#material docente

[beggamoth]

The First Supper

Contains gooning material

summary | your boyfriend introduces you to his dysfunctional family on the holiday dinner. and later fucks you in his childhood bed.

pairing | aegon II targaryen x fem!reader

tags | modern au!westeros. TEAM GREEN CENTERED!!! TW! mentions of substance use and alcohol. p in v sex, tiddy sukkin, breeding kink (like 2 sentences), body worship, not proofread. very chopped english. contains one (1) succession reference.

wordcount | 5k

any kind of feedback is highly appreciated!

Aegon Targaryen had learned many forms of dread: waking up on some stranger’s yacht with a black eye and no pants, the trembling hours after an Instagram DM slide turned into a PR disaster, the slow realization he’d lost his phone in Flea Bottom again.

But nothing compared to this: bringing you home.

His girlfriend, the apple of his eye, the loveliest but probably the dumbest person he’s ever met – because about a year ago you stayed for breakfast against all better judgement, now sat beside him on the backseat of his overpriced, over-compensatory car. He wore sunglasses despite the sun long having set, chewing a toothpick like it would protect him from the chaos of his lineage. Aegon loved his family, truly, irrevocably, in this desperate way that he would not admit when he’s sober and not actively dying. However, it never saved him from secondhand embarrassment in front of other people. In front of you. Fear that you’ll see the root of his fuckedup-ness and run away before mom showed you his baby photos or Aemond quoted mistakes from his college application letters while balancing dagger on his finger or something equally menacing.

“You can still run,” he whispered, voice low, eyes sparkling with that Aegon Targaryen deflectionary charm, one foot twitching like he might join her. “They’ll just assume you were imaginary. Like the others.”

You smiled. Didn’t say anything. Just touched his hand, grounding. Which was horrifying. No one grounded Aegon. He was a helium balloon with a coke problem.

The house looked like a mausoleum that had discovered central air. Columns. Gargoyles. A fire pit for some reason. The dinner table was long and cold and ancient, with enough chairs for dead ancestors.

Alicent Hightower—matriarch, corporate priestess, human dagger—greeted you at the door. She kissed Aegon’s cheeks and murmured, disapprovingly:

“You’re late,”

“Hello to you, mother. I am alive and that’s what matters most,” he returned, deadpan.

Helaena sat already in her chair, bent over a plate of untouched salad, murmuring something to a beetle in a decorated mason jar filled with leaves and earth she’d brought inside her oversized knit bag. Aemond stood by the wine bar, pouring himself a generous glass of red like it was blood and he needed it to survive. His eyepatch was a matte black strip, thick like the band of a designer watch.

Aegon cleared his throat. “Everybody, this is…” He trailed off, not saying her name, because he liked the sacredness of keeping her outside them for just a minute longer. “My—uh, actual girlfriend. As in, not part of a monthly rotation.”

Aemond’s lip curled in an approximation of a smile. “Brave girl.”

Helaena looked up, dreamy-eyed. “You’re not a cricket, but you’re nice. I think that’s better.”

You blinked. “Thank you?”

“Please sit,” Alicent said, motioning like a museum docent pointing toward an uncomfortable mid-century chair. “I made roast duck.”

“She means she hired someone to make roast duck,” Aegon whispered across the table, leaning in with a conspiratorial grin. “Last time she cooked, the smoke alarm wept.”

“You lit the oven with a match, Aegon,” Alicent replied, cutting her duck with surgical precision. “It was an electric oven.”

“And yet the house remains,” he said, lifting his glass in toast. “To sacred days and improbable survival.”

The conversation was a seesaw from the start. Alicent asked poised questions — “What are your views on career longevity?” and “Do you find monogamy restrictive or grounding?” — while maintaining direct eye contact like she was mining for weaknesses. You answered sweetly, self-assured, and that only made Alicent’s fork movements more deliberate.

“So,” Aemond said, swirling his wine, with a tone of a resting anime villain. “What exactly is your angle here?”

“Excuse me?” you asked.

“Dating my brother. There must be a reason. He’s… entertaining, sure. But like a street performer. You don’t usually take them home.”

“Aemond,” Alicent said in her best controlled warning voice.

“No, no, let him speak,” Aegon said, grinning like a wolf who’d spotted a fresh kill. “Go on, brother, tell us how you really feel.”

Aemond turned to their guest again. “Just trying to understand the strategic advantage.”

“She’s not a treaty, you sociopath,” Aegon snapped. “She’s a human.”

“She’s someone you brought into this,” Aemond replied, voice cool. “She’s now part of the chessboard.”

Helaena clapped softly. “I like chess. But the pieces scream if you listen too close.”

There was a pause.

“Right,” Aegon muttered, dragging a hand through his hair. “Family dinner’s going great, by the way. No notes.”

The duck was overcooked, but nobody mentioned it.

Midway through, the Dornish wine loosened things. Alicent began reminiscing about the children's baptisms. “Aegon fell into the fountain during his own. Completely naked, waving his arms like Neptune risen.”

“Big dick energy,” Aegon muttered.

“Aegon!” Alicent hissed.

“You walked in on me doing coke off a Dorne-themed map once, mother. I think we’re past the point of clutching pearls.”

Aemond chuckled darkly. “That was a good party, though.”

“That was your graduation dinner,” Alicent snapped.

“Ah, right,” Aemond said, smiling thinly.

You had stopped eating, watching them all like you’d just stumbled into a live taping of a psychological experiment. Aegon leaned toward you, hand sliding to rest on your thigh beneath the table, fingers warm and tense.

“See?” he murmured. “You thought I was exaggerating.”

You smiled faintly, leaned back, and squeezed his hand under the cloth. “You didn’t say enough.”

The fire crackled like an old secret refusing to die, its orange light spilling across the rug in soft, uneven pulses. The rest of the house had finally fallen quiet—Aemond had vanished upstairs, Helaena had wandered off with her insects and half a plate of cookies, and Aegon had gone outside for a cigarette that had already turned into twenty minutes of pacing on the patio. That left you alone in the parlor with Alicent, who had sat down with you like it was a business meeting and then, somewhere around her third glass of Dornish red, had begun to unravel with the delicate slowness of a tapestry snagged on a nail.

“-he was a colicky baby, actually,” she was saying now, staring into the fire. “Cried for hours. Nights without sleep, days feeling like one. I remember pacing the nursery barefoot, praying to the Mother to take pity and just let him rest. Let me rest.”

You were perched on the edge of the settee, warm but rigid, hands wrapped around your glass as if etiquette were the only thing keeping you upright.

“And yet, he had the most beautiful eyes, even then. Wide and accusing, as though he knew I was bluffing.” Her voice shifted, softening, but not quite tender. “He wouldn’t be soothed unless I rocked him for hours in certain way. He was peculiar even as an infant. Difficult, obstinate. Desperate to be seen, and terrified of what it meant.”

A silence fell, not awkward but immense. She poured another inch of wine into her glass but didn’t drink from it. Her fingers tightened around the stem.

“Aemond was quieter,” she continued, tone almost academic again. “He watched more than he spoke. Methodical, intense. I put on a cassette with war documentaries; it was the only thing that made him sleep through the night. Conquest was his favorite.”

Another pause.

“And Helaena,” she said, almost to herself, “was my little oracle. Always murmuring things I didn’t quite understand. I thought perhaps I’d broken her somehow. That I’d missed the right formula—too little affection, too much structure. But she would hold my hand without warning. Press her forehead to mine and say, ‘You’re trying so hard, Mother. I see you.’”

The wineglass trembled. She set it down with perfect precision, but her voice faltered.

“I see them, you know,” she whispered, almost in awe. “Even now. Children in grown bodies, staggering under all this inheritance—expectation, silence, disappointment. My legacy is restraint. I gave them rules where they needed sanctuary.”

She pressed her thumb to her lip, as if trying to hold back something spilling from within. Her eyes were glassy now, faraway and full. She didn’t blink.

“Aegon,” she said at last, like dropping a stone in still water, “was always so loud. Laughing when he should’ve listened. Mocking what he feared. He’d drink from the decanter in my office and pretend I hadn’t noticed. Pretend I wasn’t watching him become a man too quickly and in the wrong direction. And I-I told myself he’d grow out of it. That indulgence was just adolescence.”

The firelight licked the edge of her profile, catching on a tear she didn’t brush away.

“I don’t know when I started praying for him to just… stop.” Her voice cracked. “To pause. To be still, or sober, or steady, or anything at all. I thought I was asking for peace. But what I wanted—what I want—is for him to be whole.”

She turned fully toward you then, tear-streaked and composed in the most terrifying way, like a statue discovering it could bleed.

“And I see that, now,” she said softly. “With you.”

Your throat was too tight to respond.

“I know what it is to be needed in all the wrong ways,” she said. “Don’t mistake your influence for obligation. He’s exhausting. They all are. If he makes you feel small — leave. If he forgets to love you properly, remember him once, and then go. He deserves more than that. So do you.”

You nodded, not trusting your voice.

