, record keeping and liaising with Egyptologists for the upcoming Ennead exhibition you’re organizing. You have already let most of your recent business contacts know that you’re on overseas leave, advising everyone to liaise with your secretary, Aleah Santos, in your absence.

A gentle knock on your door pulls you out of your reverie, your eyes now diverted towards the bedroom entrance. A middle-aged British man stands in the doorway with an air of quiet dignity, his appearance a testament to his impeccable service and professionalism. His face exudes an air of experience and reserve, befitting his role as the trusted steward of the household. He wears a perfectly tailored, immaculately pressed charcoal-gray suit with a crisp white shirt and a silk tie, and his salt-and-pepper hair was meticulously combed and styled to maintain a polished appearance.

His striking deep, intelligent blue eyes observed you quietly, framed by well-defined eyebrows that conveyed a sense of attentiveness. He was holding in one hand a tray with a steaming cup of Earl Grey tea and a blueberry scone, and a neatly pressed and folded set of smart, business casual clothes in the other. The fabrics were chosen with care and tailored to perfection, a testament to the older man’s meticulous attention to detail.

“Bill, how lovely to see you this afternoon”, you smiled appreciatively before standing, slowly reaching for your wardrobe in his arms. “Thank you for bringing these”

"It's my pleasure, Lady Carter", Bill answered politely, his refined British accent adding to his aura of sophistication. William Jones, who you affectionately nicknamed “Bill”, is the latest addition in the long line of the Jones household who have served the Carter family for a very long time. As the new head of the family estate, the depth of his loyalty to you runs deep and unquestioned.

"I've taken the liberty of preparing your necessities for the trip”, Bill said with a warm smile as he followed you inside, placing the tray of refreshments on your desk. “You'll find your travel documents and essentials ready in your briefcase, and I’ve packed you a suitcase for the three-day trip”

“What would I ever do without you?” you chuckled playfully, grateful for his unwavering efficiency.

“Years of service have taught me well”, Bill chuckled softly. “Now, if I may, I’d like to go over your schedule for the week.”

“Go ahead, I’m all ears”, you nodded, finally taking your first sip of the afternoon tea prepared. It was nothing short of exquisite, the fragrant steam wafting up to greet your senses. “Impeccable brew as always, by the way”

"I’m glad you like the concoction, Milady”, Bill nodded before clearing his throat, proceeding to recite the details of your upcoming trip. “Your flight to Chicago is later this evening at 7PM, and I will be driving you to the airport three hours prior”

You nodded, mentally ticking off the items on your mental checklist, as he continued to consult his notes and brief you.

“Upon your arrival to the United States, a valet service will pick you up and take you to your hotel. I made reservations at the one within walking distance of the family court where your next interpreting assignment will be running for three days”

“That’s good to hear”, you nodded, taking a small bite of the scone. “Have my secretary check on the tour guide headcount at the British Museum and handle the recruitment interviews while I’m gone”

“Understood”, Bill said curtly, finishing up writing on his notes. He gave a small bow before leaving the room. With his departure, you set to work on packing your travel essentials for your upcoming assignment.

The routine of operating as a freelance interpreter was familiar, accepting potential clients needing your services regardless of location. You cater mostly to the Filipino community, as it helped you fulfill your duties as Mayari’s avatar - to oversee, guide and protect her travelers of the night. Of all the careers you dabbled in your long life on this earth, being an interpreter and a museum curator were one of the very few roles you’ve had that you took immense pride in. Both navigated the complexities of language and history, bridging the gap between cultures and individuals.

The next morning after your arrival in the United States, the Chicago sun greeted you as you stepped out of your hotel room and into the bustling city streets. The scent of freshly brewed coffee wafted from a nearby café, tempting you, but duty called.

You found yourself before the imposing building of the Chicago Family Court in Cook County. It was a massive edifice of imposing architecture, and its walls seemed to resonate with the stories of countless families and their struggles. On your way to the court registry, you navigated the maze of hallways with purposeful steps. The walls were painted in muted tones, and the faint hum of conversation filled the air. Lawyers in tailored suits, stern-faced judges, and anxious family members all found their places. The court clerk finally checked you in after having you sign the log book, advising you of your assigned courtroom for your scheduled appointment.

You walked into the assigned courtroom, the polished wood of the benches and the imposing judge's bench before you. The judge’s gaze met yours as you approached the witness stand, acknowledging your presence as he had you sworn in. He instructed you to raise your right hand as you recited your oath, a solemn promise to faithfully and impartially interpret the proceedings for those who needed it.

