#I just… who raised you and why do they sound like Nazis

[lacewise]

Hey. I’m still seeing near daily hate speech on my timeline, especially to Jewish and Israeli people (minding their own business!!!). Stop it. Get over yourselves. People other than you also have a right to live.

Hate speech, bigotry, and threats are never acceptable behaviour. There should especially never be a time when intersectionally marginalized people don’t feel safe in communities meant for them on the basis of one of their other identities. I thought we went over this. That includes Jewish people. That includes, explicitly, every group that you think “deserves” it, because discrimination against them is “for a reason” (the only reason is discrimination). If it doesn’t, you have biases you need to unpack and grapple with… yourself. A good start is a lot of listening to Jewish people who explain how it’s discriminatory (which they shouldn’t have to do). No arguing. Just listening.

I’ve seen this about Black people, I’ve seen this about Romani people, I’ve seen this about Muslim people, I’ve seen this about Latine people, I’ve seen this about trans men, non-binary people, ace people, aro people, he/him lesbians—and I could go on. Right now, most often, I’m seeing it about Jewish and Israeli people (which are not interchangeable groups). It needs to stop. It needs to never have begun. You need to deal with this, now.

Unfortunately, I think I need to include some examples of antisemitism: sending Jewish people unfounded conspiracy theories and allegations is harassment. That includes using tags meant for in-Jewish community use.

Spreading the unfounded conspiracy theories because they “sound like” what you think about Jewish people is antisemitic discrimination.

Making Jewish people “prove” to you they have the “right opinions” before you’ll let them into spaces they have a right to access is antisemitic discrimination. Which you’d think a group of people who just learned collective punishment is bad would know.

Saying things like, (and I really hate quoting discriminatory language, so I won’t forgive anyone who made this necessary) “But so-and-so is Jewish” or “Did you know so-and-so is… Jewish…?” is monstrous. It’s antisemitic discrimination, and it’s pretty actively trying to cause harassment campaigns (or worse) against specific Jewish individuals. If you see that, you need to report and block whoever is doing it. I really don’t care what the current euphemism they’re using for Jewish people is, euphemisms have a history in discriminatory practices going back hundreds of years.

Trying to dox Israeli people, trying to mass report them off the internet, telling them to “Go back to their country” (really?), are all active and organized harassment campaigns I have witnessed. Which, after October 7th, strikes me as both violent threats and a support for terrorist attacks.

Some of you were platforming people who are clearly calling for progroms for months and then demanding to know why any Jewish person deserves to live in Israel.

This cannot keep happening. This cannot happen.

Don’t harass Jewish people. Don’t harass Israeli people, especially using antisemitic conspiracy theories. Not every Israeli person is Jewish, and every Israeli person cannot be constantly and individually held responsible for the failures and violence of the Israeli government. If people are committing crimes, you need to focus on the individuals and groups directly and provably responsible, and the government itself. And you still shouldn’t engage in hate speech or harassment campaigns. I shouldn’t have to debunk multiple conspiracy theories at once to say, “Don’t harass Israeli citizens.” You just… shouldn’t be doing it.

Don’t spread hate speech. Don’t engage in hate speech. Don’t engage in harassment campaigns. Don’t justify or defend other people doing it.

#off topic #not fiber arts #this is a daily thing!!! #it should not be happening AT ALL #I just… who raised you and why do they sound like Nazis #I just want to make pretty fabric!!! #antisemitism #leftist antisemitism #discrimination #harassment

[davekat-sucks]

lute x adam is better than davekat and chaggie. they both sound killer singing together.

also just like wish's "villain", I find no fault in adam's reasoning, sinners such as rapists and pedos should be eradicated. i dont give a fuck about how apparently there are random kids in hell to emotionally manipulate the audience, for all we know that could be a grown ass man pretending to be a kid, and maybe that could have been more interesting: to see a hell's citizen take advantage of vaggie's kindness. it'd explain her trust issues & lute's bizarre reaction to actual mercy.

whats up with modern shows/films these days and their weird morals...

Adam x Lute is better than Davekat and Chaggie. Funny enough, Vivziepop confirmed that pedophiles, Nazis, and racists are already wiped out after they died. Like, human pedophiles/Nazis/racists who die, don't go to hell, limbo, purgatory, or heaven. They just get erased from existence. Angels have nothing to do with it. The Hazbin/Helluva universe already does its work. Of course, imps and hellborn creatures like hellhounds or the Sin ringleaders, can still be pedophiles, Nazis, and racists. But they are exempt from extermination. So the only sinners that do get sent to Hell to just do the same old shit would be murderers, con artists, human traffickers, rapists, and those who commit slavery, are still around. Which makes me question where does child murderers or those who lead child human trafficking and slavery fall in. Do they get wiped out from existence too if they didn't touch the child in that way? Do they get wiped out from existence for harming a young soul? Or do they get straight sent to Hell because murder is bad, regardless of age? Probably doesn't help that Heaven already admitted they don't know the requirements of people getting into Heaven, so it's a mystery on who is even checking since apparently at this point, even innocent souls who likely died of accident or bad circumstances, get sent to Hell regardless. It probably will be answered later on by some bullshit means, but it raises more questions on when in point did that become a thing. People pointed out that Angel Dust's sister, MOLLY, is there. What point in time Heaven allowed others to get in before it all changed with the extermination? Does even something small as when you were a kid stealing from the cookie jar, count as a major sin to be sent straight to Hell and that's why the child is sent in? Who the fuck knows. Maybe it will get answered in finale. Maybe they will hold it off for season 2 since it is confirmed and they are already recording the lines as we speak. I think the reason for these weird morals in recent modern media, just only goes for the straight black-white mortality, but hide it differently in these recent times as an act of justice that we won't make the same mistakes like we did in the past. Unfortunately, they are but are too ignorant to see it. Also in the case of how Hazbin Hotel is presenting with its rushed pacing, people, audiences and creators, would rather get to the heart of the matter fast and immediately than to build it up on how to get there. Why the fuck should we know about Camille and her backstory when all that matters is that she is a protective mother and that's it? No need to build up sustenance, all it matters is just the emotional factor to pull at your heartstrings for one moment like a quick sugar rush. No need to show the slow burn romance of why Vaggie likes Charlie. All it matters that she is now cute lesbians with her and its a good rep for LGBT. TL;DR of that is people are impatient.

#Hazbin Hotel #Helluva Boss #Hazbin Hotel Critical #Adam x Lute

[rogersideup]

Nice to be Kneaded

Nice to be Needed

Series Masterlist

Previous part: Inhale, Exhale Next part: Captain-what’s-his-butt

Word count: 4,465

Warnings: My blog is 18+ only. All minors or blogs without an age in bio will be blocked. Minors DNI. Descriptions of anxiety attacks and mental health issues.

Steve made sure to show up at your place at exactly 11 am. He wasn't sure what you had in mind for the day, so he settled for his usual jeans and t-shirt with a hat on his head and sunglasses in his pocket just in case.

When you opened the door, you welcomed him in with no hesitation. His first thoughts were about how trusting you continued to be. You had no more than three conversations with him. What if he turned out to be a murderer? A criminal?

Well... technically... he was a criminal. And a fugitive. And he did kill a few nazis back in his day...

But that was exactly his point. Of course he would never hurt you, but what if he was someone a little shadier, a little more rough around the edges?

As the day went on, he continued learning just how infectious that energy was. He found himself having to hold back even more personal information from you. None of what he told you to fill in the gaps of the life he once knew was a lie. He still couldn't lie to you. So instead he just gave you vague information.

And as you showed him around town, you started to learn more about him. At the coffee shop, you learned he used to serve in the military and work for the government, but a lot of the details were hidden behind walls confidentiality he couldn't break.

He told you at the earth history museum that he was a New York native, his mother and father were no longer around. At that same place he learned you recently lost your father due to an unfortunate circumstance, but your mother was still around to make sure all your choices were lining up to the big list of life long plans she made for you. You were raised in sunny California, but came here to start a life with an ex-boyfriend who had done you wrong. But you were settled, and uprooting once more seemed like too much of a burden. Greenwood sucked you in fast, and you didn't know if you could adjust to the fast paced California lifestyle again at this point in your career.

You asked more about his career as you walked him through the friendship gardens. His service was great for him for a while, but sometimes working so close to anything in the government made him question his own morals. He hated wondering if he was really doing the right thing everyday, so he left. You also learned that he was thirty-something years old.

Finally you led him to the prettiest park surrounded by even prettier views, and that's when he asked you for a rundown on everyone in the neighborhood just so he could be better prepared for when he inevitably meets the locals.

The summer sunshine on his skin was doing wonders to his mood that had been so sad and honestly depressing the passed couple of days, and you once again got this feeling that he really needed a friend. You were happy to sit in the grass with him and people watch as conversation continued to flow naturally between the two of you.

"S0, what got you into baking?" He asked sounding happier than you had heard him in the short time you've known him.

"I used to bake a lot with my grandmother when I was a kid" You explained. "My earliest memories of baking is rolling and cutting out sugar cookies with her, but if they weren't perfect she would make me squish them and try again."

"So I guess that explains why everything you make is so pretty" He pointed out, watching you run your fingers through the blades of grass.

"It's been conditioned into my brain since childhood" You agreed. "Then after that I guess I just found it interesting. There's so many different kinds of baking, and so many niche sets of skills within it that I just wanted to try and learn everything I could. If I didn't get something right, I'd squish it and try again until it came out perfect."

"Even as a hobby you'd squish the imperfect stuff?"

"Oh yeah, but that's what got me to where I am now. Plus, if you squish it in your mouth, it still counts as squishing it" You pointed out your loop hole.

"Ah, I see" He smiled. "Did this make you more afraid or less afraid of failure as an adult?"

"Let's just say my emotions get very squished when something doesn't come out right the first time" You put it gently with a giggle.

"That's such a cute way of saying you get upset" Steve laughed. "I'm going to start using that from now on. I'm no longer going to be mad, or sad, my emotions are just going to squish."

"I think that's the perfect description" You defended your choice of wording.

"I do too" Steve agreed. "Okay, so you liked to bake, and you created a whole tool belt full of different baking skills. What made you want to start the business?"

"I guess it just seemed like the obvious next step" You pondered.

"I'm sure opening up a place like that is a huge learning curve" he thought out-loud.

"If I could give up the whole business side of it, I would in a heartbeat" You giggled. "Payroll, health code standards, government regulation, employer protection laws... it's all so much to have to put into consideration when making the smallest of choices. Oh! And my taxes are a mess"

"But you're happy doing what you do?"

"It's a dream come true" You smiled. "It's stressful sometimes, but I wouldn't trade it for anything else."

"Mmm" he hummed in acknowledgment. His mind ran far away from him as a man walking his dog passed by on the sidewalk about 15 feet away from where they were sitting in the grass. His Iron-Man shirt caught Steve's eye, and his brain started to wander far away from the conversation.

