the remnant society

Mythology Prompt List
  • All mythology is true yet false. if you look for it, it will never be true. That is why the gods of myth reveal themselves in back parking lots at 3am to tired students and children lost in clothing stores. They are not looking.
  • One mythological creature governs human invention so that it may one day be made. But its creators keep giving up on the project that will one day make them.
  • In the future when humans are all gone, the technology they have left behind elevate their creators to mythological status. Any remnant of human society is celebrated. 
  • It is not the mythological gods that are true and come to reclaim and govern earth, it is the elder gods. They do not understand why humans have such needs as ‘light’ or ‘tacos’. 
  • A time traveler travels back to see the worship of mythological gods but is instead mistaken for one with their powerful ‘chariot’. 
  • The new gods have no idea they are. They effect the environment around them in inopportune ways. (One poisons the water they nearly drown in…which is a whole lake, another hunts for food but revives every animal they touch, a city-rat finds that from their footsteps spring flowers which breaks streets, etc…)

A part of me knows
I am incapable.

I have always been able to
cheat my way through.
But it can only take me so far.
At some point, my overconfidence
will no longer be able to
compensate for my shortcomings.

I am incapable of everything
when it comes to things like this.
I am no good when it comes to you.

A part of me knows why.
I hate to admit it.

—  “I am afraid” remnant-thoughts

a tradition older than man

older than the skies and the seas

older than the universe itself

nobody knos where these elusive images come from,,,, some say they are the remnants of an ancient society,,,,,,,,,,others, communication from a faraway galaxy,,,

do u think there’s like. a HUGE conspiracy in the twoleg world of the wc series where twolegs have stumbled upon the old camps in the old forest and found all their little dens with herb stacks and little nests and there’s jsut this HUGE conspiracy about wtf these dens and camps held and who were there

“do elves live in the forest? camps with herbs that have medical healing properties found”

“miniature bigfeet living in england? small dens with nests have been found”

“did aliens live in an england forest? remnants of an organized society found”

like no one would expect fucking cats with an organized society. just fucking aliens and elves and shit.

Appalachian Subculture: On being gay and Appalachian, by Jeff Mann

Jeff Mann is a widely published essayist and poet from West Virginia. This piece was published in Gay & Lesbian Review Worldwide, September/October 2003, Vol. 10 Issue 5, page 19. 

