#Bc we love mother africa

[minthy]

me? obssessed with gnawa?

yes, yes I am b**ch

the sillies

[thorough-witness-enjoyer]

The Witness and Why It (and its demise) Means Everything to Me (A POC Perspective)

Hey everyone!! The Final Shape has ruined me and has brought me to levels of not only grief, but hope, that I did not think possible, so I decided to give my thoughts on the different aspects of it that moved me to a place where I can be at peace with many things in my life and look forward to paving a better future!!! I think I’ll be making many posts pertaining to the Final Shape as a way to help me express my thoughts on how important this DLC was to me, but we will see!

Please note that these are just my loose, not fully structured thoughts and I’m yapping. My opinions are subject to change and I’d love to hear the input of others! We will be talking about subjects such as slavery, religion, black experiences, and personal experiences of mine!!! It’s very long too, so I’m sorry about that and any writing errors!!

Though I do not believe what I speak of was fully Bungie’s intentions when making the character, the implications and views you can take on the Witness do relate to what I will discuss.

I wanted to start off my return to tumblr with one of the many, many reasons why I have such a deep attachment to the Witness (Precursors and Dissenters will get a different post bc they mean the world to me too!!) , because truly, this entity owns my whole life. I think of it all the time, it lingers in my thoughts, my art, my writing, all of it. It has been so deeply intertwined with my enjoyment of Destiny since it appeared and has offered so much to my perception of the world. I do not think I will truly get over it and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t draw it every chance I get. It appears in every single thought of mine, it’s bad you guys.

I love the Witness so deeply because I have never harbored such a personal level of DISGUST for a character before. As much as I joke about it being silly and the love of my life, the very existence of the Witness revolts me to the core and the tragedies it has directly or indirectly caused squeeze my heart empty. This festering rot of an egregore SICKENS me as it is the beliefs that has robbed me and many others of family, culture, and livelihoods given form. My love for the Witness comes from how it instills in me such HATRED, and truly, we were far too kind to it in game.

For context, I am Caribbean American and have a tumultuous relationship with my heritage for many reasons, but it wasn’t until the Witness and its many victims that I felt like the religious imperialism that has affected my heritage was represented in a way that crept into my spirit.

My Caribbean mother always said to me that we are of this world, not in it. That the hearts of men are wicked and sin (cruelty) was embedded in existence itself. It is only when we give ourselves to a higher purpose that we will be free in the end from all suffering. To her, this life and everything in it did not truly matter for it was a temporary challenge to overcome in order to earn an eternity of salvation. A perfect paradise was awaiting us all if we just gave into the way and left everything else behind.

These were all convictions she held to her very core as she tried to shed away all other aspects of herself to give into this “truth”, especially her Caribbean culture.

She did not always believe this way, but to her, the island she came from did not truly matter at all. Those “wayward people” she grew up with were not worth anything and would die as nobodies on that nowhere island for their lives were not saved, even if they knew of the “truth”. In her adopted views, those people believed in false gods and practices (such as Vodou and beliefs that belonged to those taken from Africa and indigenous populations), they invited in frivolous wants of the flesh such as lust (with „improper“ attire and certain dances), and committed crimes that proved to her that they could never be anything more than what they already were (though she would be blinded to the fact that these behaviors are a result of hostile environments created by the systems established for slavery and racial subjugation). If she wanted to be fit for “walking the right path”, those people had to be left behind for they were lost causes who could not be saved unless they were delivered by the “respectable” ways of life. She had to discard her black mannerisms, hair, speech, and more to have a place amongst the truly chosen.

Religious imperialism has a long history of being heavily tied to discussions of race and colonialism as those who participated in subjugation believed themselves to be more enlightened than the people they brought devastation to, giving them an entitlement that drove them to force their way of viewing religion onto populations. After all, in their minds, they were doing the greatest good for they were setting the people they subjugated on a path for eternal paradise. There was no cost too high in this finite life for infinite salvation to colonizers and all efforts to convert populations who did not see this truth would be “necessary”. People would die or be forced into servitude in mass to support the ambitions of the “enlightened” ones, whole cultures and populations being scrubbed from the face of this Earth in an attempt to “heal what is sick”, to “break broken bones again to heal them right”. I think of all the generations lost to war, slavery, colonialism, and every other act done to deliver “purpose” onto others, all the people whose names will never be known because others used the breath needed to utter it on preaching of their own virtue, and I am left in ruin.

I think of how my mother speaks of those lost to destitute lives because of the social pillaging of the island as an unfortunate side effect of guiding them to the truth and I look at how her world view has been ruined.

My mother thought she was saving me by keeping me from my culture, my people, my family. I did not get to know the language, the customs, the land, but I did get to know how much my mother thought those were distractions. She spent my whole life trying to cement the truths given to her by the same people who left her island in such as state that she felt like she had to run from it, to ensure I would not grow into a person, but a vessel of the righteous message. After all, to be a person is to be complex, nuanced, and flawed and there was no room for that in the visions given to her. The complexities and human flaws that came with our culture would only distract us from giving our whole lives to freeing ourselves from the curse of existence.

The cruelty the Witness delivers with such gentleness as it razes civilizations, its unwavering belief that it is the objective truth and other perspectives are blind to this truth, the means it will use to get that “justified” end, its gut wrenching to me and all that has been lost throughout human history to ideologies that bear the same qualities. Its zealous, static nature that relies on circular reasoning keeps me up at night and makes me mourn what could have been if the unfamiliar and hard to understand parts of human expression were allowed to flourish instead of being eradicated for diverging from someone’s vision of what makes a life worth living. I see this big eyed vessel, incapable of growth and convinced of its own righteousness and my chest feels like it is going to cave in. I see its disciples and pawns in the faces of too many people I know and recall their stories in moments that remind me how poisonous what the Witness represents is.

The Witness is an evil that has hollowed out lives, homes, land, and futures, especially for those who come from heritages that have persevered against attempts to “rectify” them. I still grieve the empty life my mother lives and the people left to suffer the consequences of daring to create their own meaning. I look at the face of the Witness and think of the “burdens lifted off my mother’s shoulders” by those who thought themselves as witnesses of a truth that could not be contested with interpretations that could not be questioned. She prides herself on being a weapon wielded to correct the sinful hearts of men, but I just wish she prided herself on being a person because those who “delivered” her robbed people of color of personhood entirely.

The Witness is not a person, but the embodiment of these deeply rooted ideologies and concepts that affect so many. It’s horror, both in game and the parallels it has in reality, is far too grand and unfathomable for me to bear its weight on my soul and not agonize. Its very existence is monstrous, despite the understandable intentions that went into its making, and my stomach churns at the mere thought of it.

How many species in the Destiny universe will we never know about because their whole galaxy was used to get closer to the Final Shape? How many star systems were left barren because of the Witness’ ambitions? How many children, spouses, artists, philosophers, siblings, neighbors, and more, people who were something, became nothing because of eons of the Witness‘ justifications? Bile boils just thinking of it.

What the Witness represents has hung over my head my whole life and its perverse touch lingers on the whole Destiny universe, tracing many of the depraved atrocities in the game back to itself. It’s death in the Final Shape, at the hands of those it had turned into victims and left to deal with the repercussions of its influence united together, moved me in ways I do not think I could ever properly articulate. To see beloved characters I had given a decade of my life to come together from different backgrounds with different reasons to defeat such a heinous entity, I felt like I could do my part to bring others together, despite our struggles and differences, to rebuild what had been taken from us.

As a person of color from a group of people many still think are undeserving of life, seeing so many characters I have related to over the years say “I matter because I decided to and you can’t take that away from me” to an entity who thought itself so refined that it got to determine everyone’s worth strengthened my entire being. Existing as a person of color is bold in and of itself, but the defeat of the Witness at the hands of people who wanted to exist so bad they risked everything for it ignited in me a flame to be audacious. My existence and culture as a poc is unsightly and heretical, but TFS encouraged me to take on the prejudices of others by saying “Here, despite generations being molded into a “perfect” image and so many lives lost in the struggle to live personal truths, ergo sum. Ergo sum and there is nothing wrong with that”.

To me, the Witness’ death showed me that the stains left behind by social structures such as religious imperialism and colonialism can be overcome by people banding together to make the future different from the past. When we embrace the subjectivity of existence, we can create spaces for different views on life to flourish and reconnect with the nuances of this world. We can better the lives of our people, no matter who they are, not by abandoning all cultural practices and ways of life that were deemed meaningless, but by rebuilding our societies to allow for fulfilling lives and self efficacy for all.

My people no longer have to let imperial powers decide our fate for us or decide that we can be nothing other than the „nature of our race“ that they believe is inferior. Instead of looking up at others who asserted themselves as more enlightened for salvation, we can look at each other and realize there is no one truth to life, especially one worth all the devastation and cruelty placed against those who lived differently. The intricacies of life often lead people to belief systems that allow for comfort and understanding, alleviating the anxiety of possibly living an improper life that will forfeit a desirable afterlife. It is up to individuals to decide what makes their life fulfilling and what beliefs will guide their actions, for no one can make your fate but you.

My mother still likes to wear the patterns of the island and keeps paintings of island scenery in her room. She talks on the phone in patois when she doesn’t feel the pressure to be “proper”. She misses her mother because she used to make dishes from home. To relate it to Destiny, she still has the coordinates to her Lubrae in her pyramid despite convincing herself abandoning it all was for the best and there was nothing there worth keeping. I once thought reconnecting with our heritage alongside her would be a frivolous endeavor, but I hope that with time and understanding, the Witness may not have power over her anymore and she won’t look back on her disassociation with relief. Time and understanding will make our island grow and flourish, free to decide what it wants to be, not held back by preconceived notions of the worth of its existence.

Despite all the Witnesses in the world, I will persist on and try to acquaint myself with my culture without shame. The Witness is everything to me because I hope one day it desecrates nothing ever again. I hope the Witness becomes nothing at all and the cultures it has corrupted make themselves something audacious.

Thank you guys so much for reading!! I hope you guys don’t mind the vague language, I chose to spare some details for my own sake and to make the message more applicable!! I’d love to hear the takes of other people about this bc I love hearing people’s perspectives!! And always remember, no one makes your fate but you!!! Go be audacious!!!!

[grungeeuvu]

Oohira Reon Headcanons

This guy gets in so much trouble bc he keeps bringing in stray animals to his dorm when it's rainy

He is the stereotypical 'mom' friend in the "yes, i have snacks, yes, i have water, yes, i've got plasters and antiseptic cream, yes, i've created a pair system in case we decide to separate, yes, i have a spare charger for all of you-"

Following on from those vibes, whenever there's an away game or tournament, he has assigned every single first year at least one second/third year to accompany them if they leave the main group to keep them safe

He's also the local 'dad' friend because his jokes are the silliest dad jokes in the world

He goes to Africa with his family every summer and he always brings his friends back the most colourful gifts, all perfectly suited to them

I believe he's half South African (mother's side) and they go to Cape Town for the holidays, but that's just my bias

His ears get cold easily

He smells like spices; those warm, musty and deep ones that kinda make you want to sneeze but also smell super good (only he doesn't make you want to sneeze)

His favourite colour is blue/pale blue and it really suits him so he wears loads of blue jumpers/jackets

He's kind of the 'nice popular boy' - occasionally described as giving 'the only one who deserves to be popular in the group of assholes' vibes, just his friends aren't assholes (except for Shirabu, but he's not really popular)

Accidentally gets so many first-year girls (and Yamagata that one time) to fall in love with him

Not a big fan of salt

He has the warmest hands out of everyone - he melts ice cubes in seconds

Goes to the gym Sunday-midday and does a lot of weightlifting but not much else bc most of his workout is done during volleyball practice. He once ran into Iwaizumi and they very awkwardly spotted each other, since the gym was quiet that day

He gives really nice one-arm-squeeze hugs

Absolutely has the best smile award

Used to have a biting problem as a kid, until he bit down on a water glass at the age of nine. Now, he has a scar on the roof of his mouth.