Your eyes followed his gaze, and when they landed on the Tony Stark inspired street ware, the expression on his face became unreadable to you. At this point in the Captain America versus Iron-Man political split, you we're pretty good at guessing who chose which side then avoiding conversations about it like the plague.

Stating which side you supported so publicly usually elicited the reactions of strangers, either filling their faces with pride or disgust. You swore the nature of this town made the topic like a man hunt, as if someone's opinions made them a great person or a completely terrible person based on whichever side they chose. You'd never met anyone like you, willing to entertain both sides, and willing to understand that there was probably more to the situation the public didn't know and that maybe things weren't as black and white as the insufferably bored, small town and small minded folks made it out to be.

Maybe the borderline sad expression on your neighbor's face was a sign that he possibly felt similarly to you, but you were so exhausted over the constant opinions on the topic being thrown at you so you certainly weren't going to subject him to that either.

"What about you?" You questioned, causing his head to snap towards you.

"What?" He asked, trying his hardest to stay calm. Did you ask him something and he completely missed it? Please don't be about the iron-man shirt...

"Got any big career plans or are you happily retired?" You reiterated.

He visibly relaxed and thought about it for a moment. "I dunno..." he shrugged. "I guess this is the first time in my life where I've realized what I've always wanted and what I've been doing were two completely different paths."

"Well, maybe it's a sign to just enjoy life and whatever it throws at you for a bit." You suggested with a pleasant grin.

"Whatever it throws at me better be peaceful and relaxing for once" He agreed with a big lopsided smile. "Like, I don't know, a park ranger or a librarian."

"An artist! ... a baker?"

"If I was a baker there would be a significant increase of squishing happening" He shook his head.

"But you're an artist! I'm sure your creative eye could translate to something in the kitchen. Sugar cookie decorating maybe?"

"You don't even know if I'm a good artist" Steve laughed. "For all you know I could have the skill set of a toddler"

"You told me you went to art school for a year" You defended yourself. "You'd rather me assume that you had the skill set of a toddler rather than the talent of a person who studied art?"

"It's like the glass half full or half empty debate" He brought up.

"I always think the glass is half full"

"I tend think the glass is not half full, nor half empty. The glass is just is" He explained.

"I guess that's a more realistic way to view it" You pondered. "So rather than you being a beginner or an expert in art, you just are where you are."

"Sure, we'll call it that" He slowly nodded his head.

The two of you spent pretty much the entire day together, and yet when you got back home after leaving him with a friendly hug, something just felt off.

It took a warm bath and a glass of wine to figure out what was bothering you. However, once it was in your mind, you held onto it all night until the morning, all day through work, and an hour after you got home until Georgia got back from the gardening center.

She made you both a cup of sweet tea and sat with you on the porch swing as you vented. The hot summer air and warm breeze payed no mind to the setting sun, it wasn't going to allow the impending moonlight to calm the heat.

"Wait- so why were you hanging out with the hunk in the first place?" She asked, trying to digest all the information you spat at her at over a mile a minute. The slow swing of the bench beneath the two of you did nothing to calm your nerves.

"I was just trying to be friendly and show him around, I thought he could use a friend since all of this is so new to him" You justified.

"And that's the only reason?" She wiggled her eyebrows at you.

"...yeeahhh..." Your voiced raised in pitch.

"I don't believe a single second of that, but go on darlin'" She smirked.

"I dunno, every time I've seen him I get this weird inclination that I need to talk to him, and every time I do it's fine. He's easy to talk to, we have a few similar interests, he's really good about asking questions about me and seems genuinely interested in getting to know everyone here but the second I ask anything about him it's like he turns into this dull, flat, kind've lifeless creature." You explained.

"A creature, huh?"

"Okay, maybe creature is a little dramatic." You admitted. "I just don't understand how someone could go from a really outgoing chipper dude to the saddest lost puppy in the rain in the span of 2 seconds."

"Maybe he's a murderer" Georgia joked.

"Mrs. Georgia Peach, that is not very nice!" You shrieked, bumping her shoulder with yours.

"A stalker! Maybe, he's freshly divorced."

"Are you implying that a divorcee is just as bad as being a murderer or a stalker?" Your head slanted to the side.

"No, not by any means, Baby doll." She giggled. "My point is, we don't know even a fraction of what he might've been through to land him in a whole new town by himself. There are so many situations in which someone could shut down and maybe not be so trusting of people, he could just need some time. It really could be that simple."

"Maybe I just need to put my patience pants on" You sighed. "I know I probably sound crazy, but there's just something about him I can't quite grasp. I want to be his friend, and I'm trying, but he just seems so... sad?"

"If there's one thing I know it's that when you're in a bad place, you unintentionally push people away. Maybe slowly at first then all at once, but the people in your life who stand their ground and walk by your side are always appreciated. Keep trying, push him back very slowly. You'll get there eventually." Georgia brushed your hair out of your face. "But darlin' it's also important to remember that it's not your job to fix him."

Your track record of all your ex-boyfriends came flooding to mind when she gave you that reminder. Everyone who knew the insight of what your past relationship or two was like seemed to be rightfully concerned about who you chose as a partner going forward. "I know." You sighed. "But you know how I am. I love too much way too fast whether it be a stranger I just met or a dear friend of five years. I can't just let somebody that I know pass by without a second thought."

"I know, baby, and everyone who knows you is so blessed to have received a love like yours but not everyone can understand that it's a privilege and not something that they should be taking advantage of." She continued petting your hair, her hand made it to your shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. "You're sweet as pie, anyone from a million miles away could see that. Just make sure you're continuing to make yourself a priority when you're lovin' on everybody else."

"Of course I will." You gave her a reassuring grin. "Remember what I said? I'm happy on my own."

Life proceeded as normal for a few days. Quiet, but normal.

You found solace in your cozy bakery, humming along to the soft music playing over the speaker system as you sat at the decorator's long metal table, decorating sugar cookies for a custom order while your beloved employees prepared to close the store in 15 minutes.

Flooding inside the lines you made with royal icing, the cashier popped her head back in the kitchen that was only occupied by you.

"Someone is asking for you!" She chimed sweetly.

"Thank you! I'll be there in a sec" you looked up.

When you made your way out to the front, you saw Steven in his full glory. The one strand of golden hair that always seemed to have a mind of its own prevailed in it's efforts to never stay in place. Once again, his energy was low and he seemed awfully sad.

"Hey there, honey!" You smiled, even though you recognized that look in his eye. "How are you?" You asked as you walked out from behind the counter to greet him with a warm hug.

"I'm good. Sorry if this is a bad time, I know you guys are closing soon but I haven't seen you around in a few days so I figured I'd stop by real quick just to say hi." He explained.

You looked at the pastry bag in his hand, realizing he had already gotten and paid for a treat. "Not a bad time at all!" You reassured him. "Even if we're closed and you see a light on, just knock on the door and I'll let you in."

Just based off the way you were looking at him, he could tell you knew he was sad. The passed few days have been even more emotionally painful, and it was getting increasingly worse regardless of his effort to make it better.

He tried everything. He ran as far and fast as he could, numbly sat in front of a television playing romcoms, he bathed for hours, drew and painted, read and solved puzzles, but nothing was working.

After a shower, an anxiety attack, pacing around his house for about an hour while seriously considering turning himself in and making this crazy manhunt finally come to an end, he realized the one thing he hadn't tried yet was interacting with another person. So he grabbed his keys and came straight to the only place he knew he'd be warmly welcomed.

"Good to know" He attempted a smile. "What's that?"

He pointed at a big cardboard shipping box sitting on top of a wooden pallet, placed neatly along a wall.

"Oh! That's a new mid-sized stand mixer I ordered since our other one burned out. I went with one slightly bigger then the last and that's how it arrived a few hours ago." You giggled. The shipping situation really did seem dramatic for what was inside the box.

"And they shipped it like that?" He raised his eyebrows at the box.

"Unfortunately" You nodded. "I will say it's a lot heavier than it looks though. The box says 200 pounds so Michael and James from our street are going to come in tomorrow to help me set it up"

"What?" He questioned with an almost genuinely confused look on his face. "I can do it right now."

"... it's two hundred pounds, Steven." You reiterated with a giggle.

Failing to see your point, he handed you the pastry bag in his hands. "Hold my tart"

You took it from him without saying a word, and set it down on the counter before walking behind him towards the box. He bent over and put his hands on it, rocking it from side to side to find its center of balance.

"Oh gosh please be careful, don't hurt yourself" You nagged like a mom, and it actually brought a genuine smile to his face.

If only you knew the real kind've danger he put himself in on a daily basis...

He lifted the box without so much as a grunt or that silly face humans make when something is too heavy. "Holy shit... do you need help?"

"Where do you want it?" He asked, obviously amused that the two men you thought you needed to get the task done were now rendered completely useless.

"In the back, do you need help?" You asked again, and started walking to guide him to the empty counter space you reserved for the mixer.

"Nope, it's totally fine" He shook his head.

He didn't even look like he was struggling.

"Okay follow me" You shook your head in disbelief with a smile on your face as you led him into the kitchen as quickly as you could so he could set it down. "Right here, please!"

When he set it down on the designated counter and you went to grab a box cutter to get it out of the box, you came back still amazed. The two of you opened it up, and he lifted it out of the cardboard and set it where it belonged.

"Easy peasey!" He wiped of his hands.

"And I thought I needed two people for that!" You said loudly with amusement. "What the heck, man! You're ripped."

Steve laughed at your reaction. "What can I say? Moving all that furniture really got my arms in shape"

"No, there's no way that moving a couch made your arms that impressive" You shook your head with a laugh. "You're Hercules. There's no other explanation."

"You're once again giving me too much credit" He shook his head with a smile.

"No need to be humble, Superman."

"Superman isn't real" He rebutted sassily, waving a pointed finger in the air.

You stopped and thought for a second. "... I can't think of a real superhero now that isn't controversial at the moment so we're just going to settle on calling you Superman."

Even though you were being playful and happy as a clam, his mind immediately realized that you would probably hate him if you knew the truth. He couldn't just assume that your thoughts on the Civil War would side with him, and he needed to protect his heart.

Maybe coming here was a bad choice.

"Superman it is" He put on his front that everything was fine. "How about I'll get rid of that pallet in the front while you unwrap all this plastic?"

"No, honey, it's fine. We can take care of the pallet in the morning!" You denied. "You've already helped immensely"

"Please, I insist"

You sighed at the man before a shy smile smeared across your lips. "... thank you"

"I'll be right back"

He took the wooden pallet out from the store and to the dumpster in the parking lot, then made his way back into the kitchen where you had unwrapped the mixer from the plastic it came from and plugged it in. As Steve was washing his hands, you turned it on to make sure it worked, and the swirling sound brought a smile to your face.

"She works?" Steve asked.

"Like a dream" You confirmed. "Thank you so much for the help"

"Absolutely, if you ever need help with anything around here just let me know. I'm more than happy to help out whenever you need."

