stranger things spoilers (+like… non serious ‘ableists die’ comments, and discussion of su1c1de, and eugen1cs (censored for tumblr, jic)) 

-

manifesting death for everyone who says that they hope max dies so she doesn’t have to live as a disabled person. as someone who’s disabled due to a traumatic incident, 100%, max loosing her sight/potentially loosing limb mobility is a tragic thing, and will be very very very hard on max should she wake up. but like… saying that a girl who had been struggling with suicidal thoughts and was now finally wanting to live again would be happier dead than blind is fucked up. 

honestly shit like that feels like it’s approaching eugenics with the whole “well personally i’d rather be dead than be disabled, and i think that being disabled is a curse which people should be freed from via death” vibe. again, suddenly being blinded/having any such change is an extremely upsetting experience, but if you think max would be better off dead so she wouldn’t be disabled, id rlly recommend taking a look at your views and checking for internalized ableism. (cuz some people genuinely don’t see an issue with this view! and that’s okay, i’m just saying…. check in with yourself, ask why you have that opinion. also, if you just straight up think life as a disabled person is worse than being Dead and unable to do Anything, maybe die then <3)

Edit:

exactly!!!!! let max be disabled, let her be supported, let her have people in her life who care about her and are there for her!!! let her continue to have her passions and her personality- give her people in her life who will support her and help her continue to do what makes her happy, who will help make her interests more accessible. dustin’s smart as shit, let him work with max on her mobility aids. give lumax their movie date, let them fucking. rent a movie from blockbuster and have mike and will work to make it accessible, so max can learn what’s happening in real time and enjoy the movie with lucas. let el read comics to max like how max showed her comics back in season 3- let elmax continue to be close and show one another new things.

let there be change, change that takes the form of accessibility and accommodation, not max being miserable because there’s just 0 point to living now. let her be loved and supported by people in her life who care about helping max, but let her continue to be happy just to be alive, because being disabled =/= being miserable 

Okay so like. Obviously Karlach's most glaringly obvious theme is that of a woman who was betrayed, sold into slavery, and managed to escape. But her secondary theme, and the one that we actually confront and grapple with most during the course of her story, is that of her infernal engine. Spoilers below for all acts, including the ending of the game.

From the moment we meet her in Act 1, Karlach is dying. From the very earliest part of her character quest, she is told her engine cannot sustain her forever- she is living on borrowed time. Further, she is isolated from the world because of it- she can't hug her friends, can't take a lover, can't even interact with the world like the rest of her peers. She is constantly conscious of her body and the way that it is different- she has to be. She's told that if she returns to the state she was in before, even more isolated and fighting a constant war that she will never truly win, she can at least survive. When she refuses this option, when she expresses that it isn't an option at all, that she would rather have an enjoyable short time than a miserable long one, it is in many ways framed as her "giving up".

This, to me, speaks to the story of a terminal or chronic illness, or a disability. A life spent fighting your own body, restricted by your condition, desperately wanting to be like everyone else. Being unable to have physical contact or intimacy, whether because of the risk to your health, or simply because you can't even form the connections to get to that point in a relationship with someone because your experiences are so different or your condition takes up your time and mind. And if you decide to forego treatment, if you decide the benefits of it aren't worth the consequences, you're told you're giving up, pushed to keep fighting.

Now, in Act 2, with the help of Dammon, Karlach is able to upgrade her engine enough to be able to protect others from the consequences of her engine. She can hug people, she can have physical contact. She's full of joy, even as Dammon is reminding her that she's dying- because she's finally getting the chance to live again. She's finally done letting her condition dictate her life, and she throws herself into everything that means.

In Act 3, we see her experience ups and downs within that. We see the grief over her coming death suddenly hit her, we see her mourn herself, the life she could have had. We see her get angry, at the people who put her in this position, at the people around her who are living "normal" lives, even a little bit at herself. Even though she's accepted the path that will lead to her death, she's still grieving it.

At the culmination of her arc, we see her volunteer to become a mind flayer in order to save the world. She's dying anyway, she argues, may as well do it saving the world. It's not just a heroic offer of sacrifice- to her, it's the logical conclusion. It's pragmatic. It doesn't matter what form she dies in, it'll happen regardless.

Only... it doesn't. If she transforms, her engine stabilizes. More than that, she starts to feel even more like herself. She's hideous, in a form that is reveiled by society, her body permanently altered- people don't look at her and see Karlach. They see a mind flayer. Her friends offer her pity, her allies immediately take to referring to her as an illithid regardless of who she was before. And yet, she says, she feels more of herself than she ever has. She has a future, she has hope, she's happy.

I see this culmination as an allegory for the use of aids or the receipt of radical treatment. You can be the healthiest and happiest you've been in your whole life- but if you take medications, if you use mobility aids, if you have scars from a life-improving surgery, anything that makes it visible that you're embracing and working with your condition... that's when the sympathy starts pouring in. That's when you're viewed as a tragedy, or something gross and unfit for being seen in public. That's when people recoil and ask what happened to you, even when they never reacted at all when you were at your worst. People stop looking at you and seeing you, and start seeing your condition. Despite all of that, though, finding aids that fit your needs or getting the right procedure can revolutionize your life. It can set you free, and it can empower you to find joys you never knew were possible.

For Karlach's story, I honestly feel like becoming an Illithid is the best ending- because it does that for her. It's not a fuzzy warm perfect ending- but it sets her free. It gives her agency over her life again, and regardless of what anyone else sees when they look at her, she can be proud of what she's accomplished. Of the future ahead of her, of the person she's become, of all the parts of being Karlach she now gets to explore.

She never gets to live a "normal" life. But she gets to be happy. And she saves the goddamn world.

I saw my enabler of a father today and I need to vent.

TW: ableism (toward neurodivergency), child abuse, parental abuse, emotional abuse, financial abuse, medical neglect (I guess?), me saying I will do violent things to others but it will not happen I just need to express how angry I am (I do not want to see my mother ever again, she is safe from my anger)

I HATE MY MOTHER SO MUCH, FUCK THIS BITCH.

I have only agreed to see my father and not my mother, as she was the principal abuser. I know for certain she is a bad person, but I had hope for my father, as he is a good man and also suffers from my mother. Sadly, it doesn't seem he will.

I explain to my father how I'm looking to get tested for austism (and adhd maybe. I'm betting more on adhd), and he said they would help. My mother will send me any information I need, I just need to unblock her (Already, I hate this). She already has the informations, because she already looked it up, BECAUSE SHE THINKS I'M PROBABLY AUSTISTIC. I don't know if it's a recent development or if it's something she has been questioning for a while, BUT if it's the last one, I'm going to throw her of a building. This woman has been telling me, since I was a young child, that I was weird and nobody would ever love me, I deserved to be alone and hurt by others for being weird, I was dangerous because I was weird, I was annoying when I talked about my interests, it was funny to mock me for my interests and how much I was into them, that I deserved to be mock, I needed to become normal or I would kill them all one day because weird people are dangerous, I was a burden for struggling so much with social interactions and people, her life would be better if I was normal, she wish she could get my brain fried (with electricity) to fix me... SHE KNEW I was neurodivergent, she fucking knew. But instead of getting me a diagnosis, instead how helping me, she bullied me, mocked me, degraded me... When I didn't mask (now I know I was often masking), she was sooo mad and awful to me. I was only like at home when I was masking. And now that I'm gone, that I had enough of her AND I'm thinking of getting a diagnosis, she reveals that she knew, because it paints her as a supportive mother helping her daughter get a late-diagnosis. She played the card of "It was so hard to raise you" so much (she didn't raise me, she treated me like shit), I know this is just to add another layer. "Pls, pity me! It was so hard to raise a undiagnosed child, but I did it! I WORKED SO HARD! I did my best!" Fuck you.

Btw, my mother is a nurse who has worked with mentally disabled children, she isn't an ignorant about the field. She knew. She knew but she didn't do shit about it because she's an ableist asshole (she hates mentally ill people, she doesn't view them as humans), and wanted to force me to fix myself, but it didn't work. I hate her.

And also, the controlling bitch asked if I didn't prefer for her to find me an apartment and they would support me financially. Fuck you, no! I like being independent and not having my money restricted. I don't want her to give me barely 50€ for food per month. Nope, no, nah, not happening. She is never having a single control over me.

Kitano - Hana-bi

Hana-bi is a really interesting film. At first I was pretty confused about the plot and themes, besides it being a proto-John Wick film. But then when I rewatched it, I actually really liked it. The cuts that used to feel sporadic felt like they were trying to instill certain feelings and imagery, and the characters were much more compelling. I think there's probably a couple of films like that in this class, where the viewing atmosphere or a rewatch changes your view on it.

I think that Hana-bi is a commentary on how people deal with tragedy and how material/social worth is the only indicator of success in society.

So obviously, the movie follows two main protagonist, Nishi and Hirobe, who are Japanese cops that throughout the movie face great tragedy. On one hand, you have Nishi, whose daughter dies before the events of the film and his wife is diagnosed with leukemia; on the other hand, you have Hirobe, who is shot by a gangster, leaving him permanently disabled from the waist down, and shortly after left by his wife and kid. Two horrible paths for these men to have gone down, but drastically different outcomes.

Nishi, in order to protect his dying wife and give her the best remaining life, choses to rob a bank to pay for his debts and kills any yakuza in his way. When faced with tragedy, Nishi chooses to take and destroy to deal with the pain. He's a man with almost nothing left to loose: his partner disabled, his daughter dead, and his wife on death's doorstep. Despite being a cop, he shows no hesitation to commit crime, even holding up innocent bank tellers to rob the bank. Similarly, he shows no remorse to the yakuza who not only permanently harmed his partner, but are constantly taking away time from being with his wife. In fact, it's not just the time on film, as a cop he was on the lookout for the yakuza on the regular, preventing him from visiting his wife at the hospital.

Hirobe is quite different from that. He was a man who had it all: an attractive wife, a child that loved him, a respectable job, and an able body. He loses all of that, yet instead of choosing to destroy, Hirobe creates. He takes up painting in his free time and creates beautiful pieces of art, some of which foreshadow later events in the movie. Admittedly, I understand Hirobe's arc less because of the large use of imagery, but to me it felt like Hirobe expressed what he wanted to do in his paintings.

An alternate future is portrayed in his paintings, until the very end, where he throws paint over his suicide piece. Nishi and his wife both commit suicide, but Hirobe instead moves on from that feeling, finding a new purpose in life.

Through these men's tales, I think Kitano expresses how people deal with tragedy, some destroy and some create. The man who had nothing to lose, like a cornered animal struck back against the world trying to protect the only thing that still mattered. The man who had it all and lost it gained a newfound appreciation for life through his works of art that added meaning to the world.

Like I mentioned before, I also think that the film critiques the importance of material/social worth. Notably, this is still something I'm thinking over, but I couldn't quite put aside the connection in the depiction of Nishi's wife and Horibe. Nishi's wife, except by Nishi, is treated as some pitiful creature that is slowly awaiting her death. It's almost heartbreaking how in society's eyes, she almost doesn't exists, merely because she will soon die. Similarly, Hirobe is quickly discarded by society once he suffers that paralyzing injury. His beautiful wife and loving child abandon him once he can no longer work. In the film, society is quick to cast out these characters who suffer from a sort of disability that prevents them from performing their socially/monetarily important roles. In Hirobe's case, his injury prevents him from being a cop and a father, and Nishi's wife from being a wife, much less work.

Disabled Representation Has Come Farther Than You Think

You've Just Been Conditioned Not to See It.

I recently got into a huge fight with an abled friend about disabled representation, in which he was completely convinced that the stance he held was that of an ally. He's a long time friend of mine and I know he really did think he was fighting for us and coming from a place of trying to help us.

And it really got me thinking about the way abled people perceive disabled people. And how that message is internalised and reinforced in so many ways.

My friend was trying to say that characters like Cyborg, Misty knight, Daredevil, Toph, Edward Elric, Bucky, Nebula, etc were not good representation. And he at first refused to listen to me (an actual disabled person) when I was like; no, we like that. we love that. we LOVE seeing badass and competent and sexy disabled people. It's validating and empowering.

His argument was that it didn't really count because nobody saw them as disabled and that it would be the same thing as saying Gamora is black representation.

While I understand where he was coming from, both of us also being black, it was hard to get him to understand how it wasn't the same thing.

Gamora is a black actress painted green to portray a green-skinned alien. She has black features, yes, but within the narrative she very much is not a black woman. She's an alien.

But a disabled character is always still a disabled character. Regardless of how high tech or SciFi or magical or fantastical the world or universe is; an amputee with a prosthesis is still an amputee. They are still disabled. Yes, even if their prosthesis shoots lasers.

And other characters, like Toph and Daredevil, who are both blind, have superpowers/superhuman abilities that allow them to overcome their disability. That does not make them less disabled.

Their blindness still impacts their everyday lives. They can't read. They can't draw. They don't know what things or people look like, or what color things are. They can't read someone's facial expressions during a conversation. They can't follow a map without assistance.

When I asked my friend for examples of what he considered good disabled representation he said Professor X, Oracle, and the Thinker. And that made me pause and I won't lie, it upset me. It felt degrading. I got kind of angry at him and it got a little heated.

Because what he was saying is: the smart one in the wheelchair that never actually joins the battle because their body is too frail? Those are the only good disabled characters? The ones who still need to be protected and treated tenderly and are physically weaker?

Do we only exist when you can view us as some subhuman lesser other that you can take pity on?

But it's not only my friend who thinks this way.

I've seen quite a few arguments online about people who don't think Edward Elric is disabled, despite being an amputee.

Who don't think Cyborg is disabled, despite the fact that his entire power set is due to a life support and mobility aid device.

And my friend was shocked that I, and many other disabled people, find these depictions of strong and confident and capable disabled people empowering. He fully expected that I would find those depictions offensive.

And that's when it really hit me.

The issue is not that characters like Bucky or Toph or Daredevil are bad representations of disabled characters.

The issue is that people don't perceive them as disabled. They've internalized this belief that disabled people have to be weak and delicate and fragile and in some way physically inferior.

They're only considered disabled if they're tragic and/or weak. Or ugly. People love to project a tragic subhuman otherness onto disabled people who are ugly.

If they're cool and badass that confuses them. That doesn't fit with the narrative that's been built in their heads.

The idea of a competent, confidant, and strong disabled character, especially a cool disabled character is just so completely foreign to them that they don't even consider it.

Now I'm not saying that depictions of disabled characters like Oracle or professor X are bad or harmful. We need representation of disabled people who aren't strong and don't have superpowers and maybe don't feel particularly empowered. That's a genuine representation of many disabled people.