[headfullofpresley]

𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡!𝐄𝐥𝐯𝐢𝐬 | 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬

Warnings: witch!Elvis, witch!reader, slight enemies to lovers, mention of vampires, use of familiars, mention of demons, sacrifice of animals (if you squint), inaccurate information about supernatural creatures and spells bc i like making shit up lol, strong language.

A/N: witch, warlock - use whatever floats your boat. :) this is long af and after proofreading it i hate it, but whatevurrrr!

masterlist

“The Italians call them Strega. The Yoruba of West Africa call them Aje, meaning mother. In Norway, they called them Häxa. And here, we call them witch. Over the centuries, vampires and other species have fought them and fought beside them, bedded them and burned them. Whether adversary or ally, they have been a force to be reckoned with.”

You had never been interested in getting a roommate; living in a small apartment in the middle of bustling Beale Street, you were perfectly fine on your own.

Well, you weren't exactly on your own. You had your trusty familiar Pepper who came in the shape of a black cat with you at all times.

She was just as content as you were with just the two of you, but as your landlord upped the rent, you had no choice than to put an ad in the newspaper.

After turning down several people with the best excuses you could come up with, you knew you would have to take in someone soon before you got yourself in money troubles.

Unfortunately, you couldn't compel your way through life like those pesky vampires that thought they ruled the world.

You had prayed that an actual interesting person would eventually show up at your door and it seemed like your prayers had been answered.

Your new roommate came with gorgeous oceanic blue eyes and dark locks that were styled to perfection.

He wasn't bad on the eyes, not at all.

But God... he was annoying.

You sensed he was a witch immediately and he knew it too, which was something you bonded over but there were a lot of different types of witches around.

Coming from one of the oldest witch covens in Scandinavia, you considered yourself a good witch. Somewhat.

You'd like to think you were a keeper of the balance between the supernatural and human world, but you had a past of running with vampires – up to the point where your coven had pretty much shunned you.

It was the biggest reason why you had come to the States.

Elvis was drawn to dark magic, something you stayed away from unless it was necessary to use it. In a life or death situation, for example.

Elvis wasn't a completely unpleasant person to live with – he cleaned up after himself, he'd cook when you weren't up for it and he paid his cut of the rent on time.

But when it came to his magic, it was like he had no regards for other people. He practiced whenever he felt like it and his damn crow familiar was just as careless as he was, annoying Pepper and you any chance it got.

You loved animals; adored them, really, but sometimes the temptation to snap the bird's neck was nearly unbearable.

Still, you accepted it. Pepper knew how to stand up for herself and Elvis usually got his bird away from you whenever he was on his way to your room to cause a little chaos again.

It were the nightly visits from spirits and other not-so-human creatures that really got on your nerves. When you were face to face with a random demon on your way to the kitchen to get a drink when you woke up out of your sleep, you stormed into Elvis' room.

After sending the other annoying fucker away, that was.

“Y/N, I'm kind of in the middle of somethin'," he'd exclaim in annoyance, as if he had the right to be annoyed, holding up his arms.

Surrounded by candles, he was sitting on his knees with his grimoire in front of him. Shadow, his crow, was sitting happily on the edge of his bed.

“I nearly had a heart attack on the way to the bathroom. Can you stop fucking summoning demons?”

“He was helpin' me with a spell,” rolling his eyes, he'd wave you off and lean back over his grimoire. “He ain't gonna hurt you, honey,”

You'd grow more annoyed at the pet name; you told him before you didn't like it, but he kept using them.

“I don't care, Elvis. Do that somewhere else or when I'm not home,”

“You know, as a fellow witch, I really think you should be more understanding of my practices. I ain't naggin' and hollerin' when you're drinking your smelly tea,”

He was talking about lavender tea. Idiot.

Looking at him as if he had grown two heads, you'd eventually roll your eyes and decide giving him an answer to that wouldn't be worth it. Telling him to stop once more and wishing him a good night, you'd wave your hand at his grimoire, making the pages flutter on purpose before you'd go back to bed.

You and Elvis hadn't exactly come to any agreements on that night or whatsoever, but you hadn't seen any demons lingering around, so you figured he wasn't channeling them anymore whenever you were around.

That didn't mean he didn't get less annoying, though.

Random spirits would still pop up, sometimes even in your room, and eventually getting used to it you'd send them off this room.

You didn't mind the energies in your house all too much but in the meanwhile, Shadow was getting more and more on your damn nerves.

Pepper usually didn't lick your face – being able to shift into human form, she thought it was weird – so you were surprised when you woke up one morning because of the feeling of the cat's tongue licking at your cheek as she frantically meowed in your ear.

Sitting up in your bed, you blinked your eyes a few times and then widened them as you saw Shadow fluttering and hopping through the room, making an absolute mess.

“ELVIS!”

Jumping out of your bed, you managed to grab the bird by its wings and held him in your grip as you stormed into the kitchen where Elvis was sipping on his coffee, giving you an innocent smile.

“Keep your fucking bird out of my room!”

“Don't call him a bird, he doesn't like that,” he'd whisper as he allowed Shadow to sit on his shoulder when you let him go, gently patting his little head.

Pepper sat at your feet with her tail swirled around your ankle as you'd place your hands on the small kitchen island, glaring with anger at the male witch.

“Listen, I don't give a rat's ass what your little bird does in your room, but keep him out of mine. If I find shit in there, you're both dead!”

Elvis shamelessly laughed as you pointed a finger at him, watching you walk away from him.

“Oh, I'm shakin', honey. You hear that, Shadow? The witch bitch and her cat are threatening us,” he'd mumble to the crow, chuckling as you stopped dead in your tracks. “How typical,”

Turning around, you stormed back at him, steam nearly coming out of your ears.

“Very funny coming from the guy who only knows how to summon demons and calls his crow Shadow,” you'd throw back at him with a scoff, folding your arms.

Raising his eyebrows, he'd let out a cocky laugh and put his coffee down. “You don't know what I'm capable of,”

You'd laugh and look at him expectantly, but instead he'd just give you a little grin as he told you to ‘wait and see’ before he disappeared into his bedroom to get ready for work.

Still angry, you stormed back into your own room to clean up and get ready as well. You weren't too worried about his little threat, as your ego was big enough to think you could take him on if he was being serious.

Despite being interested in dark magic, he wasn't a bad person by nature and Elvis had no intentions of actually hurting you or anything of the matter.

But he did like annoying you because he liked seeing you so riled up; it got you to pay attention to him.

And you were real pretty with your cheeks all flushed, eyes full of both frustration and surprise at his actions.

It started with little things – making himself appear in your dreams (making sure they were extra steamy), have Shadow be as loud as he could in the mornings, or simply move whatever object you were reaching for away from you.

You knew he'd probably get bored and stop if you'd stop giving him a reaction, but you were incapable of doing so. Secretly, you liked getting attention from him just as much.

When he started sacrificing chickens and small rodents in the shower and leaving the blood behind on the walls for you to clean up, you were fed up with this little ‘playful’ war.

As he was away at work, Shadow looked on as you drew a pentagram on the floor of Elvis' bedroom, candles surrounding it with a fake dead crow smack in the middle of the symbol.

You twisted the neck of the fake bird in an uncomfortable manner and splashed some blood out of one of his jars that were lined up on a shelf onto the fake bird and around it.

You rolled your eyes as you read the label on the jar, learning it was werewolf blood; dark witches were so weird.

Shadow was screeching his head off the entire time, probably not liking the little prank you were playing on his person; he had no choice than to land on your arm when you told him so. Being alone with you and a hissing Pepper at your feet, the bird was outnumbered.

“You better stay quiet, little Shadow, or I'll put you in that pentagram,” you told the bird as you sat him down on the desk in your room, pointing a finger at him. “And no making a mess or shitting all over the place or,” sliding your finger across your throat, the bird got the hint but as you tapped your finger on the tip of his beak, he nipped at your finger, his tongue coming in contact with the blood on your digit.

Pepper twirled her tail as she followed you with her chin raised, leaving Shadow behind in your room.

You left the door of Elvis' room ajar, washing your hands before you sat down on the couch with a book in your hand and Pepper laying next to you.

When Elvis came home, he was in good spirits. He greeted you happily as he threw his jacket over one of the stools by the island and whistled for Shadow, who usually would come flying out of his room to land on his arm.

When the crow was unresponsive, Elvis looked at you and you shrugged your shoulders innocently.

You watched him go into the bedroom, holding your laugh as you hid your face behind your book.

You expected him to come out and immediately see the bird was fake and the both of you would have a good laugh before he'd start scheming his next plan to get back at you.

Instead, you were taken by surprise as your book went flying out of your hands and across the room, an angry Elvis storming over to you with the bird in his hands.

“What have you done?! Are you fuckin' crazy, woman?”

He was yelling, anger swimming in his glossy eyes.

You sat there, looking up at him with guilt crawling its way into the pit of your stomach; you picked up Pepper when she hissed at Elvis and put her aside before you got up from the couch.

“Elvis-”

“No!” he'd yell, holding up his hand to stop you from coming closer to him. Your confusion only grew when he threw the bird aside and held up his bloody fingers, looking at you with wild eyes.

“Elvis, the bird is fake!” you yelled, managing to get a word in.

He let out a laugh, but you didn't recognize the emotion in it.

“You think I'm fuckin' blind? Ofcourse the bird is fake! But the blood, Y/N, the blood!”

“It's just werewolf blood, Elvis. I didn't use all of it, I'm sure you can get more from where ever the hell you got it from,”

He'd groan in frustration, as if you should be able to know what he was talking about. You didn't usually work with blood in your own craft and because this was just a prank and not an actual spell, you figured it wouldn't matter.

Turned out, you were wrong.

A loud bang came out of your bedroom and you gasped, looking at your door; the banging continued, as well as the sounds of things crashing and breaking.

“What the hell is going on?”

“The blood is spelled. I finished it just last night for a client – a werewolf client, so he wouldn't have to transform during a full moon anymore but rather at free will. It's a shapeshifting spell, Y/N,”

You weren't dumb. You knew what it meant.

Unfortunately for you and Elvis in this damned situation, it meant that with a spell like that (God knows what else Elvis put in it) the person who would drink the bloody potion was able to shapeshift whenever.

Seeing he used werewolf blood, it would shapeshift the person into or out of a wolf whenever they pleased.

Apparently, he made it in a way that it worked on animals too because the sounds coming out of your room right now definitely could not be caused by a crow.

You looked down at your hands, touching your face as you looked at Elvis with wide eyes.

“It only works by ingesting it,” rolling his eyes, he grabbed your arm as Shadow started banging against the bedroom door now, threatening to break out.

Even though the curse of the moon was created by witches, it wasn't like every werewolf hated witches – the problem was that they saw anything in sight as prey.

Before you and Elvis could think of a proper escape plan, Shadow revealed himself as a large dark wolf with glowing golden eyes as he barged through the door, making you gasp in horror.

“Tell him to change back, Elvis! It's a shapeshifting spell; the whole point of one is that it gives free will,” slapping his chest in a panic, you took a few steps back as Elvis did as well.

“He is a bird, Y/N!”

“He's your familiar, he has a soul, a conscious; tell him!"

Elvis looked down at you, letting out a soft awkward laugh as he held onto your arm the way you were holding onto his.

“Funny you mention that; he's actually just a bird, that's it. I found him a few years ago when he fell out of his nest,”

You gawked at the witch next to you, not believing what he was telling you. This fucker really just picked up a random bird from the streets and considered it its familiar.

You could just kill him right now, but there wasn't exactly time for that because you were about to get mauled by a freaking werewolf in your own living room.

You slipped your hand in Elvis', channeling his powers as you held up your other hand and he immediately did the same.

He hated doing this, but he couldn't exactly let them be killed even though he was attached to Shadow.