Appalachia has a bad reputation, especially West Virginia, the only state whose borders lie entirely within anyone’s definition of the Appalachian Mountains. Moonshine swillers and feuding hicks—these are the images that most people hold. “Hillbillies,” despite today’s politically correct climate, are still regular objects of mockery. City dwellers have been alternately romanticizing and demonizing country dwellers since Greek and Roman times, and American popular culture’s relation to Appalachia is our version of it.
    Several summers ago, some friends and I walked into a Mexican restaurant in Rehoboth Beach, Delaware. The young man who escorted us to our table, noticing my West Virginia Writer’s Workshop T-shirt, asked if we still slept with our siblings back in the hollers. My Appalachian Studies students have heard many a thoughtless comment, to wit: “You’re from West Virginia? But you have teeth! You wear shoes?!” One young woman told me that an acquaintance had been so amazed by her accent that he asked permission to audiotape her speech for the amusement of friends!
    Queer folk and mountain folk have something very important in common: both are frequent objects of satire, hostility, and contempt. Both feel the pressure to assimilate, to blend in “for their own well-being.” Voices from the Hills: Selected Readings of Southern Appalachia (1975), edited by Robert Higgs and Ambrose Manning, is a seminal work in the field of Appalachian Studies, and a quick browse through that volume provides a neat historical overview of attitudes toward the region. The early travel narratives depict violence and hospitality, laziness and industriousness—but it’s the negative qualities that outsiders tend to linger over. From the “local color” writers of the late 19th century to the well-intentioned “War on Poverty” literature of the 1960’s, all the observers have emphasized the exoticism, the otherness of the Appalachian people, as if the region were almost a foreign country or some remnant of frontier society frozen in time. Today’s attitudes continue to be shaped by such media depictions as The Beverly Hillbillies or the infamous film Deliverance, with its inbred banjo-player and toothless rapists.
    ”Hillbilly” and “queer” are two words that oppressed groups have tried to reclaim. They are words that I may apply to myself but that outsiders had better not use to refer to me unless they want an argument. Being a member of both subcultures is often a double burden, one that many mountain people are eager to escape. Gay culture is still primarily an urban phenomenon, while Appalachia, despite its many cities, is primarily a rural region. Making a life as a gay man or lesbian in the countryside or in a small town can be tough; not surprisingly, many young Appalachian gays and lesbians hightail it to the nearest city as soon as possible.
    I certainly did. It was in 1976, when I was sixteen, that I read Patricia Nell Warren’s novel The Front Runner and realized that I was gay. Unlike gay and lesbian youths of today, who have the Internet with its many resources to inform them that they’re not the only ones with same-sex desires, my generation had books, and I devoured them during my high school days in the small town of Hinton, West Virginia, and later at West Virginia University, where I read novels by the Violet Quill writers and relished the luxury of college-town gay life. Appalachia was, at that point in my development, a place from which to flee. With delicious images of Greenwich Village and Fire Island in my head (but not ready for New York), I found part-time work in Washington, D.C., in the summer of 1985 and prepared myself for a new life filled with romantic and erotic adventure.
    Misery is often the stimulus to self-awareness, and I was miserable during that long autumn in Washington. A polite Southerner who hadn’t mastered the fine arts of cruising, anonymous sex, and emotional manipulation, I found myself as unhappy and celibate in the big city as I’d been in West Virginia. I felt like Tantalus, surrounded by inaccessible savories. On top of that, I missed the mountains and my family, and I began to realize how many of my values were thoroughly shaped by rural living and out of step with urban life. For someone accustomed to forests, pastures, and vegetable gardens, D.C.’s traffic, noise, and urban pace were abrasive and often maddening. In the midst of the city I came to realize that I was, inescapably, a country boy.
    Proximity to gay bars and bookstores was not worth the price, I decided, and by year’s end I returned to West Virginia, filled with a new appreciation for my native region. By the time I began teaching Appalachian Studies at Virginia Tech in the early 1990’s, I had changed from a young gay man eager to escape the mountains to a not-so-young gay man proud to be a member of both the Appalachian and gay subcultures. Living in a liberal university town in the hills of southwest Virginia allowed me the best of both worlds.
    For many people, however, claiming and retaining both identities is almost impossible. It’s so much easier to choose one subculture over the other than to deal with the confusions and complexities of balancing both. Those who remain in the mountains often feel compelled to hide or minimize their gayness, while those who leave for the cities try to erase their accents and assimilate into urban culture. The latter escapees face a particular difficulty. In an essay in his book, Appalachian Values, Loyal Jones discusses mountain people’s fervent attachment to place and to family. Gay hill folk are like their straight brethren: they display an inordinate affection for their native places, and they often suffer a bitter homesickness when they flee to big cities.
