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lananiscorner · 3 years

Text

Conditioned

Summary:

After a new arrival in Haven sours the mood of Jones' human companion, Sam, he tries to cheer them up by providing them with something they've been looking for forever: conditioner to tame their curly hair. Unfortunately, the reason for Sam's distrust of the new arrival turns out to be a result of much deeper, more painful wounds than Strife could have imagined.

Notes:

A little late, but here is my entry for day 3 of Darksiders Week 2020: OC/reader ship day. The OC in this case is Sam, a non-binary, black survivor who spent quite a bit of time traveling with Jones. This chapter was inspired by four blog posts from tumblr: 1) @another-darksiders-blog lamenting the lack of non-binary OCs 2) @lyca-and-nero lamenting the lack of POC OCs and wondering what the horsemen's reactions to a black person's hair wash day would be 3) @lyca-and-nero wondering what the reaction to a POC dealing with racism would be 4) @mehiwilldoitlater imagining an OC braiding the horsemen's hair

Please note that I am a white-as-paper, cis author, so writing Sam made me go waaaaayyy out of my usual comfort zone. I hope I did them justice and managed to treat their status as an nb POC and all that entailed with the needed respect. I encourage nb/POC readers of this fic to drop feedback either in the comments or in my ask box (anon asks/comments are enabled).

***

It had all started with Aaron. The thought came into Strife's—Jones' mind just as he blasted the head off another scycophant. Some people had their brightest moments in the shower; Strife usually had them in the middle of battle. He was really no longer surprised.

What was surprising was the conclusion he had arrived at. When Jones had first encountered Aaron—rescued him right from underneath the mandibles of a harvester, really—he had been thrilled to learn that Aaron not only had a gun, but also knew how to use it. And as much as Jones wanted to say that every human life in Haven was worth no more and no less than any other, the simple fact remained that a human who knew how to use a weapon efficiently was likelier to improve everyone's chances for survival. Or at least so he had thought.

They had had the usual introduction, of course. Nice bonfire, some good food—or at least as good as Kanda could make it with scrounged up supplies, some of which consisted of things that had never grown on Earth before the apocalypse and were only deemed safe to put in the pot because one of the humans had already tried them in the desperation of hunger or because the makers verified it as edible. And then of course there had been questions. What's your name? Are you from New York or how did you end up here? Do you know where other survivors might be? Would you like seconds? So what did you do before it started raining demons?

That specific question was when it had all gone south.

"I was a cop," Aaron's words echoed in Jones' skull as he dispatched a horde of humans unfortunate enough to have been reanimated by the Destroyer after their untimely demise. The angels called them the Swarm. The demons called them Hellslaves. The humans called them mother, sister, friend, colleague, and that, Strife knew from personal experience, was what ironically made the weakest of enemies the hardest to kill.

"I was six minutes from the end of my shift when the first meteors came down. Tried to kill as many of them as I could, for all the good it did me. I ran out of bullets pretty damn soon. And then... and then I just ran..."

The memory only pissed Strife off more and he dropped his glamor for just a moment to ram one of his sabers into a snarling demon minion. To have held on, to have survived for so long after the apocalypse... humans were braver and stronger than anyone gave them credit for... and yet when the time came to tell of that dreadful day, he could always hear the same things in their voice: fear, grief, and regret.

Usually, that also elicited predictable reactions from the others—empathy, compassion, comfort, solidarity. It was those that had impressed Strife the most. There had been little room for them in the nephilim horde, even less among the demons. And if the angels were capable of them, they at least would rather be caught dead than to show them to a nephilim. He remembered all too well how alien it had felt the first time Sam had hugged him, told him how sorry they were for his loss, and promised to be there for him in any way they could. The only thing that could have made him feel more like he had just died and ascended to some alternate plane of reality where things were actually nice was if Death had told him he was proud of him.

Of course, the key word here was 'usually'. Jones grimaced as he shot the last creature that tried to kill him and holstered his guns. Kanda and Ben had behaved as he had expected. Sam and Rick on the other hand...

Sam and Rick had looked at each other in a way that instantly set off every single alarm bell in Jones' brain. The others seemed not to have noticed, but he had been able to all but feel the temperature in the room drop by a few degrees. Sam had tensed up, every muscle clenched, and so had Rick, and if Jones had had any money to bet, he would have bet that the only thing keeping them from actually getting up and walking out right then and there had been good manners and the primordial instinct not to panic in the face of certain danger. The quick look they had shared reminded him of sailors conspiring to mutiny if the captain pulled any more shit and for the rest of the evening, Sam's sentences had put the 'curt' in 'curtail'.

What was even worse was that both Sam and Rick had looked at him as if they wanted him to share in, leaving him to improvise again once more. The quick shrug he had given had apparently done nothing but piss Sam off. They had barely even talked to him since then. And as much as he liked to tell himself that that was okay, even more than okay, since he really wasn't even human to being with, it left him feeling robbed. Of the laughter and tears Sam had shared with him. Of the attention of someone who—in complete unawareness of his status as a lethal enforcer of universal balance—had deemed him someone worthy of both attention and affection.

"Okay. Step one complete—I finally know what exactly made them so pissed off at me," Jones muttered to himself as he started foraging the shattered stores, broken apartments, and surrounding greenery for food. "Now I just need to figure out why."

And oh wasn't that going to be fun! He wasn't a fucking telepath. The idea of just walking up to Sam and asking had occurred to him, of course, but he had pushed it away just as quickly. Usually, those kinds of conversations ended with someone dead or maimed.

It really was moments like these when he became painfully aware that, at the end of the day, his glamor was just that—a disguise, a persona he had conjured up to avoid having everyone either run for the hills or try to murder him on sight, and for all the skill he had acquired over the millennia in faking his way through basic interactions in disguise—'fake it til you make it', as Sam had once said—jargon still got the better of him on the regular. Right now, he felt the answer to his dilemma was hidden in a simple question: what the fuck was so bad about cops?

Jones frowned. He really should have visited Earth more often. The last time he had done so had been more than a century ago and things... human society in general, had been quite different then. According to that dictionary included in Haven's meager, but treasured book collection, cops were enforcers of the law. Serve to protect. What was wrong with that? Sure, they probably had to resort to drastic measures now and then, just as he and his siblings did on a cosmic level, but at the end of the day, if it served to keep law and order, how was that a bad thing? The question had been bothering him for days now, but it was hardly like he could just ask any of the humans in Haven. Chances were they would look at him as if he had grown a second head or a set of horns.

Of course, today's foraging trip yielding only minimal spoils was not exactly helping his mood. How the hell were he and the makers supposed to feed the survivors if there was no food to be found? He couldn't just come back almost empty-handed, but then again, what was he expecting after ten years of survivors looting whatever they could carry, in order to survive however long they could?

But hey, if I can't get food... Jones paused as he walked past the shelf closest to the door of the shop's storage room he had just checked for food. Perhaps, he did not need food to make them happy today. Worst case scenario, they could still just chuck a kill in on the grill. Kanda might have looked like throwing up when explaining how she had learned years ago that scycophants were edible, but she was not wrong. However, one thing he had learned about humans not too long ago was that one of the most cherished perks of reaching Haven was finally having the chance to get a proper bath again, without having to worry about having their supplies stolen by other survivors or their necks snapped by some lurking demon.

'If only we had actual shampoo and shower gel...' Sam had lamented once. 'Man, I would kill for a bottle of conditioner.'