With both your magic combined, it seemed like your powers very were strong; the wolf didn't stand a chance as the entire ground felt as if it was shaking, the harmony of your and Elvis' chanting causing Pepper to hide away in the kitchen.

Shadow let out a strangled howl before dropping to the ground, his eyes rolling into the back of his head as his tongue drooped out of his mouth unceremoniously.

Slowly lowering your hands, you and Elvis stared at the wolf before the man next to you started moving to the animal and kneeled down next to it.

“We better get rid off him,” he whispered, the sound of sorrow in his voice making you feel even more guilty.

Although Elvis told you numerous of times that he didn't blame you, you felt bad.

Shadow might not have been a proper familiar, but you knew Elvis was fond of the bird so a few weeks later, you found yourself standing in a pet store.

You and Elvis became friends, giving up on your little war of magic, and you figured he'd like a new companion.

You chose a parrot this time; figuring he could use an upgrade from crows.

You went all out as you picked a blue and yellow macaw, getting the biggest cage you could get your hands on and everything the bird needed.

Giving him a nice spot in the living room, you spelled the poor bird to be able to speak perfectly; you wanted it to be the perfect surprise for your roommate turned friend and you weren't really looking forward to hearing them practice night and day.

As Elvis came home and saw the bird, he was taken by surprise but he was immediately taken by the animal and the animal by him.

“I'm callin' him Hades,” he'd grin as he proudly wandered around the living room with his new pet on his arm.

“Seriously?” you deadpanned with a roll of your eyes.

“You have a cat named Pepper,” he scoffed, scratching Pepper under her chin. “No offence, Pep,”

As you grew closer to Elvis, so did Pepper and she had fully accepted him – up to the point where she'd sneak into his room in the middle of the night to sleep next to him instead next to you.

You didn't mind it all too much though, knowing she'd always find her way back to you.

Things between you and Elvis were good. You weren't feeling as guilty anymore for what you did and you realised that you enjoyed being friends with him more than having him as a ‘frenemy’.

Slowly but surely, you were opening up to each other; exchanging spells, working on spells together and you becoming more open to dark magic.

You learned that dark magic wasn't always as bad as you had been taught by your (ex)coven and you realised that it actually came in handy in dangerous situations.

You were hoping that it wouldn't come to the point of actually having to use it, but a shift happened in the supernatural world in the city and it was a big one.

With a clan of ancient vampires settling in the city, everyone was on edge. Werewolves got the hell out of dodge and hid away on the outskirts of town and the witch covens started becoming suspicious of anyone and anything.

The vampires started applying rules to other supernaturals – werewolves weren't welcome at all anymore and witches weren't allowed to use magic. The penalty was simple; death.

You and Elvis didn't belong to any covens anymore. You learned that he stepped out of his previous coven on his own accord because he didn't like being watched and following rules, but right now, it caused the both of you to be outnumbered.

Most of the witches in town were too scared of the vampires to go against their rules so when you and Elvis went around to form one big coven, doors were shut in your faces every single time.

“Maybe we should pack up and leave,” you sighed heavily as you wandered back home one night with Elvis.

“Oh hell no. I ain't leavin' for a bunch of pale motherfuckers, honey. If the others don't wanna help, that's on them, but I'm getting the vampires out of here and fast,”

You'd laugh, finding his determination endearing but you didn't believe his words. You were outnumbered and even though you and Elvis were strong together, you'd stand no chance against this many vampires and whatever allies they had all at once.

You and Elvis would still do magic at home but you were too afraid to do anything outside; vampires crawled around everywhere, keeping an eye out on things and reporting back to their higher ups of anything suspicious going around.

No matter how much you hated it, you accepted the fact that you'd probably never be able to use magic outdoors as long as you lived in Memphis.

Elvis wasn't so quick to give up though and he called up every powerful being he knew would be willing to help.

When you came home from work one afternoon, your entire apartment was filled with witches, vampire hunters and a handful of werewolves, both from Memphis and other places. Weapons were spread out on the table and everything.

“We're takin' back our city tonight,” he told you with a bright smile, wiggling a wooden stake in the air.

You were nervous, maybe a little bit scared of what the night would bring but you were there among the witches nonetheless.

In the middle of the night when the humans were tucked away safe and sound in their bed, Beale Street was crawling with supernaturals.

Naturally, the commotion drew attention and it didn't take long for the vampires to show up.

You had expected there to be some exchange of words, maybe even a peaceful agreement or whatsoever but Elvis jumped into action immediately and you had no choice but to follow.

Maybe you hadn't shown it as much as Elvis did but you were just as frustrated and angry with the other species, so gradually, you started to enjoy yourself out there.

Snapping necks with just a snap of your fingers, frying vampire brains or making them bite off their own tongue.

Beale Street was painted red that night and the feeling of working together with Elvis gave you such immense power that it was nearly addicting.

You worked well together, cornering unsuspecting vampires to have them face a very gnarly end.

It was dark and evil and you enjoyed every second of it.

You kept the best for last as you and Elvis froze the leader of the vampire clan in place, making him unable to move as a werewolf pounced onto him and tore his head off.

By the end of it, you were both tired and high on adrenaline; instead of taking you home, Elvis took you and the group to the mansion known as Graceland the vampires had infiltrated when they took over the city.

“El, what are we doing here?” you'd question as you watched him open the gates of the large property with a flick of his wrist, taking you with him as he walked onto the drive way and up to the house.

“Welcome to your new home,” he simply said, smiling from ear to ear as he wrapped his arm around your shoulder. “I told you, we were taking back the city and since those fuckers are dead, we might as well take their home. All of us,”

You looked around at the other creatures around you, the vampire hunters putting the dead vampires on a pile before lighting them on fire, creating a freaky (but satisfying) bonfire.

“It may not be traditional,” he'd whisper to you, looking down at you to meet your eyes. “But we can create our own coven, our own pack. Whatever you want to call it. A family, I guess,”

“Pepper?” you questioned, moved by his words, but still worried about your familiar.

Elvis opened his mouth, but a girl beat him to it, grinning from ear to ear as she looked at you. “Right here,”

You looked at the brunette in front of you, recognizing her immediately; you laughed and hugged her. She smiled and looked at Elvis, raising an eyebrow before she'd turn back to you.

“This fool is in love with you,” she blurted out shamelessly, knowing he would otherwise never confess.

“Pepper!” he yelled in a whisper as she turned around and laughed while walking off with a wave, making him turn to you with a slightly flushed face.

“You're in love with me?”

“You know, for a witch you're very out of touch with your intuition,” he commented, wanting to continue speaking but you cut him off by pressing your lips against his.

He didn't hesitate to kiss you back, pulling you closer against him immediately.

Maybe he was right, maybe you were out of touch with your intuition, maybe you were not even a good witch at all, but you did not care at all. Life was back to normal; it was going to get even better.

“I love the house and I love the idea of all of us living here, but just promise me one thing..” you said as you pulled back from the kiss, pointing a finger at him. “No demons,”

“But you look so cute when you're mad,” he pouted, though a playful smirk appeared on his face immediately after.

“I mean it, Elvis,”

“Fine, fine, no demons,” giving you a playful roll of his eyes, he'd swing his arm over your shoulder and look at the bonfire. “Scaredy cat,”

Raising your hand a little and aiming it as his side, you made him move away from you a few feet. He'd laugh loudly and make you move forward to land against his chest with a small huff before he'd wrap his arms around you again.

“Don't start a war you can't win, honey,”

Squinting your eyes at him, you didn't even had the chance to declare another silly magic war because he was already kissing you again which you happily along with.

Perhaps it was not traditional at all. But you'd rather be part of a group that had each others back rather than in any witch coven the wouldn't allow you to be friendly with other creatures unless you had something to gain from it.

The only coven you wanted to be part of was the one with Elvis in it and even if others would step out, you knew you'd have him there and that was all that mattered.

[gemsofgreece]

Did Europe got it's name from the ancient Greek myth Europa? Where Zeus fell in love with her disguised himself as a cow and then kidnapped her?

It did, although not so directly.

It was usual for Ancient Greeks to associate regions with a progenitor, who was a mythological figure, so as to explain the differences between different people and genealogies. While Europe was of Greek descent according to the myth, she was a princess of Phoenicia. Zeus kidnapped her and took her west to the island of Crete, where she became its queen and progenitor (she was the mother of King Minos). It’s interesting that the selection of Crete might indicate some kind of awareness Ancient Greeks had that Crete was one of the very first places in Europe / the West with advanced civilisation. In any case, in the Homeric epics the name Europe is used broadly for the land west of the Aegean Sea. That includes the Greek mainland and perhaps the Balkans and East Europe. However, as it is evident in the maps of Anaximander in the 6th century BC, the definition of Europe had expanded to include more of the western parts of the continent.

The potentially first map of the known world is attributed to Anaximander (6th century BC).

So, the knowledge on this map apparently was passed on to the Romans and most of the continent eventually. Therefore, Western Europeans most likely adopted the definition of the Greeks for the region and it’s not that they took it directly from the kidnapped mythological princess.

By the way it was also the Romans who changed the character’s name into Europa as in Greek it is the same with the continent’s name: Ευρώπη (Europe - Greek pronunciation is Evrópi) .

Setting the myth aside and trying to find a more down to earth approach, it is not yet certain why Greeks called Europe as such. Ευρώπη is a compound name from the adjective ευρύς (eurus or eurys, pronounced evrís) and the suffix -ώπη (-ope) which comes from the roots of the words for vision, eyes, looking (i.e compare with optics, ophthalmology, optometry etc). Historians and linguists are basically at a loss because they don’t yet understand why that name would be associated with the continent. Regarding the mythological princess, her name can mean that she had wide, large eyes or that her eyes were widely set on her face or that she had a wide face (as the Greek word for face has the same root, πρόσωπο - prósopo, literally meaning “frontal look”). That’s all well for her but why would the continent be called that? This is unclear and it is important because it’s mythology that explains real life, not the other way round. This is just my personal speculation but I believe the true name might have the meaning of “wide view”. In Greece, there are locations which have similar names, the most notable being Ancient Europos in Macedonia, Northern Greece. More locations had been named as such in colonies during the Hellenistic era, i.e there is one in Syria. If it was such a popular name for locations and towns, I believe the name described the settlement as having wide, expanding views and potentially good visibility against invaders. Or maybe that it was widely structured itself and expanded before the visitor’s eyes. The more I think of it, the more obvious it gets and it pains me that acclaimed scientists fight over why a continent has wide eyes or names itself after a woman raped by a horny god. It almost certainly has little to do with it in the grand scheme of things. The way Greece is a narrow peninsula, progressively widening towards its north and then the Balkans and Central Europe widening even more could possibly be the reason why anything from Greece’s viewpoint and farther north was called “wide looking”. Besides, if we judge from Anaximander’s map, it is obvious Greeks in the 6th century BC thought Europe was the largest continent as they had explored Africa (Libya) and Asia far less (they probably gave up in Sahara and the Middle East). Therefore in the Greeks’ perception, Europe indeed appeared like a wide, expanding land. By the Hellenistic era, where they had explored more and the knowledge was certainly far better, I assume the name had stuck anyway and did not change. I don’t know when exactly Europeans “officially” embraced the term but I believe the inspiration was historical (the ancient maps) and not mythological.

Ancient Europos. I suspect it is not coincidental at all that it is so flat with so wide openings to the horizon from all sides. This would be notable enough to be named after, as so flat and widely mountain-less areas are rare in the Greek terrain.

In conclusion, my speculation is that the myth somehow attempted to interpret the procession of advanced civilisation (or maybe just Greek presence) from East to West, and the flourishing of Greeks there like Europe eventually did with Zeus’ gifts and sons. Even if I am totally off, I still believe it makes more sense if the mythological connection was attempted after the name Europe was already used by at least a number of Greeks as a geographical term and not that Europeans read Europe’s story and were like “seems like the perfect name for our continent”. Again, mythology is the one observing and interpreting the already existing world.