    Rob is a good example. A bear buddy of mine who had spent all of his life in West Virginia, he recently moved to Washington for the same reasons that I did over fifteen years ago, yearning for a rich and varied gay culture that was hard to find in the mountains. He’s had better luck on the romantic front—his handsome face, friendly smile, and well-built body are useful currency—but whenever I talk to him, whenever he returns to the mountains for holidays, I can hear the wistfulness in his voice. Everything’s so expensive in D.C., he complains. The commutes are long, the apartments small, the sound of traffic ceaseless. Maybe he’ll return to West Virginia and enter a graduate school program.
    I understand. As much as I love to visit D.C.—the Lambda Rising bookstore, the leather and bear bars, the innumerable gayfriendly restaurants along 17th Street—I’m always glad to escape the Beltway chaos and begin my retreat down the Shenandoah Valley. When I exit truck-crowded Interstate 81 at Ironto, Virginia, and wend my way along the tortuous back roads between hillsides of redbud, tulip tree, and sugar maple, I’m always gripped by the peace and beauty of the landscape. It is a loveliness I never take for granted. Perhaps it’s because my father (another literate West Virginian) raised me to be a romantic in the tradition of Emerson and Thoreau. Perhaps it’s because I’m in my mid-forties, happily coupled, and no longer delighted by late-night gay bar culture. Whatever the reason, these days the company of trees, creeks, and hills feels just as necessary for my spiritual health as relationships with other human beings.
    Many gay people continue to migrate out of Appalachia, but more and more I meet gay men and lesbians who are determined to remain in the mountains. Some are natives, while some are urbanites who’ve had more than enough stress and have decided to try something new. Harry is an example of the latter phenomenon. Originally from Staten Island, he’s lived in my little hometown of Hinton for twenty years. How does he manage to live a full gay life in an isolated town of 3,500? He does occasionally make the hour-and-a-half drive to the bear bar in Charleston, and he also attends Radical Faerie gatherings several times a year in Virginia and Tennessee. He always talks up Hinton to the people he meets, telling them of its beautiful mountains and river, its incredibly cheap property. And his strategy has worked. At this point, so many gay men, both Appalachians and outsiders, have bought property in Harry’s neighborhood that it has come to be known as “Harry’s Heights.” I’ve met more gay men in Harry’s kitchen—smack dab in the middle of Summers County, West Virginia, an area rife with religious fundamentalism—than I have in any gay bar.
    One reason that gay mountaineers flee to cities is, of course, to avoid homophobia. Though hatred of homosexuals is found everywhere, it’s sometimes more vocal here in Appalachia, where fundamentalist Christians usually assume that they’re the majority. In the Charleston Gazette, West Virginia’s most prestigious newspaper, the letters to the editor are often lousy with biblical quotations. One Kanawha Valley minister regularly harps on the sinfulness of gays and their supposed predatory pedophilia.
    However, despite this hostility, gay life in West Virginia has expanded and deepened in the last two decades. I imagine many citizens of Greenwich Village, Dupont Circle, or the Castro would be surprised to hear that Charleston, West Virginia, hosts four gay bars, a Mountain State Bear Contest, a Pride Parade, a Mr. Leather Contest, and an assortment of political and social organizations for gays, lesbians, and bisexuals. For those who live in the many tiny towns of Appalachia, fear and isolation are still likely to warp their lives, but in West Virginia cities like Charleston, Morgantown, and Huntington—and their equivalents in other Appalachian states—living a gay or lesbian existence is becoming in many cases much more comfortable than I could ever have imagined during my lonely high school days in Hinton in the mid-1970’s.
    My friendship with Alan reminds me, however, of the restrictions that can still make Appalachian gay and lesbian lives lonely and unfulfilling. Alan is very handsome, lean and muscular, sweet-tempered, intelligent, and gainfully employed. Despite this, he is unhappily single. Yes, Charleston has a gay community, but it’s too small. Only a few weeks in the bar scene and you know everyone, he complains. Disillusioned and bored by the social opportunities the Kanawha Valley offers, he spends his evenings renovating his house or going to the gym. He dreams of better romantic opportunities in Washington or New York or San Francisco, but he never quite seems to go. He reminds me of the many poverty-stricken inhabitants of the central Appalachian coalfields, whose attachment to place keeps them in a region where economic possibilities have dwindled along with the coal industry itself. (Alan also reminds me of how lucky I am to have my lover John. After years of romantic debacles, I’ve been in a healthy relationship for six years, and I’m no longer prowling for erotic outlets or looking for love. It’s easy for me, a homebody who can take or leave gay society, not to resent Appalachia’s restrictions.)