“But,” she added, with the smallest laugh, “should you choose to stay... then know that you have done what I could not. And for that-” Her mouth trembled. “For that, I thank you.”

She wept then, silently, the way people do when they’ve forgotten how to ask for help and yet still need to. No wracking sobs, no theatrical moan — just tears, like a cathedral window cracking under centuries of sun.

You reached across the small distance between you and took her hand.

She didn’t flinch.

The hallway outside his old bedroom smelled faintly of dust and lavender polish. The door was ajar, light leaking out across the carpet like a secret trying not to be noticed. You nudged it open.

Aegon was sitting on the edge of the bed, one leg jiggling, a cigarette smoldering in the saucer of a decorative plate that probably once held communion wafers or mints.

He looked up when you stepped in and immediately smiled. Too wide, too bright.

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite hostage,” he said, spreading his arms. “Survived the dinner. You're basically family now. We’ll get your blood tested and your name embroidered on a handkerchief.”

You said nothing, just moved to him. He opened his arms wider and pulled you in like gravity had claimed him.

“God,” he breathed against your temple, swaying you side to side in a lazy, slow-rocking motion that wasn’t dancing and wasn’t stillness either. “You’ve got no idea. You’ve really got no fucking idea.”

You didn’t ask. You didn’t need to.

His arms stayed tight around your waist, like he thought you might float into the walls like one of the ghosts haunting the Red Keep. He kissed the side of your head and held it there for a beat too long, breath warm, uneven.

“I don’t deserve this,” he said, quieter now, like confessing to a priest he didn’t believe in. “You. The way you looked at me across that table like I was worth something. That’s not—”

He laughed suddenly, sharp and empty. “Shit, this is where I’d normally spiral and drink myself into a blackout, but I left the minibar behind.”

You curled your fingers into the back of his shirt, and he sighed against you, breathing you in like oxygen had gone extinct everywhere else.

“God, you’re good,” he whispered. “You’re so good it makes me want to fuck you stupid just so I feel like we’re on the same playing field again.”

You leaned back just slightly, caught his smirk creeping in again — cracked at the edges but real, boyish and obscene in the same breath.

“I mean,” he said, tilting his head toward the pillow behind him, “technically speaking, I did just introduce you to the best half of my disfunctional dynasty, and I think it’s only fair you now get fucked in the same bed where my psyche was molded.”

You raised an eyebrow.

He grinned wider, biting his lip, hand sliding down to your hip. “C’mon. It squeaks like hell and the headboard is definitely haunted by my teenage shame. Makes it more fun.”

He laid you back on the mattress without waiting for the verbal approval — soft and too old, springs squeaking in protest under your weight, the sheets smelling like dust and nostalgia. His room preserved adolescent riot in the perfect order: same posters peeling on the wall, same scratch in the headboard from where he’d thrown a tantrum and cracked it with a metal lighter. He crawled over you with all the grace of a boy who knew how to fuck but never quite learned how to feel safe doing it.

“God, you on this bed,” he murmured, sinking down onto his elbows above you, eyes flicking over your face like he was memorizing a crime scene. “This bed’s seen everything. My whole goddamn life.”

You looked up at him, blinking slow, lips parted.

“I mean it. I cried here. Bled here once. Smoked my first cigarette under the blanket with the window cracked like an idiot. Jerked off so much the sheets got crusty.” He laughed under his breath, nose brushing yours, so close his breath hit your lips.

He kissed your cheek. Then your other. Then the tip of your nose.

“Nothing’s ever felt like this though. Like... like this is it. This is the way the circle closes.”

You blinked up at him again, breath caught halfway in your chest.

He kissed your forehead, thumb tracing along your jaw. “Perfect,” he whispered. “You’re just... perfect. Pretty little thing in my arms like some gift the gods decided I didn’t deserve but gave me anyway because they were bored.”

His hands slipped under your shirt, dragging it up slow, lips skimming your collarbone. When he got to your breasts, he made a sound like prayer, open-mouthed, hungry, tongue tracing a slow wet arc around your nipple before he sucked it into his mouth with a low, appreciative groan.

You slapped him lightly on the shoulder with a laugh, half breathless. “You’re a fucking menace.”

He just grinned around your skin, pulled back with a wet pop and looked up at you, flushed and amused and too in love for his own good.

“We should get married,” he said, like he was suggesting pizza for dinner.

You snorted, brushing hair from his eyes. “Right now? After dinner with your terrifying family?”

“Exactly,” he said, nodding like it all made perfect sense. “It would be the equivalent of the thing where I abduct you and force you to live with me, except you’d say yes and I wouldn’t get arrested.”

You stilled beneath him, caught on the word. “That’s not an equivalent.”

He grinned wider, not moving, not apologizing. “Semantics.”

His hands found your hips and pulled you closer, grinding against you just enough to make the air thin between your lungs.

“I’m not saying now,” he said, kissing down your stomach. “I’m just saying. Think about it. We’d make headlines. Or history.”

“Or orphans,” you muttered.

He laughed against your skin, kissed lower, bit at the waistband of your jeans. “Depends how the kids turn out. You know, destructively perfect like us. Full set of teeth and all the wrong ideas.”

“You are not breeding me,” you said flatly.

“We’ll negotiate,” he replied, tugging your pants down with both hands and pressing a kiss just above your hipbone, smug and entirely too fond.

Your shirt was somewhere on the floor, or maybe it had never existed at all — lost to the ether the second Aegon got his hands under it, mouth hungry and reverent. His palms squeezed your breasts as if testing fruit from the market for ripeness, for bruised sides - and finding none. His hair fell in messy strands over his forehead, and he didn’t even try to push it away — he was too focused, too transfixed.

“By the Seven,” he muttered, voice thick with awe, “I could write epics about these.”

You laughed, arching your back slightly as he licked a slow line from the underside of your left breast up to your nipple. “You’ve said that before.”

“Yes, but I meant it with less grandeur then,” he replied, nuzzling the soft curve of flesh with his nose. “These—these are not mere tits. Nay. These are alabaster domes fit for the kings.”

You snorted. “Aegon—”

“Silence, wench,” he cut in, mouth already moving to your other breast. “Let me sing praises unto thy silken orbs.”

“Silken what?”

He lifted his head, eyes fever-bright, solemn like a knight swearing fealty. “Twin orbs of fortune! Bountiful ye stand—lo! Like the hills of Valyria, yet untouched by fire or Doom.”

You giggled, breathless now, one hand in his hair. “You’re such a perv.”

“And proud!” he declared, before latching onto your nipple again, sucking it into his mouth with a wet, obscene moan that vibrated through your ribcage. “Mmmf, fuck. I’d suck these till dawn if you let me. Maybe longer. Like a cursed sailor with the sirens’ song trapped in his throat.”

“Do sirens have tits?”

“I dunno, but yours are better anyways,” he said immediately, one hand now palming your breast, thumb circling slow and firm, the other pinching lightly at the sensitive skin underneath. “Gods, these are too good for me. You're right. I'm a perv. A wretched man.”

You laughed again, helpless, as he bit down just slightly, then soothed the sting with a warm, open-mouthed kiss.

“D’you think they feel it?” he asked suddenly, pulling back just an inch. “The gods. When I do this?”

“When you suck at my tits?”

He nodded solemnly. “I imagine the Stranger flinches. The Crone turns away. But the Mother…” He winked. “The Mother approves.”

“You’re disgusting,” you murmured, pulling him back up by the collar of his wrinkled shirt, kissing him hard, teeth clashing, tongues lazy and warm.

“I am,” he agreed, mouth still half on yours. “And these…” his hands squeezed your breasts again, reverently, “…these are the holy texts.”

He wasn’t seducing you. Aegon moved like a creature crawling back into the dark warmth of its den, needy and desperate. His body covered yours without elegance, hips flush to yours, breath hot and impatient, grunts leaving his throat. This wasn’t about performance, not for him. He didn’t care if it was pretty. He didn’t care about lighting or timing or the way the bed creaked with every push of his knee.

He needed.

His fingers were already between your legs, not gentle, not rough—just there, desperate, sliding through folds still damp with arousal and lazy warmth. It had been a long day. You hadn’t showered. The room smelled like sweat, a little like wine and dust from the heavy old duvet that had seen too many years folded under the weight of his adolescence. But none of it stopped him. If anything, it pulled him deeper.

“Mmm, fuck,” he murmured into your throat, one finger sinking inside you with a slick, gluttonous sound, followed by a second almost immediately after. He didn’t tease, didn’t ask. He just pressed in deeper, jaw clenching, like he could bury himself whole if he pushed far enough. “Warm. Fuck, you’re so warm.”

His hips rolled against the side of your thigh, mindlessly, cock stiff in his boxers and grinding into your skin as if by accident. His face was half-buried in your neck, one cheek pressed against your collarbone while his free hand cupped your breast again like it grounded him. He moaned, like he felt it all in his chest.