When you saw how his much his mood changed just from being able to do something for you, you had idea.

From that day on, Steve would come every Friday night to help unload the supply delivery. The 50 pound bags of sugar, flour, powdered sugar and brown sugar kept him occupied for at least half an hour. Especially since he insisted he would reorganize them every week to make sure the new ones made it to the bottom of the stack and the old ones would go on top.

Then it evolved into him staying with you way passed close to watch you decorate. It was fascinating to him, and he was genuinely interested. He'd sit right next to you and ask you why you did things a certain way, how you knew how to move your hand or pick out things like colors or sprinkles.

Soon there after, Friday nights turned into Friday and Wednesday nights. He'd come in after all the employees left and follow you around, you were more than happy to let him.

It was mutually beneficial, you weren't so lonely in the hours required to keep all the custom orders flowing out at the rate they were requested, and Steve finally had something to do.

Sometimes he felt a little bad just sitting there and having hours of conversation without as much as lifting his finger, so as he got more comfortable in your perfect little bakery he'd find things to do.

If you were doing something that required frosting or icing, you'd tell him exactly what color you needed and guide him through making it. He'd mix it all up and put it in the correct kind of piping bag for you, he even got really good at tying off all the ends so it didn't spill out as you squeezed.

Sometimes he'd notice a leaky pipe under the hand washing sinks or wobbling chair legs and he'd fix them up. If there were dishes in the sink that the bakers couldn't get to he'd do them no question. But when there was nothing to do, he'd chat your ear off and you happily listened. He was like your live action podcast, and you learned that Steven knew a whole bunch about a whole lot of different topics.

Nice to be kneaded became his little sanctuary away from home. He looked forward to the days he spent loitering in the shop, and when he got home he loved that his clothes always smelled like cookies.

You added Tuesdays to the mix when Steven asked you to teach him how to make something, anything really. He didn't know if it was because he actually wanted to learn how to bake or if he just wanted a reason to spend more time with you.

He grew to craving your presence on days your schedules didn't match up, and on those days his brain actually had room to think about the reality of what he was doing.

Every time he felt himself growing closer to you, he realized he was only hurting you. Eventually he'd have to go, and that day when you knocked on his door with nobody there to answer would be a hard one. You'd have to process that all the time you'd invested into him were nothing but lies. He knew this was going to end with you hating him, and he knew that would break his heart too.

As close as he was with you, he still wasn't nearly as close as he wanted to be. If his life was in order and his head wasn't always one wrong move away from being on a platter, you would've been swept off your feet by now.

Whenever you smiled and looked at him through your eyelashes, all he wanted to do was kiss it right off your lips. He craved to hold you in his arms, claim you all for himself. But for your sake and his, he stayed an arm's length away.

You deserved better than a fugitive, and you deserved better than whatever he could give to you in his current situation. You definitely deserved better than to be lied to by someone you were devoting so much time and energy to.

So given the circumstances, Steve was doing his best. Plotting ways to let you down easy when the time came for him to go. Maybe if he could fit it in whenever he inevitably needed to run, he'd find a way to tell you with his own mouth. It would be easier hearing it from him rather than a news story or a police report.

But he was sure he had at least a little while longer to figure that out, and he really hoped he did. Because if his time with you taught him anything, it's that he was happy moving around sacks of flour and mixing icing colors for you because it made both of you happy.

He'd tighten all the loose screws, reach every supply on the highest shelf, and barter with your supplier about the astronomical influx of egg prices just for you.

If he had to run as far and fast as he could to a whole different country in a far away place first thing in the morning, he'd always be reminded of the most important lesson you taught him.

It really was nice to be needed.

Next part: Captain-what’s-his-butt

Tag list: @patzammit @bemysugarbean @buckymydarlingangel @happinessinthebeing @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @differenttyphoonwerewolf @themotherof10 @talesofadragon @spikeluv84

To join the tag list, let me know 🤍🧁

#steve rogers #steve rogers fluff #captain america #captain america fluff #steve rogers x reader #captain america x reader #chris evans #steve rogers fanfiction #mcu x reader #chris evans fluff #steve rogers headcanon #nomad steve rogers #captain america smut #captain america series #steve rogers series #steve rogers smut #steve rogers x you #captain america x you #marvel series #marvel x you #natasha romanoff #sam Wilson #bucky barnes #Nice to be kneaded #Rogersideup #chris evans series #chris evans fanfic #chris evans character fanfiction #Tony stark #iron man

[mischiefmanaged71]

The Great War (3/10)

Summary: After landing in a place he has no idea about, Tom comes across someone who can finally help him get back to Manchester

Pairing: Tom Bennett x fem! reader

The sun dipped through the window, dressing the room in its warm glow. Tom relaxed against his pillow, wondering when he would get out of this place. Each day he spent here was another test of his patience given the ever-growing threat of the Nazi occupation. He stared at the ceiling with a blank expression, anxiety stirring in his chest. Doctor O’Connor laid on the bed opposite while the blood transfusion took place. He had hoped Y/N would continue her daily visits, her conversation and presence being one of the few comforting things in this distressing situation. 

Tom admitted he was out of his depths here. A British soldier in a German-occupied country. In these circumstances, it wasn’t expected that any British persons would be shown mercy with the lines drawn in this war, should he be caught. Tom was anything if not determined to leave as Doctor O’Connor explained the plan they devised.

“You register as an injured prisoner of war.” Doctor O’Conner said.

“Then what?” Tom asked

“You die.” his voice deadpanned.

Tom fell silent, glancing over at the man with an astonished look, “Well, I hate to be picky. This will work will it?” 

“You’ll know before I do. We’ve never actually tried before.”

An exasperated laugh escaped Tom’s mouth as he sighed, turning away from the man. “Great.”

The sound of approaching footsteps caused his head to turn. Y/N approached, dressed in a coat and pants, aside from her usual nurse's gown. Tom’s eyebrows raised at her attire, comforted at her soft smile. 

“How are we today?” She directed this at Tom.

“He’s fine. I, however, am ready to leave his presence.” Doctor remarked, earning a chuckle from the woman. She held Tom’s gaze, checking with him. An apologetic look as she awaited an answer.

“Doin’ okay.”  her heart clenched at the defeat in his tone.

She nodded, glancing between the men, “Did I interrupt something?”

“Nothing-Doctor here was just telling me-”

Doctor O’Connor shushed him, sending Y/N an exasperated look as she helped him remove the needle from his arm. A nurse passed the group, interrupting the conversation to escort the Doctor away. Y/N fixed her eyes on Tom, recognising a hopeless look behind his facade of calm. She took a seat on the bed opposite his.

“I’m sorry I’ve been absent these past days.” bringing his eyes to her’s, “I’ve been trying to sort some things out that took longer than I expected.”

“It’s alright, love. Not like your obligated to keep in my company.”

“I didn’t want you to think I just left.”

Something twisted in his chest, unfamiliar with this feeling of want aside from the devotion of family. Outside that, Tom had always felt alone. 

“I’ve come to understand that feeling. People move in and out of your life. How things are.”

She bit her lip, understanding that feeling all too well with how all her loved ones had turned and left at one point. Many of them taken from her in the depths of war and internal battles. He watched her clasp her hands, pondering over thoughts. 

“Why did you serve in the first place?” she posed the question.

“The truth?” he exhaled, drawing his hands to his chest. “I’m always in trouble and it finally caught up to me.” he exhaled, “It was either this or a permanent spot in a cell for something petty. And I...”

“And...”

“Well, I understand I was wrong about some things.” Tom swallowed, “The things I saw, well- I’d rather not see it again.”

“If I’ve learned anything recently its that conflict, it brings out a new side in people. You’ll find new parts of yourself to use to survive.” she said.

Tom reflected on that moment on the beach. When the bullet tore through his shoulder, the blood spilling from his wound. The dizzying impact of his head cracking against the ground, and feeling this overwhelming crash of thoughts. What ifs? What had he done with his short life that had just started? His thoughts had darted to his dad and Lois. All of the things he had wished to tell them. How much he appreciated and loved them both. All of the unsaid words that he wouldn’t get to tell them if he died on that shore.

“I’m sure he’s proud of you.” she said, noticing his distant eyes, “Your father.”

“Don’t know what he thinks half of the time.” Tom shook his head. “I’m sure him and Lois are glad to have the breathing room.”

“I’m sure that’s not true.” she smiled warmly, “There are many words left unsaid between family. In my experience...best to not leave them unsaid.”

Tom glanced at her expectantly as she bent down and grasped the bag on the floor. A bag was placed between them, though Y/N held onto it with hesitance. 

“What’s the bag for?”

“For you.”

His eyebrows perked up in slight surprise, “What’s inside?”

“You’ll have to open it.” 

***

“What the fuck is this outfit?” his Manchester accent coming across strong in his exasperated tone.

“Something wrong?” she smirked, finding amusement in his response.

“I look ridiculous.”

Y/N had her back turned to him as he changed. “I’m sure it’s not as bad as you are making it out.”

The sound of his shoes stepping closer caused her to turn, glancing at Tom in his clean clothes that she brought. He looked perfectly fine in them. Clean and simple, which is precisely what she was aiming for. It was a mixture of beige and green. He certainly did not look bad in the outfit. He could probably make anything look good with his looks.

“They’re simple and plain. They don’t stand out which won’t separate you from the rest.” she confirmed, stepping closer to tug the collar up and flatten it down. She felt Tom’s gaze on her as she adjusted it, averting her eyes.

“Now the only thing separating you is your accent.”

“So...” he looked down at her, “keep my mouth shut.”

“You’re learning.” she quipped with a smile, the charming smile she received almost leaving her breathless. Y/N grabbed the bag from the floor, bringing Tom’s attention to it with a confused glance.

“What’s that one for?”

“This one’s mine.” she pulled the bag over her shoulders.

“What’d you need that for?” his face twisted in confusion.

“Well I can’t exactly make the trip without supplies.” she replied.

His face softened, “You’re serious?”

“I know we haven’t known each other for more than a few days-so, yes. I’m very serious.”

“It’ll be dangerous. More than I can ask of you.” he breathed.

“I’m a nurse in a war zone. I’m no stranger to it. You need a way out, and I speak the language. I’ve lived here my whole life. If you have any chance of getting out of here, it’s with my help.”

“But why?” his voice cutting through the air.

Now she was the one dumbfounded as she stared at him, “What?”

“Why would you help me?”

She wet her lips, stepping closer to him “I understand the risks and I’m going with you.”

“It could get you killed if we’re caught. You realise that?”

“Yes, but someone has to make the trip. If this route works, then many others can leave too. I know what I’m doing. Do you trust me?”

A moment of silence passed as he studied her expression, his blue eyes glossing over her features.

His warm breath brushed against her cheek, “Guess I’ll have to.”