    Loneliness is everywhere, of course, from the Castro to the most isolated hillside hamlet. Much to my surprise, my D.C. friends sometimes register the same complaints that Alan does about Charleston: the gay social world is too hermetic; it’s hard to find someone interested in more than an overnight frolic. But for mountain gays and lesbians who are comfortably coupled, for those who have come to terms with solitude, or those who’ve resisted the media stereotypes that encourage “hillbillies” to hold their own heritage in contempt, Appalachia possesses a rich regional culture that remains distinctive even as many other sections of America have become blandly homogenized.
    The scholar Helen Lewis once claimed that most Appalachians are bicultural, able to operate in both mainstream American culture and their own mountain subculture. That would make “mountaineer queers” tricultural, I suppose, if they are strong enough to wrestle with the apparent contradictions in their identity. That there are tensions and contradictions I was reminded a few years ago when teaching courses on gay and lesbian literature and Appalachian Studies in the same semester. The gay and lesbian students at first regarded me as a “Bubba” or redneck (I drive a pickup truck, have a mountain accent, sport a beard, wear cowboy boots and jeans, and listen to country music), while the locals in my Appalachian Studies class regarded me as one of them until I came out as gay near semester’s end, giving rise to a good deal of cognitive dissonance. I was tempted to quote Walt Whitman: “Do I contradict myself?/Very well then I contradict myself,/ (I am large, I contain multitudes.)”
    The longer I live in the mountains and the more Appalachian gays and lesbians I meet, the more I realize how fortunate are those who master the complex art of balancing several subcultures. I’m also beginning to believe that future generations will more easily work their way through the stigmas and contradictions and will not feel the need to renounce one identity in favor of another.
    My ex-student Kaye is a fine example of the new breed of queer youth. She was raised in a coal-mining family in the small town of Fayetteville, West Virginia. Entirely comfortable with her lesbian identity, she is happily coupled and has little interest in leaving the region. “I like Appalachian gay bars,” Kaye admits. “Folk are pretty friendly around here, and, unlike the bars in cities, which often cater to a specific group of queers, West Virginia’s gay bars, since they’re so few, combine all the gay subcultures: men and women, younger and older, leather guys, dykes-on-bikes, and drag queens. It’s a rich mix.” Kaye also tells an unforgettable story about her years living outside the region. When she and her girlfriend moved to Florida and began socializing in a nearby lesbian bar, they were shunned as soon as the locals found out that they were from West Virginia. It turns out the other patrons took mountain incest jokes very seriously. Since Kaye and her lover were both tall and dark-haired, it was assumed that they were sisters as well as lovers! Unlike many gay people of my generation, Kaye is deeply interested in the traditions of mountain culture. As a student in my Appalachian Studies class, she recognized a kindred soul and gave me such local treats as home-canned corn relish, wild ramps, and creecy greens. Kaye is also passionately involved in such Appalachian controversies as the environmental effects of mountaintop mining and acid mine drainage.
    Everett and Glenn also come to mind. This spring John and I visited the young couple in their log cabin in southwest Virginia, which is set so high on a mountain that it’s only accessible via four-wheel-drive vehicles. Everett grilled steaks, Glenn poured iced tea, and the four of us shared a late lunch on the front porch of the cabin. Far below, the north fork of the Roanoke River rushed along. Across the valley, the fog that forms after a spring rain rubbed its belly along the ridges. Just over the fence, a neighbor’s herd of fat cattle grazed amidst buttercups. A mockingbird chattered somewhere, the porch wind chimes sounded. The rest was countryside silence.
    Everett and Glenn are both Southwest Virginia locals, one from Patrick County, the other from Alleghany County. They like their native mountains, and they intend to stay. They’re part of a widely scattered circle of bear buddies who’ve met on the Internet, friends with whom they exchange infrequent visits. Their families have adopted a “Don’t ask, don’t tell” policy and officially regard them as roommates. What cravings they have for big-city gay adventure they defuse with several yearly trips to bear or leather busts in Orlando, Atlanta, and New Orleans. In between those jaunts, they have that quiet mountainside to come home to. “One colleague says I have two lives,” joked Everett as he doled out slices of his homemade pie. “I’m equally comfortable at wine tastings and Wal-Mart.”
    It’s that juxtaposition of the popular and the sophisticated, the wild and the groomed, the country and the queer, that gives one the sense of living between two worlds. John is due home soon, and I’m about to mix martinis. Some collard greens have been simmering most of the afternoon, and the barbecued ribs are almost done. Tonight we’re going to check our calendar—we have trips to San Francisco, Key West, and Lost River to plan—then watch a DVD of Puccini’s Tosca. Right now, however, I’m peeved, because the radio has just announced that the country music star Tim McGraw is performing at the nearby civic center this coming Saturday, but the event is sold out. The mountaineer in me loves McGraw’s music; the gay man loves his broad shoulders, furry cleavage, and handsome goatee. This double vision is the greatest gift of straddling two subcultures: the world shimmers with twice the meaning, twice the beauty.