It just isn't the only one.

I think the issue with disabled representation is not that it doesn't exist (as I've seen many abled people online claim in our defense) but that we need to shift the way we think of disabled people so we stop overlooking a lot of the really cool and badass and awesome disabled characters we do already have.

So if you read this far through this essay, please stop for a moment and consider the preconceptions you have about disabled people.

Have you ever overlooked a disabled character because they were strong, powerful, charismatic, or, (God forbid!) SEXY?

And if so, I'd ask you to take some time to examine in yourself why you don't think of disabled people as being able to be those things.

Mod Izzy

Disability and Loren

@zarohk asked for my thoughts on a Disability Studies/Media Studies perspective on the disability depictions in Animorphs.  Which was foolish, because I’m teaching an entire dang class on the subject of superheroes and mental health, so I have Many Thoughts.  [PLEASE NOTE: I am nondisabled, so if I err, please tell me so.]

Loren’s role in #49: The Diversion does a lot of things right, and a lot of things wrong.  She incurs a traumatic brain injury that results in memory loss and blindness a couple of years after Tobias is born, and lives with said injury for about ten years before Tobias finds her and gives her the ability to morph, which restores her sight but not her memory.

A few places where I commend the depiction of Loren:

It gets into the massive underemployment of disabled Americans.  Loren is smart, canny, athletic, compassionate... and working a call center job in exchange for state benefits.  Said state benefits do not afford her a decent standard of living; Tobias notes that she has few possessions and almost no time for leisure activities.  Americans with disabilities are twice as likely to be unemployed as those without, and those who do have jobs are ten times more likely to be paid less than minimum wage, e.g. in sheltered workshops.

It shows how inaccessible a lot of systems are in the U.S.  Tobias notes that Loren accidentally grabs an expired quart of milk — because nothing on the label is printed in Braille.  Putting raised text and/or Braille on food packaging is a health and safety issue, one that the U.S. ignores even though it violates its own laws (e.g. the ADA) because companies tend to do what they want and “what they want” is usually not to spend more money on packaging.  The call center and bus system are both marginally more accessible, especially when Loren has Champ to help, but they’re still clearly spaces set up for sighted people that don’t take blind users into account very well.

It shows some of the workarounds that help deal with accessibility problems.  Loren’s house is set up so that there are clear paths to and from all of the relevant spaces.  She’s doing that to allow herself to move around comfortably in that space, because she’s made it accessible for herself.  She memorizes the layout of the local store, and uses that to get around as well.  All of those details help show that she’s adjusted, and actively interacting with her own circumstances.

It drives home the difference between service dogs and pets.  This distinction is extremely important, and it gets ignored all the time by entitled ableists who want to bring their pets into stores.  Tobias and Marco both assume from the outside that it can’t be that hard to become a service animal — just do what Loren says to do, right? — but it takes Tobias 0.02 seconds to realize that it’s not that simple and that he cannot imitate Champ’s lifetime of training on the fly.  He says that he manages to get his mom home in one piece, and that that’s about all that can be said for his sad performance as a guide.  Champ has skills like ignoring interesting smells and applying exactly the right amount of pressure to the harness that most pets don’t have and also most pets can’t learn.  Champ is not a pet, at least not while he’s in that harness; he’s a gainfully employed expert assistant.

It rounds Loren out as a character, and definitely does not just make her into a lesson or problem for Tobias.  Loren is gently humorous, tolerating her coworkers’ teasing and Ax’s attempted juvenile delinquency with an eye-roll.  She’s compassionate, listening to other people’s problems on the phone with genuine concern and not swatting flies if she doesn’t have to.  She’s tough-minded and stupidly brave, chucking rocks at Visser Three’s head and flying at attack helicopters as a three-pound bird.  She’s fallible, unable to support Tobias emotionally even when he asks her to do so and unwilling to check in on him after leaving him with her sister.  She’s a fully rounded person, one whose personality is informed but not defined by her disability.

It talks about some of the unromatic aspects of a Traumatic Brain Injury.  Too often in other works of fiction, we see a person get bonked over the head and wake up with no episodic memory but all other brain functions intact (*cough* Rachel in MM1 *cough*).  Loren actually gets into the fact that she forgot huge chunks of language, forgot how to brush her teeth, forgot how to walk across a room.  She obviously lost her sight as well, and she mentions lifelong balance and coordination problems.  Even her amnesia isn’t absolute — she has some traces of recall, but can’t make anything coherent of her impressions.  Her injury isn’t 100% realistic, but it’s more so than many TBIs we see in fiction.

It focuses on the intersection of disability and social class.  Tobias notes that Loren is under a compounded threat because of her inability to move to a more secure neighborhood and her obvious vulnerability.  He feels a lot of disgust with himself when he and Marco and Ax are harassing Loren, because it’s so clear that this isn’t the first time she’s been harassed.  Tobias understands that his experience with poverty as a nondisabled male minor is different from Loren’s for those reasons.

A few places where Loren falls into the common traps of implied ableism creeping into fiction, as written about in Narrative Prosthesis: 

She gets “cured.”  Loren falls into the “kill or cure” dichotomy, like most of the other disabled characters in Animorphs.  In her case, it’s that she gains the power to morph and in the process regains the ability to see.  It isn’t a complete cure, true — she still has no memory — but it means that she’s no longer blind for the rest of the series.  Having the occasional character no longer be disabled sometimes isn’t automatically problematic; having every disabled character get either “fixed” or killed off inherently treats the disabled body as a problem that needs to be solved, through sci fi nonsense if no other way is available.

She implies that she’d rather die than continue to be disabled.  When injured by dracon burns, Loren initially refuses to morph out even though Tobias tells her she’ll die if she remains a bird, because (they both assume) to morph out is to return to her blind human body.  This moment buys into the stereotype that it’s better to be dead than disabled, again inherently devaluing the lives of actual blind individuals.

There’s a certain amount of mystery around how she became disabled.  It’s interesting that we never actually get a definitive answer on that one — Loren says she was told it was a car crash, but there’s also an implication that she was attacked by controllers, and we don’t know for sure.  However, the fact of her disability is treated as an aberrant state that needs to be explained, the book inherently asking “why are you like this?”  By contrast (for instance) she doesn’t ask Tobias “why are you in the body of a hawk?”

She views herself as a burden, and the narration doesn’t do enough to contradict her.  Loren says that she couldn’t possibly be expected to raise a child while also blind and coping with a TBI.  Real blind people raise kids all the time, however, including blind single parents, and it’d be nice to see some evidence in the story that Loren’s assumption is wrong.  Loren also apparently assumes that she can’t begin to play a role in Tobias’s life even now that Tobias is more self-sufficient, again because she views herself as relatively helpless and non-contributing due to her disability.  There are some hints that she’s wrong, but we don’t really see her either begin to contribute to the resistance or build a relationship with Tobias until after she’s become un-blind.

Tobias’s view of Loren is often pitying.  As much as Loren doesn’t initially view herself as a potential maternal figure to Tobias, he doesn’t view her as a potential mentor either.  He repeatedly expresses horror or sadness at her life circumstances, and assumes that her life must be barren due to the spartan nature of her home.  (Of course, that begs the question of why the hell a blind woman living alone would ever bother hanging pictures on her walls or putting doilies on her coffee tables, but Tobias doesn’t consider that angle.)  Again, Tobias is allowed to assume that her life must be meaningless if she’s disabled, but it’d be nice to see some contradictory evidence in the form of her having close friends or inane hobbies or some other proof that to lead a disabled life is not to automatically lead a lonely one.

Loren expresses bitterness and desperate desire to be nondisabled.  Again, it’s fine for any character to say “I wish my life was different,” and it’s a common consensus among blind writers/bloggers that being blind is often a pain in the butt.  However, views as extreme as “you need vision to have a fulfilling existence” or “vision is part of what makes us human” are ableist crocks of shit.  Loren doesn’t go so far as to espouse those extreme views, but she also doesn’t seem to view herself as having a well-rounded life in spite of her disability.  It’d be nice to see Loren talking about sight as handy or enjoyable or a thing that the designers of 99% U.S. environments assume everyone must have, rather than a necessary precondition for a minimum standard of life.

Loren’s disability is somewhat medicalized.  Same caveat as above: disabilities are by definition medical things that some bodies do or have that other bodies do not.  However, discussing disability primarily through “this is how your body is different from Implied Normal of Nondisabled Body” and focusing on doctor’s notes, diagnoses, physical differences, etc. can serve to disconnect the lived experience of the individual from their body.  It also tends to focus on the ways that the body is “the problem” rather than focusing on the ways that environments and attitudes are problematic, which then prevents anyone from asking hard questions about the environments and attitudes.  Loren’s doctor’s note, discussion of scarring and loss, and repeated physical descriptions are somewhat more medical than social.  It’d be nice to see a little more emphasis on the social factors that make blindness a disability (e.g. improperly labeled milk), and less on “your eyes are different from those of Implied Normal Nondisabled Person.”

Dear theatre people, this is what I mean when I say theatre is elitist...

(All views expressed are my opinion).

I’ve been considering whether now is the right time to post this but when theatre comes back (which it will, it must), it cannot look how it looked before. I love theatre with all my heart, it is the part of my life that heals the most. But the industry drives me crazy.

I want to address the questions: Why don’t people go to the theatre? And why don’t people care about theatre? My perspective is from a West End theatre goer who is working class, not white and not straight. I am not involved in making theatre and do not desire to be involved. 

To answer this huge question, I’d like to start with two definitions:

Elitist: Relating to or supporting the view that a society or system should be led by an elite.

Inaccessible: Unable to be reached.

I often see people asking “why don’t people go to the theatre?” with only responses related to accessibility. When we talk about accessibility, we need to consider barriers such as ticket prices, geographical location and ableism. An awful lot of people are not stopped by accessibility, but they do not go to the theatre. Why? Theatre is elitist.

Elitism is the feeling that you do not belong in a space because the people who are there are different from you and often appear to think they are better than you. In my opinion, this is the reason that the general public do not care about theatre. Elitism is built into the theatre world and this has only been highlighted recently through the BLM movement (I don’t need to go into this here, you’ve all seen it). 

From a personal perspective, I’m privileged to have been going to the theatre since I was tiny. We didn’t have a lot of money but my mum was really good at finding deals on tickets and I grew to love theatre more and more as I grew up.  I go around once a week and see a lot of off West-end stuff. I, a seasoned theatregoer, feel elitism every time I go to the theatre. I will elaborate on these in the sub-topics below but I wanted to point out that I am somebody who is relatively confident around the elitist feeling, imagine if you aren’t. You just wouldn’t bother and that is what we’re seeing. 

Tickets

The first thing I would like to discuss may seem to sit between accessibility and elitism but getting affordable tickets sits in with elitism in my opinion. I am often asked how I can afford to go to the theatre so often and my answer is always I know where to look. Why do theatres feel that it is acceptable to hide their cheap seats? The only thing that is achieved here is keeping theatre for those who know where to look. 

If you have not be brought up around theatre folk, you don’t know that day seats exist. Even when theatres advertise and say something like “£15 day seats available”, people who do not know anything about theatre will not have a clue what that means. They won’t know the difference between a digital lottery and a regular in-person day seat, they won’t know how to press buy now just at the right time on TodayTix to get a rush ticket. Having cheaper options does improve accessibility but the way it has been done doesn’t serve to reduce elitism.

Put yourself in the shoes of somebody who has never been to the theatre before. They see a poster for a musical that looks amazing, they google it, they see decent seats for £100+. They decide to go for the £30 option in the Gods. They feel ripped off and don’t bother again OR they know that those are crap seats and don’t bother at all. There is nowhere on that main booking page that mentions cheaper, good seats. That is telling people that they only deserve good seats if they’re rich. That is elitist. 

Image

My next two points spill into each other, but they are not the same thing. What do you think of when you think of somebody who goes to the theatre. We all just thought of the same old, white couple. They tut at young people who talk at interval? Yeah we all know the type. It’s amazing that these people, who usually have disposable income, go to the theatre and spend money there but they are coming anyway. Why are you therefore using them to advertise? 

Some theatres do this amazingly (Bush, Soho, Young Vic, loves) but most don’t. Some shows have gone too far (looking at you Heathers West End transfer) but think: What is the demographic that you think would want to come, but isn’t? If you’re trying to attract non-theatre goers, they have to see themselves in those who are recommending it. 

Obviously, some known reviewers have to be included to keep the regulars in but theatres must start including a wider range of reviewers, they must be open to criticism from young people, queer people, Black people... Then, they must show the faces of these reviewers in their advertising, they must include their views using their vocabulary. And once you get these voices (and start respecting them), theatres must start taking these views into account. A mainstream producer actually listening (and properly listening) to the views of not the mainstream critics? That is revolutionary. That’s showing you’re willing to change.

Etiquette

This is the big one. Theatre etiquette is elitist. I’m sure many people know what I mean by this: Hushed tones even when the show isn’t on and you’re in the bar, FOH using theatre-y vocabulary to usher people places (even things like “the house is open” mean nothing to people who aren’t in theatre), expected restraint to reactions towards what’s happening on stage. I’ve never been to a theatre that doesn’t use vocabulary that would be alienating to non-theatregoers. Only a few theatres don’t have that feeling of “we’re better than you” hanging in the air. 

I have been told that I do not match up to people’s ideas of expected theatre etiquette twice outside of fandom things. I remember them both. Once, I was laughing at funny moments during a funny play. The second time I was talking to my friends excitedly at interval and had some older theatre-goers tut and ask us to be quiet (hun, it’s the interval). As I mentioned, I go to the theatre all the time, I generally conform (even when I hate it). Imagine how you’d feel if you didn’t know the nonsense rules.

The solution? Dismantle the rules. 

People dismiss panto because is does this and it’s the least elitist theatre out there. Stop getting on your high horse about people openly enjoying themselves. And to those panicking, very few people are actually going to chat their way through a whole show they’ve paid money for.

We need more relaxed performances. We need more for disabled people but we also need more for young people, where they can react to what’s going on during the show and whisper to each other about it. 

We need more sing-a-longs. Musicals can create an amazing fandom this way. Six is doing an amazing job because they’ve fostered this environment. Imagine a Hamilton sing-a-long. Just sit in that for a moment. Imagine a person who had never been to the theatre before and has heard a few songs of the soundtrack getting the feeling of a gig from the theatre. It’s powerful and it needs to happen. 

Shakespeare

Nothing exhibits the elitism of theatre more than Shakespeare. The sheer prevalence of it. And, I’m going to say it: Nobody fully understands what’s going on. 

Why, as an industry, are you all so obsessed with a sexist, racist, homophobe who died in the 1600′s? People alive today are writing plays about stories that people want to hear, in a language that people can understand. Commission them.