Jones grinned. Granted, he had no idea what exactly was in those brightly-colored bottles right in front of his eyes—what the fuck even was methylchloroisothiazoline?—but he had learned his human letters. "Shampoo, shower gel, detangler, moisturizer, conditioner..." Jones set down his backpack and got work. Stacking loot was an art and he was an artiste. He had this in the bag. Literally. "Sammy, I'm about to make your whole damn day..."

***

By the time he returned to Haven, the sun was already setting, earning him a stern, if fake lecture from Ulthane. He almost felt bad for the human survivors watching the performance—judging from the looks on their faces, human empathy was in full play. He also hoped they'd never meet Death. Ulthane's lectures were a shower of praise compared to his.

Even better, Ulthane kept his sermons short. Jones handed over what little food and medical supplies he had been able to scrounge up, then headed up the bridges to the cots. They were simple and not even all that comfortable, yet Jones was hardly surprised that this is where most of the survivors loved to gather. It was warm, clean, safe, and most importantly it resembled even a shred of normality. Normally, this is where he would find Sam, taking a quick nap before the light was gone. After all, old habits die hard, and out in the destroyed city, nighttime had not been a safe time to rest.

This time, Sam was nowhere to be found and he knew exactly why.

"Jones!" Aaron raised his glass in Jones' direction. "Kanda and I were just talking about you. Don't know if you're crazy or brave to go back out there on your own, but I'm sure you could use a drink. Wanna join?"

"Actually, I'm looking for Sam." He tried to keep his tone as light and friendly as possible, but in the back of his mind, Sam's apprehension about Aaron left his alarm bells ringing. They might be human, but they had good instincts. Usually. "Got a present for them."

"I think she—I mean, they, went to wash some clothes." Kanda took a swig from her own cup. "Care to share the surprise?"

"Nope." As much as Jones loved seeing the unbridled glee on human faces whenever he brought back some mundane luxury from his trips, he was not quite sure this one would not trigger an all-out fight. "Maybe later."

The path down to the washing station was slippery as always, but that was to be expected when one channeled a river to flow through a tree. The sound of furious scrubbing reached his ear long before the sound of the water did.

"Careful, Sammy," Jones called out as he rounded the corner to the washing cave, took off the backpack and leaned against the tree. "Gonna scrub a hole in that shirt."

"Wouldn't be the first time I sewed it back together," Sam lobbed back at him, before putting down the washboard and shirt and turning around to him. The long, black braids fell back across their shoulders like thin, fuzzy snakes. They nodded towards the top of the stairs. "Aaron still up there?"

"Yeah."

Sam shrugged. "Back to scrubbing then."

And so they did. Jones sighed. There really is no way around this conversation is there? Under any other circumstance, talking to anyone else, Strife would not have minded being straight-forward and blunt. He could live with his siblings' disappointment—and had done so for thousands of years—and he could not have cared less if he tried what any makers, angels, demons, or even the other survivors in Haven thought of him. But this? This was Sam, and the thought of accidentally pissing them off and damaging his... relationship with them beyond repair sent a sort of terror into his heart that he hadn't felt in eons.

Even worse, if he misstepped here even once, if he picked even a single wrong word, he might accidentally give away that he was not who he was pretending to be. No pressure. At all.

As if they had been able to read his mind, Sam put down the shirt once more. "Jones... what are you not telling me?"

Play, dumb, Jones, play dumb. "What am I not telling who?" Okay, not that dumb.

"You're hiding something from me." Sam frowned. It made them look tired and sad and that alone was enough to piss him off. "You ain't talked to me in days now. You've been takin' every single patrol. I'm getting worried. Seriously. Did I say something to piss you off?"

"What? No!" The words actually stung as they bounced around his skull. "No, dear god, no, I just... well..." Well what now, Strife? He rolled his eyes. What was that human idiom? 'Already got your hands dirty?' "I thought you were pissed off at me," Jones explained with a shrug. "You know... because I was being all chum with Aaron the other day."

"Well yeah." Sam rolled their eyes. "That did actually piss me off. Still does a little, now that you mention it. I don't know how you can—I mean, you're black, too. You know—ah, nevermind."

Sam turned back to washboard. Jones frowned. Well. This conversation could hardly get worse now, could it?

"Well, either way, I got something for ya." He picked the bag up, sat down next to Sam, and placed the bag between them. "Peace offering. Sorta. Found it and thought of you."

It got their attention at least, but the usual excitement was gone. Sam sighed, put down the board and shirt, and opened the bag.

The sound that escaped from their mouth was barely human. Halfway between a shrill shriek and a breathless gasp, it was thankfully small enough to be swallowed by the tree, yet Jones was sure it would leave a ringing in his ear. Sam looked up at him, back at the bag, back at him. Rinse and repeat four times, almost as if they believed the bag would disappear if they looked away too long.

"No way!"

"Yes way."

"I'm hallucinating."

"You're not."

"What the fuck did Kanda put in them mushrooms she served for lunch..."

"Something delicious, I'm sure." Jones grinned.

At last, Sam unfroze from the pose of sheer surprise they had been stuck in and reached into the bag gingerly. "Shampoo... detangler?! You found fucking detangler? WHAT?!"

"Ten years old detangler." Jones corrected. "Not sure if any of this stuff is still any good."

Sam laughed and dear lords of Hell, it felt good to hear that sound again. "Honestly, I'm pretty sure there's enough chemicals in there to make it survive a century. Those 'best before' dates are more guidelines than actual rules." The journey through the bag continued. One by one, Sam retrieved the little bottles, holding them like small treasures of infinite worth into the sinking sun.

Then, at long last, they reached the last bottle.

"EX-FUCKING-CUSE ME, WHAT??!!!" This time, their hands wrapped around the bottle tightly, kissing it and hugging it tight enough to their chest to convince Jones that even those creepy, greedy little demon kids he had encountered in the Nether couldn't have pried it from them. "Conditioner... You got me conditioner... oh my god imma cry..."

Oh no. "I thought... you'd be happy?"

"Happy?" Sam looked at him, horrified, as if he had just asked them to walk into a harvester nest. "I'm not happy, I'm goddamn ecstatic! This bottle is mine now! Anybody try to take this from me, imma shoot a bitch."

Jones laughed. "Better not tell the others then, bec—"

It happened so fast he was almost sure it hadn't happened at all. Sam all but tackled him, throwing their arms around him and planting frantic kisses against his neck. "Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, Jones, I love you, man!"

"Yeah right..." All he could do was laugh. Sam didn't mean that. It was hyperbole. No-one had ever loved a Horseman. He was pretty sure there was some unwritten rule of the universe that prevented reality from bending that way. "You only say that because you don't know yet what a colossal dumbass I am."

Sam chuckled. "Why? What did you do? Try to wrestle a trauma demon?"

That, Jones mused, would actually have been mildy entertaining. For about a second. Then it would just have been an unfair fight. For the demon. "Nah, it's just..." He weasled out of Sam's embrace reluctantly and almost shivered at the sudden loss of warmth and pressure. It was best not to get used to it. Especially not with someone so short-lived. "Sam... There's a question I have to ask you. And it's gonna be a super stupid one, but I know it's gonna keep bothering me until I ask, and it's just gonna make things more awkward if I don't and—"

"Jones... JONES!" Sam's right hand squeezed his left gently. "Take a deep breath, dammit. I don't mind stupid questions. Not as long as you can live with me sitting here for the rest of the night, doing my hair."