He moved down your body, dragging his face against your skin like a dog burrowing under a blanket. No buildup, no foreplay, no clever lines. Just need. By the time he got between your legs, he wasn’t saying anything at all. He spread you with both hands, fingers slick from what he’d already taken, and looked at you with glassy, wild eyes.

And then he dove in.

No ceremony. No teasing. Just his tongue pushing against your folds, mouth dragging open kisses that were all spit and breath, his nose nudging into the mess as if the smell didn’t just not bother him — it wrecked him. He moaned against your cunt like he was the one being touched, face grinding into you, licking with a fast, needy rhythm that bordered on frantic.

You shifted beneath him, trying to catch your breath, but he didn’t slow. He grunted against your pussy, muffled and sloppy, wet sounds filling the room along with the creaking of the bed as he adjusted himself, rutting his cock into the mattress.

You carded your fingers into his hair and tugged—not harsh, just enough to make him pause and look up. His mouth and chin were slick, red, nose shiny, eyes hazy.

He looked dazed. Grateful.

And then he was crawling back up, yanking his boxers down to his knees, not even bothering to fully strip. His cock slapped against your thigh, hot and hard and leaking, and he lined it up with one hand, the other braced by your head as he panted.

“I… fuck, I’m not gonna last. I just-” he groaned, sliding in, slow but deep, teeth bared, eyes fluttering shut. “Just wanna be inside. Just wanna feel you.”

The bed moaned beneath you both, the smell of dust and sweat and old cotton rising with every sharp thrust, but you didn’t care. He was fucking into you like it was the only place he’d ever felt safe. Like your cunt was a mouth swallowing his past, his shame, the echo of every mistake he never fixed.

His rhythm was fast, greedy. Not cruel. Just desperate. Like he was afraid you’d vanish if he stopped.

“You feel so — fuck — you’re real,” he gasped, hips stuttering, face buried against your shoulder again. “You’re fucking real. I’m gonna—god, I can’t-”

You dug your nails into his back, and he came with a choked-off moan, cock pulsing inside you, his whole body tense like a drawn bowstring. He didn’t pull out. Didn’t move. Just held you close, panting, face buried against your skin, breath shaking like something had cracked open inside him.

He wasn’t seductive.

He was starving.

He started humping like he couldn’t help himself—his body moving in lazy, dragging thrusts, not fully withdrawn, just rocking into you again and again with the heavy pressure of someone not trying to impress, only trying to get as deep as his hips would let him. His cock wasn’t long. But it was thick, undeniably so — meaty and blunt and sheathed in soft skin that caught just a little when he shifted, every push nudging against sensitive walls with a wet, sloshing noise that was growing louder by the second.

It wasn't even rhythm, not really. More like instinct. Animal persistence.

And you could feel all of him — his weight settling harder with every grind, lean now, but not built for delicacy. His back was tight, sinewy under your palms, but his hips already carried the heaviness of future stock. You could tell. One day, he’d be broad in a way that left no room for fragility. Not like Aemond, who was build like a twink, for the lack of better wording. Aegon would always be warm, solid, heavy, with his own center of gravity.

His cock dragged slow inside you again, thick enough that your cunt squelched, loud and obscene, and that made him pause—just a second. His eyes lit up.

“Oh my fucking gods,” he breathed, blinking down at the place where you were joined. Another slick, sucking noise followed as he shifted his hips and sank deeper, groaning. “You hear that?”

You rolled your eyes and tried to breathe through the pressure.

But he grinned, still moving, just a little, the rhythm getting messier. “She’s talking,” he said, breathless, high on it. “Your pretty cunt’s got opinions. Listen to her—”

And then, in the dumbest, shrillest falsetto he could manage, he imitated the noise:

“Y-yes daddy,” he squeaked, barely moving his lips as if the sound were coming straight from your pussy. “Yes daddy your dumpy little cock makes me feel so gooooood—!”

You burst out laughing so hard it broke the tension in your spine. He didn’t stop humping. In fact, your laughter just made it worse—made him grin harder, eyes bright and fucked-out, sweat beading on his brow.

“Wait wait—wait listen, she’s got more to say,” he gasped between thrusts, voice still in that high, quivering pitch as he shoved in again, the noise even wetter now.

“Ohh ohhh mister Targaryen sirrrr, put a fucking ring on me so I can be your officially betrothed cum dumpster—”

You hit his shoulder, laughing too hard to breathe. “Stop it, you absolute degenerate.”

He didn’t. His hips kept grinding in little circles, his cock pulsing hard inside you with every lewd squelch. “She’s a talker,” he whispered, face buried in your neck now. “Gods, I love her.”

Another thrust. Another sound.

“You’re both so fucking loud,” he muttered, biting your ear with a grin. “I’m gonna end up worshipping you till my dick falls off.”

And then, against your throat, voice low again, amused and exhausted and real:

“But seriously. You make the best noises.”

He came with a grunt muffled into your neck, a low, clenching sound that pulsed straight through his stomach into yours. His cock went soft and limp inside you as he spilled, hips grinding through it with short, greedy thrusts like he couldn’t bear the thought of being apart from your body, not even for the second it would take to slip out. It was raw and slow and so fucking messy—your cunt wet and aching, stuffed full of him, every twitch of his cock inside sending another slick aftershock sliding down your thighs and onto the dust-worn sheets beneath.

He didn’t move for a long moment.

Just collapsed, half on you, half beside you, breathing hard, face flushed and damp with sweat, nose smushed against your collarbone. You could feel the stickiness between your legs spreading, cooling slowly in the heat of the room, and neither of you said anything about it. There was no point. He wasn’t going to apologize. You weren’t going to ask him to.

And then, without a word, he rolled off you, rummaged blindly through the drawer beside the bed—half hanging open, crammed with old cigarette packs, broken lighters, a sticky bottle of lube, and two AA batteries—and pulled out a knife. Just a small one, but sharp. Old. The tip was stained from when he used it to cut open a can of peaches at age sixteen because he was too high to find the can opener.

You watched, still sprawled half-naked on your back, lazy and glowing, legs spread just slightly where his cum still leaked from you.

He knelt up on the mattress, took a moment to push the headboard curtain aside, and began to carve.

Slow and deliberate, like he’d done it before. Like this wasn’t the first time his name was gouged into the furniture of this house.

“What are you doing?” you asked finally, voice thick and soft and lazy.

He didn’t stop. Didn’t even glance back.

“Making it official.”

You squinted. The headboard was ridiculously massive, a slab of carved oak that probably weighed more than both of you did and had stood through decades of moaning, crying, and solo existential crises. He carved your initials with care, a little heart, and then—beneath it, with exaggerated flare—wrote out in rough, slashing strokes:

Aegon II ❤️ [your name]

All the letters uneven. The heart skewed slightly to the left.

You raised a brow. “You could’ve just put A.T.”

He scoffed without turning. “There’s at least three fuckers in this cursed family whose names start with A.”

He finished the heart with a jab of the tip, tossed the knife onto the nightstand like he was done with all tasks for the day, then rolled back toward you with a smirk.

“You’re not getting confused and accidentally fucking Aemond in here someday. This-” he thumped the headboard with his palm, “-this says it was me.”

You laughed. “You really think Aemond would carve a heart?”

“Exactly,” he said, tugging you back toward him with that lazy, pervy grin, already burying his face in your shoulder again like he was winding down for round two or a nap. “He’d burn the whole bed before leaving a trace. I leave receipts.”

His cum was still dripping between your legs.

His name was now in the wood behind your head.

And he was already half-asleep, grinning into your skin like the animal he was, one arm heavy across your stomach, breathing all content and possessive.

“Aegon, second of his name,” you murmured.

He nuzzled you.

“Mhmm. That’s right.”

[folcanta]

I'll be your docent for today.

yeah so I want to take a little look at the scroll of Fanelia because when I first saw it, it made me think of old "Indian" and "Persian" art, but that's such a vague description. I'll basically be walking through this like a tour guide in a museum, giving my best estimates and interpretations, that's all.

Aside from the scroll, we don't see more figurative painted art from Fanelia (we see the murals) but we do have other art with which we can compare and contrast. This is sculpture rather than illustration, but the inspirations are similar and so it helps orient us to a place.

Yamantaka and Vajrapani

This is the broken statue on the ground of burnt-out Fanelia in episode 17. It's the flames that really do it for me. The deities depicted above are, respectively, "the destroyer of death" and "holder of the thunderbolt," and like this beastly draconic figure, they're depicted with flame aureolae.

Two Garuda (Hindu and Buddhist deity,) one mounted on the roof of a Tibetan temple— at the corner of the roof similar to the Thai chofa— and one ridden by Vishnu.

Alright. Now, the scroll, Fanelia's ancient texts (or part of them.)

So it looks like this was painted onto woven material rather than being embroidere because we can see some of the pigment's worn off. The border/register could be painted on or it could mean it was fixed to an additional textile, as was common with Tibetan thangka paintings.