That is all on that. 

Secrecy 

There’s certainly something to be said about keeping the magic of theatre alive by keeping tricks a secret. I totally appreciate and love that about this art medium. You watch things happening in real time that look like magic and it’s beautiful. 

However, the secrecy around productions has gone too far. Why are full on HQ recordings of shows being filmed for them never to see the light of day? I have seen the argument that people will not feel the need to watch the show if they have seen a recording but I have only seen that argument from people who work in theatre. Listen to the people who just go to the theatre. I don’t know what I can actually say to convince the industry of this, but theatre people will still come because there’s nothing like live theatre. 

What you will do by releasing a good recording is open the show to the masses (and make money from it). You will essentially be building a fandom. People can watch football on TV but choose to pay for a ticket to go watch live because it is a different experience. People can listen to a band but choose to pay for a ticket to go to a concert because it is a different experience. It is the same thing. You honestly need to get over this because I think this is a massive reason why this elitism still exists. 

Also why not release HQ footage even as a trailer? Stick it on YouTube for free, get ad revenue and advertise.

These are just a few things that need to be taken into consideration when theatres re-open. Theatre must come back better and stronger than it was before and it must get more people in the room. The people will need art. 

This is precisely the time when artists go to work. There is no time for despair, no place for self-pity, no need for silence, no room for fear. We speak, we write, we do language. That is how civilizations heal. - Toni Morrison

Toni Morrison | Nobel Lecture December 7, 1993

We die. That may be the meaning of life. But we do language. That may be the measure of our lives.

“Once upon a time there was an old woman. Blind but wise.” Or was it an old man? A guru, perhaps. Or a griot soothing restless children. I have heard this story, or one exactly like it, in the lore of several cultures.

“Once upon a time there was an old woman. Blind. Wise.”

In the version I know the woman is the daughter of slaves, black, American, and lives alone in a small house outside of town. Her reputation for wisdom is without peer and without question. Among her people she is both the law and its transgression. The honor she is paid and the awe in which she is held reach beyond her neighborhood to places far away; to the city where the intelligence of rural prophets is the source of much amusement.

One day the woman is visited by some young people who seem to be bent on disproving her clairvoyance and showing her up for the fraud they believe she is. Their plan is simple: they enter her house and ask the one question the answer to which rides solely on her difference from them, a difference they regard as a profound disability: her blindness. They stand before her, and one of them says, “Old woman, I hold in my hand a bird. Tell me whether it is living or dead.”

She does not answer, and the question is repeated. “Is the bird I am holding living or dead?”

Still she doesn’t answer. She is blind and cannot see her visitors, let alone what is in their hands. She does not know their color, gender or homeland. She only knows their motive.

The old woman’s silence is so long, the young people have trouble holding their laughter.

Finally she speaks and her voice is soft but stern. “I don’t know”, she says. “I don’t know whether the bird you are holding is dead or alive, but what I do know is that it is in your hands. It is in your hands.”

Her answer can be taken to mean: if it is dead, you have either found it that way or you have killed it. If it is alive, you can still kill it. Whether it is to stay alive, it is your decision. Whatever the case, it is your responsibility.

For parading their power and her helplessness, the young visitors are reprimanded, told they are responsible not only for the act of mockery but also for the small bundle of life sacrificed to achieve its aims. The blind woman shifts attention away from assertions of power to the instrument through which that power is exercised.

Speculation on what (other than its own frail body) that bird-in-the-hand might signify has always been attractive to me, but especially so now thinking, as I have been, about the work I do that has brought me to this company. So I choose to read the bird as language and the woman as a practiced writer. She is worried about how the language she dreams in, given to her at birth, is handled, put into service, even withheld from her for certain nefarious purposes. Being a writer she thinks of language partly as a system, partly as a living thing over which one has control, but mostly as agency – as an act with consequences. So the question the children put to her: “Is it living or dead?” is not unreal because she thinks of language as susceptible to death, erasure; certainly imperiled and salvageable only by an effort of the will. She believes that if the bird in the hands of her visitors is dead the custodians are responsible for the corpse. For her a dead language is not only one no longer spoken or written, it is unyielding language content to admire its own paralysis. Like statist language, censored and censoring. Ruthless in its policing duties, it has no desire or purpose other than maintaining the free range of its own narcotic narcissism, its own exclusivity and dominance. However moribund, it is not without effect for it actively thwarts the intellect, stalls conscience, suppresses human potential. Unreceptive to interrogation, it cannot form or tolerate new ideas, shape other thoughts, tell another story, fill baffling silences. Official language smitheryed to sanction ignorance and preserve privilege is a suit of armor polished to shocking glitter, a husk from which the knight departed long ago. Yet there it is: dumb, predatory, sentimental. Exciting reverence in schoolchildren, providing shelter for despots, summoning false memories of stability, harmony among the public.

She is convinced that when language dies, out of carelessness, disuse, indifference and absence of esteem, or killed by fiat, not only she herself, but all users and makers are accountable for its demise. In her country children have bitten their tongues off and use bullets instead to iterate the voice of speechlessness, of disabled and disabling language, of language adults have abandoned altogether as a device for grappling with meaning, providing guidance, or expressing love. But she knows tongue-suicide is not only the choice of children. It is common among the infantile heads of state and power merchants whose evacuated language leaves them with no access to what is left of their human instincts for they speak only to those who obey, or in order to force obedience.

The systematic looting of language can be recognized by the tendency of its users to forgo its nuanced, complex, mid-wifery properties for menace and subjugation. Oppressive language does more than represent violence; it is violence; does more than represent the limits of knowledge; it limits knowledge. Whether it is obscuring state language or the faux-language of mindless media; whether it is the proud but calcified language of the academy or the commodity driven language of science; whether it is the malign language of law-without-ethics, or language designed for the estrangement of minorities, hiding its racist plunder in its literary cheek – it must be rejected, altered and exposed. It is the language that drinks blood, laps vulnerabilities, tucks its fascist boots under crinolines of respectability and patriotism as it moves relentlessly toward the bottom line and the bottomed-out mind. Sexist language, racist language, theistic language – all are typical of the policing languages of mastery, and cannot, do not permit new knowledge or encourage the mutual exchange of ideas.

The old woman is keenly aware that no intellectual mercenary, nor insatiable dictator, no paid-for politician or demagogue; no counterfeit journalist would be persuaded by her thoughts. There is and will be rousing language to keep citizens armed and arming; slaughtered and slaughtering in the malls, courthouses, post offices, playgrounds, bedrooms and boulevards; stirring, memorializing language to mask the pity and waste of needless death. There will be more diplomatic language to countenance rape, torture, assassination. There is and will be more seductive, mutant language designed to throttle women, to pack their throats like paté-producing geese with their own unsayable, transgressive words; there will be more of the language of surveillance disguised as research; of politics and history calculated to render the suffering of millions mute; language glamorized to thrill the dissatisfied and bereft into assaulting their neighbors; arrogant pseudo-empirical language crafted to lock creative people into cages of inferiority and hopelessness.

Underneath the eloquence, the glamor, the scholarly associations, however stirring or seductive, the heart of such language is languishing, or perhaps not beating at all – if the bird is already dead.

She has thought about what could have been the intellectual history of any discipline if it had not insisted upon, or been forced into, the waste of time and life that rationalizations for and representations of dominance required – lethal discourses of exclusion blocking access to cognition for both the excluder and the excluded.

The conventional wisdom of the Tower of Babel story is that the collapse was a misfortune. That it was the distraction, or the weight of many languages that precipitated the tower’s failed architecture. That one monolithic language would have expedited the building and heaven would have been reached. Whose heaven, she wonders? And what kind? Perhaps the achievement of Paradise was premature, a little hasty if no one could take the time to understand other languages, other views, other narratives period. Had they, the heaven they imagined might have been found at their feet. Complicated, demanding, yes, but a view of heaven as life; not heaven as post-life.

She would not want to leave her young visitors with the impression that language should be forced to stay alive merely to be. The vitality of language lies in its ability to limn the actual, imagined and possible lives of its speakers, readers, writers. Although its poise is sometimes in displacing experience it is not a substitute for it. It arcs toward the place where meaning may lie. When a President of the United States thought about the graveyard his country had become, and said, “The world will little note nor long remember what we say here. But it will never forget what they did here,” his simple words are exhilarating in their life-sustaining properties because they refused to encapsulate the reality of 600, 000 dead men in a cataclysmic race war. Refusing to monumentalize, disdaining the “final word”, the precise “summing up”, acknowledging their “poor power to add or detract”, his words signal deference to the uncapturability of the life it mourns. It is the deference that moves her, that recognition that language can never live up to life once and for all. Nor should it. Language can never “pin down” slavery, genocide, war. Nor should it yearn for the arrogance to be able to do so. Its force, its felicity is in its reach toward the ineffable.

Be it grand or slender, burrowing, blasting, or refusing to sanctify; whether it laughs out loud or is a cry without an alphabet, the choice word, the chosen silence, unmolested language surges toward knowledge, not its destruction. But who does not know of literature banned because it is interrogative; discredited because it is critical; erased because alternate? And how many are outraged by the thought of a self-ravaged tongue?

Word-work is sublime, she thinks, because it is generative; it makes meaning that secures our difference, our human difference – the way in which we are like no other life.

We die. That may be the meaning of life. But we do language. That may be the measure of our lives.

“Once upon a time, …” visitors ask an old woman a question. Who are they, these children? What did they make of that encounter? What did they hear in those final words: “The bird is in your hands”? A sentence that gestures towards possibility or one that drops a latch? Perhaps what the children heard was “It’s not my problem. I am old, female, black, blind. What wisdom I have now is in knowing I cannot help you. The future of language is yours.”

They stand there. Suppose nothing was in their hands? Suppose the visit was only a ruse, a trick to get to be spoken to, taken seriously as they have not been before? A chance to interrupt, to violate the adult world, its miasma of discourse about them, for them, but never to them? Urgent questions are at stake, including the one they have asked: “Is the bird we hold living or dead?” Perhaps the question meant: “Could someone tell us what is life? What is death?” No trick at all; no silliness. A straightforward question worthy of the attention of a wise one. An old one. And if the old and wise who have lived life and faced death cannot describe either, who can?

But she does not; she keeps her secret; her good opinion of herself; her gnomic pronouncements; her art without commitment. She keeps her distance, enforces it and retreats into the singularity of isolation, in sophisticated, privileged space.

Nothing, no word follows her declaration of transfer. That silence is deep, deeper than the meaning available in the words she has spoken. It shivers, this silence, and the children, annoyed, fill it with language invented on the spot.

“Is there no speech,” they ask her, “no words you can give us that helps us break through your dossier of failures? Through the education you have just given us that is no education at all because we are paying close attention to what you have done as well as to what you have said? To the barrier you have erected between generosity and wisdom?

“We have no bird in our hands, living or dead. We have only you and our important question. Is the nothing in our hands something you could not bear to contemplate, to even guess? Don’t you remember being young when language was magic without meaning? When what you could say, could not mean? When the invisible was what imagination strove to see? When questions and demands for answers burned so brightly you trembled with fury at not knowing?

“Do we have to begin consciousness with a battle heroines and heroes like you have already fought and lost leaving us with nothing in our hands except what you have imagined is there? Your answer is artful, but its artfulness embarrasses us and ought to embarrass you. Your answer is indecent in its self-congratulation. A made-for-television script that makes no sense if there is nothing in our hands.

“Why didn’t you reach out, touch us with your soft fingers, delay the sound bite, the lesson, until you knew who we were? Did you so despise our trick, our modus operandi you could not see that we were baffled about how to get your attention? We are young. Unripe. We have heard all our short lives that we have to be responsible. What could that possibly mean in the catastrophe this world has become; where, as a poet said, “nothing needs to be exposed since it is already barefaced.” Our inheritance is an affront. You want us to have your old, blank eyes and see only cruelty and mediocrity. Do you think we are stupid enough to perjure ourselves again and again with the fiction of nationhood? How dare you talk to us of duty when we stand waist deep in the toxin of your past?

“You trivialize us and trivialize the bird that is not in our hands. Is there no context for our lives? No song, no literature, no poem full of vitamins, no history connected to experience that you can pass along to help us start strong? You are an adult. The old one, the wise one. Stop thinking about saving your face. Think of our lives and tell us your particularized world. Make up a story. Narrative is radical, creating us at the very moment it is being created. We will not blame you if your reach exceeds your grasp; if love so ignites your words they go down in flames and nothing is left but their scald. Or if, with the reticence of a surgeon’s hands, your words suture only the places where blood might flow. We know you can never do it properly – once and for all. Passion is never enough; neither is skill. But try. For our sake and yours forget your name in the street; tell us what the world has been to you in the dark places and in the light. Don’t tell us what to believe, what to fear. Show us belief s wide skirt and the stitch that unravels fear’s caul. You, old woman, blessed with blindness, can speak the language that tells us what only language can: how to see without pictures. Language alone protects us from the scariness of things with no names. Language alone is meditation.

“Tell us what it is to be a woman so that we may know what it is to be a man. What moves at the margin. What it is to have no home in this place. To be set adrift from the one you knew. What it is to live at the edge of towns that cannot bear your company.

“Tell us about ships turned away from shorelines at Easter, placenta in a field. Tell us about a wagonload of slaves, how they sang so softly their breath was indistinguishable from the falling snow. How they knew from the hunch of the nearest shoulder that the next stop would be their last. How, with hands prayered in their sex, they thought of heat, then sun. Lifting their faces as though it was there for the taking. Turning as though there for the taking. They stop at an inn. The driver and his mate go in with the lamp leaving them humming in the dark. The horse’s void steams into the snow beneath its hooves and its hiss and melt are the envy of the freezing slaves.

“The inn door opens: a girl and a boy step away from its light. They climb into the wagon bed. The boy will have a gun in three years, but now he carries a lamp and a jug of warm cider. They pass it from mouth to mouth. The girl offers bread, pieces of meat and something more: a glance into the eyes of the one she serves. One helping for each man, two for each woman. And a look. They look back. The next stop will be their last. But not this one. This one is warmed.”

It’s quiet again when the children finish speaking, until the woman breaks into the silence.

“Finally”, she says, “I trust you now. I trust you with the bird that is not in your hands because you have truly caught it. Look. How lovely it is, this thing we have done – together.”

https://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2021/books/best-toni-morrison-books.html

          ·ﾟ☀ i am already so tired of myself and i have class soon aGAIN ........ ugh well again , i am teddy , a she / her pronoun user and current mun to two muses in this delightful shining star of a group ! i now present galen , my newest gaming gf creation who just wants everyone to fucking include each other ! my preferred plotting method is via discord over at 𝐤𝐲𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐫 !#6439 , i’ll make a plotting call there and i’ll reach out to everyone who likes this !