[duchessanon]

Well. Not a drop of tea about the BRF but I prepared for that.

- Henri seeing her on ig was a weird deviation from the og meeting story (is Omid crying somewhere that finding Carolyn needs another update?)

- The curtsy scene was awkward. Like it’s funny if u were sharing that with friends but maybe not the place to do it

- “We were never allowed to tell our story” What did they want to say in the engagement interview that they couldn’t?

- so much boring repetitive shit about Diana. Let the woman rest FFS!

- what I wanted, I didn’t get. Like tell me why happened when u first met Chuck or Willy. Not about ur flight itinerary that we don’t care about

- the way she was followed in Toronto was shit but it wasn’t brand new information.

- as always Henri pisses me off with how much he thinks of himself bc he was in the army. It’s like he uses his service to feel superior over his fam who are only superior by title

- I was gearing up for drama with the royal foundation event clip, and yet again, nothing

- a few mentions of Jason knife, will they say he knifed them in the back?

- I feel like some of the stories they thought would be new/interesting/show the real truth were just blah. Like the Ashleigh girl and her disinvite from the wedding. Girl I’ve only just learnt u exist so I’m not gonna feel sorry for u (apart from that u have Sam as a biological mother)

- the Tom part made me a little sad actually. That could’ve been avoided easily. Doria is an icon still

- what I will say is their love story IS interesting on paper and there were some parts that were mildly sweet. BUT Henri seemed overly aware and proud that their love story was dramatic. It feels like he would show off about it being like a fairytale fanfiction.

- by the looks of the vol 2 preview it’s just Henri saying “I had to get them outta there” 50000000 times. If they avoid giving family tea, is it rly their true story?

- I have 0 expectations for decent info in the book. It’s gonna be all about childhood, Di, Africa, meg, the press, being a dad, the army. Zzzzzzz

[averycanadianfilm]

Television

"Television" 

It’s 2011 an I’m looking forward to heaven

A confession, I don't watch much, television

A confession, as a young man on the island of Patmos I had a, revelation

I fell in love with a girl from a Scandinavian, nation

She left me dreaming at the Brindisi Ferry, station

Who owns the T.V.

who decides what shows we see

sex in the city

mike and Molly

love it or list it

primetime politics

white horse rider 

fyra Hästar 

fyra Hästar

ride faster and faster

faster and faster

white horse rider

with a golden bow and arrow 

vision fixed, not on today but, tomorrow

red, black, and pale horse

racing to change humans course

while I still dream of that Scandinavian girl from my past

listen now, I'm gonna sing this fast

who owns the, media

what is their, agenda

who furnishes the, concepts

from clones to robots

what are the, assumptions

what drives, consumption

how to make a buck

dinner party wars or monster trucks

house hunters or cake bosses

collateral damage or acceptable losses

destination truth

vodka martini or vermouth

greatest tank battles or Man v. Food

between the folds or consumer gas

whatever happened to that Scandinavian girl from my past

little house on the prairie or icarly

I didn't have a phone number so she couldn't call me

lost kingdoms of Africa or the birth of a nation

she left me dreaming at the Brindisi Ferry station

Gates of hell or executive decision

the Simpsons or 1000 ways to die

if I tell you I forgot her, it's a lie

got money in your pocket, we'll tell you what to buy

moneytalk, hardtalk, BBC world news

some win an some lose

90210, Gossip Girl, One Tree Hill

watch one or all, got time to kill

on the beach, girls gone wild, how I met your, mother

don't like the channel switch to, another

sportscentre, magnificia Italia, Hallo Bundesliga

that's right I like to watch, soccer

weather network, the National, Law & Order

T.V. signals travel easily across the, border

CNN, mythbusters, millionaire matchmaker, mad love

A Raven and A Dove

House, Angel Eyes, Innerspace

those off the grid can vanish without a trace

wanted that Scandinavian girl to invite me over to her place

criminal minds, curb your enthusiasm, entourage

T.V. reality is just a mirage

daily planet, Tyra, dancing with the stars

whatever happened to the local pub or neighborhood bar

when I was young I thought Scandinavia was too far

but the world is smaller now

and I keep dreaming of snow

white horse rider

fyra Hästar

fyra Hästar

ride faster and faster

faster and faster

white horse rider

with a golden bow and arrow

vision fixed, not on today but tomorrow

red, black, and pale horse

racing to change humans course

white horse rider, ride, fast

I still dream of that Scandinavian girl from my, past

A confession, I don't watch much, television

A confession, as a young man on the island of Patmos, I had a revelation

I fell in love with a girl from a Scandinavian nation

She left me dreaming at the Brindisi Ferry station 

It’s 2023 an I’m still looking forward to heaven

Words and Music by Hubert Hugh Burke.

written ~ April 17 2011 Vancouver BC

revised May 11 2023 Ottawa Canada

[cruelanais-blog]

Consider this my (rather late) retirement from community interpreting

I am a seasoned interpreter.

I've wanted to describe myself as seasoned since I was 14.

I'm seasoned. I've got spices thrown about. Some will burn when heated. The smell. I'm smelly.

I'm 40, and I've been to a lot of different places to interpret for a rich tapestry of people.

I've worked for presidents, ministers, department heads (who are THE BEST), judges, international higher-ups.

I've worked for doctors, lawyers, engineers, vets, national and local cops, prison governors, salespeople, millionaires, mayors.

I've worked for people on the street - severely or mildly poorly people, people with cancer, people who are finally free of cancer, people whose children are in surgery, mentally ill people, people in recovery, people who've been violent, people who've had others be violent to them...

I've worked for children.

I've worked for a mother delivering their baby. It went on for 3 hours. I translated "push!" a couple more times than the midwife. I literally helped persuade the father not to be a dick.

I'm basically a call centre representative. I pick up the random call I receive, and who knows? It may be a delusional paranoid having psychoses.

It may be an unlucky guy who got fentanyl in his weed and didn't know it.

I invite the sick and the poorly and legally oppressed people into my bedroom every time I pick up the call. They have one thing in common - they have issues that need solving.

I've worked in 12 countries, btw. Mostly in Africa. Something to be a bit proud of.

And it's OK. I love working for people. I got ADHD. I'm meant to be having tantrums every time something mildly bad happens to me bc I'm not afraid to admit it gives me (false but ok) relief. I kinda love self-drama, too.

I love doinb ig. The job itself, amazeballs.

But I am a call centre representative and there's a script.

"Hi! (Yes they add that) This is Jasun Horucan, your [redacted] interpreter. ID Number: 9BG5JAlas:p How may I help you?"

...

If I get a 5-min call for a nurse to ask a patient in ER a vital question, I spend 3 minutes doing this. First you introduce yourself to the patient and then let the nurse know, and if you couldn't hear something you can ask for a repetition, but you need to let the physician know... Oh, Heaven Forbid, they don't understand a tiny word you've said to the patient!

Imagine your pharmacist doing this to you every time you needed prescription medicine... That information is confidential, too? Right?

Oh, then, I'm asked to say "Everything discussed here will remain confidential". How am I to make sure of that?

I can vouch for my own confidentiality, but for others'? Not really.

So I shoulder the whole burden of somebody calling the company and saying, "It was the interpreter that said it!"

I'm 40. I've been working for 20 years. I'm not trusted to do my job.

Imagine yourself sitting at a desk working and your boss (whoever that shithead is) is able to listen to every work conversation you have and emailing you every month about anything you may have said...

Right?

I had people way above my pay grade trust me with their words in a country they didn't know about.

I had million-dollar international projects trust me with being a good voice for them.

I wrote official letters at ministry headquarters, damn it!

Patients (should) already trust me with their information.

BTW: This is all playing into the hands of the AI'ers (I love you guys, no shade) who say we'll be replaced by whatever will come after us (there will be a different name for them, like a name and a surname :). It means an automaton controlled remotely may easily do what I do...

(except for saying "Push harder!" a few more times than the midwife)

I say "Get well soon!" to people. I give them my condolences. I don't care how they do it in wherever the doctor is; this is how we do it!

It is the cultural idiosyncrasy companies will forever ignore in their quality briefings (8 slides with single sentences on them).

And I don't work with people they looove to model in their 8 slides with single sentences on them - "Oh, we don't give honey to babies, now, do we?"

All ill or disabled or pregnant or physically self-progressive people aside, I work with refugees. They are at the intersection of having had trauma and experiencing trauma at the same time. I love working with them; the clients are not half-bad, either.

But it's not a mechanical voice they'd feel comfortable hearing. They really _ and really _ don't care about good accuracy (and I'm as accurate as you can get). They'll ask the questions in their minds and repeat it until they get what they want anyway... Another cultural idiosyncrasy!

Let me be human. Let me be the 20 years of experience I've had.

I worked in village barns in Central [redacted] once, with vets on a surveillance trip. We were to visit villages, find farms, and draw blood from butts of cows - to check for FMD. I met some amazing cows, calves, and kids there. In our last village on the first day, we, 1 old and 1 young vet and I, got stranded in a mountain village as the amazing lead _ the old vet, of course! _ had hired a BMW sedan for a trip to a cold area, expecting the heaviest snow in 20 years. But hey!

Once the sun set, the village got colder. We were soaking vet from all the disinfectant we'd showered ourselves with. Right at this point, the villagers said goodbye to our little freezing trio, leaving us thinking well, life's been good.

Finally, though, we were rescued right after sunset by a guy who was dropping off his child to their mother who apparently enjoyed turning his small van into a disco, blasting music as he sped down on winding roads.

Next morning, we called the mayor to arrange a snow plough, which we followed to the village in a taxi. We got the car back and this time, were minded to put on some chains, which eventually broke a couple of times along the way. The winding road the dad had pushed through at 80 now turned into the gates of frozen hell. We nearly had an accident.

Good days. Good days.

[dwellordream]

“The mistaken claim that Amazons must have received their name because they were single-breasted was widely repeated by Greek and Roman writers, and every author thereafter is obliged to grapple with the paradoxical image. A fiction invented in the fifth century BC was behind the notion. This fake “fact” surfaced at least two centuries after the tribal name “Amazon” for an ethnic group of men and women was used by the Greeks (chapter 1). The historian Hellanikos of Lesbos (b. 490 BC) described Amazons as “a host of golden-shielded, silver-axed, man-loving, boy-killing females.” Then Hellanikos attempted to make their foreign name “Amazon” into a Greek word. The Greeks were fond of this sort of etymological exercise of forcing Greek meanings onto loanwords from other languages, based on similarities to sounds in Greek. The strong tendency of ancient writers to create and accept crude, “patently absurd” word derivations is well known.

In this case, Hellanikos maintained that Amazones must mean “breastless” or “lacking breast” because a- means “without” in Greek and mazos sounded to Greek ears a bit like mastos, the Greek word for “breast.” A rival folk etymology suggested that the name meant “without grain,” because maza was Greek for “barley.” The Scythian nomads were in fact meat-eaters, not vegetarians, but this dietary label was much too dull to compete with the lurid image of women who sacrificed their breasts to become warriors. Hellanikos’s false etymology demanded a story to explain the Amazon’s missing breast. Various dreadful scenarios were proposed for the method of this alleged self-mutilation, which was based solely on specious wordplay.

Airs, Waters, Places, a treatise attributed to the physician Hippocrates (fourth century BC), stated that Sarmatian women seared the right breast of baby girls with a red-hot bronze tool, so that the right arm would be stronger. The idea here was that the potential power of the breast would be displaced to the corresponding arm. It is physiologically true that handedness often corresponds to slightly larger hands and feet on the dominant side of the body, and that habitual exercise of one limb or hand can result in development of larger bones and musculature. (As noted in the previous chapter, bioarchaeological signs of right-handedness and larger finger bones among archers have been ob- served in the skeletal remains of warriors of both sexes in burial sites across Scythia.) Hellanikos and Hippocrates were contemporaries of Herodotus, our earliest and most accurate Greek source of detailed information about Sarmatians, Scythians, and Amazons based on his firsthand observations and interviews around the Black Sea in the fifth century BC.