“Thank you, Interpreter”, the judge nodded, your duty now officially recognized. “Please introduce yourself to the courtroom for the record”

“Yes, Your Honor”, you greeted in a clear, unwavering voice. “Good morning. My name is Mira Batala-Carter, and I will be serving as the Tagalog/Filipino interpreter for the witness in the stand”

The court proceedings began, and your voice filled the room as you translated the witness's testimony. You moved seamlessly between languages, ensuring that justice prevailed, one word at a time. The judge and attorneys watched you closely, appreciating your precision and dedication.

After the session concluded, you extended a hand to the witness, a kind-hearted woman who had been through a trying experience. She thanked you for your services, her eyes conveying a profound gratitude that words could not fully capture. As she left your presence, you muttered a silent prayer to your patron goddess, fulfilling your role as her avatar as you invoked a simple protection spell.

“Patnubayan mo ang guhit ng kanyang kapalaran, aking diwatang Mayari”

Guide the lines of her fate, my goddess Mayari.

As the proceedings unfolded over the next three days, you found yourself immersed in the world of legal battles, translating the words and emotions of those caught in the intricate web of the justice system. It was a demanding role, one that required not just linguistic proficiency, but also an acute understanding of human nature and the ability to convey the nuances of speech. Legal jargon and emotional testimonies flowed through you, and you remained resolute in your duty as an interpreter.

You arrived early on the last day of your interpreting assignment, finally giving in to your caffeine cravings as you clutch a cup of steaming coffee to ward off the chilly Chicago morning. You took a seat in the hallway, waiting outside the assigned courtroom. As you sipped your cappuccino and glanced around, your eyes landed on a man slouched on one of the benches, clearly taking a nap.

His face stirred a memory, one that danced tantalizingly out of reach. Yet you couldn't quite place where you had seen him before. He had a rugged handsomeness, an aura of enigmatic mystery that drew you in.

The man's companion, a woman of Arabic-Egyptian descent with a cascade of curly, dark hair, approached him, carrying a steaming cup of coffee. She leaned down, her concern etched on her face as she gently nudged him awake. She whispered something to him, and he stirred, blinking his eyes open.

Your heart clenched as you witnessed the tenderness in their interaction. The way their eyes met with shared history and unspoken understanding prompted a deluge of memories to flood your mind, unbidden and unexpected.

Like ghosts from the past, you heard sounds of laughter and shared secrets echoing inside your head. Your lips trembled as they seemingly remembered the tenderness of breathless kisses stolen beneath the moonlit sky. The details eluded you, but the emotions were vivid—joy, love, and a sense of belonging.

But as swiftly as those memories resurfaced, they slipped away like sand through your fingers, leaving you with an ache of longing and confusion.

Who was this man, and why did his presence stir such deep-seated emotions within you?

Before you could delve further into your thoughts, a call from Bill interrupted your reverie. You reached for your phone, the jarring ringtone pulling you back to reality.

"Lady Carter," Bill's voice came through the receiver, crisp and professional. "I have an important update from Miss Santos. We are still missing one more tour guide from the total headcount you require for the upcoming exhibition"

“Copy that”, you nodded. “Please have her finalize the applicants I’ll need to interview on Saturday”

As you hung up the phone, a court clerk emerged to announce that the morning proceedings will now begin. Finishing the rest of your coffee, you threw the empty cup at the nearby bin before entering the courtroom once more to complete the final leg of your interpreting assignment.

Unbeknownst to you, Mayari, the patron goddess of the moon, quietly observed from a distance as her ethereal, astral form shimmered from afar. Her eyes, filled with a sorrow you had never seen before, remained fixed on you as she recalled the most grievous of her sins—removing your image of Darius Carter and your memories of the events that had bound you to Khonshu's avatar, Moon Knight. She had acted with what she believed was your best interest at heart, but now, as she watched the remnants of your forgotten past resurface, doubt crept into her heart.

Mayari was determined to see her decision through to the end, to protect you from the darkness that lurked in the shadows. Yet, as she gazed upon the unfolding drama, the lines between right and wrong blurred, and the weight of her choices pressed upon her.

“Mr and Mrs Spector, please come to the front”

END OF CHAPTER ONE.