      *       read   all   about   galen sorenson ,   otherwise   affectionately  nicknamed   the champ.   the   twenty - one  year  old  gamer  and  blossoming  actress  is   widely   known   for   being   uninhibited,   magnanimous,   self - deprecating,   capricious   and   recently   made   headlines   when   they   allegedly   dropped a sponsor due to their support of autism speaks .   apparently   judas   claims   to   be   sitting   on   an   even   bigger  story   involving   them   -   whatever   the   truth   may   be,   i'm   sure   it   won't   stay   hidden   for   long.   &    a screaming laugh following a jumpscare waking the whole house , overthinking an interaction hours after it’s passed , a childhood spent begging to be read the ugly duckling and lingering on every word , neurodiversity stickers pasted all over a gaming pc. ◜   ⭒  ic:   alisha boe.   cis woman.   she / her.    

BIO : mohammed and karina sorenson have never been a conventional pair . to start , they meet when he , the biggest male model of the 80′s , is hired to walk for her winter collection , being one of europe’s top knitwear designers who never seems to go out of style . he’s eccentric and as magnetic as can be , she’s demure and has never said a word regarding anything but her work . they don’t make sense , but they’re married two years in secret before finally making their relationship known . mohammed , progressive and independent minded despite his traditional somali family , takes her last name and relocates to norway , where karina gives birth to a stunning baby girl that steals the hearts of the eu as the tabloids go crazy over her . 

elissa is nearly 18 when her mother has the news to shock a nation : she’s miraculously pregnant , once more , far enough along that she intends to keep the baby despite both her and mohammed being into their 40′s . karina , having named their first baby , gives the reigns over to mo for their second child , but isn’t too happy with his pick

galen literally translates to mad , to incorrect , she argues , elissa firmly on her side

it gives her a chance to choose her own path . it gives her something to make for herself , mohammed counters , and that ends that .

galen is born in olso and is every bit as precious as her sister , now old enough to even potentially be her mother . her parents , busy with their ventures but over the moon to have a new baby in the house , raise her for her first few years in a small norwegian town to shield her from the prying eyes of the public

mohammed is first to notice that she doesn’t respond to her name or seem interested in looking at him , keeping her focus on whatever toy catches her eye for the day . he and karina write it off when she doesn’t hit her talking milestones or hold crayons the way other toddlers do , or figure she’s just an introvert when her preschool teacher mentions she doesn’t enjoy playing with the other kids during free time

they can’t ignore it any longer when she hits grade school , instantly falling behind with the rigorous private school pace and eventually warranting a visit from the school psychologist . she remembers the worry that paints her parents weathered faces when , at six years old , she’s given a laundry list of diagnoses and recommended for “ alternate ” schooling

something about the way her teachers treat her , so broken and unworthy of respect , makes her shut down , regressing with any progress she had shown and really refusing to cooperate with most adults she comes by . elissa is a budding starlet taking weekends off from film roles to spend time with her little sister , knowing that behind the quiet dark eyes of the child who wouldn’t look at you was a bright mind teeming with unsaid thoughts

her parents go to all ends to hire her private tutors and special therapists , which help her keep up at grade level . she’s in middle school when her science teacher , noting galen’s aptitude on exams and incredible recall , says she may fare better in an american school , recommending one he knows will accept a prestigious line such as the sorensons . 

she moves to pennsylvania at 12 and the change is hard . she again regresses and suffers at the hands of her peers at the private catholic school she attends , her parents reaching a level of despair thinking they’ve failed their daughter , unable to get her the help she deserves despite their best attempts . galen , sick of being deemed the broken doll , seeks out an escape from the world to try and give her some reprieve from the constant pity she wishes she could express is only doing more harm than good

she likes makeup but sucks at it , enjoys art but can’t seem to draw for the life of her . she knows she’s tone deaf as all hell and doesn’t like sweating enough to be willing to dance . for once in her life , despite all the years of trying to ignore the well - meaning comments of those around her , galen starts to believe maybe there is something wrong about her .

it’s elissa’s celeb boyfriend who buys her an xbox for christmas , figuring the two could play it as a bonding experience . brimming with quiet gratitude , galen spends hours on the damn thing in between study sessions . tutors notice an improvement in focus , more motivation to work and get things done so she can finally hop back onto the console and escape into a fantasy .

she begs her parents to let her do homeschooling for her high school years , to which they agree and she thrives . she upgrades now to a gaming pc and plays through everything she can get her hands on . people on her teams don’t know her , and they don’t treat her any differently than anyone else , so before long she’s unlocking a bubblier side to herself that just feels content .

she records her playthroughs in silence ( she’s gaining confidence , but still shy , and god knows how the internet treats female gamers ) and uploads them to youtube under a stupid channel name with only a few hundred subscribers . noting the accuracy and speed with which galen destroys shooter games , someone suggests she try overwatch .

galen is hooked in an instant . she plays matches in between daily activities and quickly climbs ranks to becoming a force to be reckoned with in the competitive community . after finding a team where she feels particularly at - home , they launch to stardom due to their sweeping wins and incredible cohesion . galen becomes something of an overnight sensation , quiet and unassuming , and this recognition feels like the validation she’s been seeking for herself this whole time

she blossoms and cements her legacy as an overwatch competitive titan by the time she graduates , reaching grandmaster status and being known throughout the community for her strategy and technique . her youtube channel grows exponentially , and after realizing this is a viable future for herself , galen posts her playthroughs with her commentary and finds that people love what she does . she moves to new york in order to collaborate with other big gamers , and on her channel , she does a combination of horror games , overwatch trainings , and new release reviews and builds a following similar to markiplier or jackseptic eye , with a second vlog channel to document when she goes off to tournaments or simple things from her days

she’s 19 when her repeated wins get the attention of a massive gaming studio who invite her to come record some lines as an easter egg of sorts for her fans in a new game they’re developing . her work is met with rave reviews and suddenly game titans are nearly breaking down her door for more voice acting work . galen , who’s always felt like the ugly duckling compared to her sister’s perfect legacy , takes this opportunity to emulate her sister’s career , and nearly doubles over when a film studio approaches her with interest of casting her as a supporting role in a project of theirs . though she’s never pictured herself to be in front of a camera quite like that , with some coaching , galen nails it , and finds the high of acting catapults her from relative fame into newfound stardom .

she’s one of the newer members of the brat pack considering her youtube fame was more inconspicuous than her film work , though she still is adjusting to life in the limelight . she stays close to her roots and continues to post regularly to her channel and streams on twitch , collaborating with other increasingly big names to gain her more views . 

galen’s most notable push since rising to fame has been her advocacy for neurodiversity and recognition for how poorly people with learning disabilities are treated in society . she doesn’t go in detail with her diagnoses but she does make jokes about them on her stream in order to normalize their mentions . she recently dropped a sponsor for their support of autism speaks and donates a majority of her merch revenue and tournament winnings to advocacy causes . she’s proud of who she is and hopes the future can be shaped into what kids like her needed when they were growing up .

galen lives up to her father’s prediction this whole time and changes her channel’s name to galengaming , proud to tout the moniker that spurred her to create a path she wanted rather than be told who to be by the world around her . 

PERSONALITY : galen has an energy about her that is like the sun hidden behind a cloud . upon first impressions , she’s a bit more timorous and nervous as she gets her footing of wherever she may be , especially with some of the more public - eye type settings she’s been put in since sort of being sucked into the brat pack . she wants to make sure she’s acting appropriately for whatever the situation calls and may often seem tense or apprehensive .

once she’s loosened up or seen a familiar face she can latch onto , she blossoms into a ball of unfiltered energy . she loves humor and memes and can often be found competitively launching memes she’s found into her team’s group discord server . she’s witty and often makes herself the butt of her own jokes in order to lighten the mood , though she’ll be sure to clarify that she loves herself and only does so to keep herself humble lmao . 

her playthroughs are VERY stream of consciousness but its this lack of filter that seems to be her fans’ favorite thing about her , a willingness to say whatever unhinged thing she may be thinking followed by a shrieking scream after a jumpscare or a string of screeching expletives after missing a goal

she can perhaps sometimes be too unfiltered and unwittingly come across as harsh or blunt , though she’ll often realize this after the fact and feel incredibly remorseful . galen has a habit to overthink and will panic for the rest of the night if she fears she’s inadvertently offended you , but won’t apologize due to being too nervous to figure out exactly how to do so ssksksks

one of galen’s most notable qualities is her heart , her benevolence and empathy that lead her to want everyone to feel included regardless of how different they may be . though she tries to give everyone a chance , there’s a fair amount of people perhaps too materialistic for her to get along with , and her polite way to ignore them is simply keeping her distance and pretending to not know them

which . in her own way . comes across as shady sksksk “oh you know so and so ? ” omg no i dont haha who are they “ u literally met them last night ” hahaha no i didnt x

she can be prone to mood swings simply due to a sensitivity to her own feelings and a tendency to overthink . she’ll wonder why she feels weird and even if it’s just because she’s hungry she’ll assume it’s because she said “thanks you too” when the cashier told her to enjoy her meal and then she has to sulk and play animal crossing alone in the dark for an hour before she can come out and be chill again even tho she feels worse than when she started bc shes just HUNGRY ASKSKKS

she’s used to being infantilized so she tends to be sort of short tempered if people talk down to her . this is when the wit kicks in as she is really just tired of being treated poorly by people who don’t even know her and has decided she will refuse to take any more shit ! can be a bit snippy even without realizing it but if she’s close to you she’ll usually be like “ oh my god that was rude as fuck im so sorry ” and feel bad for 20 minutes even after you say its okay lmaoo

random blurbs : um DONT ask me who she plays in her overwatch tournaments bc im using opossum and wikipedia to figure shit out as i goes , but i know for sure she calls out a lot of misogyny in the gaming world on social media !

always has her switch with her i KNOW this for a fact

anime nerd ....... nobody call her out on it she will deny until she is blue in the face and then hum the one punch man intro in her streams as if hundreds of thousands of people arent witnesses LMAO

this is so stereotypical nerd but she hates the outdoors ! says the US is so dirty and stuffy she says scandanavia is the only place she’ll ever like to be outside , she slips into norwegian when she’s recording if she gets jumpscared so she doesnt get demonetized for over - swearing lmao

also speaks french because she picked it up from her mom ! her dad usually only spoke english or norwegian , so galen didn’t get to pick up on much somali or arabic but she def knows at least a few words here and there

she vlogs a good amount of her life but she’s kinda shy about talking about who she’s dating , will probably try to keep her romantic life to herself !

excited as all hell to get into acting but the super fame that’s coming with it kinda freaks her out . she knows it’s a trade off bc she loves the feeling it gives her but hates how people are now overstepping a lot of boundaries that they didn’t before when she was just a popular youtuber

inspos are juno from the iconic movie juno , toph beifong from atla , louis theroux YES THE DOCUMENTARY GUY LEAF ME AL ONE , & amy from booksmart !

“Heroic Origins” Pt. 1 Sherlock Miraculous AU

𝓢𝓾𝓶𝓶𝓪𝓻𝔂: Sherlock Holmes and John Watson have been flatmates and best friends for over a year, when they are given a secret identity no one can find out about - not even them.

𝓟𝓪𝓲𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼: Johnlock (John x Sherlock), Mystrade (Mycroft x Greg), Sherlolly (Sherlock x Molly)

𝓦𝓪𝓻𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼: Explicit language, mentions of home abuse

𝓒𝓱𝓪𝓹𝓽𝓮𝓻: Chapter 1, "Heroic Origins" Part 1

𝓦𝓸𝓻𝓭𝓼 𝓒𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓽: 2493 words

********************************************

In the year of 2011 Dr John H. Watson had been evacuated from the battlefield in Afghanistan due to a dangerous injury. The fallen soldier had been transported over to London's National Home for Disabled Volunteer Soldiers, where he had stayed for a month, under the watchful eye of the best physical therapists. He had learned to walk, talk and eat again but he still lacked sleep. Nightmares had been haunting him every night, keeping him up or waking him up in cold sweat if he had managed to close his eyes for a moment.

In May of 2011 the soldier was transported yet again into a small flat in the suburbs. It wasn't much, just a small bedroom with a window and a desk, even smaller bathroom and an even smaller kitchen place. He didn't need much more than that, but he knew he would have to find himself an actual place to live soon as this wasn't a long-term solution.

You can only imagine his joy when after a nice little meet-up with an old friend, he heard the words "I know somebody who's looking for a flatmate". John wasn't an impulsive person, he was actually very hesitant when it came to meeting new people. But for this man... He was ready to risk it all.

Sherlock Holmes was the sort of man people despised. There were many reasons why but John found three sentimental truths that seemed to be the most important ones. First of all, his intellectual skills were quite mind-blowing. The man was born with an extraordinary talent to read people's whole life story just by looking at them. Second of all, he was painfully honest - which often made him seem like an utter cock. He had no boundaries and couldn't tell polite from cruel. Of course, even if he could, he still wouldn't make much use of it, or so everyone thought. And third of all, Sherlock had an intimidating aura. He was horribly attractive and knew exactly how to take advantage of that. And so he did. John wasn't sure if he was more jealous of his looks or his amazing flirting skills...

Either way, it only took them one evening to get to know each other enough for John to decide he wanted to move in with this man. He provided him with enough adrenaline and dopamine to forget about Afghanistan, about his leg, about his shoulder. Nothing else mattered.

********************************************

"Do you need anything from the store? I'm going shopping!" John called out, rushing out of the kitchen. He had checked every cupboard earlier, making sure to note everything that he would have to provide them with.

"Some biscuits, maybe? And milk" Sherlock responded with a mutter, not looking up from his laptop. To be clear - not quite his laptop. John's. Dr Watson couldn't care less, though.

"Sure. I'll be back soon. Don't start a war?" he joked, grabbing his coat. Sherlock shot him a glare, which softened as soon as he spotted the faintest smile on John's lips. He nodded, looking back down at whatever the hell he was doing, as the shorter man rolled his eyes with a chuckle, jogging down the stairs.

As he walked down the street he still wore a smile on his face. Passing all those little stores on Baker Street, kids running around the square, heading for the park - it all made his heart happy. A few months earlier he didn't believe that he would ever feel that again. Yet there it was..

He frowned as he heard shouting of a different nature - aggressive, offensive. Metal clicking - gun. Off safety.

John's instincts screamed 'check it'. No sane person would go unarmed anywhere near an attacker with a gun, but Dr Watson was nowhere near sane.