Significantly, however, even though Herodotus describes many gruesome and extraordinary Scythian customs, he never mentions this self- inflicted breast deformity. Nevertheless, the idea took hold. Diodorus, Strabo, Pomponius Mela, Justin, and Orosius repeated the tale that Amazons used an iron tool to cauterize the breast at infancy or before pu- berty so that it would not hinder their use of the bow and spear. Pomponius Mela said that removal of the right breast made them “ready for action, able to withstand blows to the chest like men.” According to Apollodorus and Curtius, Amazons “pinched off” the right breast but retained the left for nursing their babies. Arrian described Amazons who came to join Alexander’s campaign in Persia (330 BC); to him, the right exposed breast appeared to be smaller than the covered left breast (see chapter 20).

We know that at least three later writers disagreed with the one-breast notion. John Tzetzes, the Byzantine commentator on Hellanikos, pointed out that the etymology was untrue because cutting off a breast would cause fatal bleeding. Another author, Philostratus (third century AD), rejected Hellanikos’s claim and proposed a more logical—and more humane—explanation, that amazon actually meant “not breast- fed.” Philostratus argued that real-life Amazons love their children but do not nurse them because the practice results in mollycoddled children and saggy breasts, undesirable traits in their warrior culture. Instead, the nomadic horsewomen nourish their babies with mare’s milk, honey, and dew. Tryphiodorus, a Greek poet of the fifth century AD, also defined amazon as “unsuckled.” Such a concept was far removed from Greek culture, with its stay-at-home nursing mothers, but seemed reasonable for nomadic hunter-warrior women.

A similar practice appears in a sixth-century AD Roman description of a northern nomad tribe called the Scrithiphini (probably the Sami people of the western Arctic region) whose women and men hunted together. According to Procopius, their infants were not nursed but fed with bone marrow and swaddled in cradle boards hung on trees while the mother and father pursued game. Once the sensational “factoid” of one breast became embedded in the catalog of Amazon attributes, each successive writer routinely included it in his description of the women warriors. Perhaps the concept seemed appropriate because Amazons represented the opposite of Greek wives and mothers, and their “terrifying asymmetry” signaled their barbarism.

Some modern scholars suggest that deliberately removing one breast was intended to symbolize the Amazons’ willful destruction of their own femininity and so resonated with Greek men who feared women who behaved like men. For Greek women, the removal of one breast would signify the terrible sacrifice Amazons made to become more like men. For other scholars “one-breastedness” signi- fied Amazons’ freedom from nursing and maternal attachments: Amazons “don’t need breasts because they will never raise children.” But many ancient Greek texts described Amazon mothers, and some referred to nursing babies (not to mention the archaeological discoveries of female warriors buried with children; chapter 4). According to another theory, Amazon “breastlessness” stood for the “sexual unripeness of the nubile adolescent” Greek maiden. Some scholars point out that Greeks associated the right side of the body with masculinity and the left with femininity. Most classical writers described removal of the right breast while the left was exposed, but some reversed the sides. And Greek artists were inconsistent about which of the two breasts was exposed in Amazon battle scenes.

If the concept of removing a breast was such an important symbolic attribute for the Greeks, then one must wonder why no single-breasted Amazons appear in classical art. Despite the popularity into modern times of “just-so stories” about how the Amazon “lost her breast,” ancient Greek painters and sculptors invariably depicted the mythic Amazons double-breasted. As noted, symmetry was an essential quality of the Greek ideal of beauty. Amazons of myth and art were always portrayed as beautiful heroic women, the equals of the handsome aristocratic Greek heroes. Perhaps physical asymmetry in artistic scenes would be jarring to Greek aesthetic sensibilities. (Ugly or deformed people appear in artistic illustrations of ancient comedies or scenes of daily life but are rare in heroic situations.) Moreover, artistic portrayals of Amazons are often erotic—showing mutilated women could interfere with sexual appeal.

Vase painters and sculptors often emphasized Amazons’ bosoms with diaphanous drapery or body-hugging garments. Another artistic “convention” was to show fighting and wounded Amazons in chitons (loose, short, belted tunics fastened at the shoulder—also worn by Greek males) worn in exomis style, with one breast and shoulder exposed. Art historians have interpreted this typical Amazonian pose in many different ways. Was revealing a breast an erotic gesture? Was the “one breast exposed” intended as a subtle, less graphic stand-in for the “one breast missing” literary motif ? Was a bared breast meant to evoke sympathy, in the case of wounded Amazons? Was flaunting the breast in the midst of battle a way of taunting or distracting the male heroes, or was it to make sure the men (and the viewer) understood that they were being attacked by women? In fact, one exposed breast reflected practical active attire. The archer goddess Artemis and the huntress Atalanta were dressed for action this way, and so were many Greek male archers, workers, warriors, and heroes. In Greece and other ancient cultures, the dominant shoulder of active figures was often left unclothed for freedom of movement.

Apparently Greek artists and their audiences were not persuaded by the literary trope that female archers were hindered by their breasts. But if artists never depicted one-breasted Amazons, why did the idea catch on and persist so stubbornly in Greek literature? Did some ancient cultures really practice breast removal or suppression? Was there some exotic custom or mode of dress that could have been misunderstood in antiquity, leading Greeks to believe reports of “breastless” or “single- breasted” women warriors? An atrocious practice in West and Central Africa today results in the maiming of millions of young girls by their mothers who hope to prevent rape. “Breast ironing” involves cauterizing budding breasts with a heated metal tool to inhibit breast development. Is it possible that travelers’ tales of similar African “breast-searing” customs were known to the writers of the Hippocratic texts and projected onto Sarmatian women and Amazons of Scythia?

There is no way of knowing how ancient this “secret” ritual of Central Africa really is, and in the absence of any other evidence the likelihood of a similar practice in ancient Eurasia seems slight. Nonetheless, the coincidence is striking, given that several ancient Greek sources mention the use of a heated metal tool. A fictional romance written in Egypt by Dionysius Skytobrachion, about Amazons transported to a Libyan setting, included ethnological details from North Africa to give local flavor to his tale (see chapter 23). When girls were born to the Amazons, he wrote, “both their breasts were seared so that they would not develop into maturity, for they thought that projecting breasts were a hindrance in warfare [and] this is why they are called by the Greeks Amazons.” He is the only ancient author to say both breasts were cauterized, as in modern reports of breast ironing. Did the author know of an African breast-searing custom? The answer is unknown.

A less violent, practical ethnological tradition of “breast suppression” for the comfort of horsewomen existed much closer to home—in the heart of ancient Amazon territory. Since antiquity girls and women of the Black Sea–Caucasus were trained to be expert archers and riders who hunted and fought. Ethnographic evidence among Circassians, Ossetians, Adigeans, Karbardians, Abkhazians, and other groups points to a long tradition of “flattening the breasts during maidenhood.” When girls were seven to ten years of age, their mothers laced a leather vest or corset around their chests, to suppress movement when the girls were riding and shooting. The leather corset was worn until marriage. On the wedding night, the groom slowly, patiently unlaced the fifty-some ties to demonstrate his love, respect, and self-control. Early European travelers in the Caucasus described this traditional article of young women’s attire, which later became known (and modified) as the “Circassian corset.” In the Caucasus, commented the German historian Julius von Klaproth in 1807, “young unmarried females compress their breasts with a close leather jacket, in such a manner that they are scarcely perceptible.” Archaeologist John Abercromby remarked in 1891,“There is nothing improbable in believing that the Caucasian custom has a long row of centuries behind it.”

One of the Nart sagas refers indirectly to the custom of enclosing the torso of girls in leather corsets. In one saga the hero Warzameg mocks a young woman for having “breasts like old bouncing pumpkins.” The simile reveals Caucasian cultural values, notes the Nart saga translator John Colarusso. Ridiculing large, unrestrained, bobbling breasts was meant as a great insult. Among horse peoples of the Caucasus, swinging, pendulous breasts were considered unsightly and awkward “for one simple reason.” Colarusso explains: “If a woman were to go galloping on her horse across the steppes with large breasts unconstrained, she would be uncomfortable and in pain from their bouncing. So there was a premium on small, firm breasts” for active outdoorswomen. Notably, in the 1920s, European and American women’s new liberated, active lifestyle coincided with tight bandeaus to minimize the chest and flatten the breasts into a boyish silhouette.

Athletic women of most body types tend to favor some sort of bosom support, and modern mounted archers wear tight bodices. It’s reasonable to guess that in antiquity, most female riders, archers, fight- ers, and athletes bound or supported their breasts in some fashion. “Support, binding, or restraint, or some form of sports bra for riding” was probably used by mounted nomad women. Greek artists often depicted Amazons with tight-fitting tunics and diagonal chest bands that may have functioned something like a modern “cross-your-heart” brassiere, notes one art historian. Was there any other special attire that could have been misunderstood by the Greeks as “breastlessness” in antiquity? In vase paintings, many Amazons are clad in cuirasses (rigid bronze breastplates), scaled armored tunics, laced corselets, and upper garments and straps, much like those worn by men and all of which had a “flattening effect”.

These artistic depictions reflected the chest armor of padded or rigid materials and scaled armor worn by real nomad warriors of both sexes in antiquity. Archaeological discoveries in Saka-Scythian-Sarmatian lands have turned up a variety of armored tunics fashioned from horn, hooves, bone, and small gold plates or scales in the graves of both men and women (chapters 4, 12, and 13). Baldrics (diagonal chest straps) and wide belts of leather with gold, bronze, and iron plates were also common in male and female burials. If the Greeks observed fighting women clad in protective chest armor that looked just like male armor, the flat-chested effect would help explain descriptions of “breastless” Amazons.

Modern “Amazon” fantasies often picture women wearing curvaceous metallic chest armor molded in the shape of breasts, à la Wonder Woman and Xena, Warrior Princess (fig. 16.4). An ancient version seems to be depicted in figure 5.1. But such erotic “breasted” armor is imprac- tical and dangerous. Experienced female soldiers of any era know that breast-shaped metal chest armor would be life-threatening. Why? Because cone-or dome-shaped projections would direct the force of blows of weapons toward the sternum and heart. Even a fall could be fatal, causing the sharp metal separating the breast hollows to injure or even fracture the breastbone. Therefore, armored fighting women in antiquity would have worn padding under chest plates shaped exactly like the men’s, presenting a flat surface or a ridge down the center to deflect blows away from the heart.

In antiquity, some male and female warriors wore heavier armor on one side of their bodies, leaving the other side less protected or exposed, which could give an impression of single-breastedness. As we saw in the archaeology of Scythians (chapter 4), the skeletons of warrior men and women indicated that most battle injuries were on the left side of the body, dealt by right-handed opponents. Heavy armor for a gladiator’s sword arm and shoulder was used in Roman times, especially for the gladiator known as the “Thracian.” Suits of armor with pauldrons, heavy plates protecting one shoulder and arm, were often used in mounted combat. One-sided armor or shoulder padding unfamiliar to the Greeks could have been mistaken for single-breastedness and could account for Arrian’s report of the asymmetrical chests of the Amazons encountered by Alexander.

The notion of single-breasted Amazons—which seems to signal something about a warrior women’s sexuality, willpower, and masculine strength achieved by sacrificing a feminine attribute—has clung to the standard literary description of Amazons for more than two millen- nia. It seizes the imagination because it is gruesome, just as the tale of African mothers who cauterize their daughters’ breasts grabs attention today. A seductive false “logic” still clings to the ancient image. To people who have never drawn a Scythian-style bow or observed women archers competing in Mongolia, it seems to make sense that womanly breasts might present an encumbrance in archery. But drawing the bowstring back along the cheek or holding the bow out from the body while turning to the side means that breasts are no hindrance and there is no danger of injury to them.