Ah and look, you can see the membrane of its wings and the energist in its chest. Man, see at the guy on the far left, running but holding the hand of his fallen wife/child? Brutal. Also, it looks like the dragon got in past Fanelia's gates if that's what the structure on the right is. Interesting... perhaps this was an inciting event which kicked off the tradition of killing dragons? It's being highlighted here and we haven't heard/seen of dragons entering Fanelia aside from episode 22, when they're roaming the ruins. Which might imply that this dragon is only here because it was provoked. Perhaps shortly after the proper founding of Fanelia...? The dragons must've lived here first, right?

if you saw old Persian art you might be forgiven for thinking it were more far east than middle east, but these are just names given to huge regions with constant overlap. Nowhere is a monolith, and Central Asia did numbers as far as bridging Asias major and minor. But of course, the Escaflowne team couldn't pull inspiration for the dragons from Tibetan, or Bhutanese, or even Persian art, because the dragons were much too similar to east asian dragons! Check this out:

Ferdowsi's Persian epic, the Shahnameh

Eastern dragons wouldn't hold any negative connotations for the target audience. So Escaflowne's land dragons look different. They still hold wish-granting pearls, the dragons are still venerated and are benevolent unless provoked, but they can't look familiar, or else they take on a different character. It makes the reveal of their base goodness more impactful if we think they're ugly and ferocious.

(It's not my opinion that the dragons are ugly, lol— they follow a more European design, and dragons in medieval/european folklore were almost exclusively a symbol of evil, and often annanalogue for the devil, so they were supposed to look weird and nasty. I don't equate ugliness with evil, but a lot of people did!)

Let's take a look at the statue in Asturia vs the many-times repeated (in western Europe) motif of St. George and the Dragon.

Asturia supposedly worships a kind of sea dragon, called Jeture/Jichia/ジェチア, who has the power to grant righteous wishes and punishes ill-intended ones. If so venerated, why then this statue of a person killing a dragon? Just like how Fanelia is "protected" by the same dragons they kill, this makes Asturia as much of a hypocrite. To drive that home, we only see this statue while Folken is talking about man's impulse toward slaughter.

This much more European statue and the tower next to it provide a strange contrast to the Arab or even Babylonian architecture of the city. This statue, complete with halo and mimicking the "stepping on the devil" motif, invokes a much more Christian connotation than, at the very least, the area the royals occupy.

also it's funny to me that the name of the sea god, Jichia, is so similar to Arabic jizya— the tax levied on non-Muslim citizens in places like Al-Andalus (Andalusia) during various Caliphates and empires in exchange for protection and abstaining from conscription. Asturia's paying the tax for not being Asian lmao

The real life Asturias in northern Spain was the home of Celtic peoples, and later a stronghold in defiance of the Muslim conquest, which was helped by being sequestered by the mountains— it was a pain in the ass to get there. To me, this might mean that the fictional Asturia, too, is in denial of what gave it greatness, in pursuit of a more "sophisticated" European image, but just can't quite bring itself to tear down its gates of Ishtar. Asturia seems like a bit of an opportunist, in their alliances! Appearing as one thing to then reveal a disingenuous truth? Yup, we're in Allen Schezar territory alright. Allen "Shockingly Arab Surname" Schezar territory.

Anyway I don't think it's just Persian art that's inspiring the scroll, though. The armour on the main figure resembles the GOAT of all time, the Timurids and/or Mongols, and their influence on Tibet by way of China (mainly.) I am going to move on now though to old Indian art. The thing that made me think of it in the first place are the large eyes and noses in profile.

Also the facial hair. Based on how everyone else looks, and based on the mountains that stretch from Fanelia to Freid (practically mirroring the Himalayas) it makes sense to me that there are stylistic similarities between Goau and Mahad that don't appear on anyone else. Even the casual clothes in Fanelia look more like Freid's than any other place/people. Both Mahad and Goau wear the same shade of royal purple, too! But Goau's entire outfit is purple, and Mahad's flourish is just a sash draped over a white outfit. In Escaflowne, truth/awareness is represented by white/pale blue light. In that case, I'll also take his sash to mean that being a ruler is only half of who he is. A man of the people.

i'm in love with him

this bitch can suck eggs

Not to blow it wide open, but: these guys are supposed to be literary parallels. This happens via Chid, Van basically acknowledges this but it's through reaction, not words. Mostly. Van encourages Chid not to doubt Allen, the same way Balgus encouraged him— for a time, until he stopped— not to doubt Folken; doubting Folken has/had been a torturous task for Van. Chid, being a young boy with the burden of a country at war on his shoulders, depicts how Van and Folken were, or could've been, ostensibly brought up by their father, knowing what we do about how Balgus trained them, and about Fanelia's militancy in general. We do not see the brothers interact with Goau at all save for 1 moment, Van's birth— so Duke Freid is filling that in for us. However in a few key places, they're also very different guys, just as nothing in Escaflowne is as it seems on first pass.

It makes sense narratively, and the visuals serve to suggest that link— but, in classic Escaflowne fashion, it doesn't have to stand out, it's just played straight.

Mountain ranges are not just barriers, they also create bridges. It does also make sense geographically, not just for the literal area above but the general area and inspiration of south asia— mountains stretching down to a steppe/plateau, or right down to the water in the case of Freid. That type of environment exists in Japan, but also Iran, Indonesia, India, Taiwan, to name a few.

I mentioned Persian and Indian art. The little figures in the scroll are pretty simple, and there actually isn't a lot of art from the region that depicts people like this. There's no art from Japan that depicts people like this. Finding pre-buddhism Tibetan art is next to impossible. But! We have other places we can look at. Let's go back in time then to Sumer. Sumer was the first of what we consider civilisation, located in Mesopotamia, or modern-day Iraq in the Middle East/Western Asia:

Standard of Ur, 2600 BC, "Peace" side and "War" side.

One thing that's notable about Sumerian art is this is where we first see (since it's so fucking old) hierarchy of proportion. That is, you can see who's the king here because he's bigger than everyone else. It will appear in ancient Egyptian art as well as in Christian art. That's also in keeping with the Fanelian scroll:

it's interesting that Escaflowne the mech doesn't appear in the scroll! This must be from before they had it. But so, the king collects the energist— there it is, shining next to him— and there's nowhere to put it! Of course, under Folken's hand, we know there's more of the scroll to read, but we never see it. Because he stops to comfort Van. And maybe, that renders the rest of the scroll and its morals moot. Maybe it's more important to cast tradition aside, eh boys?

Okay so obviously Van's coronation armour and sword look like what's depicted in the scroll. What we have here is a cuirass— armour for the torso which includes breastplate and back— and what's called lamillar armour, worn over a layer of chainmail (bunched around his neck; easier to see in closeups.) The same symbolic shorthands for chainmail is used throughout the series and in the film.

Lamillar armour is made up of little plates. Like most things, it arrived in Japan via the Chinese, who were crafting it all the way back in the 5th century BCE. It would be so great to see what the rest of it looks like— afaik we never see it on Goau either (Goau's armour is black) so it's likely strictly ceremonial. Check out the metaphor of his armour literally not fitting him! As for the helmet, it looks like a dragon (fangs, eyes,) it looks like Escaflowne, it looks like a stupa, and it's very Central Asian or Tibetan in construction.

The holy man/priest in the back's got that Goau/Mahad royal purple hat.

Buddhist stupas/chortens The shape of the stupa represents the Buddha, crowned and sitting in meditation posture on a lion throne. His crown is the top of the spire; his head is the square at the spire's base; his body is the vase shape; his legs are the four steps of the lower terrace; and the base is his throne.

It would be wrong, too, to assume that chainmail and armour of this style is isolated to Europe. Tibetan chainmail is noted as being remarkably well-crafted in historical accounts. And look at that damn helmet!

But let's go back to Sumer for a moment.

While the examples I shared are from an artefact called a "standard" (typically a flag or banner intended to rally the people or be easier to identify by ones comrades) no one actually knows what its purpose was, other than that it portrayed some aspect of Sumerian society, maybe a singular event— a battle and celebration of victory.

One theory is that this employs a visual parallel with the literary device of merism (which we know was used by the Sumerians in other works) in which the totality of a situation is described through the pairing of opposite concepts. An often-cited example of merism is Genesis 1:1, when God creates "the heavens and the earth." The two parts (heavens and earth) don't refer only to the heavens and the earth— they refer to the heavens, the earth and everything between them: God created the entire world, the whole universe.

So, the Standard of Ur may have been intended to depict two complementary concepts of Sumerian kingship to tell us about everything in between. And when I was thinking about this, and thinking about Folken telling Van this isn't the only way to live, I realised... I like the idea that the scroll is showing us only one side to Fanelia's kingship, but it's hardly the truth in full. Escaflowne— the anime, the story itself— is showing us another :^) only through this exploration do we see a more full, more complex picture.

[notasfilosoficas]

“El hombre se ha hecho plena, íntegramente problemático; ya no sabe lo que es, pero sabe que no lo sabe”

Max Scheler

Fue un filósofo alemán, nacido en Múnich en agosto de 1874, de gran importancia en el desarrollo de la fenomenología, la ética y la antropología filosófica, además de ser un clásico dentro de la filosofía de la religión.