The shouting seemed to come from a darkened backstreet. John moved closer to the wall, peeking from around the corner. The attacker was a tall man with black hair. He was standing over another man, curled up on the floor, his clothes torn and dirty. Probably a homeless person. The aggressor held a gun up, pointing it at the other. Only small begs and cries were audible from the mess of a man laying on the concrete. Watson pulled out his phone and texted Detective Inspector Lestrade the name of the street.

"Hey, you! Stop it, now!" he called out, feeling his heart beat faster with anger and confidence. He stepped closer and soon regretted it - the man was so much taller than him. It didn't make him back off, though.

"Who are you?" the man looked up, raising an eyebrow. Must have been a funny view to him, see such a small, innocent looking man standing in front of him.

"I'm Captain John Watson, Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers, three years in Afghanistan, a veteran of Kandahar, Helmand, and Bart's bloody Hospital and I suggest you drop this weapon and leave at once" he answered quickly, his face staying stone cold and emotionless.

The man raised his gun and pointed it at John. Dr Watson didn't flinch. He took another step forward, then another and one more - until he was standing just a few feet away from the other, the gun pressed to his forehead.

"Pull the trigger and there is no going back. The police will be here in less than a minute. And if they find me dead... Well, you know what happens, don't you?" he said calmly, tilting his head a bit. The other gulped quietly but didn't move.

One swift move of John's left elbow and the man's gun was on the ground. And with another one of those moves - so was the attacker himself.

"Watson! Watson? Are you okay?"

John turned around just to see Detective Lestrade running down the path, sirens in the distance slowly becoming louder and louder. 

********************************************

"Are you okay, sir?"

Dr Watson approached a taller man, wrapped up in an orange blanket, sitting on the ground with his head in his lap. He was clearly in shock. John couldn't help but pity him.

The man raised his head. His bloodshot eyes glistened with thankfulness. "Oh, good man you are. Thank you, oh, thank you" he choked out, shaking his head, like if he couldn't express his feelings enough.

"You're welcome. You are no longer in danger, please, try to calm down" John said, kneeling and putting a hand on the man's shoulder. "You will be alright, I guarantee you".

"Why did you help me, good sir? I'm just a crappy junkie, nobody of any importance-" he cried out, before he was silenced by John's scoff.

"No, of course not. Everybody's important. Everybody matters. I believe all of us deserve help, we're all just... People" he smiled softly, his words clearly inspiring the other man. He stared at the soldier for a moment, before blinking a few times and reaching into his pocket. He pulled out a small, black box with red symbols on the lid and looked up at the other again.

"Please, take this as a form of... Gratitude. For all you've done for me today and all you will do for other people in the future" he said, his voice raspy but deeper than before.

John furrowed his brows. "I didn't do it for any kind of-"

"I know. And that's exactly why I want you to have it" he said, a smile lighting up his pale face.

John reached for the box and examined it, before reaching to open it. However, the bloke stopped him. "Open it when you're at home, alone. Please" he instructed quietly. John frowned.

John frowned. Taking a present from ‘a junkie’, which he is obligated to open in private... Sounded suspicious. Sounded risky. Sounded dangerous. He nodded slowly.

"Of course. Thank you."

"No, young man. Thank you"

********************************************

How much time? Fourteen minutes? Getting closer to fifteen. It usually took John nineteen minutes to do his shopping and get back home. Sherlock counted. Every time.

He would always stay at the flat, taking in his moments of silence, using them fully and completely, making sure they weren't wasted. Nineteen minutes of brain-clearing, slowing down and catching up with his furious thought process.

Shouting from outside. Cars screeching. A woman in her early twenties crying. Noise. "Shut up!" he called out, his eyes rolling back as he let out a loud groan of pure discomfort and annoyance.

"Sherlock, sweetheart, I never said anything- Oh! Oh God, look!" Poor Mrs. Hudson's face went pale as she peeked her head through the doorway. Her eyes went wide. Something scary, traumatic, shocking - outside the window. The detective sighed deeply and turned his head.

The sight made him jump up to his feet and grab his coat. He pulled it on, reaching for John's gun from the drawer, before leaving the flat quickly, Mrs. Hudson's cries left behind in the sitting room.

Outside the building was standing a crowd of gapers. Some had their phones out, recording, some were screaming, some were just standing there and doing nothing - gapers.

Baker Street 220, second floor, an opened window. A woman hanging from it. Crying. Her hair a mess. Her shirt loose from... Pulling? Fighting? Looking up at something inside the flat. Aggressor? Home abuse victim then. The girl - not too athletic. Won't hold on too long.

"Did anyone call the police!?" somebody yelled.

"They won't arrive on time, the approximate time for the police's arrival is seven minutes and nineteen seconds" said Sherlock, rather loudly, as he made his way through the crowd "Call the ambulance instead, she might need one".

He began analysing his way up to the woman. Through the flat? Impossible. Aggressor must have still been inside. He couldn't risk taking too much time in the flat, neutralizing the suspect. The possibility of the woman not making it was too high. He looked away. The building was tall, many balconies and windows. He could easily climb up, get the woman down the same way, then go deal with the abuser. He settled on that option.

He pulled his coat off, deciding that it would only make the hike much harder. He threw it over at the closest gawker, before jumping up and gripping one of the barriers. He pulled himself up and jumped down onto the balcony. The woman's cries were now even louder, making Sherlock's heart beat faster with adrenaline. He had to really focus on not smiling. Smiling in a situation like that was definitely not a good idea after all. 

Another swift jump with a pull-up and he was already on the second floor. He could see the woman clearly, feel her fear, hear every single cry coming out of her mouth. The visible and audible panic that needed to be calmed down - or else she would not make it. 

"Hey, don't worry, I'm here now" he said, turning her attention to him. Her eyes widened - panic, but relief. Pupils dilated. Sherlock gave her a warm, soothing smile. "What's your name?"

"Oh God, please help me, please-" she cried out, kicking her legs in the air. She screeched as her hand slipped away, then grabbed onto the window yet again.

"I will, I need you to tell me your name first" he said slowly, reaching out his hand, like if he wanted to say 'stop'.

"Anthea- Please, help me!".

"Okay, Anthea. I need you to stop crying. Calm down, I want you to concentrate all of your strength in your arms. I'm gonna ask you to move closer to me so I can get you down" he instructed her, staring at her with a caring but concerned look in his eyes.

She looked down and squealed, "No, I can't-". 

"Yes, you can, Anthea! I need you to believe me. You can!" he said quickly. "Move closer to me, just a bit. I will help you". 

Anthea gulped, looking up again. She managed to move her fragile hand closer to the right edge of the window. She held onto it tightly, series of small squeals escaping her swollen lips. "Shit- Oh, oh God..."

"Good, come on... Just a little bit closer, you can do it. Look at you, look at how brave you are" Sherlock said softly, giving her another friendly smile. She glanced at him and nodded weakly, trying to move even closer. "Just another inch, come on, Anthea. Just another inch...".

And there it was. The girl managed to pull herself up and to the right again. It was Sherlock's turn to react. He quickly jumped over the barrier, one of his legs staying on the balcony, as he reached out both of his hands. If he grabbed her too slow, they would both fall, his leg wouldn't be able to block such weight. If he did it fast enough, they would both get back onto the balcony. He took a deep breath and counted to three. He wrapped his arms around the girl's waist and gripped her, before pulling back onto the balcony. With a groan from him and a shriek from her, they landed safely on the wooden tiles - Sherlock on his back, Anthea curled up on top of him. Both of them stayed like that, panting.

“It’s all right now... I’ve got you...”.

After less than a minute they both heard sirens - so somebody really called the police...

********************************************

"Anthea Brown. Twenty three. Lives here with her boyfriend. Now, obviously, I don't think that will be the case anymore" Sally Donovan handed the notepad over to Sherlock, eying him carefully. She wasn't too fond of working with him. Clearly.

"Right. Great" he nodded, looking over at the woman, wondering if he should tell Sergeant that he had already known all of that... "Arrest the man, let her stay here - would make sense, don't you think?"

"I know what to do, freak. This is not my first case like this" she scoffed, turning on her heel and walking back to the police car. To write down a report? Most likely.

Sherlock sighed and soon turned around. The crowd was still there, most of them were now focused on him instead of the girl herself. He quickly spotted the man holding his coat and headed over to get it back.

"Congratulations, that was so... Heroic" said the bloke, his eyes glistening with admiration.

"I did what had to be done" Sherlock answered absent-mindedly and grabbed his coat, hanging it over his shoulder as he made his way back to his flat.

As he walked inside, he furrowed his brows. The coffee table, where previously was only his own cup of tea and John's laptop, was now empty - except for a small black box with red, ancient symbols on the lid and a card glued to the side:

'Open when alone and ready. -Master Fu'

May 16th-May 22nd, 2020 Creator Babble Archive

The archive for the Creator Babble chat that occurred from May 16th, 2020 to May 22nd, 2020.  The chat focused on the following question:

What are you trying to show or tell with your story that you find to be underrepresented?

Eightfish (Puppeteer)

-Mind control/mind reading where both people are okay with it. I like themes of trust -"Superpowers" without secret identities. Because researchers aren't always evil goddamnit! -Portraying people who hurt others not as card-carrying megalomaniac villains but as pitiful and broken people. I haven't gotten to this part of my story yet but I hope I can do it well when I do. -Queer characters but they never say that they are or talk about it in any way. Yes I know I'm probably the only one who wants this

Also, maybe the idea that you don't need to "do anything" with your life for it to be worthwhile? But I'm not sure that I believe this myself

Deo101 [Millennium]

Mostly I'm trying to write about love, and I hardly think that's underrepresented! But, I'm also trying to show a bit of my own personal disabled experience, and I find that the kinds of things I've experienced are hardly represented at all. so, I think I'm trying to show a sort of hope and positivity for things that I think are usually pitied and viewed negatively, which I wish were done more.

chalcara [Nyx+Nyssa]

I just wanted a good ol' classic Eddings-style fantasy romp, but with characters that would usually be cast in the "evil" role, without going the "misunderstood" route.

Plus I wanted to write about shitty family (born, found and married) and that you do NOT have to forgive them in the slightest to move on and better your life.

Cronaj (Whispers of the Past)

Hmm... One of the main things I want to express with Whispers of the Past is that after past traumas, you may not be the same, but eventually, you can be okay again—even if your "okay" of now, is very different than your "okay" of the past. Normalcy isn't a constant. It shifts with time and becomes something new. A new stasis. A new peace. A new normal. I don't know if I've ever seen another story show this in this way. Another underrepresented theme in WotP is that of the hero choosing mundanity over the amazing. When the quest is over, and all is said and done, and the big baddie has been vanquished, the hero doesn't become ruler, or claim bountiful riches, or sail across the sea to find new lands. No, the hero returns to a world that is familiar and unremarkable. The hero would rather just be an average person.

shadowhood (SunnyxRain)

-Fanfiction. I’m very surprised there hasn’t been a webcomic talking about what it’s like to create fanfiction! But overall the culture involved around it and being a creator. -The relationship and hardships of having a stepparent/being one. Particularly stepdad/stepdaughter relationships -Anger as a reaction to trauma. I see a lot of trauma portrayed as mostly sad, but I want a story where the heroes feel anger, where it’s seen as both a motivator and a detriment -The hardships of dating as someone who’s both touch aversive and on the grey spectrum. Not everyone would be as wonderful or understanding, but it’s important to be around people who are and will stand by you.(edited)

eliushi [a winged tale]

This is why I gravitate towards all these stories made by independent creators I think. So many personal and poignant messages. I’m with you there on the queer characters Eightfish. I want a society where it’s fine to be what you wish and respected to be who you want to be. I think having more positive ways of showing how we can reach that sort of openness can be helpful. In AWT I further explore: - characters in STEM fields and approaches to research design - informed consent and what that means - how to live even when things are falling apart around you, when things are falling apart within you - navigating through crushes, confessions and friendships!

Wow the beginning sounds like the objectives at a science lecture and you won’t be wrong thinking so

Joichi [Hybrid Dolls]

For my Hybrid Dolls comic, there are several things I want to explore: - Psychological trauma and the effects or damage it can give, without proper treatment. -Writing queer characters without them needing a self discovery episode. But I know some identities are better to be upfront? But in the story, they simply live normal or exciting lives - Narcissism in a relative that one doesn't have to forgive. Being treated as invisible or judged by age, birthright. - Other Concepts of love explored. Attraction that isn't conventional romance. - Friendship bonds between girls, and my own take on an eccentric quirky girl lead. - Being unapologetically feminine, girls who doesn't need to feel like being 'one of the guys' I'm aiming for more character variety in historical fiction, instead of yet another story of a girl 'defying gender norms' by raised as a boy/disguises trope in other similar comics. So the women in my story, use their wits and charm.(edited)

DanitheCarutor

I complain about this all the time, so I'm just going to do a quick overview since I'm sure everyone is sick of it. - Abusers can be smart, popular, generous, charismatic and subtle. I'm kind of sick of them always being portrayed as really obvious, and sometimes really stupid, while there are people like that it's not very practical for them all to be like that. - General mental health stuff. More open representation of it, that it may be something you'll live with for the rest of your life and how that's okay. - Trauma, how it can change you, make you lose sight of the person you were and make you lose interest in things you used to enjoy. (this is coupled with mental health) - Non-romantic relationships with a queer cast. While this is showing up more in fantastical indie works, not very common in slice-of-life type of comics. I can only imagine this is because readers would find it boring or too mundane (can't tell you all how many people tell me my comic is boring. Lol), but being a person totally sick of romance in everything I wanted to do something focusing on family, friendship and the relationships we have with ourselves. - You don't always heal completely. I've already mentioned this, but I want to put a focus on how someone who's been through a lot of shit doesn't alway heal completely, and that's okay. I see in a lot of media where people just overcome their issues, and they live happily ever after with everything all perfect, I want something along the lines of "we still got a long way to go, but we're doing better and we're happier than before". - Not having labels for everything. This sounds like hipster trash, but I don't see the point in putting labels for every character. Like, I put labels for them, mostly during Pride, but it feels pointless in the comic. Apollo is happy to say he's a gay man, but with Julian they're not interested in categorising themselves, all they want is to be comfortable and I don't see nothing wrong with that.(edited)

LadyLazuli (Phantomarine)

For me, it’s the importance of communication and empathy, and the dangers of its absence. And it’s something I’ve had to think about a lot recently, being more active on social media Everyone’s got their reasons/methods for cutting people off, but I’ve never been a huge fan of a point-blank communication cut unless it’s absolutely warranted. And I’m not a fan of instant demonization when someone messes up or does something I don’t agree with. People are people. We’re all different and we all mess up and we all can change. Keeping lines of communication open is essential for allowing that change, or else we all get locked into little echo chambers where anyone outside is automatically The Worst.™ In a world where everything has gone to hell - and may go further yet - how can things heal when no one is even listening to each other? Where the other side is automatically at fault no matter what? It’s something I grew up struggling to understand (maybe because I grew up outside Washington DC, lol), and really affects me to this day. And if you do end up protecting yourself with silence, how can you still allow other perspectives to be gleaned? I don’t quite have the perfect formula for it. But unless someone is genuinely trying to cause harm, I try to at least attempt to understand where they might coming from - whether I accept it or not. Otherwise it’s so easy to see a lot of people as monsters. It’s a complicated topic for sure, especially nowadays. But yeah. Something like that

Miranda

Hmm that’s an excellent question. Well, a big thing is the varying effects of trauma and ways to handle it. Mainly how burying the past and ignoring traumatic events can affect someone. Also that villains can be people we relate to that just take an extreme way of reaching a goal that most people can understand And how shared experiences can bring people closer (not a unique one) I also want to portray queer characters that are not solely defined by their queerness and don’t have to announce it to everyone.