Instead, a real concern is that loose clothing might interfere with the bowstring. Therefore archers wear body-hugging upper garments, like those shown on many Amazons in ancient art. For beginning longbow archers, the most vulnerable area is the inner forearm, which can be struck by the bowstring. Yet the notion of protecting the chest persists in archery. Women—and men too—are often encouraged, even required, to wear chest-guards, even though expert male and female archers find that close-fitting shirts and a forearm guard are the only safety requirements. An analogy exists in modern boxing. Unsubstantiated safety concerns were long used to justify excluding women from boxing. Women won the right to box in the 1970s in the United States but were required to wear an unwieldy plastic chest shield, which caused more cuts and bruises and made the chest a much bigger target. In 2008, medical experts convinced the boxing commission to lift the regulation.”

- Adrienne Mayor, “Breasts: One or Two?” in The Amazons: Lives and Legends of Warrior Women across the Ancient World

[bondsmagii]

omg you read we need to talk about kevin? what did you think? i went through a whole range of emotions, most of them bitter & negative, bc i saw too much of my mum & brother in eva & kevin, something i’m still working through. i started off hating eva bc i projected my resentment towards my mum onto her, but i found myself sympathising with her a bit more towards the end. it’s helped me sympathise a bit with my mum too. this book has probably had the most lasting effect on me than any other!

man, I love that book. I first read it years ago and liked it then, but I recently reread it and I loved it even more. it's such a brilliant book -- profoundly uncomfortable and incredibly bleak, but I think it asks so many important questions that, face it, most people are too scared to even acknowledge. it simultaneously asks the huge taboo of a question -- what if you regret having your child? what if a child is just born bad? -- and also combines it with that other big question: why do kids shoot up their schools? the nature vs nurture debate has been absolutely raging for years regarding children who commit violence at school; as someone with an academic interest in this particular crime, it's one I've banged my head up against multiple times. people seem to always be firmly in one camp: the parents are to blame, or the kid is just evil. nobody seems to consider the interaction between these two things, and how it's always ultimately a choice.

the book is a pretty intense read for me, as I'm sure you can relate. the difference is that while you can see your mother and brother in Eva and Kevin, I actually see myself and my mother in Eva and Kevin. I was an unwanted and a resented child. my parents did not want to have me. I was what my parents referred to as "a surprise", said in the same tone as you would describe a sudden house fire as a surprise, or bad news at work as a surprise. the major difference between my parents and Eva and Franklin was that they had me very young (they would have been 19 and barely 20 when they found out, and 20 and barely 21 when I was born) and this most certainly added to the resentment. my father was always away for work, often getting to go to some pretty interesting destinations; my mother wanted to be the kind of woman who wanted to be a stay-at-home mother, but she hated it. like Eva and Kevin, my mother and I were very, very alike in personality and what we did and did not want out of life, and we were engaged in some level of warfare for my entire childhood. while I wasn't quite on the level of Kevin in terms of blinding my siblings and whatnot, I was quite the terror as a child. by the time I reached my teenage years I was uncontrollable and my parents had given up trying. I could not be punished. I did not care. any punishment they did hand out, I was maliciously compliant to the point of infuriation. I'm sure my parents could argue that I was born evil, and indeed that's what they told the extended family. I admit I was not an easy child. however -- I was a child.

I did not ask to be born, and when my parents made the choice to have me and then resent my existence, that was on them. a child knows. a child can tell when he's not wanted, when he's an inconvenience. I knew it very well, from an early age. my parents' resentment of me resulted in them abusing me right up until I left home. I was like an unwanted pet, except they couldn't dump me off at a shelter. no, they never laid a finger on me physically, so they can claim they didn't abuse me -- but emotionally and psychologically they were abusive, and especially in my teenage years, they neglected me severely. (think along the lines of being left at home alone for extended periods with no food, no money, and no way to get supplies as we lived in rural Ireland and the closest supermarket was 30 minutes away. this was not something they did out of malice, but rather something they did because they did not consider me at all. they forgot my existence, most of the time, or they deemed me so inconsequential that making provisions for me was a task that could be forever put off.) understandably this made me hate them in return, and I took great pleasure in being a little shit. it was all I had. nature vs nurture, which is it? my parents weren't exactly nurturing, and they taught me very bad behaviour -- but at the same time from the moment I was born I had my mother's personality, predisposing me to being a little shit. even now, grown up and after many years of working on myself, I still find myself fighting the urge to be as cruel and as judgemental as she could be; likewise I see those positive qualities she had, that she could have shown more of if she had put the work in like I had. we went from being furious carbon copies of one another to an example of the best and the worst case scenario.

basically what it comes down to is choice. Kevin and I had a similar situation going on, but Kevin chose to try and find what he was looking for in mass murder, and I chose to try and find it by getting out of my house and never returning. I mentioned earlier that I have an academic interest in the kind of crime that Kevin committed; since the age of 17 I have been researching these things, and now have expertise in several specific incidents. I bring this up to illustrate that this crime was on my radar when I was around Kevin's age, when I was suffering from the same problems as he was. thousands of kids find themselves in this position, yet so relatively few commit the act. why? it's choice. nature, nurture -- it doesn't matter. there comes a point where you have to make the choice, and honestly? it's chaos theory, baby.

as well as researching this kind of thing I'm also an amateur meteorologist. I love weather. I love trying to work out what makes it tick. and weather is a good example of what I'm trying to say here. weather cannot be predicted. we can get decent ideas, but at the same time we never really know for sure and also weather acts differently every time. there are too many variables. it's the entirety of the earth's atmosphere we're talking about here. identical weather conditions can arise time and time again, and each time the weather is different. a sunny afternoon one day is a washout the next. this is because -- and I broadly sum it up here -- there are so many tiny variables that we cannot possibly predict how they will change the weather. and I mean it's tiny variables. I'm sure you've heard of the butterfly effect -- this comes from the idea that a butterfly somewhere on the coast of Africa can flap its wings, and this tiny reverberation can spread through the atmosphere, creating a bigger and bigger ripple, until a hurricane smashes into the Gulf of Mexico. tiny atmospheric changes all interacting in ways we cannot imagine. this is why some kids shoot up schools. it's easy to look at psychology broadly, but no two people are ever the same. siblings growing up in the exact same house are not the same. identical twins, genetically identical to their very DNA, are not the same. tiny, tiny events, microdoses of chemicals in the brain, exposures -- they all change us in subtle ways. two people -- Kevin and I -- can grow up with almost identical familial issues and outlooks, but Kevin shoots up his school and I study my ass off and get myself to university to escape my parents. why? I don't know. I don't know what tiny little things might influence me one way and another kid in the other. personality, brain chemistry, waking up that morning and having enough or not -- I don't know. it's chaos theory. the variables are too small to say. nature vs nurture are only two variables out of millions. it's an oversimplification.

so to go back to the book -- who do I blame? neither of them. it was a perfect storm. we could say Eva didn't help, but I know of plenty of kids with decent parents who still committed such a crime. we could say that Kevin was just born bad, but there are plenty of people with his resentful outlook on life who don't commit mass murder, or any harm against anyone whatsoever. it's like how every tornado comes from a supercell, but not every supercell will spawn a tornado -- that final genesis point is unknown to us. we just can't predict it. there are no easy answers. there is no simple formula. we just don't know, and that's what makes Kevin's story -- and its real-life counterparts -- so terrifying.

[misterbitches]

hi @yeedak thank you so m uch for replying with what you did. YAY ADHD!!!!! ur partner sounds like she rocks >:)  as do u

i found it really illuminating and i agree with all of it. and god as much as i understand reticence when black people are interracially dating (it is so hard) i also hate it when people dictate it and also to a degree that it makes it extremely uncomfortable for the person themselves. to me it really is about a sense of control particularly if you are a woman. constantly trying to pick someone’s life partner for them instead of letting them find out if it’s a) something they want or even want to do b) something they can handle and c) their experience. it can purely cultural as well. my mom is a black american but my father is nigerian and that was basically a sin. however my father’s siblings? the women who had to marry extremely quickly and had to be with nigerian men or at the very least african? divorced. because they had to clamor for love for approval, pop out babies, and look what that got them. i totally understand you and  your mother. and you’re right about all of it.

the idea of a man whore is so funny to me too because it’s not about sexual liberation it’s literally about them wanting to use people as disposable which is why sexual liberation for women as well can be confusing. but all of this isn’t so we can develop our own imaginations and find out our own inhibitions. like you said in all of it and i found this part very very interesting and true, “youth is for sex and no mention of asexuality.” when you get older you are not sexual, when you are a child you are unsure about it, but there’s a time in our lives where we shouldn’t waste it, where it’s only acceptable in that window, where it’s dictated. tangentially i think it’s very funny that the people we sleep with also become a point of pride. let’s say if he is a man (as a bisexual~**~ gorl) but he’s ugly, i should be ashamed, too?

so much boxing in and pushing and dictating. they really are here to spread a message. and i know things ar ehard. i can believe people ask you that but it’s still so.....weird? i remember saying something about my sexuality once and it’s not like i knew the people but then they started asking me questions and i honestly felt embarrassed and like an outsider. i dunno.

and your analogy of a mirror was perfect woaaaaaaah that’s what im gonna say now thank you so much credit to you. gENIUS!!! as real life changes, what we see changes. but media doesnt come first.

also totally agree about watching what people consume and not falling into those patterns. and when “bad” things are shown i do not understand why shows are so scared to show them as they are or not romanticize. a real issue to introduce when it comes to age gaps would be why it is frequent in the lgbtq+ community. that is a real thing because when you have to hide yourself of course you can be stuck in a state of arrested development and trying to re-establish times you may never have. that’s a geniuine fear and concern, it’s understandable even if i don’t particularly care for it, but it’s like for these writeres there’s no reason to look deeply or put that into their story. so why are they doing it? and what is the message here? uGH. and what ur mother said makes so much sense we are just constantly absorbing all these messages and culture absolutely aids to it and you’re right about the generations. and sometimes things stop and start but i genuinely think (and know) that for us to continue forward and not have the constant backwards taht means we have to push to get there and demand and that also means we have to make an effort to end the harm we then see on screen. rape culture dictates these shows. it relies on it. it is disgusting but rape culture is the norm, the norm is the oppression so we have to attack it otherwise it sticks and htat’s exactly why we see what we see.

and the unacceptability of gender fluidity is what keeps the genre SO INFLEXIBLE sincerely. it honestly just pulls so heavily from patriarchy and the roles in which we have to follow to uphold that structure. 

it’s really just not enough to show us things any more wihtout taking it into consideration. and like ive mentioned there’s soooooooooo much media that has a lot to say that embeds itself. there’s this thing my friend linked me to on re-examining queerness in korean cinema (much like my dad’s country; patriarchal, more “conservative, anti lgbtq+, reliant on capital. africa is different because of the blackness component but the structures aided by colonialism absolutely remain and continue and that’s how we see such similarities. thse countries are more “overt” in this output but still you know. america. sucks) because we are trying to re-evaluate what it means to be heard and seen. the different ways and sort of the message that a lot of us as lgbtq+ can feel. you know, how we can get a feeling on if a person has our same experience, how we kind of have to learn to identify that. not sure if this makes sense...

your mom sounds really cool. and i’m fucking sorry. so many men do that. i live with both my parents but even then i see this power imbalance i can’t stand and you know i would have believed it was normal if i wasnt able to learn aand had to build up thinking skills. there was one day that it hit me that there are parts of my parents relationship i abhor, that are imbalanced, that make me find my father disgusting and make me ashamed of my mother. i don’t want that to happen to me or my potential children. if i have a male partner for life, which i am sure i will because offffffff heteronormativity and homophobia and being half black american half nigerian, he cannot recreate that. i am optimistic on what people can do without needing such grand structures or the support of the elite etc you know? that’s how we know there’s good work that exists and people we can find that arent with the status quou!!! 