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traxanaxanos · 10 months

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Re-watched the first 20 minutes of Caretaker to see Lieutenant Stadi and her minute and a half of screen-time, as you do, and I’m trying to contextualize her scene with Tom within the conversations I’ve been seeing on my dash recently about both Tom’s treatment of B’Elanna and the show’s treatment of B’Elanna as always angry and unjustifiably so, and that the anger is because she’s a Klingon, who can only ever be angry.

The first half of Tom’s conversation with Stadi is:

"Stadi, you're changing my mind about Betazoids." "Good." "Oh, that wasn't a compliment. Until today, I always considered your people warm and sensual."

So Tom here is using a base stereotype of Betazoids to inform his interactions, and specifically his sexual advances with a Betazoid woman, and then later repeats this pattern with a different set of stereotypes in his interactions and sexual advances with B’Elanna, where he continually reduces her to his (and the show’s) base stereotype of Klingons and Klingon women specifically. I’m not really sure that the writers knew they were making this a reoccurring trait of Tom’s, given that the Stadi interaction is basically nothing and was all the way back in episode 1, but it still is then a reoccurring trait of Tom’s in that he interacts with women with alien heritage by reducing them to whatever stereotype about their species is most convenient and sexually alluring to him.

Betazoids as a fictional species mainly suffer from the misogyny in their writing; they’re at the nexus of many of Roddenberry’s sexual interests. They can read your deepest desires, they become bonded to a partner, they don’t have cultural taboos around nudity, they have looser sexual mores than the average American viewer. I think they also tend to be exoticised, not so much with the few Betazoid men we’ve seen, but when they’re women. Specifically between Deanna (played by an British-American woman of Greek descent) and Stadi (played by an American woman of Italian descent), there are these occasional attempts at coding Betazoid women as vaguely Mediterranean, exotic and different, but not too exotic. Different in a way that is sexually alluring but “safe” to a White gaze.

Tom notes that Stadi is not performing his stereotyped version of a Betazoid correctly to try and bait her and shame her for not being receptive to his advances. He uses a similar tactic in many of his interactions with B’Elanna, only instead tells her that she is performing his stereotyped version of a Klingon correctly to shut her down, belittle her, and minimize any conversation she tries to have that may be a little uncomfy for him. B’Elanna is just being angry which is how all Klingons are. B’Elanna just has a violent personality, like all Klingons do. B’Elanna is flying off the handle over nothing, just like a Klingon would.

This stereotyped version of Klingons is rooted in the racism that is frequently present in depictions of Klingons, which is rooted in the creators racism towards people of color. B’Elanna is explicitly Latina, and the way the show and Tom positions her as being too angry pulls from the “fiery Latina” stereotype. Klingons are also either explicitly or implicitly Black, and the anger and hostility Tom reads onto B’Elanna maps onto a white racist stereotype of Black people being inherently violent or destructive.

I don’t think the show is aware that Tom has this racist essentializing tendency, and if it is, it doesn’t necessarily think its a bad thing. Trek is a series whose reach exceeds its grasp - Infinite diversity in infinite combinations has become a cornerstone of the show (or at least in the imagined truly utopian version of the show), but Trek so often uses broad stereotypes to talk about groups of people, and frequently seems unaware that this is reductive at best and outright racist at worst. At the end of the day most of the people in charge of Voyager had the most in common with Tom Paris.

#star trek #star trek voyager #B'Elanna Torres #lieutenant stadi

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justforbooks · 4 months

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In the childhood memories of more than one generation, Glynis Johns, who has died aged 100, will be best remembered as the Edwardian materfamilias of the hugely popular Walt Disney musical Mary Poppins (1964). Winifred Banks, married to David Tomlinson’s George W Banks, is the mother of Jane and Michael, the children in the care of the magical nanny played by Julie Andrews. A protester for the right to vote, Winifred delivers a spirited rendition of the song Sister Suffragette – “Our daughters’ daughters will adore us. And they’ll sing in grateful chorus: ‘Well done, Sister Suffragette!’” – as the children’s previous nanny tries to quit.

But the husky-voiced actor had other claims to fame from her more than 60 films and 30 stage productions. In 1973, Stephen Sondheim composed the song Send in the Clowns for Johns when she was cast in the leading role of the premiere production of his musical A Little Night Music, on Broadway. And she had won initial stardom in the British cinema as a mermaid.

In the title role of the film comedy Miranda (1948), she travels from Cornwall to London and causes romantic complications among the Chelsea set. Although the film’s whimsy may now seem strained, it was a great commercial success in its day, making Johns a top-liner in British movies. Miranda returned in a rather belated sequel, Mad About Men (1954).