Max se bautiza en la iglesia católica, su padre era protestante y su madre judía. 

Al finalizar sus estudios básicos, se matricula en la Universidad de Múnich pero al siguiente año decide trasladarse a la Universidad de Berlin para estudiar filosofía y sociología.

En 1897 presenta su tesis doctoral dirigida por Rudolf Eucken, quien fuera galardonado con el Premio Nobel de Literatura en 1908.

Su escrito “El método trascendental y el psicológico” le hace merecedor del nombramiento de docente en la Universidad de Jena y es en 1902 cuando conoce al filósofo y matemático alemán Edmund Husserl. 

El encuentro con Husserl le hace quedar marcado por el denominado método fenomenológico (el estudio filosófico del mundo, a través directamente de la conciencia).

Derivado de un escándalo provocado por su esposa, de conducta inmoral, Scheler se ve obligado a abandonar la docencia  y se traslada a Berlín en donde con el apoyo de sus amigos y de su incansable capacidad de trabajo, permitió que afloraran la mayoría de sus mejores y más importantes obras.

Scheler se divorcia de su esposa y contrae matrimonio civil con su alumna María Scheu, en donde fue considerado como apóstata por los creyentes y cristiano disimulado por los si creyentes.

Dentro de algunas de las instituciones más importantes destacan; “El resentimiento de la moral” (1912), “Los ídolos del conocimiento de sí mismo” (1912), “El formalismo en la ética y la ética material de los valores” (1913), “Muerte y supervivencia” (1911-1914) entre muchos otros.

Es muy difícil pensar en gran parte de la ética, de la psicología o de la antropología del siglo XX sin la influencia de Scheler. Sus aportaciones en la filosofía de la religión, y en la Teología moral fueron decisivas.

Se han distinguido tres etapas en la vida de Scheler y en su posición doctrinal. Durante su juventud estuvo dominado por la influencia de Eucken, después seguirá la influencia fenomenológica de Husserl, sin perder sus aficiones vitalistas y afectivistas de Eucken, y su madurez por su posición teista.

La filosofía de Scheler considera fundamentalmente tres problemas o cuestiones dobles; el conocimiento, y los valores, la vida y el hombre, los sentimientos y Dios.

La persona es para Scheler esencialmente espiritual. El espíritu no es, propiamente, ni la inteligencia ni la voluntad: es más bien un principio nuevo. El acto de separar la existencia y la esencia constituyen la característica diferencial del espíritu humano. En conjunto, el espíritu de la objetividad.

A cada persona corresponde un mundo y a cada mundo una persona, en donde la persona-individuo se articula en una comunidad.

El hombre como realidad natural no escapa a su animalidad, pero el hombre también tiene otro sentido: es el ser que ora, que aspira a trascender; es el buscador de Dios. En donde Dios es un ser vivo y personal.

Max Scheler muere en Fráncfort de Meno en mayo de 1927 a la edad de 52 años.

Fuentes: Wikipedia, filosofía.org

[lesb0]

being around other art historians in my career makes me realize that my privileges have shaped everything about my life so extensively. When I was 6, I had two full home libraries filled with every subject, including art books, and a backyard studio/lab with every material I could imagine. When I was 8, I had a private homeschool teacher come to my house twice a week and took my first Renaissance art history class.

Every weekend, I went to LACMA and the Getty to play pretend docent while tourists followed along. I grew up with TWO major flagship art museums in my backyard and took constant access to new art galleries for granted. To me, every child went to the museum at least a few times per year, right?The longest I've been away from an art museum was a year. it made me physically and mentally deteriorate. There are art historians in PhDs who tell me that they went to an art museum for the first time in college..... 20 years with no art. I couldn't imagine it, it'd be like having no sense of smell.

[teameagleworks]

Just got back from a trip to Sauder Village in Ohio. It's a living museum that features homes and businesses of the past. I was fascinated by the woodshops, especially the old lathes.

[Video shows a docent using a foot powered lathe and a gouge to round over a piece of turning stock to make a chair leg]

The foot powered lathe is my new favorite thing. I immediately told Mr Eagle we need one. This sounds exhausting, I can't imagine how difficult it was to make precise things. I will never see the speed dial on my lathe the same.

This lathe was on a belt drive with a gas engine and was from the woodshop of Erie Sauder (the Sauder Furniture family)

And just for fun, an old band saw from 1895

Wildly enough, not a lot has changed in the way any of these tools work. My lathe and band saw look remarkably similar in style, just new materials and electric motors.

[foto-sarmiento-unt]

Desde el Depto. de Materias Optativas 2024 se llevó a cabo la I Jornada SOMOS BARRO: Arte, identidad y diversidad en el marco del Día del Respeto a la Diversidad Cultural, cuya realización fue el resultado de un proceso reflexivo y colaborativo de creación colectiva entre lxs docentes que integran el Depto: Rocko Nieto (Cerámica), Selva Varela (Danza africana), Caro Gramajo (Comunicación audiovisual y Artes visuales contemporáneas), Fatu Jerez (Serigrafía), Lucía Dzienczarski (Teatro primaria), María Mines (Fotografía, Artes visuales contemporáneas y Jefa del Depto. 2024-2025), Daniel Albarracín (Guitarra y ensamble musical), Pepe Gutierrez (Títeres y manipulación de objetos), Leandro Bonilla (Experimento cine), Ana Brunet (Expresión corporal), Manolo Alonso (Percusión) y Verónica Kempf (Teatro secundaria, Danza folclórica).

Al habitual formato de acto conmemorativo se sumó un ambicioso proyecto de convivencia y actividades colaborativas e interactivas destinado a toda la comunidad educativa (primaria y secundaria) a partir del uso de la arcilla como eje central y material de distintas actividades artesanales, con el fin de fomentar la creatividad y la expresión artística mediante diferentes lenguajes y dispositivos, pero especialmente para propiciar un poético diálogo con un elemento que no sólo nos conecta con la tierra y la naturaleza, sino también con la memoria y el respeto por nuestras raíces ancestrales e indígenas.

A continuación, se suman fragmentos de las palabras/glosas que se leyeron durante el acto y que fueron escritas por María Mines

Querida comunidad sarmientina:

Una vez más, y quizás como una nueva tradición en nuestra escuela, el Día del Respeto a la Diversidad Cultural nos convoca en medio de un clima político convulsionado que involucra de manera decisiva el futuro de la educación universitaria pública, gratuita y de calidad en el que desde luego nuestro proyecto educativo se ve involucrado. A su vez, se trata de una fecha que no solo nos invita a reflexionar sobre procesos como la construcción de la identidad y de la memoria, sino también a continuar repensando nuestra historia desde otra perspectiva, es decir, a través de otros anteojos. Unos que resaltan, cuestionan y revisan las narrativas históricas con las que crecimos las generaciones anteriores a las niñeces y juventudes actuales y con las que también se consolidó el Estado argentino desde sus albores.

Días atrás desde el poder ejecutivo nacional se decretó restituir el Día de la raza señalando que esta fecha conmemora el inicio de una era de progreso y civilización en el nuevo mundo, un argumento que desatiende por completo las reflexiones historiográficas discutidas en las últimas décadas. A su vez, resulta llamativo señalar que la mirada crítica sobre el colonialismo también enciende sus alarmas en el contexto socio-político actual, debido a que circulan con sorprendente soltura crueles discursos de odio, cargados de racismo, discriminación de género, sexualidad y clase. En efecto, según el informe 2024 del Observatorio de Psicología Social de la UBA, el reciente aumento de casos de discriminación a nivel nacional es preocupante, siendo las redes sociales e internet el principal ámbito en el que se sufren ataques de toda índole, seguido por el espacio público, laboral y familiar. Este fenómeno, que impacta de diversas formas en las dinámicas cotidianas, tanto en el ámbito privado e individual como público y colectivo, desde luego, también hace mella de diferentes maneras en el sector educativo y nuestra comunidad no es la excepción. Tal vez por ello propiciar este encuentro, en este día, cobra un inestimable valor agregado.

En esta línea, si observamos nuestro proyecto educativo a través de un breve repaso històrico o genealogía del mismo, sabremos con certeza que desde sus comienzos persigue el objetivo de brindar herramientas que estimulen miradas críticas y argumentadas, no obstante, también sabemos que ello implica ejercitar la tolerancia ante la diferencia pero a travès de propuestas que privilegien la constitución de sujetos de derechos plenos, es decir, sin distinción de origen, género, sexualidad o clase. No es una tarea sencilla, nunca lo fue, es un desafío que se actualiza año a año a partir de las complejidades que emergen del entramado social y polìtico en el que vivimos y del que también somos parte. Al respecto, entonces, reflexionar sobre este día también implica observar los actuales discursos de odio y reforzar enfáticamente herramientas como la educación en Derechos Humanos y una implementación más eficiente de la Ley de Educación Sexual Integral, entre otros recursos que garantizan trayectorias más amables y respetuosas para nuestras alumnas y alumnos. Sin embargo, y felizmente, también contamos con un poderoso sistema de circulación de sentido que se constituye de múltiples lenguajes y dispositivos que lo activan; las artes. En efecto, las producciones artísticas operan como cajas de resonancia de los procesos sociales, culturales y políticos de las comunidades en las que se insertan.