Tuyetnhi (Only In Your Dreams!)

- Having some talks about the implications of asking what you wish for and the potential consequences that comes with it. - Having more unappologic Vietnamese things happening in the comic. Giving representation to some common things that most Vietnamese Americans (or Asian Americans) can face in terms of relationships, roles, etc. Also since er i'm also directly affected by this, how does the Mixed-Asian Identity plays about it too.(edited)

hmmm I think another thing is that I want to bring up that men who express themselves in a more feminine form is valid and there's no shame that comes with it (positive masculinity hell yaaaa). Also same about expressing characters who are also queer but aren't defined about it either. it's just what they are along with their other interests and goals.(edited)

sierrabravo (Hans Vogel is Dead)

wow, this is a great question! I'm trying to be better about interacting here so I'll give it a shot. My comic is a historical fantasy set somewhat in Interwar Europe/WWII Europe and partially in a fantasy world based on the Brothers Grimm fairy tales. -War stories/histories that aren't about the actual experience of combat: most memoirs and diaries of soldiers I read doing research are about the day-to-day activities, meals, sleeping habits, and random thoughts instead of fight descriptions. It really bothers me when people zero in on in-depth battle maps and obsess over what kind of rifle was used by whom when, when I think it's much more interesting and important to look at the mindset of who was fighting, why they were fighting, and what emotional effect it had on everyone involved (including civilians!) -Asexuality, especially asexuality in history, bc it tends to "disappear" in the historical record as people who may have been ace before that label was widely used tend to not self-identify as it. I'm ace, people in the past were ace, it's a history I'd like to talk about more! -gryphons, they're cool monsters and I think they should be used much more than they are haha

eliushi [a winged tale]

I agree sierrabravo. I find it’s the personal, down to earth, close perspective accounts in historical records that resonate the most with me. Gryphons are also awesome!

snuffysam (Super Galaxy Knights)

I feel like there's two separate answers for Super Galaxy Knights Deluxe R (http://sgkdr.webcomic.ws/comics/) The first is what SGKDR represents compared to other webcomics. To me, a major thing I wanted to show with Super Galaxy Knights was a new style of creating webcomics. Animation is underrepresented as a storytelling style, sure, but the main thing I thought was underrepresented in the webcomic space was a "seasonal" method of storytelling. Like, most webcomics I see are either "each page is its own thing" or "it's one big long story, with chapters mostly there to split up different scenes/locations". I very rarely see webcomics build to a major climax in the story, then a resolution, then introduce a brand new conflict. The second is what SGKDR represents compared to other action series (specifically shonen manga/anime, as that's what SGKDR riffs off of the most). I can only think of one shonen story with a female lead, I can't think of any with an explicitly LGBTQ+ protagonist (i only know of one implied one), romance is usually handled very poorly (characters usually get paired with the protagonist due to being female and in the same room, with very little actual relationship building), there aren't many varieties of character motivations besides "pursuit of power/status" of some kind, power scaling usually gets way out of whack, and I... I dunno, I love those kinds of stories, but it just gets tiring after a while. So, I wrote my own that had all the things I wanted in it.

Cronaj (Whispers of the Past)

@sierrabravo (Hans Vogel is Dead) I totally agree with the difficulty and importance of talking about ace representation in a historical setting! It's extremely difficult to talk about when asexuality was so unknown at the time. I'm eager to see how you handle it!

eliushi [a winged tale]

@snuffysam (Super Galaxy Knights) can you speak about

I very rarely see webcomics build to a major climax in the story, then a resolution, then introduce a brand new conflict.

I find slice of life/ some really long mangas with continuous streams of antagonists/web novel like formats use this too but unsure if that’s what you were referring to?

I am also looking forward to more ace representation in the webcomic world

snuffysam (Super Galaxy Knights)

Yeah that format is the sort of thing I was talking about. It's out there, but I don't see it very often.

eliushi [a winged tale]

Ah gotcha! Thanks! I recall some slice of life high school ones I’ve read years ago that have that sort of narrative structure (which feels like the story can continue forever).

Erin Ptah (BICP | Leif & Thorn)

There's a recurring trope in SF/F where the robot/AI/golem learns that it wants to have free will and make its own decisions. Or there's a biological species that are assumed to be "natural servants", and inevitably you get to the reveal that they're not actually any different from humans in terms of wanting self-determination and independence. If you think of this as a metaphor for relationships between different groups of humans, then yeah, that's the obvious outcome! But one of the great things about SFF is that you can write things that aren't just "direct metaphors for real-world issues, with spaceships and dragons thrown in for flavor." So in But I'm A Cat Person, I wanted to write something about, what if there's a group of beings who really aren't going to develop free will or self-determination? What's the reasonable, ethical way to deal with that? ...also: there's a ton of nonbinary characters in webcomics these days, but at least I can say BICP did it before it was cool.(edited)

Erin Ptah (BICP | Leif & Thorn)

Leif & Thorn, meanwhile, has a regular old "character forced into servitude, who definitely has independent thoughts and desires that are being controlled" situation. And there's no "Master has given Dobby a sock" loophole they can exploit for a quick fix, so they have to keep up a long-term process of double-talk and rule-bending, to communicate Leif's actual feelings without getting him in trouble. The "realistic language barriers with no convenient universal-translator to get around them" situation -- which, in this comic, is one of the biggest Underrepresented Things I wanted to explore -- makes it that much harder...

Capitania do Azar

I gotta commend you on that, @Erin Ptah (BICP | Leif & Thorn) because you're out there serving my bilingual needs

kayotics

Ingress Adventuring Company is all about the hero after they've finished saving the world, which I think is pretty underrepresented. It's not a quiet contemplative story, since there's still a lot of fun questing stuff going on, but I'm trying to make it clear that this all takes place after the main character has done his big saving the world quest and is still trying to figure out his place after supposedly settling down.

Eightfish (Puppeteer)

I love that Kay

Toivo feels like he has so much history behind him

sssfrs (JOE IS DEAD)

I'm trying to represent orthodox/religious jews because I almost never see my community represented in media. There are orthodox Jewish characters that will be appearing in Joe is dead. In future comics I want to try to plan the story more around including more religious Jewish characters because there still aren't that many in my current project

Also mental illnesses, like trauma and intellectual disability I want to represent my own experiences with it

There isn't as much of a distinct lack of that in media but it's good to have in stories(edited)

Also androgynous lesbians

Nutty (Court of Roses)

With Court of Roses, I'm trying to tell a fantasy story that's for older audiences but proving that Mature Fantasy doesn't have to be ultra gritty. People have each other to depend on, the world isn't bleak, and not every noble is greedy, peasant is starving, etc. I know a lot of fantasy likes to take from realistic Medieval Europe, but the freeing part about making my own world is that it doesn't HAVE to be like that. Their religion is different, more accepting, and again, people are more focused on looking out for each other and having a good time.

Mature themes are still present, such as murder, banditry/pillaging, alcohol, traumatic experiences, etc. but my goal isn't to present them in a darker fashion.(edited)

keii’ii (Heart of Keol)

I wanted to make something influenced by my culture (Korean) without heavily drawing from the mythology. Mythology is just one facet of a culture, yet a lot of people who haven't read it expect HoK to be all about Korean mythology just because it wears a metaphorical hanbok. No. It reflects the traditional aesthetics, but more importantly, the cultural values and the unspoken rules of the society, regardless of whether I agree with them or not. Related to that is body language. I don't want my non-American characters using American body language, such as shrugging, or American ways of using eye contact, etc. I want to show them using (mostly) Korean gestures, sitting, standing and walking like Koreans. I always feel like there's a huge missed opportunity when friggin' aliens use American body language in sci-fi! I understand why people do that -- it makes the work more clear/accessible to English-speaking audience. But in HoK I'm taking the other path. It's a challenge for sure, but I would not have it any other way.

On a more thematic level, I really wanted to explore deeply hurtful experiences that happen in genuinely caring relationships. It's not about good guys vs bad guys, it's not about a nice person being hurt by someone who just doesn't care. Those stories certainly are valid, just not what I wanted to do with HoK. This story is about people who love each other, but don't always know how to communicate their love or needs.

Joichi [Hybrid Dolls]

I am also looking forward to more ace representation in the webcomic world

@eliushi [a winged tale] I agree, the ace rep is a challenge I would like to take on, I'm also curious how it will work in historical times? Even tho I'm ace,I'm still learning new innovative things(edited)

eliushi [a winged tale]

It’ll be important to dig deeper and research into what things were like if you want to capture the authenticity of the period you’re writing in! I’m sure there are personal accounts or documentation of these lived experiences.

Capitania do Azar

I see all these beautiful answers and I almost struggle to find something other than those to say I guess for O Sarilho https://www.sarilho.net/en/ I wanted to write a weird love letter to where I live and how I see my country (tho I'm glad I got other places I love in it too). To my knowledge, we don't get much like that, or at least that's not from a city perspective which is not what I'm trying to go for, at all. There's a lot of tiny cultural things that I want to touch that may be invisible for people who are not from here, but I'm glad that I'm including them for those three readers in the back. Linked to this, in a way, is the fact that I get really tired of those white/gray Sci-fi stories where everything is super clean and super white and technology is absolutely overwhelming and organised. I want Sci-fis in the woods too. And finally, there's something about the way violence is portrayed a lot of times that almost makes you feel like human life just is that cheap. I really don't want to go that road, I'm doing my best to tell a story about war in which death still leaves a toll and violence affects everyone involved

TL;DR I WANTED TO PAINT MY HOUSE

Cronaj (Whispers of the Past)

And finally, there's something about the way violence is portrayed a lot of times that almost makes you feel like human life just is that cheap. I really don't want to go that road, I'm doing my best to tell a story about war in which death still leaves a toll and violence affects everyone involved

@Capitania do Azar This is so beautiful (and tragic). This is something I also hope to express in my work. Super underrepresented message surprisingly.

eliushi [a winged tale]

I enjoy exploring sci-fi beyond the current conventions and absolutely love your setting shizamura!(edited)

Capitania do Azar

Thank u I really love Sci-fi but I don't appreciate that it has become associated with a very specific aesthetic because tbh I find it very limiting

DanitheCarutor

@Capitania do Azar That is actually really refreshing! Horror and action are so packed with glamorized death and violence, you can get really desensitized. The only stories I've ever seen that take those things seriously are war movies based on real life events, like Saving Private Ryan, (which my grandpa, a Korean War vet, said was the most accurate portrayal of what war was like.) and even then you get flicks that totally glamorize the whole thing. I really admire you wanting to put that sense of gravity onto the violence and death in your work, also I love when creators want to tackle war in all it's "too close to home", upsetting realism.

Capitania do Azar

I really love Saving Private Ryan, it is a very nice portrayal with a great message: nobody wants to be here

DanitheCarutor

Yes! I love Saving Private Ryan too, it was nice seeing a movie that didn't make war look like some fantastical bs.

"[T]here is a steep price society and individuals pay for expressing this type of masculinity." —Alex Yarde

Alex Yarde of “The Good Men Project” found a great deal more than mere disrespect of one’s elder in the recent incident involving students from the all-boys Covington Catholic High School taunting Native American veteran Nathan Phillips.

He saw disrespectful teens making a foolish mistake, but he also saw boys on their way to becoming men who have been failed by the elders in their own lives — their fathers, mothers, and society at large — leading them to the brand of masculinity that many in modern times have concluded is toxic.

In making his point, Yarde noted a recent piece by Melinda Wenner Moyer, titled The Boys Are Watching, in which she argues that men who are offended by the notion of toxic masculinity need to hear the message more than ever.

She writes: “Kids learn by watching what we do, not by listening to what we say, and boys in particular absorb a lot from their fathers as well as from male public figures. They watch prominent men in their lives stick up, or not, for victims of bullying or sexual harassment. They watch how men treat their girlfriends and wives and interact with women in public. Many boys watched one man, the President of the United States, publicly mock a woman who testified to Congress that she was a victim of sexual assault. Many also heard him brag about grabbing women “by the pussy.”

Yarde asks: “Is it really that hard to fathom why these young men, wearing Trump Supporter “Make America Great Again” (MAGA) hats, felt justified in mocking an elder at prayer?”

The President of the United States, who was charged with civil rights violations in the 70’s for not renting to black people, who publicly mocked a disabled reporter, smeared over a dozen female sexual assault survivors that accused him, regularly threatens and bullies detractors, called Mexicans “rapists”, is ok with the separation of desperate, asylum-seeking families, caged brown migrant children in kennels, and belittled Sen. Elizabeth Warren by sarcastically using a noble historical Native American hero’s name, Pocahontas, as a slur.

…

There are as many ways to express masculinity as their are men. Positive ones like championing the weak, valuing women, showing empathy, practicing self-control, and respect for others. And, the negative “toxic” behaviors that support a hegemonic view of masculinity, highlighted in the first part of the Gillette ad above, where non-conforming men or outliers are ridiculed as “Snowflakes” or “betas”, for example.

These hegemonic, “toxic” traits of masculinity as Trump exemplifies, need serious counter-programming to combat the legitimization of powerful men’s “dudebros” culture and male hegemonic position in society. Justifying subordination of the common male population, women, and other benevolent marginalized ways of being a man is the Patriarchy you’ve read about, but as white, straight cis-males in particular, may even question its existence.

Yarde concluded with the Cherokee “Two Wolves” legend:

Two Wolves: A Cherokee Legend

A grandfather is teaching his grandson about life. “A fight is going on inside me,” he said to the boy.