sylleblossompetals  asked:

Hi there dear! I love your writing soooo much 💜 Could I possibly request a drabble/headcanon-mabobber of older Noct and his s/o dancing? Have a good day :)

(Hopefully this is what you were looking for! Thank you, friend ♡)

Noctis, after surviving what he’s gone through, isn’t the same as he used to be. He’s older and wiser, yes, but he’s also tired and haunted. If you look close enough at him when he lets himself slip, you can see his demons. The one thing he can still cling to, aside from his friendship with the boys, is his youthful devotion to his partner.

His coronation ball. Insomnia halfway rebuilt, but needing a king, not just an unofficial one. The remnants of Lucian high society, and the rulers of the neighboring states, all gathered to watch the rightful king take his father’s place. A flurry of silk and lace, jewels and lights. An opulent and political affair. Noctis, clad in the finest garb left over from the Fall, was put on display and set to his birthright.

He didn’t enjoy it at all.

So it was logical that he would slip away, pulling his now-spouse along by the hand. They let out protests, but he soon hushed them. They ran breathlessly through the building’s hallways, laughing like they used to when they were young.

“Noctis- what are you doing?!” They panted for breath, smiling as they stopped in a large room. A muffled echo of the musicians from the main hall rang out through to them, haunting. He pushed open a door to the balcony, and for a while they stood and stared out at the lights of Insomnia late at night. Noctis’ face dropped for a moment, feeling guilty about the regal status he had.

Soon, he placed his hands on their waist and began to sway gently to the distant pulsing of a waltz. The whole world seemed to dissapear as he pressed his stubbly chin into the crook of their neck before spinning them around and cupping their cheek.

Their feet moved perfectly in sync, a casual version of the dancing he learned as a prince. Their hands slotted together as if they were made for each other, and for the first time in years, Noctis’ smile was the same as it was the day he first sat in the seat of the Regalia and waved his now lover, former friend off through the window. They spun and twirled, fabric rustling in the cold night as they melted together and pushed the world aside. Noctis pressed his hand to their cheek and leaned in, kissing them chastely and resting their foreheads together as they continued to sway.

In that moment, he wasn’t the king. He wasn’t plagued with the memories of his past. He was dancing and in love and young again and smiling and softened and freezing to the bone and spinning like a madman and himself again.

Okay so can I talk for a second about how insanely impressive it is that the Galra empire has been one cohesive empire for literally thousands of years.

That’s literally unimaginable for me like earthlings can’t even go twenty seconds without killing each other but the Galra are apparently so unified and they have been collectively kicking the universe’s ass for over 10,000 years.

I cannot even begin to fathom how many trillions of Galra there must be. How is the power divided. How can one guy be in charge of it all. What is emperor Zarkon’s sovereignty based on (other than his age) and how can he so effectively control what has to be an uncountable number of subjects. How many commanders are there and how can any one of them be considered important enough to talk to the emperor of 90% of the known universe.

What about the problems in Galra society? They are obviously an emotional species, so how is sympathy so well suppressed without extreme political backlash that isn’t just solved by murdering a third of the population, or did they make a calculated decision to cut their losses and just raise generation after generation of selective sociopaths?What base values does the average Galra have? Surely there’s some level of god-complex if the Galra can destroy entire civilizations without batting an eye.

Is there cultural diversity? Are there any remnants of Galran society that still exist from Zarkon’s childhood or has it all changed? How much have the Galra changed genetically over 10,000 years? Are they acclimated to life in space in artificial environments? Does the Galra home planet even exist anymore? What kind of genetic diversity is there? Is there any isolation? What are desirable versus undesirable traits in Galran culture, and is it consistent across the board?

There’s just a lot i want to know about the largest population of the Voltron universe that we haven’t even begun to touch on in the show. And then there’s the issue of aftermath. Even if they manage to defeat Zarkon, it is literally impossible to change such an  massive group of people overnight. They are the overwhelming majority, and it’s obviously immoral (and impractical) to just order the execution of a species, but it’ll definitely be a challenge to undo 10,000 years of damage universe-wide on both sides of the war. Guess we’ll just have to wait and see what they address in the coming seasons.

ooc: I wasn’t aware today was father’s day(Brazil’s is in another date), otherwise I’d have drawn all of the boy’s dads but here’s Vi’s for today.

Lycoris pôr do Sol: Biological father. Didn’t know his children until a young Lucca showed up on his doorstep. He was exiled from his tribe for having an affair with a Luna. He’s still well regarded among the Sol, and acts as a sort of embasador in Vacuo. Viola blames him for all the misfortune in his and his brother’s life, which Lycoris doesn’t mind much.He sort of thinks tat as well…

Charles Nakasio: Viola’s adoptive father.He changed his last name after graduating from Beacon, which kept Viola from finding he was the man his mother talked about in her diary. He owns the “Naka|Sio” fashion house, which caters for both Remnant’s high society and warriors. He and Viola’s mother were in the same team until she returned to the Luna.