By that time, Johns had moved almost completely from stage to films, where she was associated chiefly with lightweight roles, alternately fluffy and feisty. One of her most appealing opportunities came in the thriller State Secret (1950, released as The Great Manhunt in the US), playing a cabaret artiste in a fictitious Balkan country, and gamely singing Paper Doll in a wholly invented language.

It says something for her properties of youthfulness that at the age of 30 she could play a teenage schoolgirl in the melodrama Personal Affair (1953). The same year she played in two fanciful Walt Disney British productions, as Mary Tudor in The Sword and the Rose, and as the heroine wife of Rob Roy, and she went on to make her first Hollywood picture, the Danny Kaye comedy The Court Jester, in 1955. The following year she played a cameo role in the star-studded Around the World in 80 Days.

At the time Johns alternated between American and British films, generally in subordinate roles, but a rewarding one came in The Sundowners (1960), set in Australia, as a jolly barmaid who takes a shine to a visiting Englishman played by Peter Ustinov. It brought her an Oscar nomination as best supporting actress. Top billing came in a stylish horror movie, The Cabinet of Caligari (1962). She was well enough known to American audiences by this time to star in 1963 in Glynis, a TV sitcom series that ran for just one season.

In 1966 Johns returned to the London stage in The King’s Mare, as Anne of Cleves to Keith Michell’s Henry VIII. Her Welsh heritage came into play when she took the role of Myfanwy Price in a screen version of Dylan Thomas’s Under Milk Wood (1971) starring Richard Burton, Elizabeth Taylor and Peter O’Toole, and two years later came her great Broadway success as Desiree Armfeldt in A Little Night Music, which brought her a Tony award.

Glynis came from a show business background: her mother, Alice Steele (nee Wareham), was a concert pianist who performed under the name Alys Steele-Payne, and her father was the prolific character actor Mervyn Johns. He was a stalwart in particular of Ealing Studios films: father and daughter appeared together in an Ealing drama, The Halfway House (1944).

Though her vocal intonations pointed to her Welshness, Glynis was born in Pretoria, South Africa, where her parents were on tour. She was reportedly carried on to the stage at the age of three weeks, and it was not too much longer before she was appearing there in a professional capacity, making her performing debut at the Garrick theatre, London, as a dancer in a revue called Buckie’s Bears (1935).

Educated at Clifton high school, Bristol, and South Hampstead high school and the Cone School of Dancing in London, she rapidly graduated to juvenile acting roles in both theatre and cinema. Her first screen appearance came at the age of 14, as politician Ralph Richardson’s troublesome daughter in South Riding (1938), and on stage she was the young sister, another Miranda, in Esther McCracken’s comedies Quiet Wedding (1938) and Quiet Weekend (1941).

That year brought the opportunity to appear in the film 49th Parallel, starring Leslie Howard and Laurence Olivier in a spy thriller intended to bolster second world war support in the US. When the prospect of playing a mermaid came after the war, she was able to draw on her theatrical versatility: “I was quite an athlete, my muscles were strong from dancing, so the tail was just fine. I swam like a porpoise.”

Johns returned to the London stage in 1977, as Terence Rattigan’s choice to play the murderer Alma Rattenbury in his well-received dramatisation of the Rattenbury case, Cause Célèbre. Her acting appearances became sporadic, though in 1989 she starred with Rex Harrison and Stewart Granger on Broadway in Somerset Maugham’s The Circle.

She was occasionally a guest star in US television series such as Murder She Wrote and The Love Boat, and played Diane’s rich mother, Helen Chambers, in the first series of Cheers (1983) and Trudie Pepper in the sitcom Coming of Age (1988-89). By the time of her final films, While You Were Sleeping (1995) and Superstar (1999), she was a characterful grandmother.

Johns was married and divorced four times. Her first husband, from 1942 to 1948, was the actor Anthony Forwood. Their son, Gareth, also an actor, died in 2007. Marriages to two businessmen followed: David Foster, from 1952 to 1956, and Cecil Henderson, from 1960 to 1962. She was married to Elliott Arnold, a novelist, from 1964 to 1973, and is survived by a grandson and three great-grandchildren.

🔔 Glynis Margaret Payne Johns, actor, born 5 October 1923; died 4 January 2024

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?