"You're kidding, right?" He gave their shoulder a playful poke. "It can't take that long."

They looked at him as if he had just said that rain was salt water and the oceans fresh. "Jones... I have 4A hair, currently in natural box braids, which I've been wearing like this for six months. Six. Whole-ass. Months." Sam shook their head, wetted a fresh wash cloth in the river and started soaking the first braid. "Getting these braids out, detangled, washed, conditioned, sealed, and put back in would take six hours on a good day. Imma be here for a while."

"That sounds like a lot of trouble for something as trivial as hair," Jones mused with a grin. Inside, Strife was horrified. Six hours? For hair? What kind of masochist would willingly do this to themselves? And what the hell was 4A? "Why not just shave?"

"Sha—" Sam's jaw sank in utter disbelief. "Jones, my momma was a hair dresser. If I shave my head, she gon' come back from the dead just to slap me."

It took him almost every ounce of his control to suppress the smirk that wanted to come to his mind at the mental image. Sam hardly talked about their family, but he knew they had been close, and even though six years were much more to a human than they were to nephilim, the few times Sam had talked about their mother, the grief had been as raw and fresh as Strife had ever experienced himself.

"'Your hair is your crown'," Sam whispered softly as they finished untangling the first braid, revealing a mass of black, tangled curls thicker than any wool Jones had ever seen. If that was how much hair went into a single braid, he could only imagine how much there would be once all were undone. Sam twisted it back into a loose tail, then moved on to the next braid, working with fingers so deft, Jones wondered briefly if there was any witchcraft involved.

"That's what mom always used to say. 'Your hair is your crown and you are a quing—don't you ever forget that.'"

"Quing?" Another word he was not familiar with. Great.

"She used to call me 'princess' when I was a kid," Sam explained. "'Queen' after I turned eighteen. Shortly after, I realized that wasn't me. I ain't no queen. Not a king either. Mom just shrugged and said 'quing, then' and that was it."

"When you were eighteen..." He tried to do the math in his head, but Sam did the work for him.

"The year before she died, yeah..." In their eyes, Jones could see the first hint of tears, but just as usual, Sam refused to cry. They were strong like that. Humans. And especially his human. "I know it's a silly word, but... it meant the world to me that she didn't try to pull some sort of 'we're in the middle of the demon apocalypse—do you have to do this gender thing now' crap on me. Not that I think she ever would have. She wasn't that kind of person."

"But you didn't pull that example out of thin air, did you?"

"No."

"They still alive?"

"Nope."

"Too bad." He did feel the distinct urge to punch whoever had insulted Sam like that in the face. Instead, he reached for one of the bottles he had brought along. "So... are you gonna use all of that or can I share some with the others, so they don't come down here trying to steal your conditioner?"

Sam giggled, grabbed the bottle from his hand and examined the ingredients list. Apparently, to them all those strange words made perfect sense. "Well, this one is better for type 1 or 2 hair, so Kanda, Ben and Aaron." They put it back into bag and started going through the rest of them one by one. "That one too. That one's mine. And this. Not this one. Free for all. Absolute mine. And especially this one. Mine mine mine. Well..." They gave him a sheepish grin. "Mine and Rick's, I guess, if he ever decides to let his hair grow out. And yours, I guess?" Sam's eyes narrowed. "You know... I just realized I've never seen you with that hood off. Please don't tell me you shaved your hair like Rick did."

"Of course I didn't." He wanted to slap himself as soon as he had said it. Great. Now he would need to think of how long and disshevelled his hair should look. Great job, Strife.

"Mind if I have a look?"

Yes, I do actually, Strife thought to himself. I have not yet made up my mind of which of the thousand possible looks I'd like. The idea of simply using his natural look had been tempting, but then again, human hair did not tend to defy gravity like his or Fury's. Still, as close as possible to the real thing was probably best. Jones sighed and pulled back his hood, revealing deep brown strands bound back into the saddest, shortest pony tail ever.

"There. Nothing to write home about."

Sam pulled one of the strands from the braid and ran it between their fingers slowly. "Weird. You've got like... 2A hair. 2B at most. Don't see that a lot in black folks."

"Well..." Jones shrugged and put the hood back on. "I am from a biracial family from the other side of the world, remember?" It was a convenient lie he had spun when Sam had first asked him the usual questions and the best lies were the ones closest to the truth. No-one had to know that the two races were actually separate species and that 'the world' referred to the universe, not the Earth. 'Must have gotten it from my dad's side. Mom was a bitch, but she did have some impressive hair."

Sam laughed, put away the bottles they had claimed for themselves and returned to wetting, undoing and twisting their braids.

"Imma take the rest of this up to the others. Spread the love." Jones grinned, returned the remaining bottles to his backpack, and went back to the living quarters.

***

'Spreading the love' had nearly resulted in mass hysteria. He had to admit, the makers' faces at the sudden commotion around a handful of little white bottles had been priceless. He had stuck around just long enough to help Kanda skin and filet a hellhound Elanya had slain on her patrol for dinner, before returning to Sam.

They had finished undoing and twisting a quarter of their braids. Jones lit the lantern above the stream to make up for the almost vanished sun, then sat back down in his previous spot. "You really weren't kidding when you said this would take hours."

"And this is just the take down and first detangling."

"First?"

Sam sighed. "Well, once this is all done, I'll need to wash my hair. Detangle again. Condition. Seal. Oil scalp. Redo the braids." For the first time since they had received their conditioner, Sam sounded almost daunted at the prospect. "Actually, I think imma leave the re-braiding to tomorrow. Let my curls breath a bit for tonight. Also don't want cramps in my fingers."

"I'll help you with the braids, if you teach me how to do them," Jones offered. Sam raised an eyebrow.

"You've never done box braids?"

"Not a thing in my family. Braids in general actually..."

Jones could not remember them ever having looked so disappointed. "Alright then. Tomorrow I'll teach you how to do box braids. And I can do some cornrows for yours, if you want."

"Cornrows?"

"Cornrows," Sam confirmed. "You know... the ones that look like my braids, but run along the scalp instead of flowing freely. Very good style for short hair. Lasts for a good month or so. Four to five if you freshen them up every once in a while."

Jones laughed. He wondered would his siblings would say, if he was ever to meet them again while still having those braids. Death was not likely to care. Fury and War would probably call it childish.

"Deal."

For the next ten braids, Sam continued their work in silence. By the time Kanda called them for dinner, their hair was half braided, half twisted, and they could not have cared less. Jones watched in amusement as Sammy practically wolfed down their portion before returning to the stream. It must have looked like a ridiculous contrast to his own hesitant eating to everyone else. Even now, three weeks after arriving in Haven, Strife could not quite get over the unfamiliar feeling of guilt whenever he ate the food put in front of him. He was a nephilim. He needed less than a tenth of what sustenance humans required, but there was no way to express that without giving himself away. So here he was. Wasting food on himself that would have been better spent on the others.

Jones sat down next to Sam with a sigh and started picking at his bowl. "So... how's it going?"

"It's going..." Sam finished another twist, picked up a new braid... and dropped it again. "You know what, I am getting sick and tired of dealing with my dehydrated, matted-as-a-mud-fighting-dog hair. How about I get started on your cornrows?"

"Now?"

"No, next year." They rolled their eyes. "Of course now."