El debate historiográfico generado durante las últimas décadas que pone en relieve las voces silenciadas durante siglos de las comunidades ancestrales también hace pie de múltiples formas en los discursos artísticos actuales. Ciertamente, teóricxs que analizan parte de la contemporaneidad a partir de los efectos de la poscolonialidad y la globalización, identifican una mayor porosidad de cruces generados en las prácticas artísticas en diferentes puntos del mundo. En este sentido, no es ninguna novedad que diversos aspectos de las culturas ancestrales de Latinoamérica forman parte de las temáticas y materialidades que circulan en parte del multiverso artístico europeo. Por ejemplo, imágenes que evocan la cerámica originaria de las culturas Aguada, Santa María y Quilmes, pero que se materializan en morfologías cargadas, lógicamente, de resignificaciones que se circunscriben en la actualidad, circulan por prestigiosos museos y galerías del mundo occidental. Sin embargo, esta tendencia que maravilla y cautiva la mirada europea y anglosajona contemporánea sigue siendo excluyente para las comunidades indígenas, puesto que exhiben una producción de ‘blancxs’ que miran y retratan lo marrón, lo indígena, es decir, que parten de un grupo étnico que mira a un otro y lo sigue presentando como a un otro.

A su vez, estas producciones artísticas desatienden e ignoran por completo la situación que atraviesan la mayoría de las comunidades indígenas ancestrales que sobrevivieron al saqueo y al genocidio colonial y poscolonial. Por ejemplo, en un sector de la región del Gran Chaco, a escasos kilómetros de nuestra provincia, más de 200 comunidades wichís, chorotes, tapietes, chulupíes y tobas viven en estado de lucha por el territorio, es decir por su tierra, porque el Estado Nacional viene autorizando desde gobiernos anteriores, la destrucción anual de miles de hectáreas de bosques nativos para construir desiertos. Hay despojo y destrucción en la extracción de minerales, en las políticas económicas de los monocultivos masivos y en la contaminación del agua. En este sentido, la sangre derramada por siglos de barbarie y saqueo europeo ha cesado, pero no del todo. Sangre que no sólo proviene de las familias perjudicadas sino también de la tierra misma. Al respecto, el sistema hegemónico del arte contemporáneo también desatiende los vínculos que las comunidades originarias ancestrales experimentan con la naturaleza, cuyas lógicas de producción son ciertamente incompatibles con las del Capitalismo, un sistema de producción económica europea y blanca cuyas consecuencias sufrimos en el presente a través de una escandalosa asimetría de poder y, entre otros males, la crisis climática. 

Disrupción, movimiento, anclaje y circulación, territorialización y desterritorialización son algunas de las tensiones que vienen proponiendo las artes desde mediados del siglo XX a través de discursos que se mezclan con lo cotidiano y se funden con procesos sociales y políticos, tales como los Derechos Humanos y los feminismos en la actualidad, recurriendo, o no, a técnicas disciplinares clásicas de origen europeo; ciertamente, según la investigadora Andrea Giunta, ya no es factible distinguir un objeto artístico por su confrontación con un canon o una definición cerrada. 

Hoy desde las materias optativas de nuestra escuela traemos una propuesta artística para compartir y construir sentido colectivamente lejos de bastidores o de los cubos blancos que acostumbramos ver en los museos y galerías de arte; el uso de la arcilla como eje central y material de producción no sólo busca conectarnos con la tierra y la naturaleza, sino también deviene, a través del simbolismo que despierta esta fecha, en una poética herramienta de diálogo con la memoria y el respeto por nuestras raíces ancestrales e indígenas. Hoy tenemos más herramientas para analizar las estructuras de poder heredadas del colonialismo mediante la reconfiguración que surge de la intersección entre colonialidad, patriarcado y racismo para consolidar perspectivas históricas que reivindiquen y resignifiquen la historia latinoamericana. Hoy honramos ese lado invisibilizado de nuestra historia y apoyamos las luchas de las comunidades ancestrales que pelean por lo que les queda y por el bienestar de nuestra Tierra.

A continuación la profesora de Danza Afro e integrante del Depto de Optativas nos acompaña con una elocuente reflexión en torno a este día: "Barro somos. Desde siempre. Es el primer material que usó el hombre cuando salía de las cavernas. No existe civilización donde no se lo haya empleado. La Tierra es el elemento relacionado con las experiencias de nuestros sentidos y emociones. Es el espacio perfecto para nuestro aprendizaje, en ella se encuentran enraizados nuestra identidad y nuestros antepasados. La tierra es vida, vida que se manifiesta, se expresa y nos habla. Somos expresiones de la vida de la tierra, de sus pulsaciones y la danza es uno de sus lenguajes. La danza es una rama de la raíz de la tierra, una rama que se extiende desde las más profundas formaciones geológicas hasta el territorio en el que asientan las comunidades humanas y forman sus culturas. La danza se siembra y florece en los campos, se cosecha en los cultivos, acuna a los niños y se celebra en los carnavales. Este vínculo entre la tierra y el movimiento se realiza cuando los pies descalzos se encuentran con el suelo; al danzar los pies se afirman, se elevan, se desplazan, arrastran, golpean y celebran la vida. La danza es una posibilidad de cambiar la forma de ser y estar en el mundo, de cambiar la forma en que nos relacionamos con la tierra que habitamos".

Registros fotográficos: Fatu Jerez, Caro Gramajo y María Mines

[sota-de-copas]

esto es pura verborrea, pero esperar que no haya una toma de posición por parte de profesores en una carrera de humanidades o similar es absurdo (referenciando el "adoctrinamiento"). hablar de historia, sociología, pedagogía, economía, todo lo social implica una toma de posición, la percibas o no. a la historia de por sí la cuenta en su mayoría el que gana en ella, no el que muere a la mitad. el estudio de la sociedad necesita siempre un parámetro del que partir, el estudio de la escuela, instrumento ideológico estatal, está sí o sí atado a las políticas que la construyen o desarman. de tu punto de vista depende el material que des y cómo lo des, y vas a tener profesores de toda clase dando toda clase de cosas. y siempre va a haber docentes con los que no concuerdes pedagógica y políticamente.

te podés enojar igual, obvio. cuando crees en algo y el mundo parece estar en tu contra es muy obvio que te va a molestar. pero me parece muy gracioso ver gente de derecha que se siente minoría política; en muchos espacios lo vas a ser, pero por eso, fijate bien qué lugares frecuentás antes de llegar a conclusiones.. fin del ranting.

[master-wwweb]

Guía de Informática -Grado 10

Hola chicos, subo la con la información de la clase.

Fecha: marzo 18 de 2024

Tema:

Reto Integrador: 1.        Evidenciar una página web interactiva y temática con contenido multimedia (según las indicaciones dadas previamente en sala)

2.           Crear una campaña sobre “Las Herramientas TIC y su importancia” infórmese y elabore la actividad en su página

Entrega: ____10 de ___ abril de 2024 (cualquier duda, consultar con su docente a tiempo, no el día que debe entregar)

Reto: Escoja uno de los siguientes sitios para elaborar su sitio web

•

     WIX

•    BLOGSPOT O BLOGGER

•    TUMBLR

•    WEBNODE

•    WEEBLY

•    WORDPRESS

•    MÉDIUM

•    OTROS

Si ya tiene uno, súbale contenido temático (temático significa que sea netamente académico enfocado a TECNOLOGIA E INFORMATICA).  

En su blog deben ir apareciendo semana a semana sus informes sobre la evidencia final

-Videos de la elaboración de su evidencia final (mientras realizan la actividad usted puede grabar y/o tomar fotos para ir evidenciando su proceso.

Nota: Cualquier duda, inquietud comunicármela a tiempo.  Quedo pendiente    

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

-Programas operativos y aplicativos

Desde la perspectiva de la informática, un programa de aplicación consiste en una clase de software que se diseña con el fin de que para el usuario sea más sencilla la realización de un determinado trabajo. Esta particularidad lo distingue del resto de los programas, entre los cuales se pueden citar a los sistemas operativos.

-Los sistemas operativos son los que permiten el funcionamiento de la computadora, existen varios, tales como (Microsoft Windows - Mac OS X - GNU/Linux – UNIX – Solaris – FreeBSD - OpenBSD: Sistema operativo libre, - Google Chrome OS - Debian – Ubuntu – Mandriva – Sabayon – Fedora - Linpus Linux - Haiku (BeOS)

- Lenguajes de programación (aquellos que dan las herramientas necesarias para desarrollar los programas informáticos en general) y las utilidades (pensadas para realizar acciones de mantenimiento y tareas generales). Tales como (Java - C.- Python.- C++ - C# - Visual Basic. - JavaScript. – Php – Swift – SQL

El software es el elemento intangible y lógico que forma parte de una computadora. Es decir (Los programas se presentan como herramientas para mejorar tu desempeño. Algunos ejemplos de estos programas o aplicaciones son los procesadores de texto, como Microsoft Word; las hojas de cálculo, como Excel; y las bases de datos, como Microsoft Access.)

