A friend of mine got a copy of an old Dutch edition of The Hobbit. I absolutely agree with their assessment that this is the best cover art the book has ever had.
The more I look at it the more I love it. Look at it. Look at Bilbo. He’s just a little guy
[image ID] screenshot of a tweet by saraofswords that says: an adventuring party that forms in the women’s bathroom of the tavern because someone is crying and random drunk girls at a bar will do anything for you [/image ID] [source]
Straight cis perisex able-bodied neurotypical people using aids designed for disabled people (I.e weighted blankets, grabby claw, sock holder, etc), going to therapists occasionally to keep up their mental health, using fidget toys, choosing to call their bf/gf their partner, using pronouns besides the ones associated with their gender just because they like it, and doing a million other small things that make us fitting in and being accepted a little bit easier is in fact exactly the type of support these communities need, and will ultimately help us so much more than gatekeeping ever fuckin will
People who do not need weighted blankets, fidget toys, gluten free bread and baking products, jar openers, etc., but purchase them anyway not only helps with acceptance and normalization, it makes the products more available because there is more demand for them.
If only people with celiac bought gluten free products those products would be much harder to find and a lot more expensive.
The original fidget cube sold for $25 or $30. Now you can get different colors, different sizes, different shapes with different fidgets, for as little as $10.
Weighted blankets used to sell for $300. Now I can get them for $50. In store.
This weekend I was schmoozing at an event when some guy asked me what kind of history I study. I said “I’m currently researching the role of gender in Jewish emigration out of the Third Reich,” and he replied “oh you just threw gender in there for fun, huh?” and shot me what he clearly thought to be a charming smile.
The reality is that most of our understandings of history revolve around what men were doing. But by paying attention to the other half of humanity our understanding of history can be radically altered.
For example, with Jewish emigration out of the Third Reich it is just kind of assumed that it was a decision made by a man, and the rest of his family just followed him out of danger. But that is completely inaccurate. Women, constrained to the private social sphere to varying extents, were the first to notice the rise in social anti-Semitism in the beginning of Hitler’s rule. They were the ones to notice their friends pulling away and their social networks coming apart. They were the first to sense the danger.
German Jewish men tended to work in industries which were historically heavily Jewish, thus keeping them from directly experiencing this “social death.” These women would warn their husbands and urge them to begin the emigration process, and often their husbands would overlook or undervalue their concerns (“you’re just being hysterical” etc). After the Nuremberg Laws were passed, and after even more so after Kristallnacht, it fell to women to free their husbands from concentration camps, to run businesses, and to wade through the emigration process.
The fact that the Nazis initially focused their efforts on Jewish men meant that it fell to Jewish women to take charge of the family and plan their escape. In one case, a woman had her husband freed from a camp (to do so, she had to present emigration papers which were not easy to procure), and casually informed him that she had arranged their transport to Shanghai. Her husband—so traumatized from the camp—made no argument. Just by looking at what women were doing, our understanding of this era of Jewish history is changed.
I have read an article arguing that the Renaissance only existed for men, and that women did not undergo this cultural change. The writings of female loyalists in the American Revolutionary period add much needed nuance to our understanding of this period. The character of Jewish liberalism in the first half of the twentieth century is a direct result of the education and socialization of Jewish women. I can give you more examples, but I think you get the point.
So, you wanna understand history? Then you gotta remember the ladies (and not just the privileged ones).
I actually studied this in one of my classes last semester. It was beyond fascinating.
There was one woman who begged her husband for months to leave Germany. When he refused to listen to her, she refused to get into bed with him at night, instead kneeling down in front of him and begging him to listen to her, or if he wouldn’t listen to her, to at least tell her who he would listen to. He gave her the name of a close, trusted male friend. She went and found that friend, convinced him of the need to get the hell out of Europe, and then brought him home. Thankfully, her husband finally saw sense and moved their family to Palestine.
Another woman had a bit more control over her own situation (she was a lawyer). She had read Mein Kampf when it was first published and saw the writing on the wall. She asked her husband to leave Europe, but he didn’t want to leave his (very good) job and told her that he had faith in his countrymen not to allow an evil man to have his way. She sent their children to a boarding school in England, but stayed in Germany by her husband’s side. Once it was clear that if they stayed in Germany they were going to die, he fled to France but was quickly captured and killed. His wife, however, joined the French Resistance and was active for over a year before being captured and sent to Auschwitz.
(This is probably my favorite of these stories) The third story is about a young woman who saved her fiance and his father after Kristallnacht. She was at home when the soldiers came, but her fiance was working late in his shop. Worried for him, she snuck out (in the middle of all the chaos) to make sure he was alright. She found him cowering (quite understandably) in the back of his shop and then dragged him out, hoping to escape the violence. Unfortunately, they were stopped and he, along with hundreds of other men, was taken to a concentration camp. She was eventually told that she would have to go to the camp in person to free him, and so she did. Unfortunately, the only way she could get there was on a bus that was filled with SS men; she spent the entire trip smiling and flirting with them so that they would never suspect that she wasn’t supposed to be there. When she got to the camp, she convinced whoever was in charge to release her fiance. She then took him to another camp and managed to get her father-in-law to be released. Her father-in-law was a rabbi, so she grabbed a couple or witnesses and made him perform their marriage ceremony right then and there so that it would be easier for her to get her now-husband out of the country, which she did withing a few months. This woman was so bad ass that not only was her story passed around resistance circles, even the SS men told it to each other and honoured her courage.