“It is a terrible fight and it is between two wolves. One is evil—he is anger, envy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority, and ego.”

He continued, “The other is good—he is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion, and faith.”

“The same fight is going on inside you—and inside every other person, too.”

The grandson thought about it for a minute and then asked his grandfather, “Which wolf will win?”

The old Cherokee simply replied, “The one you feed.”

Phroyd

How has trauma impacted your view of the world?

Trauma Stewardship: An Everyday Guide to Caring For Yourself While Caring For Others by Laura Van Dernoot Lipskey and Connie Burk frustrated me in several regards, but it implied one question that I found very worth considering, which was “How has trauma impacted my view of the world?” In the very beginning, the author realized she thought about things differently than most people around her, and asked questions that struck others as out of place or bizarre based on her experiences.

“Over the next days and weeks, I slowly began to make the connections. Not everyone stands on top of cliffs wondering how many people have jumped. Not everyone feels like crying when they see a room full of people with plastic lids on their to-go coffee containers. Not everyone is doing background checks on people they date, and pity is not everyone’s first response when they receive a wedding invitation.”

How has trauma impacted how I see the world?

I know how many people are at risk for suicide among my friends and family, and for which of them the act of calling the police would be an aggravation of risk, rather than lowering it. I have a general handle on who is depressed but struggling through it and probably won’t kill themselves versus those who are constantly on the edge of leaving me forever because they are in too much pain to stay.

For a long time, hearing my texting alert would fill me with fear. I’ve had to disable Tumblr and Facebook from my phone permanently.

I come into relationships and friendships not believing that there is a single person on earth who hasn’t suffered brokenness in some form, and just waiting to find out what form it takes this time.

Attending new churches is real fun when you wonder how many people left this place because of spiritual abuse, who were they, and what kind of abuses? Who, in this church, committed the abuse? Was it just leadership, or was the general membership involved, too? And are the worship leaders really worshipping God and thereby leading us also into true worship, or are they the “performance” types and this is a rock concert?

I look around a roomful of women and wonder how many have been assaulted in their lives. How many have stuck fingers down their throat, or counted calories with the express purpose of slowly disappearing.

I wonder who has what mental or personality illness or disorder, if I don’t already know.

It is difficult to shock me with personal stories and has been for over a decade. People tell me horrific things and expect I will be dumbfounded, and all I have for them is grief, never shock. I accepted the fact of human depravity a long time ago.

I alternate between complete denial of “None of the people I know will actually kill themselves,” and the despair of, “Statistically it’s not possible that I go through life without at least one person that I know killing themselves.”

And some days I am just so, so exhausted from holding this heavy lens of the world that I am incapable of ever putting down.

City Lights (Part 5)

Fandom: Vikings

Paring: Ivar x Reader

Type: Modern AU

Wordcount: 2528

Warnings: angst, and implied sex

[All Parts Here]

A/N: Here it is, punctual before I leave the final part of this little story. As I said, I’m planning to do little OS in this ‘universe’, for which I already have a few ideas, but in general, this is it. I hope you all enjoyed it, and I might start a new story with Ivar, now that he is such a muse for me!

Tags: @irishhiggins

Summary: You are a grad student at university, and recently lost your job as a professor’s assistant due to funding cuts. Out of a whim you apply for a job at the Lothbrok Corporation as a personal assistant, not yet knowing who exactly you will be working for. 

It felt a bit like a fairy tale.

You were lying on top of soft, decadent furs, in an incredibly large and comfortable bet, together with a beautiful prince, after what was probably the best sex you had ever had, his hand interlaced with yours, and him saying those two words to you.

 It was not really a question, yet also not really a statement.

Just two small words, that made your heart beat rapidly in your chest as it had just minutes before.

 You stared at Ivar, unable to supress the smile that snuck itself onto your lips. You were sure that in this moment you looked like some sort of love-sick puppy, but frankly, you did not really care.

 Ivar grinned as he saw the expression in your face, pulling you towards him and wrapping one of his strong arms around your body, pressing a simple kiss onto your forehead.

You sighed, resting your head against his muscular chest, your fingers drawing small circles onto the skin of his torso, your mind filled with bliss and happiness.

 You had not noticed falling asleep in Ivar’s arms, but you awoke suddenly, the loft around your completely dark and your body covered with the furs and blankets of the bed. You looked around you, not seeing Ivar anywhere in the room, but noticing a faint light coming from the gap under one of the doors at the wall opposite of the glass front of the apartment.

Relaxing a bit, you let yourself sink down into the soft pillows of the bed again, inhaling the scent of Ivar radiating from them.

 It was wooden and earthy, yet had something light to it that you could not really place. With a sigh, you turned your head towards the large windows, looking out at the city, the lights of Copenhagen mesmerising from so high up.

You had never seen the city like this, only on pictures, and to think that this was the daily view of Ivar when he was at home, amazed you.

 You turned your head once more, as you heard the a door opening, seeing Ivar leaving the bathroom of his apartment, dressed in nothing more but simple, low sitting, black sweatpants, his hair tied up into a bun again. Seeing that you were awake and looking at him, Ivar smiled, turning off the light inside the bathroom and crawling over to the bed again, heaving himself up onto the furs, and moving over to you, not missing a second to press a light kiss onto your lips.

 “Hello, beautiful.” His hand caressed your cheek, stroking over your hair. “I would say ‘good morning’, but I’m afraid it is still a bit too early for that.”

 “Maybe.” You giggled, leaning up to kiss him again. Now that you were allowed to, you could not get enough of his lips.

 Ivar seemed to cherish your affection, his face so happy and content like you had never seen before. He wrapped his arms around your nude form, resting his face against your shoulder, pressing small, innocent kisses onto the skin of your neck.

 “As happy as I am for what has happened, though..” you started, causing Ivar to raise his head again to look at you, slight panic in his blue eyes. “.. it is a pity that I never got to see what you were going to cook for me.” You grinned at him, as he visibly relaxed, biting his lip with a smile.

 “Oh, you will have plenty of chances to taste my food.” He murmured, lowering his head to rest on your shoulder again. “If you can bear me that long, that is.” This part was a bit more silent, but you heard it nevertheless.

 “Why do you doubt me so much, Ivar?” you asked calmly, stroking over his arm. You needed an answer to this.

 The man sighed, his arms still around you, his grip tightening slightly, his head still on your shoulder, hidden in your neck so you could not see his face.

 “I’m not.. I’m not doubting you.” He started, swallowing audibly. “I’m.. doubting myself.” He finally admitted.

 “Why?” you asked, honestly confused.

 There was a moment of silence between you, as Ivar seemed to look for the right words. You still caressed his arm, in hopes to reassure him that you were still here, not running away or backing off.

 “I’m.. I’m not a good person, Y/N. I am mean, and I am angry all the time. I am, as you have agreed some hours ago, a dick. And on top of all of that.. shit.. I am a damn cripple, and-“

 But you cut him off, shoving him off your shoulder and staring down at him, his eyes wide open in surprise and confusion.

 “Don’t speak things like that! Don’t talk about yourself like that!” you hissed, shaking your head. That he had this opinion of himself somehow broke your heart.

 Ivar’s brows furrowed for a moment, taken slightly aback by your words. He pressed his lips together, mustering your face for anything, and emotion that would tell him something, although you were not sure what it was he was looking for.

 “What-?” he started, apparently himself not knowing what it was he wanted to ask.

 “Don’t say you’re a cripple! Yes, you cannot walk, so what? You can do so many other things other people can’t!” you groaned.

 So that was it, that had held him back this whole time, why he was so confused about you kissing him back, about you wanting him. Why he had almost caused you to leave. He thought that his disability would disgust you just as much as he was apparently disgusted by himself.

 “But I am a cripple! You have seen my legs!” Ivar shot back, anger, anger you knew very well from him, bubbling up inside of him.

 “Yes, I have seen your legs, and frankly, Ivar, I do not care!” you rolled your eyes, pushing the blankets and furs off of your body, standing up and getting out of bed. You needed a bit of distance between you right now. “I thought I made that clear to you.”

 Crossing your arms in front of your chest, you walked a few steps away from the bed and towards the window, your eyes wandering over the city below.

 “But how can you not care for them?” Ivar’s voice was full of confusion and anger.

 You turned around to him, glaring at him as he sat up in the bed.

“I do care for them. I care for you, all of you, including your legs. But I don’t care that you can’t walk, I don’t care that you sit in a wheelchair or drag yourself around. I care about Ivar Lothbrok.” You explained. “You would not be the person you are without your legs, you would not be you. You would not be the man I have feelings for.”

 His face grew soft at your words, the anger that had built up inside of him suddenly gone. His big, blue eyes stared at you in disbelieve, and once again, he looked so very vulnerable.

“You.. you really have feelings for me?” his voice broke a bit at the end.

 Hearing his words and seeing his expression broke your heart a bit more. The fact that he had doubted that the whole time made you sad, and made you wonder what had happened in his life that he could not believe that anyone would want him or love him due to his disability.

 “Yes, I do.” You went closer to the bed again, dropping your arms, only now really aware that you had had this whole discussion while you were standing in front of him, still completely naked. “Isn’t that enough proof that I do not care? I thought my actions spoke for themselves.”

 With that you sat down on his lap, tilting your head at him, while he still stared at you full of wonder. You pressed a firm kiss on his slightly parted lips, before pulling back.

 “I like you, Ivar, I really do. Despite you being a, as you so eloquently put it, dick, I have feelings for you. And even though you don’t seem to think that way, you are truly one of the most beautiful beings I have ever laid my eyes upon.”

 This made him chuckle, and he lowered his eyes for a moment, apparently unable to face you right now. You could still see the insecurity in him, the disbelieve in him.

 “So long I had wondered how Baldr must’ve looked like, but after seeing you, I knew.” You therefore added, completely aware how cheesy it was to compare him to the most beautiful of the gods, but frankly, you were not lying. Your words made him look up again, his eyes, even though still laced with a bit of disbelieve, full of affection for you.

 Ivar kissed you passionately, pulling you closer to him, his hands running over your body, leaving hot trails on your exposed skin. This night was not over for the two of you yet.

  You woke up the next morning, tightly wrapped up in Ivar’s strong arms, his chest flush against your back, and his face pressed into the back of you neck. The sun had just risen over the city outside, tickling your nose and tinting the apartment in a smooth, yellow light.

 You had to be honest, you had not taken Ivar for a cuddler. But the way he was holding you, keeping you close to his chest, begged to differ.

You shifted a bit, hearing him sigh against you skin.

 “Good morning, dove.” He hummed, nuzzling your neck, before pressing a soft kiss onto it. His grip around you tightened for a moment, and he sighed again.

 “How long have you been awake?” you supressed a yawn, trying to turn towards him, giving up after a moment as his arms held you firmly in place.

 “Just a bit.. I had hoped to fall asleep again like this.” He admitted, pressing another kiss onto your neck.

 You hummed, your heart warming at his words, bringing a smile to your face.

Ivar’s breath was relaxed and slow, warm against your skin as he rested his head against yours, cheek against cheek. You almost felt yourself drifting back into sleep again, comforted by his body around yours, when you suddenly heard a loud, rumbling sound, originating from Ivar’s stomach.

 Both of you had to laugh.

“Oh, yes. I remember. We didn’t get to have dinner yesterday.” Ivar chuckled, his arms finally letting go of you.

 You turned around to him, as he sat up, rubbing his eyes, his hair still half in a bun, while a few strands had fallen out of it. You even noticed two curls at his temple, standing up in a slightly odd direction.

 You had to sigh, watching him as he sat there, furs over his hips, looking like a Viking.

Ivar blinked at you, before he smiled, his fingers nimbly pulling off the hair tie, to let his long hair fall over his shoulders for a moment. He looked quite different with his hair down, more relaxed and less intimidating than usually. Gathering the mass of brown hair in his hands, he pulled them out of his face and into a tight bun again.

 “I do make quite the mean pancakes, if you fancy breakfast.” He then said, looking up at your once more.

 You pulled one of the many woollen blankets up to cover your still nude form, sitting up in the bed and mustering Ivar. You too were positively starving, as you had not eaten much yesterday, and had skipped dinner.

 “Pancakes sound lovely.” You smiled.

 “Perfect.” He leaned over to press a kiss onto your lips. “If you want to shower, the bathroom is over there.” He then added, pointing towards the door you had seen him coming out of the night before.

 Ivar grabbed his discarded pair of sweatpants from the foot of the bed, putting them on, before he dragged himself off of his bed, crawling over and onto his wheelchair which was still standing a bit to the side.

You watched him as he rolled over the marble floor and into his kitchen, putting away the half prepared meal from the previous evening, before pulling out a large pan and the needed ingredients to make breakfast.

 You sighed, deciding that after last night, a shower sounded like a splendid idea, slowly standing up and gathering your underwear from around the bed, having to look a moment to see where Ivar had thrown it, before you walked over to the bathroom door.

As you went, you noticed Ivar’s eyes on you, your naked form pulling his attention away from cooking, as he watched you cross his loft, the expression on his face somewhere between fascinated and aroused.

You simply stuck your tongue out at him, before you entered the bathroom, locking the door behind you.

 Ivar’s bathroom was as expensively designed as the rest of his flat, and built to accommodate him. The shower was big and equipped with a built-in seat, the floor and walls made out of beautiful dark tiles, most of the details held in gold. It looked borderline decadent, but still very aesthetically pleasing.

 You went into the shower, shamelessly using Ivar’s shampoo and soap, enjoying the feeling of the warm water on your skin. You grabbed one of the towels, drying your body and hair, before you put on your underwear, leaving the bathroom, feeling refreshed.

 You had not taken long, and when you re-entered the main part of the loft, Ivar was still cooking. The smell of sweet pancakes filled the air, and your stomach started to rumble as well now, if not as loudly as Ivar’s had.

 You walked over to the bed, picking up Ivar’s grey shirt from the day before, unable to resist putting it on, before you joined the man in the kitchen, your bare feet making little tapping sounds on the cool marble floor.

 Ivar himself was still topless, providing you once again with a great view of his tattooed back. You walked up to him, your fingers lightly tracing the black lines covering his skin, causing him to look away from the stove and up to you.

 He wanted to say something, opening his mouth, but looking up and down your body, he stopped, his expression turning very soft again.

 “What is it?” you asked, tilting your head a bit, your still wet hair slightly falling into your face.

 Ivar closed his mouth, biting his lower lip with a grin, before shaking his head.

“Nothing, I.. it’s just, I can’t believe you’re actually wearing my clothes.” He admitted, looking a bit embarrassed at his words.

 You laughed at his words, bending down to press a long, firm kiss onto his lips.