"Okay..." Jones took off his hood slowly. "Do you want me to turn around or—"

"Nah." Sam undid the band holding his hair behind his head and ran their fingers through the falling strands. Somehow, even such a ridiculously simple gesture made Strife's heart beat faster. He couldn't remember the last time anyone had played with his hair. He wasn't sure anyone ever had. "Man, your hair's awfully clean."

"Yeah..." He gave a sheepish grin. "Nicked some soap from the salvage before I came back."

"Hey, I don't mind. Saves me a lot of time."

The way Sam worked could only be described as magical. Jones closed his eyes and smiled as he felt them part his hair into neat rows using what Sam had called one of their top three possessions at one point—a rattail comb. The first knot in the braid pinched, almost like getting stung by a mosquito, but the rest he could barely feel. Sam's fingers all but flew across his scalp, picking up one bit of hair after the next and for a brief half hour or so, Jones merely closed his eyes in bliss.

Of course, no good thing ever lasted forever. The world was a dark and terrible place after all.

"Jones... you said you were going to ask me something super stupid earlier. What was it?"

Jones froze. For a moment, he hoped that maybe, against all odds, the ground beneath him would open right up and swallow him whole. "It's nothing, really."

"That's your 'it's something, but I'm afraid of how you'll react' voice," Sam replied. "I promise I won't make fun of you."

"That's not what I'm worried about." It was only half a lie. For once, being made fun of was actually only the third-worst outcome. The top spot was valiantly held by 'you might accidentally find out that I am not actually human'. The second place this time around, was 'you will hate me forever'.

"Jones..." Sam paused their braiding and squeezed his hand gently. "Please just tell me what's bothering you, because clearly something is and I hate seeing you like this. I care about you. Please?"

Jones sighed. Holy Heavens did he not deserve someone as compassionate as the human sitting next to him. "Okay then..." He took a deep breath. "What's so bad about Aaron being a cop?"

The reaction was instantaneous. Sam blinked, twice, then shook their head. "What do you mean 'what's so bad about Aaron being a cop'? He. Is. A. Cop. You should know what that means. You're black, too!"

"Yeah, but I'm not from around here, remember? Where I come from... law enforcement officers may not be popular, but at the end of the day, they're just doing their job." And what a lovely mess the highest order of law enforcement of the universe was making of it at this point! Death was fuck knew where, War was presumed dead, Fury could probably not care less, and Strife... well, here he was, making an ass of himself in front of a human on Earth. "And why would me being black have anything to do with that?"

Sam threw up their hands and muttered something that sounded like it was halfway between a curse and a prayer, before resting their face in their palms. "You're joking, right?"

Jones winced. "I told you it was a stupid question."

For once, he was actually glad to have a full bowl of food. Jones picked up his spoon once more and picked at the stew. Perhaps if he just sat here long enough, blissfully shutting his mouth and eating his food like he should have from the beginning, Sam would be able to ignore that he had even asked that.

"Right... Biracial family from the other side of the world. How would you know what it was like here, before the apocalypse." Sam sighed. "You know about this whole slavery thing that happened in this country some two-hundred years ago?"

Jones froze, spoon in his mouth and food halfway down his gullet. It burned in his throat, but that was hardly his biggest concern at the moment.

Yes. He knew about the whole slavery thing. He had been there, chasing down a rogue changeling demon. Some stupid plantation owner had shouted insults at him and tried to shoot him when he had seen him walking through the cotton fields.

"I heard about it. In history class." Finally, he managed to swallow that spoonful of stew. "But that was a long time ago."

"Yeah, well..." Sam cringed. "We may not have had plantations in 2010 anymore, but we sure had prisons where they make you work for two bucks an hour. We may have had a black president, but he was the first out of forty-fucking-four. When white girls wore box braids to school it was 'cool', when I did it it was against the dress code. When white people grab stuff that falls off a truck, they called it salvage, when black people do it, they called it lootin' and throw your ass in jail, and when my dad called the police because his barber shop was getting robbed, they shot him instead of... you know... the white guy holding him at gun point. Fucking cops kept their badge and my mom got twenty-thousand in settlement. Twenty-thousand fucking dollars!"

For the first time since he had met them, Sam sounded absolutely furious, downright incensed with rage. "That's how much a black guy's life was worth before the apocalypse—twenty-thousand dollars. That's not even a year worth of rent in this city."

Sam took a deep breath and wiped the tears that had burst forth off of their cheeks. They were shivering like a leaf in the wind, although Jones doubted it was from cold.

"So... yeah... slavery might have been dead and illegal before the apocalypse, but I can assure you—racism was alive and well. And I ain't sayin' that I think Aaron's gonna shoot me just 'cos I'm black, and I'm not gonna go off on him or anything, but I ain't trustin' him either. I can't. And if I'll never have to spend a single minute dealing with him, nothing of value will be lost."

Jones nodded. For once, Strife, Rider of the White Horse, endless spirit of timeless unrest and incessant chatterbox extraordinaire was truly lost for words. What could he possibly say to all of that? What should he say? There was not a single reply his brain could come up with that did not ring hollow and cold. Instead, he sat in silence, food growing cold, as Sam finished braiding his hair into neat little beautiful rows and taking down the last of their own braids.

He had been right about one thing at least: they really had an impressively poofy, voluminous, gorgeous crown of hair.

#Darksiders #DarksidersWeek2020 #Day 3: OC/reader ships #Darksiders!Strife #OC: Sam #non-binary OC #black OC #tw: discussion of racism #tw: mention of transphobia #I really did try to treat all of these with the utmost respect #and do my research re POC hair care #but I encourage nb and POC readers to give me feedback

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severelynerdysheep · 3 years

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I’m sorry if you already know this and by no accounts do I mean to be rude. You seem rather nice :). I saw your older Vegan Teacher post and just wanted to give you some info because she may not be the person you particularly want to associate with. Again I’m not sure if you no longer associate with her. The post was made long ago but I really don’t want you to associate with her without knowing a lot of the horrible things she said. She seems rather damaging to the vegan message and is turning some people away. So here’s some of the things she said that just sit very badly with me.

Her Are You Racist Video - She spelled out the N word and used it to describe a black doll. She did this to “take back the word” by giving each of the letters nicer meaning. Multiple POC told her they weren’t comfortable with this and they didn’t want this and she responded via calling in racism against her. She said they were attacking her because she was white and it was her right because of free speech to say that. She also want us to reclaim the homophobic F slur and as a member of the LGBTQ community I really don’t want that either.

Her most recent video on Gordon Ramsay - She said Gordon Ramsay was worse than H*tler. I can acknowledge the video he made in response was... immature but comparing him to a man that slaughtered thousands is downright evil. There are far better ways to spread a message than comparing someone to a mass murder and invalidating all those who died.

She told a 13 year old they were going to Hell for not being vegan. - The 13 year old made a video sobbing and she only reiterated her point. No fully grown women should be telling 13 years] olds who typically don’t control their diet that they will go to Hell.

She says cats can be vegan. - I know dogs can be vegan with special care but cats are solely carnivores. This is misinformation that could actively harm cats. Instead she could advocate for cat food brands that take better care of their animals before they kill them.

She has trapped two mice and is keeping them for the winter. In theory this sounds kind but is taking horribly improper care of them to save money despite many people (me included) leaving tips. She doesn’t have proper substrate for burrowing (something crucial to mice security and comfort) is feeding them a improper diet filled with “fatty foods”. Finds lacking the nutritional value they would typically get and will often hold and handle them despite this being unhealthy for wild mice.