The moral of these stories is that men tend to trust their governments to take care of them because they always have; women know that our governments will screw us over because they always have.
Another interesting tidbit is that there is sufficient evidence to suggest that Kristallnacht is a term that historians came up with after the fact, and was not what the event was actually called at the time. It’s likely that the event was actually called was (I’m sorry that I can’t remember the German word for it but it translates to) night of the feathers, because that, instead of broken glass, is the image that stuck in people’s minds because the soldiers also went into people’s homes and destroyed their bedding, throwing the feathers from pillows and blankets into the air. What does it say that in our history we have taken away the focus of the event from the more domestic, traditionally feminine, realms, and placed it in the business, traditionally masculine, realms?
Badass women and interesting commentary. Though I would argue that “Night of Broken Glass" includes both the personal and the private spheres. It was called Kristallnacht by the Nazis, which led to Jewish survivors referring to it as the November Pogrom until the term “Kristallnacht" was reclaimed, as such.
None of this runs directly counter to your fascinating commentary, though.
@the-waters-and-the-wild hi! I’m (OP) actually writing a book on these themes. If you’re interested in learning more or helping me out with access, please check out this page: https://www.indiegogo.com/projects/women-in-the-warsaw-jewish-underground-project#/
Help me pay for the translators, books, reproductions of archival materials, and editors I need. | Check out 'Women in the Warsaw Jewish Und
Narcissa, daughter of the House of Black, has had enough. No longer will she sit idly by and allow the house of her birth to be dragged through the muck.
"Sirius Orion Black, how dare you." Narcissa's angry, cut-crystal toned sliced across the noise of the Great Hall.
Sirius froze, years of experience with That Tone pinning him in place. And it looked like Sprout had let her in, even though she'd finished NEWTs two years before. Traitor.
"Pads, what is going on?" James muttered next to him.
"I am one thousand percent fucked, Prongs." He tried to speak without moving his mouth. Better Cissa didn't see him try to say anything.
At least most hadn't yet shown up for breakfast. And he and the others had claimed the far end of the table, nearest the doors. Rather regretted that now, though. Probably would have regretted her stalking the length of the Hall more.
"I have never been more ashamed of you than I am right now, cousin." And there she was, a vision of fury on the other side of the table. Sirius gulped.
"Good morning, Cissa." His voice squeaked.
"Good morning my foot. I had seventeen owls this morning decrying your conduct yesterday. Seventeen! All before breakfast."
Yesterday. The lake. Snivellus. Oh, yes, he was fucked, wasn't he? Cissa had always had a bizarre affection for the twerp. And Lulu seemed to think him the lobster's dress shirt.
"With me. Now." The order had him scrambling away from the table to trot behind her, Jamie's confused question strangling into silence at Cissa's "I'll be speaking to your parents later, Mr. Potter."
Despite his greater height, he had to scuttle to keep up with her. Narcissa stalked down a corridor, paused, and nodded to herself. The nearest door opened at a flick of her hand, practically embedding the handle in the stone wall with the force of her magic. Sirius swallowed. Why had he let Jamie go so far?
His parents wouldn't care, but Cissa had some strange ideas about besmirching the name of Black. And the power to enforce her edicts. Especially once she married that puffed-up popinjay.
"I would like to know," Cissa began, pacing the length of the room. "Precisely what you thought you were doing yesterday?"
"Er...well...you see…" Sirius fell silent. "We were bored?"
It sounded hollow now. Yesterday boredom needed that outlet, watching Jamie bait Snivellus. Now, though, facing someone asking him to account for his behavior, he couldn't feel the same elation.
"You were bored." Narcissa repeated. "I see."
She fell silent for some minutes while Sirius squirmed under her steady gaze.
"Do you know, cousin, what you've done?"
"Er...baited a prat?"
She took a deep breath in...wrong answer, then.
"In the last five years, you have destroyed your reputation. You were meant to lead, Sirius, and instead you hide behind Potter." She practically spat Jamie's surname. "You watch his cruelty with glee and egg him on, the jester to his court. You are known, now, as a follower. A weakling. Too hesitant, too soft to do anything other than cower at the hem of his robes. It's destroying you. Where is the cousin who loved music? Who loved to learn? Who lead?"
"Well, Jamie…" he stopped short. Jamie never liked him playing different instruments, never liked all his books everywhere, never liked that languages came as easily to him as breathing, never liked his manners or his accent...was Cissa somehow right? Had he made himself into something acceptable to Jamie...to Gryffindor, just to spite his mother? "I...I didn't realize."