I read a thing once that said that good science fiction is always trying to say something. About life, the government, whatever. But I don’t think that’s true. You can have good science fiction that’s just all about having fun, it’s when you start thinking of the implications of your world building that makes you start to think. You can’t have advancements in science without thinking how that would affect people. How having a cure for any disease would affect people psychologically - would they be more prone to daredevil stunts or would a small population just sit and wait it out for inevitable superbug because they are the remnants of a society that forgot to take their vaccines? Or if food was managed to be grown in a laboratory, how will that affect the food distribution industry? And how would that trickle down to the people who consume it? Or the ever popular concept of androids. If androids are advanced enough to be considered human, what does that make humanity itself?

Rules: Answer these questions, and tag 20 amazing followers that you would like to get to know better. I was tagged by @dave-stirred

Name: Angelo Rojelio Lopez

Nickname: Jello

Zodiac sign: Leo

Hogwarts house: Ravenclaw

Height: 5′6″

Orientation: Pan

Ethnicity: Mixed

Favorite fruit: Grapes

Favorite season: Winter

Favorite book series: I’m bland so I’m going to say Harry Potter

Favorite fictional characters: Every single homestuck character, Hermione Granger, Molly Weasley, Minerva McGonagall

Favorite flower: A rose?

Favorite scents: Baking confectioneries, blankets straight from the dryer, and certain waxes 

Favorite color: Black?

Favorite animal: Cats

Favorite artist/band: I have no favourite band as the only music I listen to is from media I enjoy

Coffee, tea, or hot cocoa?: Hot cocoa

Average sleep hours: Either 0 or 12+ there is no in between

Number of blankets you sleep with: Around 6

Dream trip: The dead and decaying remnants of western society

Last thing Googled: “Gloria’s Theater”

Blog created: This one was a month ago, my previous one was a year

How many blogs do I follow: 59

Number of followers: 19

What do I usually post about: The dying decay of the world

Do you get asks regularly: No

What is your aesthetic: None

I’m tagging @circulargoat and anyone that wishes to do this

Today of all days, if you see someone using Dr Martin Luther King Jr quotes as #fitspo and #weight-loss motivation, please stop them and say something!

When Dr King talked about faith and moving forward, he wasn’t referencing your desire to go to the gym and drop a few pounds. His quotes exist within the context of challenging race relations and urging people to never rest until all remnants of a segregated society have disappeared. 

The entire reason why Dr King was such an influential element of the Civil Rights era was that he advocated for living your life through greater moral and philosophical purpose in order to benefit the community as a whole. Do not disrespect him by pulling his words completely out of context and applying them to your own desires. He deserves more than that. 

If you want to fight for the individual’s right to pursue their own personal interests, then at least steal a quote from Ayn Rand or something.

anonymous asked:

Is it okay to make up a name for a woman of color in a post apocalyptic story? I want to do something with Arabic roots but is a unique so I won't have readers with the same name. I wasn't sure if this would be problematic or not.

Is the WOC of Arabic descent or Muslim? If she is, then it makes sense for her to have an Arabic name. If she’s not either, you come at risk of exoticizing her and that would be problematic.

Names carry a lot of weight and are usually significant as a cultural identifier. It shouldn’t be used just to make a person “unique”. Make sure her cultural background and family history are aligned with the name you choose, not just one you pick out of an online baby name dictionary at random.

It’s important to understand how these names work as a whole too. I’m gonna go off on a tangent here, just to provide more information:

Westerners tend to get confused with anything past the first/given name. Arabic names run on a system of patronymics, meaning they don’t typically have a last name that works like y’know, Johnson or Smith.

You always see Western media referring to Osama bin Laden as “Bin Laden”, which is wrong. First of all “bin” means son of. It’s not a last name. If they wanted to refer to him in a formal way, it should have been “Ibn Laden”. It also means son of, but it should be spelled as “bin” only when it’s between the given name and the father’s name. It’s a grammatical thing.

A female name, on the other hand, would utilize bint (colloquially: binte, abbreviated as bte.) or binti / abbrv: bt. , and this means daughter of. This is all, of course, dependent on the region. A lot have adopted a family name system (since travel forms & documents cater almost entirely to the western naming system), but the patronymic is still in use.