“It certainly won’t be easy and...” she paused, a flush running over her cheeks.  She pulled something from her pocket, the sound of something clicking against each other as she held open her hand.

“You proposing already, love? I’m flattered, but its a bit soon isn’t it?” as she held out the rings in her palm. Her face flushed at the comment, forcing herself to remain neutral at his flirtatious smile.

“This was the only option I could think of to disguise you. I know it’s a bit uncomfortable, but-”

“Who said there was a problem? You can do whatever you like, love.” he had this enchanting effect with his words and his smile that caused her to flush.

She shook her head, grabbing his hand. “You are now my husband, and I, your wife. Hopefully we won’t be pulled aside, if all goes as planned. That is our cover.” slipping the band on his ring finger.

He leaned forward, meeting her gaze, their lips inches apart, “And in the case that doesn’t work?”

“Plan B.” she said, gripping onto the straps of her bag.

“What’s that?”

She remained silent, leaving the room.

“It’s not very nice to leave your husband behind. You’re not gonna answer my questions?”

Y/N sighed, licking her lips. This would not be an easy trip. Certainly with the way that man sent butterflies soaring in her stomach.

“Plan B is exactly that. An alternative that I’d rather not have to use.” she absolved, looking up at him who stared at her with a teasing smile.

“And you’re not gonna let me into it?”

“Not here.” she began walking, allowing him to walk beside her “First, we make it through the city without being spotted. We’ll meet a correspondent who can get us to the next spot. From there, we’ll be on our own.”

“And you’re sure about this?” he asked, glancing at the bands on their hands, “What are the odds we actually make it to the border?”

“There aren’t many other options, so I’ll guess we’ll have to try.” 

TAGS

@pearlstiare @dothrckis @aemonds-sapphire @xcharlottemikaelsonx @amnesiiiac @khaleesihavilliard @filipinamultifandom​ @padfooteyes​ @aemondsvhagar @batsyforyou @yentroucnagol @darkarya964 @cl-0-vr @viviartsy

#tom bennett #tom bennett x reader #world on fire #ewan mitchell #aemond

[sidewayspeace444]

I keep receiving asks about what I think of the drama currently going on. I think it’s expected. I think anyone who associates openly with racist, fat-phobic, and nazi individuals must walk the walk as well. I wonder how Lisa, Carly, and Shanna all felt about those fat shaming tweets?

I still believe it’s PR. Why? Because when I was in Los Angeles I read for two influencers (they weren’t over the age of 26) who hooked up with him. That sounds nice for a man who’s been in a serious relationship for “over a year” right? He claimed he was single the whole time to these girls, and then said “I’m not looking for anything serious right now” then 6 months later “it’s serious”

I know very well anyone can claim they’ve hooked up with him, but after I asked for more details after I told one “Hey, I think you were played. I’m sorry” she showed me a photo of the two to them together (way more cozier than the Disney photos) and the direct message from his actual instagram asking for her number. He sent the text “Incoming text from C” instead of a simple “What’s up?” 🙄

That’s exactly what gave me the ICK about this man. That’s exactly why I said he was a piece of shit, and why I don’t want to read on him. I think it’s pathetic on his part that he slides into DMs of girls way younger than him, and then acts like the charming and humble man when he’s far from it. It’s an act. I would stop being Helen Keller to the situation that’s going on - just because her friends are there doesn’t mean anything. They needed someone to drop the bread crumbs. I’m sure they raised a glass at midnight and quoted Hitler to ring in the New Year.

He’s 41 years old, not 26. He doesn’t need to be babied. Do I think it’ll be over this month? Absolutely. Want to make a difference? Unfollow them. Including Captain Dipshit.

Fuck this guy. And fuck these racist pieces of shit. Happy New Year to everyone, but this group of people.

[ceasarslegion]

On the note of that last reblogs tags i think we need to stop this trend of taking one part of somebodys story as a representation of the whole story. I think, instead of seeing someones problematic art and saying "oh they must have been a raging racist and a terrible person all the way down" we should take a moment to step back and ask "what happened after?" and even "why did he believe these things? What was the sociopolitical environment he was in? And how did that change when he was confronted with reality?"

Like, lets use dr suess as an example. He was a liberal democrat who opposed war and fascism during a time when anti-war wasnt a popular position at all and antifascism was only popular because it was the ideology of america's war enemy. And he supported japanese internment and drew some pretty racist cartoons. I completely understand why the second thing is bad, don't take me for an idiot or a defender of such actions, and im not saying you have to forgive that wholeheartedly and koombaya with him in whatever the afterlife is if you believe in that stuff, but I am saying that it's disingenuous to act like that was where his story ended regarding his racial views.

If you ask yourself why an anti-war, antifascist liberal democrat would be racist, you get a few answers: maybe he was an asshole, or maybe something about his sociopolitical environment was causing him to believe that racism was compatible with his political views. Either way doesnt change the outcome of said racism, but the latter posibility can be reached and changed if it's handled right, which is worth pursuing.

If you dig a little deeper into the why of his particular case, you'll find this quote: "But right now, when the Japs are planting their hatchets in our skulls, it seems like a hell of a time for us to smile and warble: "Brothers!" It is a rather flabby battle cry. If we want to win, we've got to kill Japs, whether it depresses John Haynes Holmes or not. We can get palsy-walsy afterward with those that are left."

Awful thing to say about an entire race of people. Makes you a bit sick to your stomach, doesn't it? But if you step back from your initial emotional response and peel back the layers here, you'll find that underneath the racism and prejudice, of which im not denying there is, he's basically saying "I think there is a direct enemy of freedom and liberty that needs to be squashed in order to protect others." Whether or not he was right or wrong doesn't change that that was what he thought and believed, which is a pretty liberal democrat position (even before the party switch) misdirected to an entire group of people whom their place in the war was not the fault of their race.

Dr suess was the type of racist who can be reached. It actually doesn't take a lot to do the reaching itself, the main work comes from whether or not the person is willing to accept that they were wrong and put in the effort to change their ways. Which, if you just end at that terribly disgusting thing he said about Japanese people, you don't see how he actually felt and acted at the end.

Do more digging and you'll find that when the war ended, he was confronted with the realities of japanese internment and how he once cried support for such a terrible practice. These people arent nazis by birth, they're just people being generalized with the actions of their government. Many were born and raised multi generation american citizens being treated like war criminals in their own home when they had nothing to do with the nazis overseas. (Sound a bit familiar regarding the social treatment of individual russians these days? That's a post for another day though)

Dr suess wasnt stupid, its also disingenuous to act like prejudice is a failure of intellect. He was a real smart guy, and after being yanked out of his bubble he completely overhauled his views and disavowed his previous statements and racism. And you also have to remember that he wasnt a politician, he was a childrens book author who did the occasional political cartoon. His power over these systems one way or another was always pretty minimal, but he did do what he could in his position: he wrote another book basically saying "I was wrong, and I'm deeply sorry. I see why I was wrong now" which was Horton Hears A Who. The one with the famous "A person's a person, no matter how small" line that was about remembering the humanity of those you're too disconnected or different from to see right away.

If you think thats too little too late, that's your opinion and you're entitled to it, but at least hold that opinion after knowing the whole story. And maybe don't end the judgement of people, especially historical figures, conveniently where the most rage bait can come from. Like I said, I'm not saying you have to love him and forgive everything he ever did just because he realized he was wrong and changed his ways, but I am saying that if you're going to judge somebody, you do in fact have to judge their whole character and not just the cherry pick the parts that make for the most outrage. Framing someone like dr suess as a full stop racist just isnt accurate unless you're talking about a very specific timeframe in his life. It's more complicated than that, regardless of how you feel about the racism itself, which isn't my place to tell you how to feel about.

#some thoughts

[stackthedeck]

Don’t be shy post your fanfic red flags to tumblr

I swear y'all want me dead, I'm not scared of the tiktok teens but the tumblr users will kill me over this

when I say red flags, I mean squicks, I mean things in marvel fanfics that tell me the author is more concerned with fanon than they are with the source material which is just something I don't want to read

Mommy friend Natasha— If it's an avengers fic and Natasha is there to sigh and the boys and tell them to talk care of themselves, make the move on the boy, or just mother them I hate it. I need more than one woman in a fic and I need them to pass the Bechdel test and be more than "the one with the brain cell"

damsel in distress Peter Parker— I need a damn good reason Peter doesn't use his super strength or super genius to escape a kidnapping, he's a fucking superhero who can save himself. This isn't to say I don't like Peter Parker whump, but I need some explanation or it seems like he's forgotten he's super human

the Deadpool thought boxes— most fic authors are writing them because they're saw them in another fic not because they're read them in the comics and it fucking shows!

No murder Avengers—Explain to me why your picture of Steve Rogers wouldn't kill a nazi in a heartbeat?? Quickly!

writing out characters of color—self-explanatory. How can you write a post winter soldier fic without Sam Wilson? Where is Ned in your mcu Peter fic? Why did you make Peter Parker act like the mcu version in every way but you made MJ into a white Mary Jane? Why is there always a convenient mission that the characters of color are sent off to deal with?? Y'all are not hiding your bigotry well

"pretty" Wade Wilson—I don't care if it's a no powers au or if you're using an image replicator, keep the scars! The scars are pretty and I don't want to read a fic that disagrees

Super Family—my beef with this trope pre-dates the mcu Spider-Man, this shit infected tasm fandom after the Avengers came out. The civil war being the stony divorce arc and Peter being the traumatized child of said divorce joke was funny. But it was only a joke. I don't care what adult "adopts" Peter, Peter already has a loving home and Aunt May is doing a fantastic job raising him. It's even worse when Peter was adopted young or the bio child of one of the heroes because it completely robs his story of the importance and impact of Aunt May and Uncle Ben. I hate it so fucking much

"world on fire" in daredevil fic— it's a fucking metaphor! It's a good metaphor you can write into a fic, but if you make it literal so that Matt is "seeing" objects but like as fire oh my god no! He has not light response in his eyes, he's moving through the world through sound and touch like blind people do, his powers just grant him a great degree of precision. Y'all can't handle the idea of disabled people as competent capable adults

Any fic that makes a rational cool level headed woman into a raging bitch—we get it you have no friends and have internalized the not like other girls mindset, but don't make it my fucking problem

#asks #i'm not even going to tag this #i'm a hater what can i say #i have very specific taste #this is why yall come to me for fic recs

[murdercapitxl]

Contd Thread II @mxldito

"Only fifth?" Holding the corpse up underneath its armpits, Marko paused to glance over at them with a raised eyebrow. That number was poor -- or was it average? They tried to space their victims out evenly, so as not to raise too much suspicion, but sometimes the hunger was insatiable. Every single milk carton in stores displayed multiple different people who went missing that week. Santa Carla was nicknamed the 'Murder Capital' for a reason, and one of those was standing directly across from Coyote with a giddy grin on his face. Those pearly white fangs were now stained a bright red, his mouth completely covered from where he latched onto his victim's throat. Like a rabid dog, he made short work of it; there was barely anything left by the time he was done. "Are you losing your appetite, Menendez?" As he asked the question, he released his hold. A heavy thump! sounded as the slab of meat folded against the dirt, head lolling to one side and empty eyes staring into the abyss.