Again I mean no ill will and hope your doing ok! I just don’t want you to associate with this person without knowing the full story!

Hi! And thank you so much for your message. Also for the respectful tone, it makes a lovely change! I did write an update to that post (which was me giving my initial thoughts) I'm assuming your talking about, which also covered some of the issues you bring up here. And I will link to that here. But you do bring up a few other things which I will just touch on quickly. Though I would ask you to keep in mind that apart from the period of research I had to do after getting bombarded with anons, many pretty vile, about this issue, I don't actually watch TVT. So I’m not up to date on her (or other YouTubers) videos, because I just don't watch them.

1) I haven't watched her Gordon Ramsey video, but absolutely, while he is an absolutely vile human being who knowingly inflicts, promotes and gets money from the horrific exploitation, abuse/torture and murder of the most defenceless individuals, I wouldn't compare him (or anyone else) to historic horrendous individuals. I don't think it's useful, and I frankly don't think that such comparisons help the victims of this manbaby at all. If she was someone with personal experience with the horrors of Nazi Germany, then I wouldn't have an issue with it (just like I respect the comparisons made by holocaust survivors to animal ag) But she doesn't, so she shouldn’t go there. Just call him what he is, don’t go bringing Hitler into it. Just don’t. Not okay, lets not be comparing folks to Hitler, or anyone other such figures.

Call him an animal abuser, a murderer, cruel, a manbaby who jokes about torturing/murdering defenceless babies/mothers for personal pleasure etc. All of which are true. Don’t do what you’re saying she did. That’s not okay. 100% condemn.

2) I don’t know anything about that 13 year old comment, I’m happy to look at any evidence for this though. So I’m not going to say this didn’t happen, but I’m also not going to say it did happen until I see the evidence.

3) Neither cats nor dogs can be vegan, because they aren’t humans with moral agency so they are unable to choose to hold and follow in praxis the ethical philosophy of veganism. They cant be vegan in the same way they cannot be Buddhist, or feminist etc. They can though consume vet-approved plant based diets and thrive. And I have a whole post on that here. I’ve seen TVT say her dogs vegan a few times and every time I just…urgh no. Please stop. Veganism is an ethical philosophy, feeding your companion animal a plant-based diet (which can often be the best for their health) doesn’t make them vegan.

4) I haven’t seen anything about mice, though as someone who has a serious rage spot for the super common serious neglect/abuse of small animals (just see my many posts about hamster care) I can only assume that I would watch these videos and self combust in rage. If you tell me that she’s keeping them (and why would you capture wild mice?? Are they injured??) in a plastic pet shop cage then WTF is she doing…Oh god she’s no keeping them together is she?? Is it a YouTube video? I’m going to have to watch that.

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heart-forge · 4 years

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Just wanted to let you know but one of the devs years ago said the Qunari were based on Arabs + Muslims and ever since than all I see are racist things that I've dealt with in my life from stereotypes in them and it hurts because I really used to love DA.

Also wanted to add to my other ask. I really hate it when devs/writers/shows/movies always use Islam as a starting point for evil fantasy religion but than go and make a fantasy christian religion the most peaceful religion in said setting. But than ignore the genocide they inflict on other races + poc because they're wiping out "evil".

Yeah no I knew that and it made me so fucking angry when I heard it !! It made me even angrier because like, I could tell because it was exactly the sort of racist rat shit I’d expect from a Canadian company but I was young and like perhaps the benefit of the doubt is in order and it wasn’t. It was so stupid, they barely bother to make up any consistent lore for Vashoth (and Qunari but speaking generally as a whole; AND I LOOKED, I looked in lore books I searched !! It wasn’t there), they barely bother to integrate them as anything but enemies (you might get ONE companion with unique camera angles but Vashoth Inquisitor? Hope you like their chest because that’s all you get to see), and hope you like being a really tall Marcher because you only get a culture when you’re the villain of the story !! Otherwise it’s exactly like you said you’re not one of them you’re one of the peaceful fantasy catholics who are uh *checks notes* forcibly lobotomizing people, sometimes just for laffs and sometimes without telling them what you’re doing and telling them it was a miracle, and then you have to be cool with that person being like “maybe we won’t cure all the other people who have undergone this procedure because I still have my faith in fantasy catholicism” and you’re once again the asshole for being a total hater about their religion which is IMPORTANT to their CHARACTER but like the associated religion for the race YOU play (anything but human) you’re either totally disconnected from to the point where you might as well be a human and it’s indeed implied you know more about fantasy catholicism, or your people are mean and wrong vhenan :(.

It’s stupid, and I’m sorry dropped that huge piece of crap in the middle of an experience you signed on for hoping for fun and lighthearted entertainment, and I’m sorry Gaider said that but for you, not on his behalf, because he says a bunch of stupid ugly things then tries to backtrack it. If you’re still feeling up to engaging with the content then the Qunari and all Vashoth technically belong to you now because I said so have fun with your new IP establishing lore because even absent headcanons you’d string together to fall asleep to would be more thoughtful and interesting than any of the hot wet garbage you got. I don’t have your perspective but I totally get just deeply, deeply hating having to stop in the middle of preventing a fucking religious purge to have everyone go “actually if you think our fantasy catholics are bad then that’s on YOU and actually YOU’RE the bad one”. I was supposed to like mother giselle the whole time even though she was actively gossiping about me and a close friend? Also they made the insidious and sneaky gossipy chantry mother black? Layers !! Onions have layers, ogres have layers, racism apparently has layers.

#talkForge #this is actually the exact point in the first draft of my blog where I left the rails entirely and just got angry about DA all over again #lmfao I was just telling leyla earlier I had just hit 1000 followers but im like 'I have to wait to go above it to say anything celebratory #because I cannot resist having a Take about a beloved IP'#here it is #it's not controversial it's just straight facts #gaider said it and I've been mad about this since degree 1 #Anonymous

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nyangibun · 6 years

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Hey @val-stupid-blog hope it’s alright I reply like this since the commenting bit of a post doesn’t give me much room to say what I want to say.

First of all, no one said anything about ‘white privilege’ because that is not what is coming into play here whatsoever. It’s not about privilege; it’s about racism in fandom, which has been prevalent for as long as fandoms have existed.

When I bring race into the equation, it’s because it almost always has an implicit or explicit part in fandoms stepping on the POC. Let’s take a history lesson...

Star Trek – People would still rather ship Spock and Kirk (two white men) over the canon ship of Spock and Uhura (a black woman). Even the actress who originally played Uhura, Nichelle Nichols said that there was always something implicit between Spock and Uhura in the original Star Trek but because of the era it came out, the show could only hint at a romance rather than show it because Uhura was a black woman. Yet when the reboot happened and they actually had Spock and Uhura get together, there was outrage in the fandom because “it wasn’t canon” and fandom consistently erase Uhura in favour of a ship featuring two white men.

Doctor Who – To this day, Martha (a black woman) remains one of the most hated female companions of the Doctor because she had the audacity to fall in love with the Doctor and then leave him when he didn’t return her feelings. She was a strong, capable and intelligent woman, but fandom continues to crucify her for having feelings for the Doctor and call her whiny and pathetic.