and who want a better world. we have to know we can rally that together. i think part of that is constant demanding of things to do better. there’s a rage against the machine song called settle for nothing and it’s about 0 compromise. there’s a famous quote i dont remember by who that’s basically like there’s an idea that there’s a limit to asking for dignity and what you deserve because when people realize they can live better lives they want to cultivate that more and more but that means a loss of control and a sharing of power from the top. nothing is ever enough if it can be better and we are allowed to demand it (or take it.) we deserve the world, we are being told that we’re asking fo rtoo much. are we? really? 

i was thinking about the children thing as well bc...lmao i was so tightly contorlled as a child and it really messed me up but at the same time, like you, i honestly do not want my children watching drivel. like even with youtube. a friend of mine said that what she thinks she will do is try and hammer home how fantastical these things are, they do not reflect reality, and to get them to understand the spectacle. at the same time i’m like does a child really need to watch these dumb tiktok stars or jake paul? but then im like i really dont want to control them. but like what if ur kid asks u to go to some like fucking BL concert or some shit like what do you say to that?!??! I DONT WANNA SAY NO BUT AT THE SAME TIME UHHHHlmao but at the same time we have to give them tools to analyze and do the right things and follow their hearts

however,

as you know

LOL

tysm for responding, lovely talking to you and hearing your thoughts!!!

oh btw so u r from kashmar? that is very cool......VERY COOL

[alwayskaysanova]

To me legacies is a dumpster fire they never should have existed im not surprised they still disrespect and act as if bonnie doesn't exist unless its to save one of the other characters or her blood is used for some bs spell that hope ass can't do even though she's supposed to be this powerful character smh bonnie deserves better then that garbage show its a relieve that they didn't use her in their crappie spin off they used bonnie enough now everyone sees why kat doesn't want to come back as bonnie because they would power her down to be weaker then hope and the wannabe kai twins

exactly all of this! listen from the beginning bonnie was used for every single plot they wrote themselves into a hole for

her sole purpose was to either be screwed over by another character for the drama or save all the characters when everything else had failed

literally the one (1) plot that she was given that was explicitly about her e.g. discovering she was a witch, was stolen and used for the entirety of the remainder of the show

her grandmother dies? elena/bonnie drama. she has a witch cousin who could help her discover her powers? whoops no that witch works for katherine and is brought in purely for a plot twist then disappears. bonnie’s mother is back? nope that’s just to give her a weird relationship with her stepbrother bc the writers don’t want her with anyone else except nope again they’re actually gonna kill abby and completely forget about jamie to the point they don’t even bother to write him off with an explanation as another plot twist and also for bonnie/elena drama

actually introduce her dad as a character, kill him off almost immediately for the plot

bonnie’s the anchor so she can save everyone. bonnie is jeremy’s love interest until anna comes along then whoops lets have him cheat but kill anna off anyway and have jeremy face practically zero consequences

bonnie sacrifices, bonnie dies, bonnie cries, bonnie bleeds, bonnie gets locked away, bonnie saves, bonnie gets forgotten, bonnie disappears, bonnie EXISTS but she doesn’t get to LIVE

SHE DIES TWICE AND BOTH TIMES ARE FROM OVERUSE OF MAGIC ffs

all her love interests are killed off over the course of the show and her ultimate happiness is TO GO BACK TO AFRICA WITH ENZO’S GHOST??? LIKE??? i mean come the fuck on...

like honestly look at this shit

ben? fakes interest to manipulate her, attempts to kill her, dies

jeremy? cheats, dies, ghost, alive, leaves

jamie? stepbrother, prom, leaves ??? who the fuck knows

luka? witch, dies

enzo? liked caroline first, dies, ghost, apparent forever love BUT HE’S STILL DEAD

and like her treatment isn’t even a show specific problem, the fandom is fucking disgraceful when it comes to bonnie and kat

i remember when the casting was announced and the absolute hate and viciousness that was directed towards kat bc she wasn’t white and ginger, she got hate from the minute she was associated with the show and it never stopped, you can probably still google the casting announcements and read through what she had to deal with and then to have that validated by how she was treated on the show is fucking awful

and i know that the only cast member that didn’t receive hate when they were announced was ian but there’s a whole other level of hate directed at kat than there is nina for not having blonde hair and we all know what that level of hate is about

i guarantee that if they had cast an actress that matched the description of book!bonnie then show!bonnie would’ve had completely different storylines and been treated in equal measure to elena and caroline instead of a magical get out of death free card

like we’re introduced to witches and as far as the show tells us from minute one it’s a line of very powerful poc until it comes to them revealing the most powerful witch and she happens to be esther who is white, ya’ll couldn’t sign post the racism clearer from those writers

it’s so frustrating bc the show has been gone for almost 4 years now and they’re STILL finding ways to disrespect bonnie

i just want it all to end so i no longer have to see them fuck up one of my favourite characters

[juniaships]

For the Gwen Tennyson spinoff 🐱✨💙💜

It's basically Winx Club but 65% less whitewashing and sexism, and 65% more plot. Given the 7 is considered the luckiest number that is the amount of seasons I'm going for. Each season has ten episodes, and has arcs focusing on one or more character. The cast is an ensemble, giving side characters a chance to be more fleshed out. This post will detail the main cast consisting of Gwen & her OC friends!

S1 is more or less an introduction to our characters. Since we already know so much about Gwen her chapter won't be as long.

Gwen

Our main character desperately seeking a normal life. What she actually needs though is to recognize her worth as a person after spending like, two years following behind Ben and Kevin

Because trouble seems to follow anyone named Tennyson she decides to bring back the old Lucky Girl with an entirely new look! But even the most powerful being in the universe so Diagon claims is going to need extra hands...

Then there's the matter of her heritage.

Niya

Niya is a prodigy and had special talent in crystal magic ever since she was in diapers. This led to a lot of praise from her magical sode of the family. Yes Niya from a long line of mages from a fictionalized group based in the Middle East & North Africa.* Her dad's side is the mage side while her mom side are muggles and religious. They don't get along.

Seeking a major in geology, Niya hopes to use her magic to go into synthetic gem making, not wanting to rely on illegal slave mining. She uses cheap gemstones to save on money. The higher the Mohs scale, the better for battles. Niya can use gems to create powerful shields, barriers, basically the defense of the team.

Niya has no interest in the whole feud between Gwen & Charmcaster, seeing rivalries as a distraction. Is it hypocritical? Kinda. But Niya is able to not let her envy cloud her judgement most of the time. She kinda underestimated Charmcaster in their first couple of fights, a sign of Niya having to move on from her pride.

After feeling disgruntled over the lack of magical courses at Friedkin, Niya decides to form a magician club. However no one joins. No one except Gwen. Tennyson. Grrr!

Niya rarely is seem without her hijabi. Her signature color is red&pink, dress style is Prepz, and is a total fangirl of Bezel...not in THAT wat of course bur certainly starstruck by him!

Marion

The third member of the team, Marion moved with their divorced mother to live on campus. Mrs. Nettles was hired to be the new drama reacher after Puchinello's arrest. She used to be an actress but forced to retire after a major scandal years ago, which also was a main factor in her divorce from Marion's father. She sees the job as another chance at the hobby she used to have. Marion wants to flow in their mom's footsteps but has stage fright.

Marion has long hair that they take great care of, never even getting it cut except for split ends, and tends to carry around a ventriloquist dummy. Marion is also into inventing and traditional arts like woodcutting.

Being the quiet type, Marion expresses themself through mime and puppetry. That's also how they got into Niya's magic club despite not knowing a darn thing about magic. They LOVE cartoons esp. stopmotion (a medium that freaks Niya out). Their "signature color" is yellow.

Puchinello becomes Marion's personal enemy bc he's still asshurt over having been fired and now resorted to trying to sabotage Mrs. Nettles. Marion is the least experienced mage/fighter leading to lines like this:

"I'm a mime not a martial artist!!"

Lore

The romantic arcs takes a backseat 1) so that Gwen has story arcs that DON'T involve men & 2) lessens the risk of female characters being reduced to love interests. Really the only romantic arc that happens is Gwevin (kinda obvious) and a relationship between Marion's mom and the school janitor (unknown to her is actually Bezel).

Speaking of Bezel...

Bezel Bezel BEZEL!!!!

Every couple of years he gives his Charms to the mage that earns their worth. He gives his other charms to Mrs. Nettles XD

Bezel is the cool mentor type, and part of his story is going back into them game after a long ass retirement. Also, his past and his guilt over not being as active as he once was. Partially how he blames himself for not protecting Ledgerdomain from Adwaita. That's why he didn't object to Charmcaster attending; he sees her as a path of redemption for te both of them. Doesn't wholly excuse her actions

Did I mention he loves pranks. Poor Gwen XD

Bezel was good friends with the school's long dead founder Sally Friedkin (OC named after Sally the Witch, one of the first modern magical girls). Friedkin used to teach magic but over the years stopped because of certain events that would be explored in future storylines. While many students and staff are aware of mystical hijinks going on, it's better for them to not get directly involved.

If I get around to Part 2, I will explain the different types of magic that exists and color meaning. A possible part 3 will delve into our rogue's gallery!

* I'm researching MENA cultures and mythology so any suggestions or trivia plz lemme kno!

[yikesharringrove]

Hello! i don’t think i’ve given you any of my weird headcanons in a hot minute so here’s a new favorite! Steve with ADHD, at first nobody notices it, he gets along well enough as a young kid people just think he has an active imagination, when in real it y he just can’t pay attention. He’s in 5th grade when his teacher pulls him out of class and tells him he needs to start paying attention, Steve almost starts crying as he tries to explain to her that he just can’t, that it doesn’t work (pt.1)

(pt.2) so the teacher tells him to stay back after class that day, he totally forgets and almost ends up leaving just further probing her suspicions. She asks him to extol in what he means, he doesn’t know what to say, says that too many things are happening for him to pay attention in class, and that sometimes if he hears another teacher he’ll end up listening to that, or if he can look out a window he’ll get distracted, and she already knows what’s going on, calls his parents for a meeting

(pt.3) So his mom comes in, his dad “could make it” but that works out for steve because his mom actually gets him tested, and his test comes back positive so he has to take meds now and sure his grades aren’t the best but they are so much better and he can actually sit in class and focus, but randomly in his sophomore year tommy finds the pills and makes fun of him and he gets so embarrassed that he just stops taking them, and his grades drop bad and he can’t focus and he feels like shit 

(pt.4) he goes around like that for a while feeling lost and distracted but refusing to take his meds and be lame, he only starts taking them again after nancy breaks up with him because he needs to focus on something that isn’t the break up, but they aren’t working well which is to be expected he hasn’t taken them in more then a year, so he ends up totally freaking out and that’s how billy finds him, sitting on the bathroom floor with the WORST headache he’s ever had and he takes pity on him

(pt.5) billy and steve were kind of friends after the fight they had talked and worked things out, not super close but enough to not be so weird around each other anymore, so billy takes him home and makes sure he gets new meds and makes sure he keeps taking them and on days when he can tell steve is space and distracted and clearly forgot he’ll drive to his house and make him take them, and steve will bitch and moan but he actually loves that someone cares enough to make sure he’s ok

(optional pt.6) billy realizing he really likes steve when steve is talking about a special interest and getting super happy and he just can’t help but feel in love with him (is this totally based off my expletive with adhd? yes it is! is this the exact way my hug said she realized she love me? yes it is 🥰)

Hi! I have another one of your AMAZING headcanons in my drafts still, I’m working on it I’m sorry I’m the slowest writer ever.

So, I think I’ve said this, but ADHD makes A LOT of sense for Steve. I don’t have ADHD, so I’m sorry if this is in accurate, I did some research, didn’t want this to be like, bad.

Also, I put him on Ritalin for timing purposes and bc it can cause panic attacks. 🤷‍♀️ and his favorite animals are giraffes, goats and lobsters, 3 of my favorite animals.