Rolling out his shoulders, Marko dropped into a deep squat and stared down at the corpse in avid concentration. It seemed like a long time before he finally glanced up at the other and asked what they should do with him. Burn or bury? Their answer had him laughing wildly. He liked their sense of humour. It was why he invited them out to ride with him in the first place, but unfortunately, their little jaunt turned into a full-blown confrontation with a Surf Nazi who had no appreciation for Marko nearly running him down. Good riddance -- one less of them! Who would miss him? They kept recruiting more, so somebody would soon replace him.

"Yeah, you're right. I never thought to ask him..." As he continued speaking, the vampire started pulling at the laces of the corpse's shoes. They were some sweet kicks and he wanted them. He would never wear them; he just liked the look of them. Suddenly jumping to his feet, Marko gave the other a wide smile. "What about leaving him on the train tracks? That freight knocked the shoes right off his feet!" The bridge was often full of kids messing around, risking their lives for the sake of adrenaline. He should know. It was where they forced the oldest Emerson to hang onto the bars underneath as part of their little initiation. It was the most fun they ever had, witnessing the fear in his eyes as the train rattled by overhead. "Obliteration station."

#mxldito #Lost Boy II Marko #( all good for me !! ) #( these two are weirdo solidarity )

[loudsnapdragon]

psst chapter update for On The Sleeve of How It Used To Be (my buckingham Juno fic) 3/5 chapters. excerpt below.

The really annoying thing about Jason Carver is: he asks Robin if she wants ketchup or mustard. Well-bred church choir niceties best whatever confusion he may have surrounding her history with his girlfriend, so he’s perfectly polite as he leans back from the front seat of the Jeep to ask for her order.

He bounces out of the car with a kiss to Chrissy’s cheek and heads inside Benny’s. Chrissy requested a solitary diet Coke, but Robin knows Jason will pick up a strawberry milkshake for her anyway, because he can be sugary sweet like that, when he wants to be.

In the backseat, they wait. She kicks at some stray cassettes in the footwell, watches purple shadows shifting over the other cars in the lot as people inside the diner pass the orange lit windows. She spots Claudia Henderson in a long duffel coat, rushing out with a tall bag of food, Jason holding the door open for her, like the well-mannered gentleman he is.

God, Robin hates him.

She raises an awkward hand to wave back when Claudia waves over. Exhaling relief when Claudia drives off without second comment.

‘Do you still feel sick?’ Chrissy asks, pressed up on the far side of the backseat.

‘Yeah, but better now. Thanks… thanks for the chocolate.’

Chrissy smiles to herself, fiddling with her hands.

‘So, um, Eddie?’

Robin sighs. ‘I don’t know, I just…’

‘You got bored.’ Chrissy whispers, like she hopes no one can hear it.

‘What?’

‘Sorry… It doesn’t matter. I know you have a lot to think about, so it makes sense. I think I get why you didn’t tell him.’

‘I should of. I just… I just couldn’t think about it.’

‘That’s okay.’ Chrissy says, but there’s something funny in the way her eyes blink, ‘He’ll get over it. He’s handled worse.’

‘That doesn’t make me feel any better.’

‘Oh, sorry. Sorry.’

And because Jason is running back to the car, Robin doesn’t even try to absolve the guilt.

‘Okay! So, what have we got here…’ He starts, completely unaware, like always. ‘Milkshake for Chrissy, cheeseburger for me, and fries with mustard for Birdie.’

‘It’s Robin. And I asked for ketchup.’

She didn’t, but she’s pregnant, surely she’s allowed to be a bitch, just a little.  

Jason frowns. ‘Do you want me to go get you some ketchup?’ He asks, clearly not expecting her to nod and usher him away with a flutter of her fingers.

‘And a regular Coke too!’ She shouts after him, as he storms back inside the diner.

She dips her little finger into the mustard sachet, licks it off while counting the stitches on the back of the driver’s seat.

‘He was trying to be nice, buying you food.’

‘Yeah, well, I wanted ketchup.’

‘You said mustard.’ Chrissy stares dead-eyed ahead, the milkshake sitting between her legs, condensation from the ice making her inner thighs shine. ‘He’s nice, like, genuinely nice. I don’t get why you have to be weird around him.’

‘I’m always weird.’

‘You know what I mean.’

‘I’m sorry I’m not being cute around your boyfriend, Chrissy. My usual upstanding etiquette must be thrown off by his incredible good looks.’

(Jason looks like the messenger boy who danced with the eldest sister in the Sound of Music, ya’ know, the guy who gave up the singing family troupe to the nazis. That fucker.)

‘Don’t say it like that. He’s cute. And he’s nice. Do you know how many boys are both? Like, none. And he smells good.’

‘He smells like soup.’

‘He doesn’t!’

‘Yeah, he does. He smells like Campbells Chicken Noodle Soup for the Boring Soul.’

He does, but only in the way that all boys smell like soup, well, to Robin at least. Even Steve does when he hasn’t showered that morning.

‘I like Campbells Chicken Noodle.’

‘No, you don’t. You were vegetarian for like, three years, cos’ Chicken Run traumatised you. I know you, Chrissy, you don’t like chicken.’

‘Yeah, well. I changed.’ Chrissy turns, finally looking Robin in the eye. Clicking her tongue against her teeth with a deafening determination. ‘And now, I like soup.’

She takes a sip from the milkshake, accidentally slurping too loudly, hiding her self-conscious wince at the noise with a sharp scowl, that is still, even now, in their soupy crosshairs, stupidly cute.

‘Well… good for you.’ Robin says, let down by her own lack of scathing comeback. Hard to think of something that stings when a beautiful girl is scowling at you with a dot of strawberry ice cream on her lower lip.

Chrissy turns to look down at her green laced sneakers, two bursts of pink under her averted eyes.

‘And I was only scared of Chicken Run because the animation made me feel weird. It’s got nothing to do with eating chicken.’

‘The way they move is kinda creepy.’

‘Yeah, it’s like, sticky. Gets under my skin.’

‘Lutomotophobia. The fear of Claymation.’

Chrissy stays staring at her feet, but Robin feels idiotically proud of the silly smile twitching around the milkshake straw.

‘Of course you know what it’s called.’

‘I mean, yeah, I did my research. For ages I thought you were just scared of birds talking with British accents.’

‘Oh, that too.’ She smirks, ‘Terrifying.’ Then she does this funny exhale, tilts her head like she’s winking, and Robin recognises it. Remembers that small movement, that quick preparation before Chrissy enters the stage with one of her infamous, god-awful, impressions.

Robin waits with bated breath, hears the first tick of a Yorkshire cluck-cluck, and is fondly thrown back to a middle school memory of lemonade spurting out of her nostrils and landing on the Cunningham's patio, the citrus eruption caused by Chrissy’s terrible recreation of Popeye.

Chrissy is many, wonderous, things, but a good actress she is not. No matter how hard she tries these days.

But alas, Robin does not get to witness any wonky British impressions, because the driver’s seat door swings open with an anticlimactic click.

Jason flings some ketchup sachets onto her lap. No soda. ‘Here ya’ go. Hey, what were you girls chatting about?’

‘Nothing,' chirps Chrissy, blinking obedience, spark of wonder vanished, 'Birdie lives on Cherry Lane, it’s just past Springfield Park, the second-’

‘The second exit after Maple Street, I know it babe, don’t you worry.’ 

Jason sings along to the Springsteen song on the radio, and Robin chomps furiously on fries to avoid highlighting how he is missing the political irony laced in the lyrics of Born in the USA, because if she starts, she’s just going to bring up Steve’s affection for The Boss, and just thinking about Steve triggers some anxious greasy indigestion.

She squirts the dredges of her sauce over her fries with practiced clumsiness, an incriminating circle of mustard and ketchup left around her legs, the Jeep’s seats marked with a murderous outline of her body. She hopes it stains.

#stranger things #stranger things fic #buckingham #robin/chrissy #robin buckley #jason carver #was the movie Chicken Run a thing in America? #i truly do not know but it turns out i do note care either #self-indulgent as always

[jayflrt]

as a palestinian-american, i do wanna say that israel definitely knows how to do propaganda and ironically they take a lot of notes from the nazis which is why it's so solid. zionists will also claim that you're antisemitic for being pro-palestine which is not true at all, don't believe their bullshit. we live in an age where we can't even trust the news on our televisions to give us the truth because they're politically skewed towards white people, so it's important to make sure that your information is coming directly from palestinian and gazan people.

what us outside palestine can do right now is spread information and contact your representatives (if you're eligible to do so), and boycott companies that are pro-israel. donations are blocked by israel so they'll just bounce back, don't waste your time and money on them. it's not much, but when everyone contributes, we can make a big difference.

not wanting to sound preachy or anything lol, just wanna provide some tips for that anon from an affected viewpoint 🫶

- 🇵🇸

yep the propaganda going around is insane! especially since israel's allied with the united states i feel like a lot of millennials here just blindly follow :/ and i feel like islamophobia is a big part of it too because i'm noticing it's the older generation who blamed muslims for 9/11 who are siding with israel and ignoring everything happening in gaza. the united states sort of used 9/11 to instill fear in a lot of americans so that's why the younger generation can see through the bullshit better tbh

thank you so much for providing your perspective love !! the donations thing is very upsetting to hear, i heard that around 85% of donations usually get intercepted :(( but i believe there are some creators also collecting money for esims for people in gaza (on tiktok there are a few filters where if you just use the filter and post it, it'll raise money to creators who are planning to spend the money on esims for palestinians)

also you don't sound preachy at all, thank you for sharing !! 💘 my heart goes out to you and palestine 🫶🫶

#💌 : love notes #anon

[oddlyhale]

Them: Ironwood is just like Hitler. If you like Ironwood you are pro military nazi and you are EVIL

Also them: Guys stop calling out Yang why are you so mean you guys don't get it she was just shocked you guys just don't know how true siblings act :(

Oh noo, the pushback that Yang is getting is just SO unfair. She doesn't deserve to be criticized at all! She needs to live her own life and focus on her new cat girlfriend that she just got a few minutes ago. If only Ruby would've kept her emotions bottled up some more. Actually, it's all Ruby's fault for not speaking up, so Yang is in the clear.

According to them.

I got this "argument" from someone that was defending Yang, saying I didn't understand what it's like to have a sibling or I'm just an emotionless husk. They're acting as if anybody who points out that Yang is not a good sister were all raised as an only-child or they're all just sociopaths.

Well, I LAUGH as a middle child of four brothers and one sister. Bonus, I am a twin.