El hardware, en cambio, es el componente material y físico. Se dice que los sistemas operativos constituyen el lazo que une al software con el hardware.

En ocasiones, los programas de aplicación son diseñados a medida, es decir, según las necesidades y pretensiones de cada usuario. Por eso, el software permite resolver dificultades específicas. En otros casos, se trata de paquetes integrados que solucionan problemas generales e incluyen múltiples aplicaciones. Por ejemplo, un paquete de oficina combina aplicaciones como procesadores de textos y hojas de cálculo.

10. Herramientas para crear maquetas de interfaz de usuario en aplicaciones de software

Balsamiq Mockups. Balsamiq Mockups es una aplicación es muy divertida y sencilla de usar.

Mockingbird.

Mockup Builder.

MockFlow.

HotGloo.

Invision.

JustProto.

Proto.io.

Framer

Origami Studios

InVision

Reto  autónomo: Elabore una presentación en PowerPoint o video explicativo, sobre los programas operativos y aplicativos para el manejo de registros, textos, diagramas, figuras, planos constructivos, maquetas, modelos y prototipos con herramientas informáticas.

INFORME FINAL

El docente explica a sus estudiantes como elaborar su informe final, con enlaces directos a las actividades solicitadas durante el periodo.

Nota: También dejo la guía para descarga

[bnblogs]

Semana 3

En la tercera semana conocimos acerca sobre los materiales de estudio, como lo hemos visto anteriormente son instrumentos que nos ayudan a realizar actividades de manera virtual o presencial, en laque se puede encontrar gran cantidad de ellos ya que son muy adaptables y flexibles al momento de usarlos, mayormente los podemos ver cuando son actividades, dinámicas y se suelen utilizar esas herramientas para crear un material en el cual se pueda llevar a cabo una retroalimentación sobre el tema inicial, en la universidad si hemos utilizado estás herramientas como kahoot, educaplay, genially, etc.

Una herramienta que conocimos durante esta semana fue help desk, qué es un servicio que ofrece ayuda sobre dudas que llegan a tener los alumnos sobre algún tema en específico, ese brinda un servicio para la resolución de problemas y también para llevar a cabo una buena organización ya que el software que se tiene pues está con fines educativos en el cual pues se busca tener un buen ambiente en el sentido de que se puede llevar a cabo las diferentes actividades en varios contextos, ya que anteriormente conocemos que me pueden adaptar a las técnicas de aprendizaje para que esta sea funcional no pueden alcanzar un límite alto, en las cuales tanto el alumno como el docente pueden llegar a la interacción de una forma correcta y pueden contribuir con una gran cantidad de información que sea verídica y correcta.

Algunas plataformas educativas también nos ayudan mucho para lo que es el aprendizaje significativo, en el ámbito virtual es muy importante desarrollar estabilidad de conocer cada plataforma que nos pueden ayudar para poder llevar a cabo una educación correcta, anteriormente conocimos varias de ellas como e-learning, LMS, help desk, etc. que están adaptadas para llevar a cabo una mejor organización y que nos ofrecen todos los servicios que esas contienen, es importante conocer las plataformas que pudiera ver ya que se nos pueden brindar un mejor entendimiento y lograr que el tema que esté planteado pueda ser aprendido de una mejor manera ya que como sabemos se pueden contar con muchos apartados como lo son los correos, las bibliotecas virtuales que son fundamentales para aquellas personas que no pueden conseguir un libro físico, los anuncios que nos brindan información útil y rápida, entre otros, que desde mi punto de vista es muy importante conocer acerca de las plataformas y los autoservicios que nos brindan, para ello el conocer desde fondo cómo se crean es de gran utilidad, para así poder crear un ambiente virtual motivador en el cual todas las partes se sientan involucradas para poder aportar algo, incitar a la participación, a la interacción y a la colaborabilidad para que el aprendizaje se lleve de una mejor manera en la cual todos nos sentamos cómodos con las evaluaciones, las prácticas y más que nada el aprendizaje de distintas formas.

Lo aprerdido durante estas tres semanas lo vimos reflejado en lo que fue un examen, en el cual se notaron los temas vistos hasta la fecha y los cuales podemos observar más a fondo cada uno y saber qué era lo que habíamos adquirido sobre esos temas que habíamos visto hasta la fecha.

[yamila48]

¡Bienvenidos al blog temático que ofrece información oportuna referido a la Didática e un AVA!

AULA VIRTUAL DE APRENDIZAJE

La enseñanza y el aprendizaje virtual implican la interacción entre docentes y estudiantes mediante la utilización de medios electrónicos.

¿De qué hablamos?

Los AVA "ambientes virtuales de aprendizajes" o EVA "entornos virtuales de aprendizaje" traccionan el aprendizaje cooperativo y contribuyen a la configuración de redes de interacción donde la información y el saber pueden diversificarse y converger más allá de los impedimentos de espacio y de tiempo.

PRINCIPALES CARACTERÍSTICAS

Un entorno o ambiente virtual tendrá implícitamente una u otra concepción del proceso de enseñanza y aprendizaje y le otorgara al formador y al cursante un determinado papel, esto implica que es posible recrear formas o intervenciones docentes. La Web 2.0 representa la evolución de las aplicaciones tradicionales hacia aplicaciones web enfocadas en el usuario final, esto permite potenciar acciones a distribuir el conocimiento facilitando el trabajo colaborativo. Concepto web 2.0 habla de una actitud y no de una tecnología se trata de un esquema donde el usuario final no manifiesta una actitud pasiva, es ahora el protagonista.

LA COMUNICACIÓN DE UN AVA

Se hacen posibles construcciones colectivas y el estado de flujo permanente de la información y los saberes. Surgen en consecuencia modalidades como las de E-learning y B-learning que posibilitan tanto formas de aprendizaje donde la adquisición de la información es puramente a través del uso de alguna tecnología electrónica (y la capacitación es enteramente a través de internet) como dinámicas de aprendizaje donde el proceso de enseñanza y de aprendizaje resultan de un mestizaje o integración de desarrollos presenciales y virtuales.

EL ROL DEL TUTOR VIRTUAL

El tutor es un profesional de distintas disciplinas responsable de diversas tareas referidas al proceso de enseñanza y aprendizaje.

PERFIL DEL DOCENTE TUTOR:

Facilita un entorno virtual procurando introducir una matriz de humanización creciente.

Es capaz de realizar un seguimiento académico y motivacional a través del espacio virtual, sin dejar que los intereses individuales y grupales decaigan.

Genera confianza, calidad y calidez.

Es capaz de comprender cada participante desde su integridad como  persona.

Dinamiza el trabajo grupal.

Organiza y planifica las tareas en tiempo y forma.

Expeditivo, brinda claridad y seguridad desde su hacer.

Buen dominio del lenguaje escrito.

Sistemático y responsable en su hacer y en su comunicación en línea.

Posee solidez pedagógica con relación al tema del curso- asignatura haciendo agiles y apropiadas sus intervenciones.

Es creativo y flexible, adaptándose con plasticidad a los imprevistos.

Reflexivo respecto de su propia práctica.

CUALIDADES DEL DOCENTE TUTOR VIRTUAL

Madurez

Estabilidad emocional

Gradualidad

Capacidad de aceptación

Empatía

Capacidad de escucha

LA DIDÁCTICA Y LA PLANIFICACIÓN

La finalidad es dirigir y orientar el proceso educativo, aborda todos los aspectos presentes (cuenta con metodologías, recursos, planeación y normas).

COMPONENTES:

ESTUDIANTE: es integral, no receptor.

DOCENTE: facilitador y mediador.

OBJETIVOS: debe ser el resultado de la mediación entre la comunidad educativa y las expectativas que genera la sociedad. Estos componentes no varían en la educación presencial o virtual, pero si es evidente el protagonismo que adquiere el estudiante como responsable de su propio aprendizaje al interactuar con sus diferentes fuentes de información.

El cambio es social, cultural, educativo y no “solo instrumental”.

Hay puntos centrales en didáctica de AVA:

Sincronicidad y asicronicidad: deben equilibrarse, son complementarios. Las intervenciones en el aula con encuentros reales, con explicaciones (andamiaje) y los entornos virtuales se convierten en depósitos digitales.

-Material digitalizado mediado: tipografías, recursos variados (gif, enlaces, imágenes, videos) con explicación, ajustadas.

-La distancia no es el olvido y la cercanía no debe invadir mensajes claros que no saturen.

-La planificación y organización previa deben intensificarse.

-Metodología diferente debe superar la mera publicación de material y lectura.

-La Comunidad de estudiantes debe potenciarse.

-Comunicación: claridad, mayor frecuencia en intercambios y mensajes.