Read on ao3

When Steve was little, he could never focus on something for longer than ten minutes.

He would be running through the house, leaving toys on the ground when he remembered a game he could play in another room. His nannies would roll their eyes, picking up after him.

When he got to school, it was more of the same. He would get distracted by every bird that he could see outside. He would be in the middle of class, the teacher would say something about giraffes and his mind would race about animals, would think about every country in Africa he could name, would think about whether or not Lithuania was in Africa.

His grades would slip, tests were a nightmare when he got caught up watching a bee buzzing near the window, only to realize he had answered three questions and only had eleven minutes left.

He was always a poor student, until fifth grade.

Mrs. Wilson had called him up after class, had noticed him zoning out and was about to chide him when she noticed the tears in his eyes.

“I just, I don’t know what happens, sometimes, my thoughts go too fast for my own brain and I can’t focus.” He was sniffling across from her.

“Steve, I’m going to have a chat with your parents. You’re not in trouble, but I think we can help you.” She smiled as she pat his shoulder, letting himself get collected before going to his next class.

She called his parents in at the end of the day, his mother sitting in the seat next to Steve, the principal joining them.

“I’ve noticed some trends in Steve’s school work and his presence in class. We think it may be in his best interest to test him for attention deficit hyperactivity disorder. We feel that pinpointing the problem for him may be more helpful moving forward.

Mrs. Harrington agreed, waved her hand in a way that said she was bored of the conversation. Steve spent the whole next Saturday going through various tests, was wrung dry by the end of the day, but left with a clear diagnosis.

He began taking a low does of Ritalin, began focusing in class. His grades skyrocketed, getting the very first B+ he had ever gotten on his English essay.

He was okay until sophomore year.

He was an okay student, could focus in class, but not necessarily retain or understand the information.

But then Tommy found the pills, had laughed at him and called him retarded, the word that had haunted him his whole life, spat at him by the father that didn’t care about him.

So he flushed the pills, never refilled his prescription.

His grades slipped immediately. He wasn’t able to focus in class, had gone back to the days of staring out the window and getting confused about why it was called a square root.

He was constantly moving, would bounce his leg, would tap his pencil, would sometimes take the hall pass and just walk.

He knows taking his meds would fix the problem, but he had Nancy know, didn’t want her to know this weakness of his, this shameful secret.

But then he didn’t have Nancy, and his thoughts were racing, jumping from Nancy to demodog to Barb to Billy to his dad to Nancy to demodog to Barb to Billy to his dad to Nancy to-

He broke down February of senior year.

Graduation was soon as Steve’s grades were ass. He needed to focus on something that wasn’t Nancy, demodog, Barb, Billy, his dad. So he filled his old prescription, took the same does he had two years ago and went to school.

When he was first put on the meds, he was told panic attacks and anxiety could be a side effect. He had never experienced that before, but now, now he lived in constant anxiety, and with his Ritalin, he was a mess.

He had locked himself in the bathroom above the gym, the one nobody uses. He was on the floor, trying to ground himself against the wall, trying to think of anything other than Nancy, demodog, Barb, Billy, his dad, Nancy, demodog, Barb, Billy, his dad, Nancy, demodog, demodog, demodog, demodog-

“Pretty Boy?”

Billy was in front of him, eyebrows furrowed as he looked at Steve.

“B-Billy?”

“You okay? You’re kinda, kinda losin’ it.”

“I, I went off my meds for a, a few years, and I put myself back on them, and it’s, I, I know it’s lame, but they usually help and now-” he sobbed as Billy pulled him into his chest, soothing him softly.

“What meds?”

“Ritalin. It’s for, for ADHD.” Billy huffed a laugh.

“I fuckin’ knew it. The way you talk a mile a damn minute.” Steve’s heart sank. “And it’s not lame. Some peoples’ brains are just, wired different.”

Steve was starting to calm down, the anxiety shoving over into a raging headache. He groaned into Billy’s shoulder.

“What’s up?”

“Head hurts.”

“Want me to take you home.” Steve just nodded, his eyes squeezed shut. Billy drove him home, sat with him while Steve called his doctor, made an appointment for next weekend.

Steve had gotten a new medication, adjusted to his current state. The new meds were like magic, allowing Steve to focus when he needed, wouldn’t let him fall into hyperfocus on something that wasn’t productive. He finished senior year on a good note, with okay-enough grades to score his diploma.

He spent the summer at Scoops, working alongside Robin.

Billy came in every day. Would sit with him on Steve’s break. On the days Steve seemed more spaced, he would marrow his eyes, would say you didn’t take your meds today, would drive to Steve’s house to get them for him, would make sure he took them, would take drinks out of Steve’s hands at parties, would make sure he wouldn’t do anything to interfere with them, would dread the days he would find Steve nauseous from the meds.

Bonus:

Steve realized he was in love with Billy when he found out Billy starting keeping a small store of Steve’s meds in his car, would update them periodically to make sure they were safe, effective.

Billy realized he was in love with Steve when he was talking about every animal he could name. He showed Billy the small library of books he had bought for himself about animals, could explain the difference between kingdom, class, phylum, and genus. Was throwing out Latin names for his favorite animals, giraffa camelopardalis, capra aegagrus hircus, nephropidae. Billy couldn’t help himself, had just leaned over and kissed him, left Steve giggling as they made out.

[spookyrobbins]

late night of rewatching scenes and thinking about arizona but:

I can't shake the feeling that all the time the show is trying to prove how Arizona is wrongTM about not wanting to do certain stuff when, in reality, she has a totally valid point, they just picture her as uninterested or selfish about it.

Like the moment when she says she doesn't want to date newborns and it turns into Callie feeling bad, but also, it's true that it can be stressing, coming out is a whole thing and if she wasn't up for it she can just not want to do it. From then it gets worst, to the "Mark stares at my boobs" episode to the whole speech Callie gives her and Arizona having to tell her "I'm not broken". Or her wanting to see Sofia after she cheated, they act as if she wasn't her mother ever. Or during the therapy when she says "it wasn't how I wanted it" and it turns into "she didn't want Sofia AT ALL" when Callie also never planned to get pregnant, she most likely didn't want it to happen that way either. Even with the custody trial it feels like they're trying to push the narrative of Arizona being selfish, when she doesn't want to give up a day with Sofia or reschedule after she had to schedule everything again.

-🐝anon

100% - arizona is pretty much always the bad guy/wrong/always in a negative light. i think part of this is bc we see everything from callie's pov always with almost zero exceptions

let's just run through some of the things though and why it's bullshit

newborn thing: you're totally right, coming out can be a big deal and a heavy burden on a partner; we also don't know pretty much anything about arizona's dating history - there was a girl named joanne, the various girls at the hospital, and a girl named carly that arizona was so devastated by the break-up that nick had to fly from japan to comfort her - that's it; sure, arizona made a snap judgement, but I think it's unfair to really go after her for it (and to her credit, she was incredibly supportive of callie through all of the drama with her family)

the baby argument: arizona was just blatantly portrayed as the bad guy here - which is sort of shocking considering how pro-child free the show has been at points; I think she laid out valid reasons why she didn't want children and she also works a job that frequently puts her in a position to watch families go through the worst time of their lives; and then when callie comes in and is just like, oh, it's because of your brother, it's portrayed as callie 'winning' as if using a major trauma against arizona is a good call; callie (and mark to an extent) go out of their way to push the conversation at inopportune times; it's valid for arizona not want to want kids ever or at that moment in time, and callie vilifies her for it; i'd say that arizona made the right call in breaking up - at that moment in time, they weren't compatible

mark and the boobs argument: I've talked about this a few times before, but I have to say, I side heavily with arizona in a lot of the mark-callie-arizona debates, just as a precursor; arizona was uncomfortable with mark pretty much from the start and there was never a point where callie was like yeah, sure, I understand (which is ironic considering the issue of george's friendship with izzie and Meredith); callie acts like arizona is being ridiculous that she's not delighted by mark, when mark is being incredibly intrusive on their relationship (I mean, i'd be totally frustrated if my gf's bff kept planning dinners and walking in on us); but arizona is the bad guy bc she doesn't love mark

africa (you didn't mention it but I think it's important): arizona won an amazing grant and had the opportunity of a lifetime, but it was seen as like inherently negative bc callie didn't want to go; callie wasn't thrilled about Africa, but she was willing to try for arizona until webber and sloan got in her ear and exacerbated her doubts; similar to the baby breakup, arizona probably made the right call (just had crap timing - should've done it earlier); we only saw callie and how she dealt with it - which from an audience standpoint makes callie more sympathetic; they could've done a million different things to write arizona out for a few episodes and they chose to do something that tries to make her the asshole

after the cheating: obviously, arizona sucks, she cheated and that is inexcusable (which again, weird writing choice from a character standpoint); but sofia was still her kid and callie was cruel; callie was hurting horribly so it's understandable; but it's sort of heartbreaking how everyone acted like arizona had no right to see sofia

therapy and sofia: it's sooo frustrating just across the board; bc of course they both love sofia, but that isn't how they were supposed to have kids; arizona came back from Africa to have a family, a future with callie and callie was pregnant and what was arizona supposed to do?; did callie really want a baby with mark? (jury's out on that one tbh); all arizona was trying to say was that she changed a lot in her plans, in her life for callie because she loves her - she wasn't an asshole for what she said, but callie couldn't listen

custody battle: i'd say this is the first point that callie's actually portrayed in a negative light; but even then, arizona is still sort of the bad guy - she's the one who wouldn't let callie go to nyc, she's the one who called a lawyer; and then after the custody battle, arizona is the ridiculous one who won't let callie see sofia; but callie was the one who started everything, callie was the one who behaved horribly at the custody battle, so it's bizarre that arizona is still portrayed negatively

okay i realize this is very long winded, but i have a lot of thoughts on this. arizona was pretty much always, and at times, the bad guy in their relationship. which minimizes her own positive qualities and reduces callie's agency as well

[thatskepticalbitchcara]

I did say I would answer those questions last night or this morning but I over indulged just a tad and I had to sleep it off and rest today so my answers are as follow

I'm 5'6

Taking a private class such as (cooking, baking, painting, wine tasting) something fun with just the 2 of us so we could talk.

Africa, I just love everything about it.

Ironically I went to Florida at the start of September. Did not go to Disney a little too crowded for my taste.

No I don't have a roommate

Yes, I can be a doctor anywhere

Only child

I watched Beauty and the Beast this morning ( animated version)

No and No

2+ years

A little over a year

Usually spend the day with the parentals if their schedule permits

Nope, I get a bit jealous so I wouldn't want to share

Well I'm ready for bed since I have an early day Tank top and panties.

I slept till about 10am. My mother came over alone because dad was out golfing and we met up with him for an early dinner. We all have an early day tomorrow

Canadian (Quebec)

Jeep renegade (but I barely drive in the city, only when I go to Long Island to visit the grands)

I don't have commitment issues. Once I give my heart to someone they have for as long as they want it.

Nope, I watch season 1-3 and the show got stupid so I quit and never looked back.

PS: I am vaccinated and get tested biweekly, just waiting on a booster once they reach my age group.

PPS: just realized I haven't even say hello to you today, so hi my love! How are you??

hi there 💕 i’m okay! just wishing the weekend would last a little longer. i hope you had a good weekend!

wanna know what’s super crazy? so the other week i decided to journal about what i’d want my perfect partner to be like. and i wrote someone who is finishing med school or law school and is french/french canadian so we could raise our kids speaking french 😂 i was mostly just joking bc ofc i think your person shows up when they’re ready and in the form most meant for you, but 👀👀👀

i’ve never been to africa! which countries did you go to? i really want to go to morocco. i love love love how colorful and gorgeous it is.

and look at us… both being only children 😇 has that always made you have a need to create a bigger family/community of your own? or has it made you more comfortable being alone all the time? we come from quite different backgrounds/families so maybe we won’t align on that but i’m always curious about other only children.