The Walking Dead – When Glenn (an Asian man) got with Maggie (a white woman), a lot of people were questioning why she would ever get with someone as ‘weak’ as Glenn, who didn’t ‘deserve’ her. [Sidenote: Asian men are often viewed as nerds and/or caricatures and never actually viable love interests, especially for white women. They’re categorically sidelined as the best friend or the sidekick.] And then when Michonne (a black woman) and Rick (the white male lead) started having romantic/sexual tension, people were quick to say Michonne didn’t deserve Rick or weave the argument that Michonne doesn’t need a love interest (which is conveniently always the argument people use when it’s a POC love interest).

Star Wars – Even though Finn (the black male lead) and Rey (the white female lead) spent the entire movie developing a strong bond of unquestioning loyalty, respect and admiration, and attraction at least on Finn’s part, the fandom still prefers to ship Rey with Kyl0 Ren (the white villain who has tried to kill her on multiple occassions and probed into her mind against her will). They called Finn ‘misogynistic’ for grabbing Rey’s hand and pulling her to safety. They infantalised him and made it the reason why he didn’t deserve Rey.

The Flash – Barry Allen and Iris West are canonically one of the most well-known pairings in the DC universe, akin to Peter Parker and MJ Watson. When CW’s The Flash cast Iris West as black, the fandom rioted and said it wasn’t right, even though her race had no bearing on the character whatsoever. Fast forward to now, the fandom still continues to berate Iris for any minor mistakes and hold her to a standard that they don’t hold to any other characters. The hate for her is staggering, as well as the hate for Barry x Iris. There’s a part of the fandom that would rather ship Barry with the one white woman on the show, Caitlin Snow, over Iris, who has always stood by him and supported him, while having her own dreams and personality and principles.

I could literally go on and on because this kind of behaviour has been going on for decades. Fandom will crucify the POC character over actions or personality traits that they would otherwise revere and love in a white character. The arguments they use to justify their behaviour (claiming it’s not about race) are all arguments that have already been used in other fandoms against POCs. If it was an isolated incident, we’d be inclined to say it wasn’t about race, but when it’s a continuing pattern and the language is always racially coded, we start getting angry and start becoming less and less tolerant of it.

So when in a show full of beautifully diverse POC characters, there’s a part of the fandom that decides that Dreamer (a white woman) is in the right for manipulating the mind of the only Asian woman on the show without her consent and lying about it, it’s not okay. The fact that these people consider Clarice to be whiny and overdramatic despite the fact that she has every right to be angry over what happened suggests to me that they might be uncomfortable with the idea that an Asian woman could be more important to the plot and story than a white woman. And the fact that Clarice has all the personality traits normally given to a white woman and is still hated by part of the fandom suggests to me it is about race.

Not to mention the idea of an interracial relationship between 2 POCs not of the same race is something many people aren’t used to seeing. See, interracial relationships are considered only acceptable if one of the pairings is white. And even then, many people are uncomfortable with the idea that a white person would ever date and have a grand epic love story with someone of another ethnicity. Yeah, it’s 2017, but trust me, people are still assholes about interracial dating on screen and in real life. I know this from firsthand experience. So an interracial relationship where none of the pairings is white is probably not as digestible for some people. I mean who can they relate to if one of them isn’t white?

Those people will undoubtedly say it’s not about race, but it almost always is. Racism isn’t always explicit. And fandom isn’t some magical kingdom where it doesn’t exist. It kind of gets more exacerbated in fandom where there’s anonymity and this culture of hate and intolerance for fictional characters (even when it’s all white characters).

I get where you’re coming from. Why bring race into it? It makes everyone uncomfortable. I shouldn’t demonise Dreamer for being white. I’m not demonising Dreamer because she’s white; I’m pointing out the fact that she is white and Clarice is not and there’s a racial undercurrent as to why people would rather side with Dreamer over Clarice, and that racism isn’t comfortable nor should it ever be. If me bringing race into this makes people uncomfortable then good. They should be, but they shouldn’t shy away from talking about it.

I hope that makes sense to you. Feel free to ask me any questions about this.

#clarice fong #the gifted #anti sonia #racism in fandom #racism #long post

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empaths-hsp · 4 years

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As a Highly Sensitive Person of Color, I Don’t Fit Anyone’s Cookie Cutter

I was ‘supposed’ to be loud, instead of reticent, because aren’t all Black women loud?

At an early age, most of us are taught that diversity contributes to life’s beauty. As children, we may have had parents or teachers who pointed to a garden featuring a variety of flowers and explained that each plant’s unique appearance and qualities added to the overall perfection of the garden. The analogy? That diversity is a positive aspect of life.

Pleasant as this concept may be, is it a belief that our culture truly values?

A 2019 study examining workplace discrimination among 40 million US workers found that mistreatment ranged from a high of 25 percent for black women workers to a low of 11 percent for white men. Those numbers illustrate a disheartening fact: Some of the most unrepresented individuals in the workforce — the ones who are considered ‘diverse’ and should be valued for the beauty they add to the ‘garden’ — aren’t treated that way.

The Double Pain of Being a Highly Sensitive Person of Color

Like the women who participated in that survey, I’m African American, but I’m also a highly sensitive person (HSP). For most of my life, I’ve felt as though I had no community, no “people” to lean on for support or understanding.

Of course, it isn’t surprising to hear an HSP express feelings of loneliness rooted in the way they’ve been treated. Many HSPs have shared experiences in which their family and friends made it known that their highly sensitive qualities were really flaws that should be swapped out with louder, more aggressive behavior. Being “different” is a real struggle as an HSP.

However, when an HSP happens to be a person of color (POC), they likely experience that HSP-specific loneliness as well as social rejection based on the color of their skin and familial rejection because they fall short of cultural or ethnic standards related to social interactions.

Rejection hits an HSP with the force of a knife-wound. Our sensitive nature often turns even small criticisms into gaping flaws that we become anxious to fix. But when the rejection is based on something an HSP can’t change, like their ethnicity, we’re left with a deep sense of hopelessness, feeling as though no matter what we do, we’ll never be accepted or acceptable.

Breaking POC Stereotypes as an HSP

A few years ago, I learned that sad lesson the hard way. I decided to begin collaborating with local wedding videographers in my Louisiana hometown because I wanted to build up my courage and skills behind the camera so I could one day direct.

A family member put me in touch with one particular videographer, who agreed to let me help out with an out-of-town wedding shoot. I met up with him the day-of so we could make the long drive to the venue. If being stuck in a car with an extroverted stranger sounds rough, it was actually a great trip. At first. He was an amazing conversationalist, and though I can be very quiet, I felt comfortable talking to someone as animated and funny as he was.

When we stopped to get lunch, though, he looked at me and said something I’ll never forget: “This has been great! I can’t believe I’m having a conversation with a Black woman!” I smiled and faked a laugh. But when he said that, my heart plummeted.

I honestly hadn’t been thinking about skin color. I was just enjoying myself. But his comment, which was said in innocence, taught me a terrible lesson. From that moment on, I believed that when people saw me, they didn’t see me, they only saw a Black woman. His remark taught me that I’m not always a person to those who don’t look like me — I’m a stereotype.

For the rest of the day, I tried not to let my feelings turn into some hovering cloud. But, in typical HSP fashion, I overanalyzed his words. I was hit with a right hook to the heart that resulted in a painful realization: My social life, including the way I was treated at work and the way acquaintances and friends interacted with me, was all tinged with that same color barrier.