#just for books #glynis johns #in memoriam

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submissivegayfrenchboy · 3 months

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Who is your biggest crush on right now?

03 / 02 / 2024

Hey! Thanks for this interesting question! 😁

My biggest crushes are the ones I'd love as much to be enslaved by or being in couple with. The Australian actor KJ Apa, the American superhero Sam Wilson and the Prince William Of Wales are my biggest crushes for countless reasons.

- The first one is their beauty. The three of them are tall, muscled and smiling, physical qualities i appreciate about men.

Also, they are always well dressed, whether it's cool, classy or sporty.

- They are talented in what they do : KJ Apa is a great singer and actor, i can't wait to see him in more movies or TV series ; Sam Wilson / Captain America is a strong and brave superhero, Prince William is really clever and dedicated to his people.

- They also represents some stereotypes of men I'd love to be in couple with : KJ Apa is a cocky and cute actor who is famous for his role of a sexy jock ; Sam Wilson is a superhero and my favorite Marvel male character ; Prince William Of Wales is the definition of the modern Prince Charming, and i grew up dreaming of finding my own.

- They also carry their heritage really well: KJ Apa recently became the new chief of the local trieb he comes from, which inspired me a story that should be publish soon if i end it ; Sam Wilson is the best Captain America to me for the way he tries to save everyone despite their differences ; and HRH Prince William Of Wales is the best person who serves currently the British monarchy with his lovely wife Princess Catherine.

- They also have godly bodies, as i said. I love them physically however they are, i mean whatever their haircut is, for example. If i could pick only one part to worship for each of them it would be :

KJ Apa's armpits

Here is a link about the actor's armpits. It proves I'm not the only one to be turned on!

Sam Wilson's butt, as i explained here

And for Prince William Of Wales, it would be his feet. I would like to be publicly thanks my dear friend and occasionally co-author @tidodore2 for having made some of the amazing pics that will illustrate my upcoming story about Prince William and his servants. They represents exactly what i had in mind about him being worshipped like a nice god.

If i could chose what I'd like to be for each of them, if i can't be their boyfriends, I'd like to be KJ Apa's loser, Sam Wilson's lover, Prince William's servant. That is kind of what i described in the stories i already wrote about them.

Indeed, they are also the one who inspired me some of my best / favorite stories.

For KJ Apa, I'll soon publish a new story where i imagine myself as his boyfriend because he is my ideal man for a white man. Cute and funny, strong and dominant, kind and tender, gassy and slob but also sexy... 💖

In this link you'll find everything you need to know about KJ Apa : my 4 MAN OF THE DAY articles (currently the Alpha Man Celeb i wrote the most about, with God Chris Hemsworth and God Henry Cavill), my stories about him,...

For Sam Wilson, I was inspired by the fact that i saw him at Disneyland Paris and i missed the opportunity to talk to him. In this story i described my dream to become his boyfriend because he represents my ideal man : a tall muscled confident Black hero. ❤️

For His Royal Highness Prince William Of Wales, the link of my story about him is here :

I'll soon publish the entire story about him. It's still time to send me your ideas about it.

#Prince William #William Of Wales #KJ Apa #Sam Wilson #Captain America #Marvel #Riverdale

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ronovanwrites · 1 year

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Ritu Bhathal book cover REVEAL vor Straight as a Jalebi!

Ritu Bhathal book cover REVEAL vor Straight as a Jalebi! #MondayBlogs #BookCoverReveal #HistoricalAsianFiction #HistoricalBritishFiction @RituBhathal

A message from LitWorldInteviews friend and one of my favorite people, Author Ritu Bhathal! Firstly, let me apologise for not posting for..[a while]. What can I say… Being a full-time teacher in management, having recently been through the OFSTED debacle (we got Good, so I’m not complaining, but still, STRESS!), on top of being mum to two teens at critical points in their lives and development,…

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#Book Series #Charming #Cultural Heritage Fiction #Fiction #Historical Asian Fiction #Historical British Fiction #Indian Fiction #New Book #Romantic

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bunnywritesjunk · 1 year

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Ruusaan | Captain Rex x Reader

Series summary: You missed your tropical planet, but coruscant had more to offer. You are a field medic in the 501st. you work closely with the captain in hopes of not losing your job. But how close is too close.

Chapter summary: The 501st adopts a new member. The boys are sceptical of their new soldier's role in the garrison. She makes effort into getting to know the 501st and makes some friends.