I feel as though the fans should invest time in doing a retrospective look at what the writers are doing. Why are making Yang so dense? It was, in the universe, just a day ago that Atlas felt, they lost everything and now Yang can't seem to fit anything in her head other than Blake. To say "Yang needs to focus on herself" sounds so dense because they are literally trapped in another world. Now is NOT the time to be self-absorbed.

#rwde #ask

[almost-a-class-act]

Happy Valentine's Day! I wrote a fic for your festive reading pleasure. It may end up on AO3 (where you can find me under roaroftheninth), but like everything I've been writing lately, it probably needs a polish before it goes anywhere official because I wrote it at approximately the speed of sound.

Fandom: Band of Brothers

Pairing: Joe Toye/Eugene Roe

--

“What are you doing for Valentine’s Day?”

George asks the question on the way back to where they’re quartered near Aldbourne, both of them hunched against the cool February wind that is blowing ice-cold speckles of rain into their faces.

Joe slants a glance at him. “What?”

“Oh, tough guys don’t know about Valentine’s Day?” George quips. “They don’t teach that in tough guy school?”

“Stop it,” Joe mutters. Tough guy school. It's so absurd that it almost circles back around to being funny, not that he's about to give George the satisfaction. “I fuckin’ know about Valentine’s Day. I just don’t know why you’re asking me.”

“Well, it’s not because I’m assuming you’re gonna take me out, Joe,” he says. The two of them have fooled around, but George never seems to be in the mood to settle in with one person and Joe is a one person kind of guy. Anyway, it works out better this way, the two of them steadfast allies who watch each other’s backs – necessary out here, given that they have both chosen a riskier profession than most to be non-traditionally inclined. “I just happen to know you have your eye on someone.”

Joe frowns. This fuckin’ guy. “How?” he demands, indignant.

“Joe, give me some fuckin’ credit, alright?” George shakes his head at him, eyes crinkled up at the corners. “You done anything about it yet?”

“I don’t have to talk about this with you,” Joe grumbles.

“Oh yeah,” George says, amused. “I forgot, you have so many other people you can talk about it with.”

Joe gives him a look. George returns it evenly, eyebrows raised, looking too damn pleased with himself.

“Yeah, I’ve done something about it,” he admits, which immediately makes George’s grin broaden. “But you’re not getting any details,” he hastens to add. “I tell you too much shit as it is.”

“Sure, Joe,” George says indulgently. “So you are doing something for Valentine’s Day.”

“I don’t know.” Joe shrugs. “We kind of agreed not to make a big deal out of it.”

“You want my opinion?”

“Absolutely not.”

George grins. “If it were me, I’d make a big deal out of it.”

Joe hesitates. Despite himself, he values George’s opinion, on this at least. “You think?”

“Yeah,” George says lightly. “I do. Look – we don’t know when, but we’re going to be raining hell on some very surprised Nazis from above pretty soon. I know we’re all gonna come home big war heroes and everything, but maybe some of us aren’t.” Sometimes George is as soberingly real as anyone Joe could talk to, over here. He’s the only one Joe has heard admit that Killed In Action might not just be a soubriquet for other people. Just as quickly, though, he moves past it, reaching out to tap Joe’s arm, twice, with the back of his hand. “Seize the day, right? Come on, Joey. You gotta.”

“Don’t call me that,” Joe mutters.

“Never, Joe,” he says at once, with a wink. George is very adept at this thing that he does where he occasionally veers into extremely annoying but can somehow immediately pull it back into charming. Joe frowns at him, to show him he’s not as charming as he thinks.

George grins back, because he sees right through him.

“Listen,” he says, “I gotta see a guy about a thing, but think about what I said.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Joe watches him head off up the road. A guy about a thing. George is the least subtle person he’s ever met. “Hey,” he calls after him, as it occurs to him. “What are you doing for Valentine’s Day?”

George turns around to wiggle his eyebrows, walking backward. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“You got a date?”

George inclines his head. “I do.”

“Be safe,” Joe tells him, meaning it.

“Always.”

Joe snorts. George grins at him, mischievous, and turns to walk off into the night, whistling.

--

The train into the city is always packed. Joe has been often, any time they have weekend passes, but he’s never seen Eugene out. The latter is looking intently out the window at the English countryside in the twilight, and Joe wonders abruptly what he does do with his free time.

For all they’ve been circling each other for weeks, Joe doesn’t know as much about him as he’d like.

“You been into the city before?” he asks, pitching his voice just loud enough to be heard over the rumble of conversation around them.

“Yeah, I have,” Eugene replies. “Not with a group, though. Just me.”

Oh. “You don’t have to go alone,” Joe says. For all that the medics are part of the gang, so to speak, they are also set apart in an obvious way. Eugene is not a guy who holds court in a group; it is entirely possible that they hadn’t thought to invite him, and he isn’t the type to invite himself. “Any of us would be happy to have you along.”

Eugene’s eyes flick from the scenery to his face, and suddenly Joe is aware of a feeling like two liquid bright searchlights are fixed on him, assessing. He doesn’t flush easily, but Eugene steps right past whatever defense that is and disarms him as easily as Joe might pin someone and take a gun out of their hand.

“I appreciate that,” he says mildly, for all the world like he wasn't just sizing Joe up. “I don’t mind being alone, though.”

“Yeah,” Joe replies, realizing as he says it that it’s true. “Me, either.”

“Really?”

“Grew up with ten kids in the house,” he explains. “Hard to find a moment’s peace and fuckin’ quiet.”

Eugene smiles, slowly. “Come out and see me in the Bayou sometime,” he said. “You’ll have had it up to your neck in quiet.”

Joe spends the next two stops not thinking about what going out to see Eugene in the middle of nowhere would be like, where they’d have all the time in the world to themselves and no one around to say a goddamn thing about it.

When they make eye contact, Eugene smiles very faintly again, and Joe is abruptly certain that everything he’s thinking about is playing on his forehead like a damn movie screen.

When they get off the train, he is very conscious of the way Eugene curls his fingers into the sleeve of his jacket so as not to lose him in the press of people heading for the stairs. When they greet the night air and head off in the opposite direction of where most of the soldiers are going, Eugene seems to relax very slightly.

“You want to go for a drink?” Joe asks.

“Sure,” Eugene says, glancing up the road and then stepping off the curb. “Come on. I know a place.”

Joe isn’t sure what he’s expecting as the two of them stroll up the street with enough space between them for plausible deniability, even in the dark, but when they round the corner and head toward the door of a nondescript pub that doesn’t look much different from the rest, he squints up at the name and finds he recognizes it.

“You ever been here before?” he asks, as they duck inside, out of the cold. The room is dimly lit, with cozy booths that wall off the patrons from each other. Eugene makes a beeline for one like he’s a regular.

“No,” he says over his shoulder, “but someone told me about it.”

Joe shrugs out of his jacket as Eugene slides into the booth, shoulders still hunched against the residual chill. “Was it George?”

Eugene tilts his head. Is it Joe’s imagination, or does he seem suddenly very slightly guarded? “It was.”

Joe plays it casual. “You been out around here with him?”

“Me?” Eugene looks so surprised that Joe relaxes. “No. Have you?”

Joe huffs a laugh. “No. When I take somebody out, I like to get a word in sometimes.”

Eugene leans back, directing an amused look down his nose. “He just – I don’t know. I guess I should’ve known that you two know about each other. When he knows, he checks up on you sometimes. Tells you things.”

“Yeah,” Joe agrees. “He does. He’s good about that.” Something occurs to him. “He was acting like he just figured out that you and me were talking, but he got it from you, didn’t he?”

Eugene smiles a little ruefully. “He’s also good at getting information out of you.”

Joe snorts. “They should make him an intelligence officer. He knows more gossip than the rest of the company put together.”

When a waiter circles past the table, Joe indicates that Eugene should order first. Eugene half-smiles at that, and when they’ve both ordered a beer and the waiter has gone, he studies Joe for a moment in that unblinking way that makes him feel off-guard and sends a flush creeping up the back of his neck.

Joe wonders if someone can put you through a wall just by looking at you, which is not something he has ever wondered before.

“Good manners,” Eugene decides, at last. “I like that.”

“You think you only do manners in the south?” Joe asks.

“I don’t go on a lot of dates,” Eugene admits. “And I’ve never been out with anyone like you.”

“What does that mean?” Joe is less offended than curious.

“I don’t mean this in the way it’s gonna sound like I mean it,” Eugene says slowly, pensive. “You just don’t seem like the type to admit that you might want to be somewhere like this. With someone like me.”

Joe tells himself not to get defensive, although it still draws a frown out of him. “I’m not sure how I’m supposed to take that in a way that isn’t the obvious way.”

“You’re good with the other guys,” Eugene hastens to explain. “You’re one of them. They respect the hell out of you, Joe.” There’s something very earnest in the way he is talking, trying to make himself understood, eyes fixed on Joe’s face. “Sometimes guys like that think that you can’t be – like us and do what a soldier is supposed to do.”

Joe considers that for a moment, still frowning. And then, at last, he tilts his head in concession. “Alright,” he says. “Yeah. I’ve met guys like that.”

Eugene looks slightly relieved. “Guess that’ll teach me to judge a book, huh.”

“It’s okay,” Joe says. “I think I’m mostly a book that’s pretty easy to judge.”

The waiter returns with their drinks, and by the time they are through that one and the one that follows, they’ve moved on from tentatively trying to figure each other out and Joe has made him laugh – a real, genuine laugh – twice, a fact of which he is pretty singularly proud. The second time had been when he had cajoled Eugene into speaking French and then attempted to repeat it back to him, embarrassingly terrible at it, but it’s still a victory he’s happy to claim.

“Come on,” he says, dropping some coins on the table. “I want to take you somewhere.”

Eugene looks down at the coins, and reading his mind, Joe says, “I asked you. It’s my treat.”

“It’s mine next time,” Eugene says firmly.

Joe cuts a sly grin at him as he shrugs his jacket on. “Next time, huh.”

“Supposing there’s a next time,” Eugene clarifies, but he seems faintly amused.

Joe leads him out of the pub, and the two of them head back the way they came. Joe doesn’t know exactly where he’s going, but George’s directions turn out to be pretty solid, and soon they arrive at a tiny late-night diner. They order food to go, steak pies and chips in steaming paper bags, and they lean against the counter while they wait for it to be ready and look out at the darkened street, passing a cigarette back and forth.

And then they are on their way again; before long, they have passed through a gate in an alleyway that leads to a partially enclosed stairwell. Eugene doesn’t ask questions, though surely he’s curious, and Joe leads him up to another gate at the top. This one opens nearly silently, too, and they pass through it onto a deserted rooftop. The moon makes everything bright but leaches it of colour; there is a small victory garden planted in the middle of the roof, and they skirt it and make for a wide ledge on the other side.

The nearby city streets are spread out in front of them, all eerie, hulking shadows. Because of the blackout restrictions, nearby buildings, cars, and deserted laneways are lit mainly by the moon. Joe hands Eugene the greasy paper bag, and they both unwrap their meal without saying anything, simply looking out at the odd, alien landscape.