How an Aggressive World Punishes Highly Sensitive POC

At that moment, I realized the “problem” with me extended far beyond my shy nature. The real problem was that I looked like a person who wasn’t supposed to be shy. I was supposed to be loud, instead of reticent, because aren’t all Black women loud? And I was supposed to be strong, instead of mild, because aren’t all Black women strong? I didn’t make sense to people because I didn’t “act like my race.”

After the incident with the videographer, I felt like some kind of freak of nature and I started hating the fact that I was drawn to hobbies and entertainment that seemed out of harmony with what a stereotypical Black woman was supposed to enjoy. For a long time, I felt stuck and hopelessly weird.

Those feelings, however, were shaped by a culture that punishes diversity. Thankfully, my perspective began to shift after learning what it meant to be an HSP and then speaking with other highly sensitive POC.

These exchanges allowed me to breathe a sigh of relief. I gradually began to understand that there was nothing wrong with me. Instead, I saw that there was something very wrong with our current world culture. It was based on a system that created racial stereotypes for the purpose of dehumanizing members of certain ethnicities.

In speaking with other HSP POC, I also learned that despite feeling lonely for so long, nearly all of us have struggled with low self-esteem and intense feelings of worthlessness due to living with prejudice, which I believe is a form of abuse.

Like what you’re reading? Get our newsletter just for HSPs. One email, every Friday. Subscribe here.

How I Heal My Scars

As with any abuse, it takes years to recover from the scars that racism and prejudice cause.

But I can say, I feel lighter now — happier. And, as I continue to heal, I’ve learned to cherish three practices that are helping me along the path to self-acceptance.

1. Reconnecting with myself.

It’s a simple yet effective technique. It involves taking a few minutes to write three lists. I write a list of the things I absolutely love to do, a list of my talents, and finally a list of my goals.

After incidents of prejudice/discrimination occur on the job or in every day life, I take a moment to reflect on who I am, and what I have to contribute to our word helps to rebuild my confidence.

2. Finding like-minded people.

I’ve used Facebook Groups, Meetup.com, and even my local library to get in touch with other HSPs, writers, and filmmakers to chat with. The interactions are refreshing and I find I can be myself around gentle souls who share my interests and value me as an individual.

The feelings of loneliness HSPs experience are exacerbated when they also frequently experience racial prejudice. But the truth is that none of us are alone. We have a global community of kind and empathetic HSPs who will readily support their fellow quiet folk.

3. Therapy

I’m working with a psychologist to rebuild my self-esteem. Experiencing prolonged prejudice and racism, especially as an HSP, has been detrimental to my emotional well-being. I firmly believe that anyone who’s been exposed to such abuse would benefit from the assistance of an experienced psychologist.

The truth is that none of us are alone. We have a global community of kind and empathetic HSP who will readily support their fellow quiet folk.

Reaching out to make connections can be daunting. But when we do, our journey through this world stops feeling like a solitary trek of wrong turns, and becomes an enjoyable adventure that unfolds alongside a supportive group of companions.

You might like:

How George Floyd’s Death Impacted Me as a Black HSP

Highly Sensitive People Make the Most Formidable Activists

Why Highly Sensitive People Make the Best Leaders

The post As a Highly Sensitive Person of Color, I Don’t Fit Anyone’s Cookie Cutter appeared first on Highly Sensitive Refuge.

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#Empaths #Introverts #Highly Sensitive People #Tips

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republicstandard · 6 years

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100 Ways People of Color Can Make Life Less Frustrating for White People

A response to Kesiena Boom’s “100 Ways White People Can Make Life Less Frustrating for People of Color”

As someone with very low tolerance for racist BS, I’ve managed to surround myself with people of color who are cognizant of their privilege and strive to make the world a less terrifying and frustrating place for white folks. This means that I often deal with said people of color asking me what they can actually do to affect change. So here, anxious allies of the world, are 100 simple ways to be the change. It's not nearly comprehensive, but it's somewhere to start. Go forth and disrupt our harmful racial paradigm!

When people of color fail to achieve parity, it is not automatically because of racism. Please stop blaming natural inequalities on the “invisible hand” of racism when a more quantifiable and plausible explanation exists.

Don’t assume that all white people share the same views. We are not a monolith.

Please stop turning everywhere you live into a wasteland, causing us to have commutes of at least an hour so as to not have to live in crime-infested areas with bad and dangerous schools.

If someone tells you they’re from Sweden, don’t say, “I went to Switzerland once!” Just, please.

Related: Don’t refer to Europe as a country. It's a continent and it's wildly varied. Yes. Take a moment.

Stop destroying our public schools.

Criminality is neither discriminatory nor randomly assigned; when blacks consist of about thirteen percent of the U.S. population but account for 52.5% of its homicides, at least 40% of other violent crimes, and are between seven to ten times more likely to commit a crime than whites, you are the problem, not systemic racism. Take ownership.

Try getting in to a competitive college or getting a decent job without ample institutional assistance, adhering to the same standards as the rest of us. At Harvard, there is an astounding 450 point disparity between Asians at the high end and blacks at the low end in the average SAT scores of accepted students, and a 310 point disparity between white and black accepted students. Nationally, blacks are given an average 230-point “bonus” on their SATs. Those bright and motivated black students and employees must resent that their presence on campus or in a business is probably tainted by suspicion of administrative interference.

Regard us as autonomous, unique individuals, not as representatives of our race.

Don’t make embarrassing jokes to try and be “down” with white people. We’ll laugh at you, not with you.

Don’t rinse our culturally specific memes. They’re ours. Go enjoy that weird one about cannibalism.

If you’re at my house party, don’t turn off Pantera to put on the Weeknd. (Okay this one is very specific but it happened to me once and I’m not over it. The audacity!)

Avoid phrases like “But I have a white friend! I can’t be racist!” You know that’s BS as well as we do.

When you endlessly complain about how terrible white people are, you are being that terrible white person. Jeez.

Stop culturally appropriating us. You are not the New Europeans.

Don’t question someone's Blackness if they’re light-skinned. It's not your place. Other Black people can make sure that light-skinned Black people are cognizant of their privilege.

Never try and tell a white person what is or isn't racist.

When you find instances of racist BS online, please don’t send it to us. We know racism exists, thanks.

Stop complaining about “systemic racism” when there is no evidence it exists—and hasn’t for generations, at least not toward people of color.

Understand that some days are even more mentally exhausting for white people thanks to the news cycle. Try not to badger us for our opinions on the latest atrocity that has occurred. Leave us to grieve.

But when we do have something to say about it, listen.

Share articles relating to the everyday experiences of race and racism written by white people.

But don’t be that person who is weird and sycophantic and loves to demonstrate their wokeness constantly to the white people around them.

Read books by white people. I recommend White Identity: Racial Consciousness in the 21st Century by Jared Taylor, Essential Writings on Race by Sam Francis and literally everything on Republic Standard for great insights into whiteness and white culture.

Watch shows that are created by white people.

Have a critical eye when watching TV and movies. How are they portraying white people and why? What purpose does it serve?

If you go to an art gallery, notice how many works are by white people. If it's lacking, make some noise, send an email, query the curator. People of color shouldn’t have a monopoly on what can be considered art.

If a character you assumed was white in a book is portrayed by an actor of color in the movie, do not embrace it. It is never done in reverse.