His world crashed sideways. He'd rebuilt himself once, at eleven, with Jamie's views and Jamie's politics and Jamie's hatreds taken as his own. Could he do it again? He didn't even know himself, who he really was...did he?
"You know, Sirius, some wonder that you and Potter haven't yet planned your Marking."
"What?" His own voice sounded faint and far away over the pounding in his ears.
"Well, you've spent years targeting muggleborn and half-blood students. You've pushed some of them straight to the Dark Lord's side, since it seems safer than being around you."
His knees buckled. He heard the crack of them off the floor, but he had to work too hard to breathe to care. His breath came in gasps, one too many shocks stealing it from his lungs. He never knew. He never knew because he hadn't cared.
And a Black was meant to care. He was one step below a Founder's Line Heir, socially, and not one of them had been seen in generations. He was supposed to lead, to show others the correct way.
They were a guardian house and he'd hurt and humiliated instead, and all to spite one woman. He ought to have stepped between Jamie and his targets, stopped, at the very least, the worst of his excesses. Ought to have stopped himself, too. He'd learned that at Grandfather's side--riding the bounds, talking to the tenant farmers, meeting their concerns--in a smaller way before he took his place in the wider world.
And he'd muffed it. Royally. And would Jamie even accept him if he changed? If he went 'all posh' again? He'd only just got back into everyone's good graces.
"You can still put things right, cousin." Cissa started again. "You can be the savior of our family instead of the ruin. But you have to be willing to work for it."
She knelt on the floor next to him, supporting his head against her shoulder. She ran her fingers through his hair as she spoke.
"It won't be easy, Sirius. You may have your heart broken by those you now trust. You may not be wholly successful. But just trying, just taking a first step, will show the outside world who you wish to be."
"I...I almost killed Snape...last Fall." The admission fell from his lips. "How do I come back from that? I'm meant to lead a Guardian House and I almost killed someone because Jamie hates him. Jamie saved him. For...for Remus more than anyone. That's what he said."
"Why would Mr. Lupin be involved?"
"He's a werewolf. I told Snape how to get into where he was on the full moon. Jamie yanked him out at the last minute. Don't know why we didn't even get detention." He felt dazed, soul-bruised and aching from the hard truths of his conduct.
"I see." Cissa managed after several very quiet minutes. "The first step is an apology. First a personal one, then a more general one in the Great Hall at the evening meal. We'll go now. Severus is in with McGonagall and Evans. You'll speak to grandfather about making amends to both Lupin and Severus. There isn't an easy path and I'm trying very hard not to smack you."
"Cissa...why…"
"I may wed Lucius Malfoy in a few months, but I will always be a daughter of House Black. That House has primacy over Malfoy in my contract. I would like to know it's headed by someone with integrity and honor. Despite your... extracurricular activities, I believe you may yet be that person. Perhaps. You have the potential, at least, if you'll do the work to get there."
Sirius let her tug him up and automatically gave her his arm.
"If you have a son he won't be my heir."
"My son will be fit for House Malfoy, not House Black. I'm a selfish woman, Sirius, and I want a bolt hole if it all goes to hell, as it likely will. Lucius' politics are...not precisely my own. You fit my needs perfectly. And...grandfather sent this, if I felt you deserved it."
She turned toward him and held out a ring box. Sirius ghosted reverent fingers over the old, rich leather.
"Is it…"
"Open it, cousin, and see."
His hands shook and his mouth went dry, but he opened the box. The Heir Ring of House Black shone up at him, the silver band and onyx stone gleaming dully in the dim light. He took it out...he felt the magic of it, soft and somehow aware.
"After all I told you. After all you know of me?" He looked down into her face, trying to read her.
"I will shout at you later, once I'm calm enough that I won't flay you alive." Her tone remained even. "I think, however, that you should try. You must see if the Black Family will accept you as a potential leader. That will answer my questions."
Merlin but his cousin terrified him. Ready to murder him for what he'd done and still sounding like she'd been invited for tea.
He slipped it onto his finger and felt home for the first time in years. The Black magic swirled around him, judging him, yes, but also welcoming him. It saw his heart, the good and the bad and his willingness to try again, and accepted him as heir. Home. Home thrummed in his veins. It was hot chocolate after skating on a cold, cold day and sitting at the hearth of a roaring fire and the smell of the fields on a summer morning and the faint tang of furniture polish and the flowers grandmother placed in the hall every morning, hope and sanctuary and citadel all rolled into one perfect moment.
He knew what to do.
"I'm going to apologize, properly. And...and I'm going to write grandfather about a promising scholar he ought to sponsor. No. I'm going to ask McGonagall if I can use her Floo. He'll never believe me if I promise a letter."
"Are you certain?" Narcissa allowed him to lead her from the room. "It could change everything."
"Maybe it's time for a change, Cissa." He'd never been more sure of himself than in that moment.
theartofmadeline
yousharknotpass
pixelskylines
annaxmalina
vaporwave