Pairing: Captain Rex x Reader

Warnings: None (for this chapter)T for teen (for this chapter)

Word count: 1.7k

Genre: Fluff and angst

A/n: Hello all! I wanted to contribute to the rex fanfics because I noticed he doesn't have many series about him. Just a little about this story, the mc is black coded and her heritage, planet, and language is based off of western africa. That being said everyone regardless of race is welcomed to read (please read). Feel free to give me feedback and requests i'd love the interaction.

Chapter One:

You were awoken by the mechanical noise around you. Your back ached as you sat up, glancing over to the Twi'lek next to you. She snored softly slumped over in her seat. The ship rumbled lowly, you unclipped your belt and stood up stretching out your arms and back. Your tail whipped left and right as it has been squeezed from constantly sitting on it. Walking up to the cockpit door, you knocked quietly so as to not wake your friend. The blaster door opened with a hiss.

“Hey, are we almost there?” the co-pilot turned to you giving you a relaxed but stern look, something that most of the clones you've met have.

“We're pulling out of hyperspace in about five minutes, probably best to buckle up again might be a little bumpy.”

You thanked him quietly and turned around back to your seat. The door hissed closed. You put your hand on your friend's shoulder and shook gently.

“Na'wi (nawee), hey” She stirred and opened her eyes a bit.

“ We're here already?” She said with a rasp to her voice.

“In about five minutes.” You buckled back up to prepare for landing, Na'wi rubbed her eyes.

“Are you nervous?” She twisted and cracked her joints as she asked.

“Yeah a little, it's hard to know what to expect. Like what if they don't like us?” She looked at you amused.

“They'll have to get used to it!” She smiled. The ship lurched forward indicating dropping out of hyperspace.

After the ship landed both you and Na'wi grabbed your luggage. Two duffel bags, one filled with personal items and a small amount of clothing. The other is filled with the gear you both will use for your new jobs. Field nurses were not unheard of but outsourcing them from coruscant certainly was. The republic had field nurse clones, but they wanted specially trained doctors to assist the war effort. We all have one objective, to save men. You and Na'wi were selected from a pool of trainees in your medical program. You both showed mental and physical prowess and excelled at combat training. You were assigned to the 501st battalion while Na'wi was assigned to the 212th. Na'wi was over the moons when she found out about your assignments, you guys wouldn't be completely separated. You'd be lying if you said you weren't grateful to be with her although you chose not to share that with her.

You walked off the short ramp into the hangar. Troopers were scattered around the area going to their destinations or doing tasks. Two men stood off the side of your ship.

“Hello, you two must be our new recruits.” the man with short light brown hair said in a posh accent.

The other man with long dark brown hair and a scar over one eye gave a curt hello and a small smile.

“Hi! Yes we are, I'm Na'wi.” Na'wi stuck her hand out for both of them to shake.

You greeted them and introduced yourself without shaking their hands. You are not a fan of physical touch.

“Well, let's show you both to your quarters, and we will give you a rundown of your role here.” The British one introduced himself as Obi-wan Kenobi. He would be Na'wi's commander. The dark-haired one who called himself Anakin Skywalker is your commander. As the four of you walked they explained the different parts of the ship, when mealtimes are, and generally how things operate. You were a little overwhelmed with the new environment and information overload so you opted to explore the ship on your own once you got the time.

“Alright, here we are, your rooms are fully furnished and ready for you two. The med bay is about a three-minute walk down that corridor.” Obi-wan said as he pointed to the right.

“We'll leave you both to get settled. Meet us at the barracks in thirty minutes to greet the men.” Anakin said.

With that, they left. Na'wi bounced in excitement as she opened to blaster door. Your rooms were conjoined. There was a shared living room with a couch facing the holoprojector. The channel was not set so it was an idle screen. A small table and four chairs sat close to the corner. You walked into the door on the right. The bedroom was simple, a bed with a nightstand next to it, a closet, and a door that led to a small refresher. There were no windows in the little apartment provided, you at least hoped for one so you can see the stars pass by.

“It's so grey in here!” Na'wi exclaimed as she dumped her duffles on the couch. She grabbed the holo projector remote and started sifting through the channels.

“Yeah, we'll definitely need some decor in here.” You said back to her. You stepped out of the bedroom.

“Do you care what room you have Na'wi?”

“ Nope, I'm sure they are both the same.” You walked into the left bedroom and sure enough, she was right. You walked back to the right bedroom and dropped your duffels, not really sure why you preferred the right bedroom already.