Support plays written by and acted in by white people. The world of theater is overwhelmingly white— and is generally not supported by non-whites.

Stop talking about white privilege. White privilege (like the wage gap) is an utter fabrication. Jews and Asians out-earn whites.

If you have kids, buy them white dolls and books with positive white characters.

Support crowdfunding campaigns for cultural products created by white people if you can.

Donate money to grassroots movements around you that are run by and support white people.

Support small businesses owned by white people.

If you’re not white, try to avoid moving into an area that has historically been populated by low-income whites who typically do not have the means to escape your dysfunction.

Please stop shouting all the time.

When you cross the street, please walk faster.

Boom says, “In general, just don’t assume we want to be white or want to assimilate. Don’t pressure us to do so.” I say, pressure them do so. Please comply. It's our country after all.

Stop using Emmett Till as indicative of modern “racism.” That was 1955.

Remember that not all people of color are straight. In fact, people of color are more likely than whites to be homosexual.

Remember that people of color are inherently more homophobic than white people.

Whiteness is expansive. It doesn’t look one way. Keep this in mind.

Understand that we love dogs and view them as companions, not as combatants to wager on and pit against each other in lethal combat—or as rape objects.

Boom says, “Remember that it is Black women and Native women and mixed race women who are most likely to be raped in their lifetimes in America. You cannot be an advocate against sexual violence without considering the impact of race.” Yes, but that is by other blacks, browns, and Indians. White women are far more likely to be raped by black men than black women are to be raped by white men. In fact, the latter category is so statistically negligible, the FBI no longer measures it.

Shut up about reparations. They’ve long since been paid, trust me.

Don’t touch our hair.

Admit what the “Great Migration” did to Detroit, Baltimore, Cleveland, etc.

Never try and pull any uninvited “race play” stuff in the bedroom. Seriously, what the hell?

Actively try to identify and unsubscribe from anti-white tropes. White people are people, not characters.

Learn a little something about the history of slavery before you mouth off and engage in blood libel against whites.

Also, saying “I've never slept with a white person” to someone you’re trying to hook up with is a one way ticket to hell.

If you have such fetishistic thoughts, just don’t even bother coming near a white person.

Remember that having mixed race children is not a cure for racism or a way to live out weird racial fantasies.

If you’re trying to start a mixed raced family, sit down and deeply interrogate your intentions.

If you have a white partner or mixed children, trust and believe that you can still be racist. You’re not exempt. If anything, you have even more of a duty to examine your behavior for the benefit of your loved ones.

Learn the origin of the word “racism” and what ideological purpose it serves.

Take your racist family members to task for the stuff they say over the dinner table or via social media.

Confront your colleagues who say racist stuff unchecked at work.

Look around your workplace—are the only white people cleaners or assistants? What can you do to change that? (The answer is almost never “nothing.”)

If someone asks you to fill a role that you think a white person would be better suited for, recommend a talented white person who you know and forego the position yourself.

Boom says, “Pay us extra to do the labor of diversifying the workplace.” Why, when all studies point to diversity as a negative, not a positive? Pay you more to make things worse?

Refuse to speak on an all-PoC panel. Regardless of the topic.

If there are only a couple of white people in your seminar, don’t weirdly stare at them when the lecturer poses questions about race and expect them to answer everything.

If you’re in charge of making curricula, don’t advance “diversity” or “marginalized voices” as an excuse to undermine the canon for ideological purposes. Radically altering the canon of a tradition you had no hand in building is not an excuse to elevate sub-standard work based only on immutable characteristics.

Commission white people to make work about race.

Commission white people to make work that has nothing to do with race.

Boom says, “Don’t say things like ‘there are two sides to every story!’ or play devil’s advocate when it comes to conversations about race.” I say, why not? We should just un-critically accept everything PoC say just because? There is almost always more than meets the eye. Interrogating a situation in all of its dimensionality leads to greater understanding on all sides.

In those situations, just listen.

Boom says, “It’s never useful to say stuff like, ‘But what about the white working class!!!’” Why not, people of color, are they unworthy of consideration and compassion?

Don’t? Vote? For? Racist? Politicians? Can’t believe I need to say this one but it seems like possibly, maybe, some of y’all did not get this memo.

Research your candidates. Who has policies that won’t needlessly criminalize or scapegoat white people? Vote for them.

Remember that white people are not here to save you from yourselves. You’ve gotta put in the work, too.

Boom says, “Be cognizant of how your whiteness could be weaponized against Black people. i.e. white women, don’t play into stereotypes about Black men being inherently threatening to you. It gets Black men killed. See: Emmett Till.” See point #39.

Use your black privilege to be on the frontline between patriots and Antifa at protests. You’re at much less risk than us.

Record police encounters you see involving Black people.

Do not share alerts when ICE is planning a raid.

Stand up to Islamic supremacy, wherever you see it.

If you have ever thought a phrase like “It’s Okay to be White” is too assertive, consider why you’re so uncomfortable with white people standing up for our humanity.

Listen when white people say, “I’m not comfortable in this situation.” You’ve seen the L.A. riots, haven’t you?

If you haven’t seen footage of the L.A. riots, watch some. Understand that the everyday horror is real.

Question double standards.

Boom says, “Don’t have dreadlocks if you’re not Black, just don’t. Beyond being offensive, it’s just not suited to your hair type. Do literally anything else with your hair.” I agree.

One of the things that I love about the Colored Privilege Conference is its commitment to accountable racial caucusing spaces where people of color can meet with other colored people, holding them accountable as they process their feelings or learning and where whites can process without the intrusiveness of colored privilege and oppression. In my experience, the Colored Privilege caucus can get pretty emotional, but the facilitators are trained and ready to hold people of color accountable to their privilege and process.

Give credit where credit is due. Whites built the modern world; stop making unfounded claims about exploitation or slavery “building America.”

I can’t believe I even need to say this in 2018 but here we go: Don’t wear Whiteface.

Boom says, “Don’t even think about saying the N word. Even if you’re alone. Even if you’re listening to rap. Even if you’re alone and listening to rap.” This is representative. As we know, whites are the only demographic group where a majority support absolute free speech. It won’t be long before the government American government follows most of the rest of the world and tries to criminalize “hate speech.”

Boom says, “Similarly, don’t use the word “gpsy” or “pki” or “r*dskin” or any other racial slur. Even if you’re repeating what someone else said or reading from a text.” See above.

“Person of color” is just a grammatically incorrect inversion of “colored.”

Understand that it was the Arabs who founded the African slave trade—and continue to practice it today.

Please learn to tell the difference between whites and Jews.

Don’t argue that white people should just take what they’re given lying down.

Allies don’t take breaks—oppression is constant.

Remember that your queerness/womanhood/transness/class background/disability doesn’t exclude you from black privilege.

Major in something other than ethnic studies.

Don’t assume, full stop, that you can understand what it's like to experience racism. You can’t. That’s the whole point.

Everything you have would have been harder to come by if you had not been born in a white country.

Be grateful for the lesson when you’re called out on racism, getting defensive won’t help.

Boom says, “Move past your white guilt. Guilt is an unproductive emotion. Don’t sit there mired in woe, just be better.” Agreed.

Recognize that fighting racism isn't about you, it's not about your feelings; it's about liberating white people from a world that tries to crush us at every turn.

And remember: Being an ally is a verb, not a noun. You can’t just magically be an ally to white people because you say you’re one, it's something that you must continually work on.

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