“I bet it wasn’t dark like this for thousands of years,” Eugene says suddenly. “Before the war. I bet even in Roman times, there were little fires everywhere.”

Joe can’t imagine what train of thought led him there, but he’s happy to entertain it. “You think so?”

Eugene shrugs. “Most people aren’t cut out for the dark. Just like most people don’t like being alone.”

Joe mulls that as they dig in to their food. They are sitting close enough that sometimes, Eugene’s knee or foot knocks softly against his. He doesn’t seem to feel the need to fill the silence, so Joe doesn’t say anything, either. It is a marked difference from the way most of his conversations have gone lately, when any of the parties involved start up talking about the war again like a nervous compulsion, about what it’ll be like when they finally get over there, about what each one plans on doing.

He has a hunch Eugene doesn’t buy into much of the braggadocio and grandstanding. He’s certainly never heard him participate. The fact that he seems to want to spend time with Joe minus any acts of heroics or claims thereof is – well, it might be something, Joe doesn’t know. It makes him uncertain again, the confidence from two beers in quick succession wearing off rather suddenly, and that compels him to speak.

“This British food ain’t worth the plate they serve it on,” he mutters.

“I don’t mind it,” Eugene says. “Kind of nice to eat somewhere that I’m not knocking elbows with everybody.”

“Yeah. I thought it’d be nice to come up here. Like a picnic.” Like a picnic? Joe is doggedly not embarrassed to have done it, but he sure as shit is embarrassed now that he’s trying to explain it. The embarrassment takes over, lets the uncertainty filter through. “I don’t know, maybe it’s stupid.”

Eugene looks over at him, and his eyebrows draw together. He sounds like he’s choosing his words carefully. “Are you not sure about me?”

Joe feels like his heart has dropped out. Has he given that impression? “Not sure about you?” he echoes. “I’ve been thinking about you since Georgia.” It’s complete honesty jarred out of him by the fact that he would never in a million years want Eugene to think this is just a throwaway evening, a way to pass the time until he finds someone better.

Eugene’s frown deepens very momentarily, and then his face relaxes. “Not what I meant,” he says.

Joe isn’t following. “What did you mean?”

“I meant, are you not sure about where you stand with me,” Eugene says. “Because if you are, well. You don’t need to worry.”

Joe aims to drive the hesitation out of his voice and is only partially successful. “I don’t, huh?”

“Best-looking guy in the company sizing me up?” Eugene’s smile is faint. It’s the first time Joe has heard that note of teasing in his voice. “I thought you were asking out the guy behind me.” He leans over to knock his shoulder against Joe’s, gentle. “I like a tough guy with a heart of gold, Joe. Been thinking about you since Georgia, too. You don’t have to try so hard.”

Joe lets out a quiet breath. Okay. He feels warm and relieved and can’t help but smirk. “Best-looking guy in the company?”

Eugene bites down on a smile, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t let it go to your head.”

“Too late for that, Doc.”

“Gene,” Eugene corrects gently. “Not Doc. Not when it’s just you and me.”

“You don’t like being called Doc?” Joe asks.

Eugene cocks his head, considering his reply. “I don’t want to over-promise.”

Joe doesn’t know what that means, exactly, though he can imagine that, like the rest of them, Eugene has spent time in his quiet moments wondering if his training is going to be enough, whether he is going to step up and be enough. It’s not a thing that any of them can know for sure until they get there, but Eugene isn’t one of the guys Joe is worried about.

“Ah, you’re gonna be fine, Gene,” he promises.

He is going to be fine. They both are.

“You know, this is the first time anyone’s ever taken me out for Valentine’s Day,” Eugene says thoughtfully.

“No way.”

Eugene nods. “Yeah.” His voice is warm as he adds, “You’re my first Valentine, Joe Toye.”

Joe finds the way that he says that to be so fucking sweet that he overshoots the mark on casual when he says: “That’s a real shame.”

“I don’t know,” Eugene muses. “You’ve been a pretty good first Valentine, so far.”

Joe likes the sound of that. “What do you think, same time next year?”

A pleased smile tucks itself into the corners of Eugene’s mouth, but perhaps knowing better than to make promises, he doesn’t reply.

#valentines day #fanfiction #roaroftheninth #band of brothers

[beardedmrbean]

Oh hey, sorry this is my issues with a lot of black characters

Also the tweet their quoting

https://x.com/thestrxggler/status/1768348156922859892?s=46

Soo

Hillbillies

Trailer trash

Most white people in the Appalachian Mountains?

The Irish

The Jews?

The Italians and Germans in the USA during the world wars?

Actually I learn a lot of families stop teaching their kids their heritage languages in fear they would be put into internment camps during ww2….which explains why we’re monolingual af

I watched a video from count dankula where he covered the mess Tonya Harding did in ice skating? Now he primarily focus on the victim, but mention that it’s very likely that the judges had a classist bias towards Tonya which lead her to do the hit.

I was thinking about making a book called “The American Aristocrat”

Now this sound weird, but I found another tweet I link later. But my book would be about how the upper middle class presume that most black Americans are disfranchises due to slavery and Jim Crow, that played a role….but also the sex revolution, the shipping of factories to China and Mexico etc.

And you wondering why black Americans love the feds. Okay I’m going to be 24 next Thursday, but I think older blacks who lived through the 80’s-00’s confirm it better

Welfare, yeah welfare checks

Actually I been opposed to the Universal Basic Income thing because well….my community been a LOVELY experiment to show what happens if we push more Americans socialism

Black Panther tried to show the difference between African American and Africans…but the director and main writer is from Oakland so he still don’t comprehend the issues Africans have with us.

Next anon, but I thought about maybe seeing American through an African immigrant lens. Yes it been tackled before and most Africans just see black Americans as Americans but I think a make complex stories showing how black Americans and Africans are worlds shows a significant issues they have when Hollywood use them

Another anon, but African creators and writers online maybe realize something that hell I felt when going to the Americas in the ac games after traveling across Europe in the previous ones

Oh hey, sorry this is my issues with a lot of black characters Also the tweet their quoting

This is the kind of people that will claim the oppression Olympics doesn't exist, right before or after saying this.

If I take a blank sheet of paper and put a dot on it with a sharpie it's no longer a blank sheet of paper, if I scribble on it with a sharpie it's also no longer a blank sheet of paper.

Just because they're different degrees of drawing doesn't change the fact that they're both no longer blank paper, just because your experiences are worse it doesn't mean other people aren't also experiencing something.

Actually I learn a lot of families stop teaching their kids their heritage languages in fear they would be put into internment camps during ww2….which explains why we’re monolingual af

Some did some didn't there was a push to assimilate made by lots of migrants in the late 19th early 20th century, especially the ones that came in through places like Ellis Island.

Unlike the nazi here in the US Grzegorz Brzęczyszczykiewicz would be told his name is George Brown when all that was going on, anglicized names were the order of the day.

Now this sound weird, but I found another tweet I link later. But my book would be about how the upper middle class presume that most black Americans are disfranchises due to slavery and Jim Crow, that played a role….but also the sex revolution, the shipping of factories to China and Mexico etc.

Ya, blue collar work that you could earn enough to raise a family on went to China and Mexico, that and it also got automated.

And you wondering why black Americans love the feds. Okay I’m going to be 24 next Thursday, but I think older blacks who lived through the 80’s-00’s confirm it better Welfare, yeah welfare checks Actually I been opposed to the Universal Basic Income thing because well….my community been a LOVELY experiment to show what happens if we push more Americans socialism

UBI thing, Finland was the first to run a test program on that 5 years back or so, biggest takeaway they announced at first then never spoke of again was that it increased the trust in the govt, none of the actual goals were achieved, not to any great measure at least.

I am in favor of things like SNAP and such, but UBI I'm wary of to say the least.

Black Panther tried to show the difference between African American and Africans…but the director and main writer is from Oakland so he still don’t comprehend the issues Africans have with us.

Could have solved that problem by talking to a few of them, but in my experience black Africans just see black Americans as Americans, you get the same shit tossed at white folks in the US too.

Long ass rant from someone in Ireland about St Paddy's day all the things we do wrong here, had someone flip out on me screaming I'm not Irish after I'd answered an ask about family heritage.

I said yes I know that's why I called myself an American mutt after leading off with Irish, German, Scotch, and soda.

The French actually do the whole thing right, you're not a Nigerian Frenchman, you're just a Frenchman, French citizens are just French.

Next anon, but I thought about maybe seeing American through an African immigrant lens. Yes it been tackled before and most Africans just see black Americans as Americans but I think a make complex stories showing how black Americans and Africans are worlds shows a significant issues they have when Hollywood use them Another anon, but African creators and writers online maybe realize something that hell I felt when going to the Americas in the ac games after traveling across Europe in the previous ones

Looking forward to it

#zoomer huey anon

[scoutpologist]

I do just...despise the troupe of people making an old character a nazi/racist/etc just because of the time period bc 1) this is fiction, you don't need to adhere to realism, 2) it's a very...white thing to do, to me. Whoever is writing the vampire love interest as an ex-confederate is not a person of color let me tell you that. And 3) It's just like, an inexcusable thing to be, it's always viscerally uncomfortable for me to read because it's...not awesome to read someone interpret a character as someone who'd want me dead for who I am. Especially not from a pasty ass author who doesn't understand the gravity of that. Pardon if this is a bunch of nothing it's rather late over here

it's late as hell over here too so dw about it

and yeah it's really really obvious to me that most people these headcanons in general are just... not considering the weight that has. like, you said it best, it's viscerally uncomfortable to read a character you love wanting you dead for who you are. that kind of hatred just can't be treated so flippantly. idk why anyone would want to do that shit. it's literally beyond me.

these types of subjects in fiction have to be handled with a lot of care, and i don't think fanfiction or headcanons are an appropriate place to deal with that. especially since what i'm talking about has mostly been played for laughs.

for context on the post that prompted this, i was vagueing about the tf2 fandom and how people (mostly on reddit now tbf) headcanon the medic as a nazi or former nazi. as in literally served in the german army. and it's REALLY horrible and hurtful to see.

and to be completely fair, there's a lot of reason that medic gets this so often. he would have been a young adult in the 1940s, was born and raised in germany, and is a bit of a "mad scientist"/"unethical doctor" archetype. all of these things might point towards that.

but... he's never shown any evidence of being a nazi, either. he obviously does not hold any fascist views. he never discriminates against his teammates. one character's entire personality is killing nazis and medic has no problem with that at all. it would be incredibly bizarre if he was a nazi, considering literally everything about him.

if anything, there's more evidence for him being jewish: the tf2 themes can be very particular in their musical inspirations, and he's first introduced in meet the medic to the sound of klezmer, eastern european jewish music. this combined with a few other traits (like yiddish-like pronunciation) has had some people instead headcanon him as jewish.

tf2 exists in a universe where new zealand literally no longer exists because it sank underwater and abraham lincoln was a pyromaniac mercenary. we're not even going for accuracy here. so why is it necessary that medic has to have literally had a hand in the horrors of the nazi regime? why is that something to be joked about? why do people think it's so necessary to make one of gaming's most beloved characters a nazi? why does that have to happen?

idk. like i said it's late and i'm really frustrated and this got WAYYYY out of hand but i'm just sick to death of this shit happening all the time. i don't care if it's historically accurate or whatever, i hate that this happens with so many characters and i hate the horrible insensitivity and straight up bigotry behind it. be fucking better

#ask #tsengratio #nazi tw #racism tw

[kinocomix]

Untitled project Devlog #3: The crab effect

Today we’re going to talk about how art and politics are inherently inseparable on a conceptual level, but first: let’s talk about boots.