-Trabajo colaborativo: los entornos virtuales para el aprendizaje prestan potencial desde el enfoque colaborativo. Las posibilidades que nos traen las tecnologías de conectividad y las plataformas en cuanto a la superación de barreras de tiempo y espacio, son diversas.

La utilización combinada de las tecnologías multimedia e internet, hace posible el aprendizaje en cualquier lugar.

EVALUACIÓN

Evaluar en Ambientes virtuales de Aprendizaje, hay 4 dimensiones entrelazadas en la práctica evaluativa, de los modos que los conocimientos previos y el sentido con el accede el alumno a los aprendizajes devienen estos son elementos escenciales para la docencia pudiendo desde allí anclar y desarrollar lo que se enseña a los alumnos.

Dimensiones: evaluación del aprendizaje, evaluación para el aprendizaje, evaluación como apredizaje y evaluación desde el aprendizaje.

Existen por tanto algunos puntos a tener en cuenta a la hora de planificar la evaluación en entornos virtuales:

-Explorar las formas de evaluación más coherentes con el paradigma de aprendizaje adoptado para el diseño del material.

-Considerar las posibilidades que ofrecen las herramientas tecnológicas para llevar adelante la evaluación. Teniendo en cuenta que la herramienta posibilite la comunicación bidireccional entre docentes y estudiantes, favoreciendo instancias de evaluación formativa.

-Contemplar los objetivos que conducen a la evaluación. A la vez, considerar el tiempo de ejecución de la evaluación, anticipar lo que se espera de los estudiantes en cada instancia, por ejemplo mediante rúbrica.

Como conclusión:

Las estrategias y herramientas digitales que podemos plantear para evaluar son diversas, aunque lo importante siempre sigue siendo tener muy en consideración los marcos teóricos o conceptuales sobre la evaluación que queremos privilegiar para favorecer la enseñanza, de lo contrario no habrá mejora en las prácticas, y el uso de la tecnología se vuelve instrumental. 

¡Agradecemos que hayan llegado hasta aquí y sus comentarios!

[nycexhibitvisits]

Craftsmanship and Godliness at the Met Cloisters

As a maker myself, I am not unfamiliar with what it takes to work on wood and metal pieces, there is tons of equipment, time, material, etc. involved and it still takes forever. In the Treasury at the Met Cloisters, works of intricacy beyond my wildest dreams are through a stone corridor and softly lit in cases. The Cloisters as a whole stands on a beautiful big hill in upper Manhattan and the general default theme of the building and the art is about devotion to the Christian understanding of God. With that lens, viewing all of this became different.

Standing in the Cloisters and looking at the medieval works of metalwork and jewelry is unbelievable. Things that would take me years of training, thousands of dollars in materials, and months to finish were stamped with dates that predated any of the machinery I am familiar with in metalworking.

Ring; German, 10th–11th century

Diptych with Scenes of the Annunciation, Nativity, Crucifixion, and Resurrection; German, 1300–1325

Reliquary Shrine: Attributed to Jean de Touyl, French, ca. 1325–50

Talking to a docent, I had a long conversation about the people of the church and their practice of art and craft. She said that working this hard on these pieces was like religious meditation. One would make a biblical depiction and spend hours at a time working on it. This work was meant to serve god. The purpose of creating was not just for the sake of doing so but serving a higher purpose. In a life that one is supposed to dedicate to god, these intricate art pieces were almost offerings in their own way.

[southeastasianists]

The Intan is a one-of-a-kind boutique museum with over 5,000 Peranakan artifacts, a unique culture that came to be in the 15th century in Southeast Asia. In a relatively young Singapore, which became an independent sovereign country in 1965, this is quite a rare treat.  The Intan is also nestled in the charming precinct of Joo Chiat which has been designated as Singapore's first Heritage Town by the government. 

The Intan's curator and owner, Alvin Yapp, lives in the museum. All the artifacts and antiques, including the exquisite material culture of the Peranakans like the beaded shoes and tiffin carriers, are part of Yapp's personal collection.

Unlike regular museums where visitors appreciate exhibits through audio guides or write-ups, and perhaps the occasional docents, all visitors to the Intan get personal tour from Yapp. An affable and interesting personality, he offers his guests quite a good dose of the Peranakan culture through his encounters and stories, often peppered with good humor and great insights. Every visit to the Intan comes with delightful Peranakan cakes and specially brewed tea. If you're lucky, and time allows, Yapp might play a song or two on the piano.

Visitors who want a more customized experience can arrange for hands-on learning of beading, coloring of tiles, appreciation of the beautiful Peranakan jewelry, or even a wellness program involving a sound bath.   

It is a highly immersive experience where you can learn about a unique culture and experience the charming hospitality of a local in his house.

[notasfilosoficas]

“La última meta del ambicioso no es adquirir una cosa de valor, sino ser más estimado que otros”

Max Scheler

Fue un filósofo alemán, nacido en Múnich en agosto de 1874, de gran importancia en el desarrollo de la fenomenología, la ética y la antropología filosófica, ademas de ser un clásico dentro de la filosofía de la religión.

Max se bautiza en la iglesia católica, su padre era protestante y su madre judía. 

Al finalizar sus estudios básicos, se matricula en la Universidad de Múnich pero al siguiente año decide trasladarse a la Universidad de Berlin para estudiar filosofía y sociología.

En 1897 presenta su tesis doctoral dirigida por Rudolf Eucken, quien fuera galardonado con el Premio Nobel de Literatura en 1908.

Su escrito “El método trascendental y el psicológico” le hace merecedor del nombramiento de docente en la Universidad de Jena y es pen 1902 cuando conoce al filósofo y matemático alemán Edmund Husserl. 

El encuentro con Husserl le hace quedar marcado por el denominado método fenomenológico (el estudio filosófico del mundo, a través directamente de la conciencia).

Derivado de un escándalo provocado por su esposa, de conducta inmoral, Scheler se ve obligado a abandonar la docencia  y se traslada a Berlin en donde con el apoyo de sus amigos y de su incansable capacidad de trabajo, permitió que afloraran la mayoría de sus mejores y mas importantes obras.

Scheler se divorcia de su esposa y contrae matrimonio civil con su alumna María Scheu, en donde fue considerado como apóstata por los creyentes y cristiano disimulado por los si creyentes.

Dentro de algunas de las instituciones mas importantes destacan; “El resentimiento de la moral” (1912), “Los ídolos del conocimiento de si mismo” (1912), “El formalismo en la ética y la ética material de los valores” (1913), “Muerte y supervivencia” (1911-1914) entre muchos otros.

Es muy difícil pensar en gran parte de la ética, de la psicología o de la antropología del siglo XX sin la influencia de Scheler. Sus aportaciones en la filosofía de la religión, y en la Teología moral fueron decisivas.

Se han distinguido tres etapas en la vida de Scheler y en su posición doctrinal. Durante su juventud estuvo dominado por la influencia de Eucken, después seguirá la influencia fenomenológica de Husserl, sin perder sus aficiones vitalistas y afectivistas de Eucken, y su madurez por su posición teista.

La filosofía de Scheler considera fundamentalmente tres problemas o cuestiones dobles; el conocimiento, y los valores, la vida y el hombre, los sentimientos y Dios.

La persona es para Scheler esencialmente espiritual. El espíritu no es, propiamente, ni la inteligencia ni la voluntad: es mas bien un principio nuevo. El acto de separar la existencia y la esencia constituyen la característica diferencial del espíritu humano. En conjunto, el espíritu de la objetividad.

A cada persona corresponde un mundo y a cada mundo una persona, en donde la persona-individuo se articula en una comunidad.

El hombre como realidad natural no escapa a su animalidad, pero el hombre también tiene otro sentido: es el ser que ora, que aspira a trascender; es el buscador de Dios. En donde Dios es un ser vivo y personal.

Max Scheler muere en Fráncfort de Meno en mayo de 1927 a la edad de 52 años.

Fuentes: Wikipedia, filosofia.org

[classystarfishdreamer]

Tutto pronto per l'evento tanto atteso a Napoli

Lunedì 15 luglio alle ore 17.00 presso la sala della Loggia, l’Associazione Culturale “Noi per Napoli”, con il patrocinio morale del Comune di Napoli presenterà due ospiti. Il tenore Luca Lupoli, autore del nuovo saggio dal titolo “Il Melodramma di Pietro Metastasio, il Primato del Testo” edito dalla casa editrice Pagine e la giornalista, scrittrice, docente di materie letterarie Maria…

[strange-lamp-stranger]

i just learned of the Tasha's spell Dream of the Blue Veil and i am so so so fucking pumped for whenever it comes up in RWD. which will take a good while i think but hot fucking damn. MR-SN specifically talked about the Blue Veil; how he saw other worlds in his dreams. plus, the crew has the one material component needed for the spell: an object from the target world, e.g., Docent. but the crew of the Ad Asra certainly did NOT travel to Toril/The Forgotten Realms via this spell, seeing as they did not have anything that fit the material component requirement (to our knowledge). i am screaming