“Come on let's get familiar with the ship while we have time” You were about to walk out of your new home but stopped suddenly. Na'wi who was following looked at you confused.

“What?” she asked.

“Should we change? I mean they are all gonna be in their uniforms and stuff. Maybe we should at least put on our medbay uniforms?”

You both looked down at your attire. You opted to dress comfy for travel, with a grey tank top and loose green cargo pants that had an opening for your tail, and a tactical brown jacket. Your tail was uncovered for the most part save for a piece of decorative gold jewelry close to the base. The tuft of hair at the end was a little bit matted. Na'wi chose to wear tight-fitting dark blue pants and a loose cream-colored button-up. Over that she had a tactical belt to hold her belongings.

“Yeah, maybe this isn't the best first impression.” Na'wi chuckled a bit her light purple skin flushed into a darker shade.

You both changed into your non-combat medical bay uniforms. They were simple white structured tunic that zips in the front. The medical emblem was printed on the left shoulder ad upper chest. The pants were almost like a structured leggings with pockets. Thankfully your uniform was stretchy and breathable. You decided to keep the gold cuff on your tail. You looked in your closet mirror and admired to fit, you both gave your measurements before attending so they could curate some uniforms for both of you. You did not expect the uniform to be so flattering. You finished off the uniform with the brown leather belt provided and took a deep breath.

“Hey, are you gonna wear that stupid little hat with it? cuz I'm not” Na'wi called from her room.

“Nah it's ugly, plus I don't know if it'll fit on my head with certain hairstyles.”

You and Na'wi met in your common room. She gave you an approving look and you smiled.

“ Looking good,” You said feigning flirtation.

“ Not too bad yourself there” Na'wi winked at you.

You both walked out of the blaster doors.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Alright, men! We have a new member of the battalion, I expect you all to treat her with respect and dignity just like your brothers.” Anakin paced down the corridor listing off your duties as a field medic. The soldiers of the 501st stood at attention giving you small glances. A young Togruta girl walks up to you with her hand outstretched.

“Hi in Ahsoka nice to meet you captain” You shook her hand gently and introduced yourself. You were a little puzzled at the title of captain as no one told you that you'd have a rank. Anakin walked up and gestured towards the men standing before you, your queue to speak.

“Um, hello...” You cleared your throat.

“I hope to get to know all of you over time and I'll do my best to take care of you all” You didn't have a speech prepared so that fell flat.

One of the soldiers with a blonde buzz cut walked up to you. His face was a little more hardened than some of the other ones in line.

“I'm Rex captain of the 501st nice to meet you” He saluted you and stepped aside after the short introduction.

“Any questions?” Anakin asked the soldiers. A clone with a goatee to the far right of the line answered.

“If I may sir, why do we need a civvie field medic? We have kix who is trained for this kind of stuff.” Anakin glanced over at you.

“Well, my job is mostly recon. In the research I did, many men die from simply not being treated. My job is to find and treat them before they succumb to their injuries instead of just leaving them there. Clones have the ability to heal quickly, so the hope is to save more rather than make more. Your current field medic, kix has other duties such as assisting you all on the battlefield. He mostly will deal with smaller injuries. Also, what's your name?”

“Fives ma'am” He nodded at you.

“Captain” Rex said pointedly at the soldier.

“Oh that's not necessary my name is fine” You gave all the men a small smile.

“Anyone else?” The commander said bordering on annoyance.

“Alright, dismissed” Anakin announced. The men dispersed murmuring amongst themselves some walking away.

“So where are you from?” Ahsoka looked at you with curious eyes.

“I'm from a small planet called Igbo, I don't actually know how to say it in basic but it means rainforest”

“Yeah, no offense but I've never seen anyone like you, or heard of that planet either.” The guy known as fives approaches you.

“Yeah I mean there's really no reason for anyone to go there it's just...wet” You responded, Ahsoka chuckled.

“And I'm guessing all the people there have pointy ears and a weird smooth tail?” Fives raised an eyebrow.

“Oh! I have fangs too.” You flashed your teeth at him and he recoiled. You and Ahsoka laughed at his reaction.

“Let's go to the mess you must be hungry” Ahsoka led you away followed by fives.

A couple feet away stood the captain. He watched as the three of them engaged in friendly banter down the hall. He couldn't help but worry about their new recruit. The thought of a nat born getting hurt or killed on the battlefield didn't sit right with him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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