“I’m going to steal your clothes so often, that you’re going to wish that I never started wearing them.” You murmured against his mouth.

 “Oh, I doubt that, dove.”

Part one

It had been a long time since Shere Khan could say he was happy. The feeling was always so transient, short lived and weakly fluttering in his chest like a penny candle moments before a topper brutally snuffed it out, a may fly flittering about before a flyswatter smashed it flat. It was often said that money couldn't buy happiness, this was true from a certain point of view. However it could also be said that money could provide the wealthy with the means to make their lives easier, which in turn made it more likely a person would find happiness. But for that to be of use you had to admit to yourself and others that you did, in fact, have a problem in need of correction. This was were he found himself lacking. He'd spent years perfecting his ah, "poker face" as the phrase went, when he'd been naught but a cub. It hadn't been easy, practicing expressions in reflective objects and learning to mimic the appropriate tone of voice for a given situation. As a young one he hadn't liked being forced to be someone he wasn't for the sake of another person, his interactions with his mother had been the only exeption. With anyone but her he felt it better that they either accept or reject him for who he was and not the airs he put on, lest he found himself surrounded by people who only liked him for an act he played and not his actual character. He felt such behavior cheapened the relations he had with the few servants willing to accept him as he was. And, with his employers? Well. he had no desire to play pretend just so the English would gloat over his bowed head as they spoke ill of both him and his culture. He'd hated living under the questionable mercies of the English, those men and women who saw him and those he worked with as filthy violent little children incapable of making decisions for themselves that would steal the good silverware the moment their backs were turned. He knew he could become violently angry at times, but he was neither thief nor poorly groomed and he was more than capable at making decisions for himself. So he'd been offended by the way they painted everyone with the same brush, never realizing that many behaviors they held against them was also present in their own culture. But he'd had to bite the bullet and capitulate to his mother's demands to act according to their expectations, lest he find himself on the streets or pressganged into working on a sugar plantation. Too many were lured aboard a ship with the promise of both freedom and riches after a brief period of indentured servitude. They were then taken to far away places he'd only seen on the glass globe of the earth situated his master's study. More often than not the people who leg were never to be seen again. The only evidence that they had gone somewhere and hadn't simply disappeared would be a single hand print on a crumpled old contract. So rare was a successful return, that after boarding a ship, their families would treat the departure as a funeral. Frustrated, he'd had to admit defeat, and had chosen to act as necessity had demanded of him. Being true to yourself was for the wealthy and privledged elites. He'd been born Dalit, a class so low it hadn't even been on the caste system. So low were he and those like him that the bigoted minority had thought his very presence to be polluting. He'd met a few such people but he had served an English family for most of his childhood. They had pitied him in their way, finding odd jobs he could do for more money and lending him a walking stick to help him complete those tasks with greater ease. This had made him angry but if he was honest to himself he'd take pity over disgust any day. While the English understood and followed the rules of social classes, the behavior expected of their elites was often diametrically opposed to those of his society. This had made for odd misunderstandings as two very different cultures clashed over the strangest of things. But one benefit he'd had growing up was that he had been treated as Shudra, which was the lowest of the castes (but still preferable to Dalit). This was due mainly to his mother who had been hired to work as the tunny-ketch, the cook's help. Usually this position went to the cook's wife, but the man, recently widowed, had no intention of remarriage. So the duty of cooking meals for the servants while the cook served the family went to her. Sometimes, when their employers were having a party or when the family demanded a recipe using pig products(the man's religion forbid i) she would assist him beyond the menial tasks(such as grinding plants into flour), but these circumstances were more rare than most might think. The plague had made people less willing to visit other homes and the family only ordered recipes with pig meat about twice per week. Lungri was tasked with working performing menial tasks for his mother(his favorite had been turning milk to butter). Special attention was given to teaching him proper etiquette as servants were expected to comport themselves in a manner that did not embarrass the family that hired them. His mother had taken her lessons to heart and never allowed him to forget how very fortunate they were to have been hired by an English family. The woman had bought into the views of the small but loud minority of people that openly rejected people with disabilities, believing they had done something in a past life that had warranted the pains they dealt with in their current one. It hurt that his own mother had anything in common with those people who believed people like him should have certain rights restricted and the right to inherit forbidden all together, but she had birthed him and kept him, so at least he had that. Sometimes he uncharitably wondered if she kept him around just to have free labor but the suspicion was not one that he had ever wanted to be proven correct. So he tried to ignore how much more affectionate she became when it was payday. Or hpw, whenever he was particularly tired and in need of a break, she would often survey him with a critical eye. Inevitably she'd comment on how good their fortunes were, as she suspected they would never have found employment in an Indian family, and how it was only right and just to pour everything they were into serving their employers. She'd genuinely believed prospective employers might not have even allowed them through the door after seeing his limp paw. Lungri, more than familiar with his mother's constant passive aggressiveness had always been submissive when speaking with her. When interacting with her putting on act was necessary. She had taken a full measure of his personality and had found him wanting. If he wanted peaceful relations with the woman he'd needed tp continue to exert himself past tolerance just to hear the smallest of backhand compliments. He'd worked hard to act only in ways that she approved but as he began working more frequently with his employers, particularly the memsahib, the lady of the house, he'd found himself trying to keep up with their requirements as well. Perhaps the caster oil she would force down the throats of servants that displeased her(as recommended from one of her favorite ladies advice columns) had been the proper punishment to encourage him to learn the rules of proper social decorum. He certainly hadn't been fond of violently vomiting up what little food he got to eat. But he'd learned to act as expected of him and he'd learned fast. Perhaps it had been more successful than he'd intended. When a man spent nearly all his life acting, emotional honesty was hard to come by. Happiness had long since become a fleeting thing. And neither age nor success had made its brief appearances any stronger. Instead as he had gradually made a home for himself at the top of the economic hierarchy, he'd felt steadily less for anything else that occupied his spaces. He had once dreamed impossible dreams of becoming wealthy despite the obstacles that had been thrown in his way. Now, instead of dreams his successes had become an expectation. When you believed you knew success was coming to you, being proven right meant a good deal less than it once did. Usually a successful business takeover would be enough to improve his mood, but the only feeling one of his most recent acquisitions had given him was a wretched tiredness of spirit and a dull numbness of soul. He'd succeeded in attaining riches beyond anything his younger self would have thought possible, and now he had little to prove to anyone anymore. Now he was no longer the underdog fighting for his place in a world that hadn't given him one, he had forced the elites to accept his existence through hard work and perseverance. But in truth he hadn't felt the thrill of conquering a challenge as he'd once done in a long time. Looking for something to take the edge off the feeling he'd taken the elevator down to his storage room to take stock of his alcohol. It was an a active cellar, temperature and humidity maintained by an advanced climate controlled system. Like any natural food product, alcohol was perishable and could spoil if it wasn't carefully maintained. He'd walked past a few bottles of Madeira, over 200 years old, a favorite of Thomas Jefferson, and produced from the same vintage that had been used to toast the American Declaration of independence, and had instead taken out a bottle of Rose de Gambrinus, a Belgian fruit beer. With age the taste of the raspberries faded, so it was agreed upon by many to be better appreciated in it's youth. He'd then hobbled over to the cabinet to retrieve a glass, inspecting each one before settling on a champagne flute. While it was most commonly used for sparkling wines, flutes were also used for fruit beers so he'd violated no rule of etiquette using it. He took a moment to appreciate the smooth feel of the tall tapered conical shape in his hands. The inward curve wasn't just aesthetically pleasing, it also served a purpose

Consequences

Consequences – Sexual Harassment & Its Aftermath

 by

 Professor Stephen F. Myler PhD (Psych)

 Abstract:

 This paper was a result of a request from a Fortune 100 company for a presentation to employees who were on final warnings for sexual harassment (but were too valuable for the company to let go).  The first approach was an educational one but on subsequent discussions with human resources turned into a mental health insight into who harasses and what happens to their victims as a way of behaviour change and hopefully subsequent better conduct in their positions of authority, power or character. Here I layout the principal presentation outline and after thoughts.

 Introduction:

 Sexual Harassment is a continuing topic of discussion highlighting the dangers of predators in the workplace looking for victims to exploit. Harassment can come in the form of sexual, verbal, powerlessness and other situational circumstances against both gender employees. This can have a adverse effect on the persons employments status, performance and create a hostile, intimidating work environment.

 In many countries the law on harassment is not consistent or clear to many victims Police attitudes to sexuality colour their attitude to complainants. Fear of losing face, embarrassment and the consequences of a complaint make the majority of females refuse to report and continue to suffer. Although in several polls from 1991 to 1998 the level of harassment reported fell this changed after 2016 when the MeToo#.com campaign to openly name and shame members of the film industry initially and then to further areas of employment, dramatically increased complaints, but also many outside the statute of limitations. However this also increased false claims and band-wagoning for those looking for the limelight and publicity (often from failed actresses with a grudge for example). The figures from polls are generally unreliable as either over reporting, sensationalizing or invalidity in the lack of randomization of a given population.

 So who gets harassed?  Targets are often female with a male perpetrator, the target has less power, the behaviour is repeated, repeated requests from the target to stop and organization policy soft on predators. Others targets maybe of colour, alternative sexuality, disability and socioeconomically dependent.

 Moral Dilemma & Perception：

 When is a compliment harassment? If a large proportion of married couples and long term partners meet at work how can we prevent normal human attraction? The way in which we accept attention often depends on their personal history. Being a past victim of abuse, unhappy relationships may view flirtation as threatening where as another with happier development might welcome the attention and enjoy the moment. In many cultures and radical religions, women are still seen as the property of men – second class citizens and to serve men's needs. They have no rights. Cultures often including those with a tradition of FACE, never report harassment so as not to embarrass their family, or to lose face with friends – men in such societies have more power over women employees who they know will not report them.

 Therefore HR departments need to look more openly at prevention and protection. Companies need clear harassment statements based on the realities of their people. If you are a victim there should be a clear reporting system that maintains confidentiality. Both accuser and accused have equal rights (beware of manipulation.) HR should follow the victim's wishes not the companies policy. HR should not protect the company or senior executives as their first priority. In fact HR personnel should face criminal charges for putting the companies interests first.

 The Presentation:

 Agenda:

 To explore what type of person that sexually and mentally effects another in a corporate environment.

To Explain victimization – why do some employees become victims – why do they submit to harassment and few even making a complaint? What treatment options and remedies are there for both predators and victims of harassment?

 The Persecutor – Type One

 Usually in a position of authority over the victim. Thinks consequences unlikely. Uses coercion – threats implied or real. Offers gifts, support, promises and protection. Creates a feeling of helplessness and hopelessness in the victim.

 Personality – assertive, aggressive, controlling, critical. Figure of authority – must be obeyed. Feels they deserve respect and pleasing. Lack of empathy – no pity for the victim. Once satisfied loses interest in the victim and moves to the next target.

 The Persecutor – Type Two

 The Groomer, looks for vulnerable persons, compliments that go from casual to more personal. Lunch, dinner invites – to listen – to help. Creates trust, obligation and dependency. Victim feels no way out – care for the persecutor – owes them something.

 Personality – Friendly, caring, supportive, listener, no fear of consequences. Creates trust, obligation, warmth, reciprocation. Genuinely cares for the victim, looking for constant sexual favours, no commitment outside of work. No empathy for the victims position.

 Victim of Type One

 Subordinate, insecure, fear of reprisals. Coerced into secrecy – feels obligation. Flattered by interest from an authority figure. Special place in the office, factory, group, team. Social comparison – I am not good enough – others are better than me.

 Victim Damage Type One

 Aftermath – loss of face – feels victimized. PTSD – flashbacks, panic attacks. Attitude change – Don't be close – Don't be you. Long term mental health issues with both relationships and sex. 80% leave the job within two years.

 Victim of Type Two

 Vulnerable – timid – needy – attention seeking. Shares problems, seeks a listener, wants attention, likes compliments and flattery. Responds to flirtations as humour. Trapped by obligation – feels they owe something, need to pay a price.

 Victim Damage Type Two

 Loss of trust. Ambiguity about their part in the abuse. Feelings of blame and guilt. Attitude change – I deserved it. Don't be close.  Most likely to become a victim again. Long term mental health issues over self esteem. Leaves job as quickly as possible. Financial loss and benefits for support.

 Persecutor Treatment / Action Plan:

 Counselling  - Type One

Resistant to change – takes longer to accept responsibility. Cognitive behavioral therapy for confronting past behaviour. Educational approach with Transactional Analysis – drama  triangle etc. Acceptance of future loss of position and income.

Counselling – Type Two

To face up to egotistical need to manipulate others. To examine their sexuality and drive to express their need for conformation of being accepted in a real relationship. To move from a Child state to an Adult state of action in everyday functioning.

 Victim Treatment / Action Plan:

 Counselling – Type One

Relive the trauma through supported listening and insightful interaction. Recognize they are a victim of an event but not to be a victim for life. To not transfers positive emotions to negative feelings. To relearn trust – to be open, honest and authentic in the future.

Counselling – Type Two

To accept they were an innocent victim. That they were groomed and raise their self esteem. To tackle their own vulnerability that made them a target in the first place. To not reject future genuine relationships.

 A Word on Legality:

 Consequences:

Type One – Public disgrace – time in prison – loss of family – loss of prestige and income. Blames the victim for their dilemma.

Type Two – Publicly exposed - loss of face- time in prison- blames themselves- more likely to re-offend

 A Word on Witness's

 Attitudes:

Men think: sympathy for persecutors as victims too. Perceives victims as playing the victim.

Women think: they asked to be a victim – no sympathy – empathy only from other victims. Played the game and got burned.

 End of Presentation

  Summery:

 This presentation was designed for one hour to a small groups of offenders. The idea being that they face up to their responsibility in the action of abuse and that they accept they need treatment – also the understanding that their harassment has long term mental health damage to their victims. This then as a first step to a full treatment plan under the guidance of a clinical psychologist. Individual therapy and group acknowledgment both have a role to play in treatment options. Counselling for victims is more common as they themselves seek out help for their emotional turmoil. Persecutors of harassment are more likely to avoid treatment as they are convinced in many cases they minimize the damage the victims suffered.

 References:

 Myler S. F. (2006 – 2019) Clinical case files. Types of Persecutor / Victim in Harassment (original work).

 CNN/ Time Poll (1991 – 1998)

DOD Survey (1988 – 1995)

 Martin G (2018) Linked-in publication - Cupid's Arrow Will Hit At Work - So Deal with It!

 Note：references are not linked in the text as this would take away the focus on content. Much of the background research was done in confidential circumstances so are not acknowledged in the text. Thank you for your understanding.