If you google Doc Martens you’ll be taken to their website where you have the option of buying an assortment of very overpriced shoes that a lesbian on tiktok assured me are made less good than classic ones from the 90’s and 80’s. When I was in class one day our professor mentioned how nowadays a lot of companies adopt an ideology put forth by Ford (the car manufacturer) where if you have a very sturdy part of a machine that’s expensive to make but the rest of the machine isn’t, the “smarter” idea is to make this part cheaper and less sturdy than to spend a bunch of money to make the whole machine better- supposedly this is better for the consumer somehow but that’s not the point. Setting aside how that raises the question of planned obsolescence and potential consumer exploitation, part of the reason that people say old Doc Marten shoes are better… is probably because they actually are. 

from how to geek: https://www.howtogeek.com/731791/what-is-planned-obsolescence-and-how-does-it-affect-my-devices/

This sentiment, the idea that companies aren’t worth your respect because they optimize their products to make more money and not to actually sell you a good product is part of what a lot of punk subcultures are about. Those same boots were likely part of the original fashion focused subculture, skinheads, that assisted in the creation of the punk genre. 

The original meaning of “skinhead” referred to some working class young people who had some extra cash to spend on clothing. Because history is always very messy, some racists saw that and thought “oh wow young people who can vote” and then neo nazis happened. in reaction to that you had people still calling themselves skinheads now taking an anti racist anti fascist approach. to note: it’s not clear cut, you still had people in the middle not caring.

This is how the ideology of punk was born. It’s this whole messy history lesson spanning continents, politics, fashion, a distaste for what was then the way too polished mirror sheen of rock. they wanted something tangible, something of the people by the people. so take the urban fashion of the original reggae/soul/ska influenced skinhead movement born in the UK, combine it with the now beginning to be unique sound of american punk just trying to sound different, the image of the working class “bastard” that deconstructed and challenged the idea of what a musician was and you get a socio-politically motivated genre of music that wants the best for the people.

sidenote: in case you’re wondering- yes there were neonazi punk musicians, but it’s not called punk, it’s called hatecore, which is… a fitting name. Genres are not only defined by sound, but themes as well.

Remember when I mentioned that music changes based off of the social fabric it’s built on? there you go. Punk as we know it would not exist the way it does today had it not been for that messy history. Now with that in mind, you can hopefully see why there’s an overlap with metal. If I were to vaguely state “loud music that actually wants to say something very important” you might have a hard time telling me which genre I’m talking about. This overlap is vaguely similar to how nature keeps evolving crabs independently from each other:

“Carcinization is of interest to carcinologists and evolutionary biologists for several reasons and at different levels. First of all it is an instance of astonishing convergence, concerning a whole set of structures.”

Scholtz, G. (2014). Evolution of crabs – history and deconstruction of a prime example of convergence, Contributions to Zoology, 83 (2) 87-105. https://brill.com/view/journals/ctoz/83/2/article-p87_1.xml

And… it’s weird right? how these people trying to do different things ended up in the same place. to note, I’m aware that both of these genres are not exclusively worried about social and political issues, no genre is. Metal is first and foremost fun, and punk music is first and foremost that: MUSIC. But it’s hard to deny that both genres are intense in their messaging. 

Remember the time System of a Down set aside years of creative differences to talk about the war happening in Armenia?

Literally any Russ Russel song will be talking about some variation of politics/the man/religion

Napalm Death, Metaphorically screw you

Here’s a fun fact, Rage against the machine got the N-word pass (I would presume) to sing their cover of Fuck the police

You know the meme of Gojira being all like “come here bb girl” and then it’s just like a tree? I mean that’s not based on nothing either…

On the lesser known end of the spectrum, you have artists like 3teeth which raise an interesting question:

3teeth, president X

“It’s all kind of… tongue in cheek?” you might say. There’s the song “God hates us all” by Slayer, when the lead singer Tom Araya was asked if he actually believes that he simply said the following:

Tom Araya in in Metal: A Headbanger's Journey, directed by Sam Dunn

Metal Musicians aren’t dumb. They know what they’re doing. Sometimes they’re Genuinely convinced of what they’re talking about. Other times They’re just trying to be outrageous. 

Dee Snider, Lead singer of twisted Sister

A lot of the gender norm defying things the metal scene did in the 70’s was because they were just trying to look cool and outrageous. But let’s forget about that for a moment. I can hear someone giving the arguments “What about Nu metal?”, “What about Rob zombie?”, “what about Ghost”, “what about [insert commenter’s band here]?”. Are those political? no, neither is most music in general. No one listens to Feiruz and thinks “ah yes, you can clearly hear the Palestinian struggle represented through the lyrics” but you might just look up Feiruz, learn she’s from Lebanon and then learn about the part of the world glued to Lebanon called Palestine. This is called tangential learning, so in that same sense, maybe you’ll be listening to Bodies by Drowning pool–which is about moshing by the way– and for a moment you’ll think of something else more serious for example. Again, you might not, and that’s fine… but you can’t deny that the path is there. 

Setting that aside for a moment, let’s consider the argument that music is a form of escapism. Leaning on this as your sole argument is very narrow minded and forgets the idea that escapist fiction is inherently anti-escapist. When you read Mistborn by Brandon Sanderson (which is great by the way go read Mistborn by Brandon Sanderson) sure you’re immersed in the world of the book and the intricacies of this nigh-impossible magical bank heist. But once you put down the book, you’re always reminded of the world you’re escaping from. Escapist fiction offers a temporary relief from reality, there is always a thread that tethers that fiction to the real world it pushes against. 

Craig Thompson, Blankets

If you're still reading at this point you’re probably wondering how any of this is relevant to a comic book, let alone one that I'm making. The project I'm working on is going to feature a band that we’re going to be eventually making characters for. but in order to do that and do it properly, it’s important to understand the motivations behind the music. If I don’t then you end up with cliche characters like “angry rebellious metalhead” and “overly verbose activist punk” which no one wants and that would make the whole thing a shit fest at worst, and a boring comic at best. It’s important for me that i don’t rely on the events taking place in the story to hold it up, the world and people in it need to be just as interesting and complex as the contrivances of my narrative, otherwise I’m just writing a less good bandslam or a very uninspired rip off of inception that completely misses the point.

Anyways!I would be remiss to not specifically point out that I actually have a goal I’m working towards, I have a plot outline that’s been figured out for a while. All the work I’m doing fits into that skeleton in one way or another, but that’s it for now.

Devlog updates on tuesdays

#comic #kinocomix #devlog #graphic novel #metal #webcomic #craig thompson #twisted sister #slayer #punk rock #Youtube

[missmayhemvr]

Do we stay or do we go

i have a serious question to my brother and sisters, all those stolen of africa and those that immigrated from their of their own volition and the generations that came after.

ive been doing a lot of listening to the goings on in the world, and ive been learning of our past and our history and philosophy and i have a question that we of the diaspora(not counting the islands in many regards and you'll see why) have not seemed to really be able to qive a definitive response to in the over 200 years since i've first seen this question be raised, and yes the context is different today from when it was first asked, and you may have guess what the question really is.

Do we stay and fight this oncoming wave of fascism and antiblackness that is sweeping through Europe and its settler states that it spawned? or do we turn towards Africa and the carribean nations?

I dont feel i need to say this, its very clearly not a "well if you dont like america, go back to africa" situation. but what im saying is, the western experiment, is falling apart at the seams, im sure we all see it at this point, most the other black folks i speak to are feeling pretty jumpy about it rn, my mother and my great aunt who hate each other and agree on nothing, are getting real strong get out vibes and pushing everyone to have passports. it feels like no matter where we look the white world is trying to position itself as being oppositional to and a defense against POC, the far right is gaining major traction enough in germany they are considering banning a political party(which they should) and that not to speak on much the rest of europe, which is trying to convince us not to be worried about the dudes waving nazi flags and making claims about russians being asian and thus being less human, american police violence just keeps going up to the point we aren't even safe in our own four walls, and much like the past they kill you and then take everything you owned so your family doesn't even get anything. france is proving how much distain it has for the people of africa living in its borders and the cops there are mad that they can't do even more extrajudicial violence against brown people. you got in nearly every EU nation at this point 1 or more parties who's whole thing is "we hate poc and immigrants and lgbt people" and they seem to be gaining support more than losing it.

so i guess im saying, is it worth staying in these places that just hate us? even when there is another place we can potentially go to that doesn't require us to do colonizer shit?

like don't get me wrong i get the idea, we been in x place 200, 300, 400 years why should i leave, my great grandpa had people like that in his life, they didnt make it long. but like you or i most likely aren't anywhere near where our families started in america or britian or france etc,(tho for us in settler states that shit gets even more complicated tbh) chances are your family much like mine has been pushed and pulled across the place to the point that we are damn near nomadic, we are the most if not the second most poverty stricken group in these places, we are more likely to be charged more for half par services goods and the state just refuses to support use to the extent where vast swaths of us are in food desert, areas with low access to internet services and more issues. i dont feel like we really leaving much behind except of course the friends and extended families we have made(which tbh is huge).

This shit sounds super doom and gloom and im aware of that, this isnt really for me to present a sunshine are roses situation, in fact i am really putting that on who ever sees this. if you can read what i laid out here and feel you have something constructive to say one way or the other, i wanna hear it. like i really want to hear both sides, this topic been around a long time, i feel its really about to become super relevent again and i'd like for as many of us to have discussed and thought about this as physically possible(talk to your families and friends about this too, they dont have to come reply)

so black folks, reblog, message in the replys, talk in the tags whatever, just think about this stuff critically and talk about it. poke holes as best you can, bring up whatever figure you can think of that ever even had a thought about this topic. learn about this topic as best as you can, its older than garvey by a lot. theres bad sides to it and not so bad sides to it.

non black folks, please just leave this alone, its truly not the type of topic you should involve yourself with.

anyway i go more i wanna say about it. and im not myself sold that i should move to say ghana(more likely to move with my gfs in Australia rn) and ill likely add more in reply to other people. be safe Everyone of the world.

#black liberation #pan african