Having absorbed all this, I hope you take great care to give whatever name you choose the three-dimensionality and research it deserves. ‘Cos if you just haphazardly choose any old name without understanding how the naming system works, it will show as badly as “John Jake” or whatever. If you’re only gonna give her a name with Arabic roots for the sake of making her a special snowflake, eeehhh best not.

“But it’s a post-apocalyptic story! New identities are bound to sprout into existence!” Yes, world-building is essential for dystopias. But even post-apocalyptic societies retain remnants of old cultures. They don’t just go to a department store bargain bin and choose new cultural elements like they’re at a Pick ‘n’ Mix.

Followers, feel free to add to this. This is just scratching the surface; there’s also matronymics, honorific names, etc.

Edit: (not so fun fact) The derogatory British slang word bint does in fact come from the Arabic word. This came about during the British occupation of Egypt in the late nineteenth century. So yes, using bint as an insult is racist and Islamophobic as fuck.


The Guardians are a standing army of specialized soldiers tasked with the defense of the last city on Earth. They are also responsible for exploring the remnants of human society abandoned throughout the solar system and investigating the remains of their Golden Age of exploration. Guardians wage a vicious armed conflict against a myriad of extraterrestrial species who pose an immediate threat to the survival of humanity.
Made For The Journey - Chapter 15
By Organization for Transformative Works

Chapters: 15/?
Fandom: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics), DCU
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Relationships: Joker (DCU)/Bruce Wayne, Batman/Joker (DCU)
Summary: When Superman falls, the world doesn’t end. Bits of it die, and all of it changes, but life persists.

Bruce picks his way through the remnants of American society, desperate to get back to Gotham and piece together whatever fragments of his life are left standing. Along the way he picks up unwanted baggage.

By the time the sun peaks over the horizon they are both exhausted and starving. 


Thanks to man’s mishandling of the global warming crisis, Earth has frozen over and humanity’s last survivors have taken refuge aboard a perpetually moving train called Snowpiercer. Stuck on this never-ending locomotive, the remnants of human society have established a system of sorts - a way to ensure that the population is under control and that everyone is in their rightful place. Sounds like the perfect recipe for a dystopian, post-apocalyptic drama, and The Host director Bong Joon-Ho surely delivers with a film that is an unusual combination of whimsical and grim, tackling ideas that range from Marxist principles to a reimagining of the Biblical story of Noah’s ark. But this science fiction flick is not without a heart, for its three-dimensional, well written characters ground the larger than life tale, encouraging the audience to invest in the story as it goes on. Visually interesting, challenging and provocative, Snowpiercer is unquestionably the must-see movie of the summer.

Based on the French graphic novel Le Transperceneige, the film stars Chris Evans, Song Kang Ho, Ko Ah Sung, John Hurt, Jamie Bell, Tilda Swinton and Octavia Spencer. With a host of talented actors like these, it was clear that Bong and co-writer Kelly Masterson were intent on building this story from the ground up, anchoring the film with characters who were compelling but not stereotypical. Snowpiercer showcases Chris Evans’ best performance to date, with the Captain America star taking on a role that would seem archetypal at first, but eventually evolving into something quite profound. Evans’ Curtis Everett is the reluctant leader of the survivors residing in the tail end of the train. The tail end suffers the worst conditions, from meager food to cramped living spaces, not to mention the severe punishments that befall those who cause any uproar. There’s a caste system on the train, consisting of the most affluent in the front and the most unfortunate and undesirable in the back. Naturally, such conditions cannot go on forever, and every now and then an uprising ensues that results in the thinning out of the train population. However, none of the tail enders have ever successfully made it to the front of the train and there are never any substantial changes made to the social hierarchy despite the constant threats of revolution. The tail enders are becoming increasingly desperate, and Curtis and his crew finally hatch a plan to make their way to the front of the train in hopes that they can change things once and for all. 

It was refreshing to see Evans taken on a role that had a lot more dimension, depth and daring than the ones we have been used to seeing him play. His Curtis Everett is far from the wholesome image of Captain America or the charming peacock that was Johnny Storm/The Human Torch from Fantastic Four. Evans also seemed to really stretch himself emotionally in this role, often giving the impression that the weight of the world was on his character’s shoulders. It was easy to see the physical and mental exhaustion on his face, making his character believable and sympathetic. Evans wasn’t the only memorable part of the film, however, as Song Kang Ho and Ko Ah Sung were also quite entertaining as the father-daughter duo who help Curtis open the doors to each train cart. They provided some comic relief but were also really charming and endearing. Both characters too, like Curtis, seemed easy enough to read and size up, but as the story progressed, became much more interesting. 

Tilda Swinton, however, was undoubtedly the scene stealer in the whole film. Swinton is widely known as a wonderfully versatile actress, floating from role to role effortlessly and inhabiting each character like a second skin. It’s rare to find actresses who are true character actors in the sense that they can mold themselves to any role with no regard for appearances; this is in large part to the double standard of Hollywood, really, where if you’re willing to get down and dirty for a role to a point where you’re nearly unrecognizable, you are ignored over actresses who look pretty on screen. While roles for actresses have become much more diverse, challenging and rewarding, there is still a premium placed on women in Hollywood to look and act a certain way. This results in rather limiting roles. When male actors deliver performances of complete and utter abandon, such as say Heath Ledger in The Dark Knight or Daniel Day Lewis in There Will Be Blood, they are often praised for being dirty, grimy, unappealing - lauded for playing roles that aren’t easy to love. Actresses, on the other hand, rarely get offered roles that are as complex while allowing them to look as dirty, grimy and unappealing as it gets. Charlize Theron notably went to these lengths for Monster, but for the most part, Hollywood still expects actresses to be eye candy in a film. Swinton constantly refuses to be placed in that box, giving her a liberty that consistently results in brilliant, breathtaking performances (most recently and notably her criminally underrated effort in Lynne Ramsay's We Need to Talk About Kevin).

And Snowpiercer isn’t any different from what we’ve come to expect from Swinton. In it, she plays ruthless yet exceedingly gaudy government emissary Mason (allegedly originally a male character). Mason’s garish looks are not only representative of the excesses of the affluent onboard the Snowpiercer, but they also provide extreme contrast to the gritty grays of the tail enders. When she emerges from behind her slew of bodyguards, dressed in her elaborate outfits and flailing about in her exaggerated Yorkshire accent, she sticks out like a sore thumb. Her character’s cartoonishness was delightful, and a welcome sight against the backdrop of bleakness in the first half of the film.

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Red Wolf, Marvel’s first Native American hero, is getting his own comic book

I’m interested in picking up the upcoming Red Wolf series when it hits in December. It’s particularly compelling that Marvel chose to showcase a character plucked from America’s Frontier Era, rather than one of their precious few contemporary Indian characters. This choice seems to invite a comparison of William Talltrees’ “man out of time” position to that of Steve Rogers…

…with one fairly noteworthy twist.

Instead of awaking to find that his people won their war, he discovers his people overrun by the whites, with the remnants of their societies confined to deplorable ghettos.

anonymous asked:

I really want you to analyze new poster, please

A’ight. Let me see what I can do. *puts on reading glasses* (m’old) *cracks knuckles* Look along with me. 

First thing I notice? They’re still in the Polis tower. Or is it some other remnant of society. Well they’re up high. It’s kind of ruins there so maybe not Polis.

Second thing I notice. Bellamy is not wearing leather pants. Dammit. BUT, Clarke and Octavia are in modified or hybrid grounder clothes. hard to tell exactly if they are just not warrior clothes or skypeople/grounder clothes. 

Third thing I notice. This one’s big. Bellamy is in the center of the shot. On either side he has Clarke and Octavia. That’s saying that these are the most important characters. I think anyway. But there’s MORE.

Fourth thing. Everyone is looking off into the distance, at different things. Says to me that no one is really unified in purpose. EXCEPT. BELLAMY. Bellamy is looking straight back at the camera. Bellamy is looking at US. Making me think he’s going to be more of the POV character. But there’s more.

Fifth thing. The only one who is not looking off into space besides Bellamy is Kane, and he is looking directly at Bellamy. What is Bellamy to Kane? He’s been training him to be leader. I think this means that Bellamy is going to be in charge.

Let me go take another look to see if anything else jumps out at me.

They all look hot. Jasper’s hair is long. Bellamy’s hair shorter. Jaha has no beard. Kane still has his beard but it’s less shaggy. Clarkes hair is still long and wild but not as ratty. hard to tell actually. I don’t see Raven’s brace and Murphy has something in his hand I can’t figure out.

Also the fog. We don’t have a good history with fog.