Tumgik
#alleged car (trope)
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Even if the Inspector knew how to repair her,
the BOOTH would probably be just as temperamental as ever.
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heavenlyhischier · 7 months
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𝐃𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐲 | 𝐉𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐇𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐞𝐬
this has been sitting my drafts for a while so i figured might as well post it while i’m working on my celly fics 🫶🏻
yourusername
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liked by elblue6, jamiedrysdale, and others
yourusername happy 22nd birthday to my best friend since birth. you’re a pain in my ass every single day but i can’t seem to get rid of you so ig i’ll deal with it
everyone go tell my best happy birthday or else 🤺
tagged jackhughes
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lhughes_06 why are you wearing a helmet
yourusername they said i was “ a danger to myself”
╰➤ jackhughes you were
╰➤ yourbff you ARE
_quinnhughes we can’t get rid of him either. i tried
jackhughes yo???
trevorzegras couple of BESTIES
yourusername why do you do this every time
╰➤ trevorzegras because you’re my favorite couple of BESTIES
jackhughes you literally moved to jersey with me so i don’t think you’re trying very hard 🥸
yourusername you literally begged me to???
yourusername also you’re welcome for the birthday post you loser 🙄 so ungrateful
╰➤ jackhughes thank you daisy❤️
╰➤ nicohischier that’s not her name?
╰➤ yourbff he calls her that because it’s her favorite flower😭
╰➤ nicohischier “we’re just friends”
╰➤ this comment has been deleted
yourmom happy birthday to my future son-in-law!
liked by elblue6, trevorzegras, _quinnhughes, lhughes_06, yoursibling, _alexturcotte, colecaufield, yourbff, nicohischier, and jackhughes
jackhughes
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liked by trevorzegras, mattwilliams, and others
jackhughes 2/3
tagged lhughes_06, _quinnhughes, and yourusername
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user1 jack and yourusername never beating the dating allegations with this behavior
trevorzegras White jets all dizzy
yourusername don’t encourage him. who wears forces to a wedding???
╰➤ jackhughes a man with style
yourusername ellen is the only reason i’m liking this post. she looks so beautiful as always
user2 so real. ellen slays
user3 tell quinn my dms are open
nicohischier 🧐
yourbff 🔎
yourusername you guys are annoying
user4 they’re going to be dating by the end of summer if they’re not already. im calling it🤞🏼
yourusername
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liked by randomkidfromHS, dylanduke25, and others
yourusername surprise!! friends to lovers is my favorite trope for a reason
tagged jackhughes
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trevorzegras COUPLE
yourusername yes Z, just couple
╰➤ trevorzegras finally. man’s been in love with you for years now
╰➤ yourusername jackhughes years?????
yourbff I KNEW IT
yourbff WHY DID YOU NOT TELL ME WHAT THE FUCK
╰➤ yourusername i’m sorry i love you!!!!
lhughes_06 thank god. i can stop being your third wheel now
yourusername no pls. i need you there for moral support. i can’t handle jack by myself
╰➤ jackhughes wtf??
nicohischier wow i am shocked. i did not see this coming at all
liked by yourusername
colecaufield “best friends can go to a lantern festival without it being romantic” liars. both of you. liars. you just went so you could make out
yourusername hehe sorry coley 🫶🏻
╰➤ jackhughes we didn’t just make out 😮‍💨
╰➤ colecaufield you’re kidding right? you guys took my car. YOU ARE KIDDING RIGHT?
╰➤ liked by jackhughes
╰➤ colecaufield i’m burning my car
elblue6 happy 6 months you two!
liked by yourmom and yourusername
_quinnhughes what happened to “we don’t keep secrets in this family”???
lhughes_06 ^^^
jackhughes
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liked by tmeier96, john.marino97 and others
jackhughes my daisy, you are everything good in the world. for as long as i can remember, you have shown me what it’s like to live and to love. i’m grateful for you in more ways than you know, and i can’t wait to love you for as long as you’ll have me.
tagged yourusername
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user1 wow i am so shocked at this news 😱
jesperbratt took you long enough
_alexturcotte COUPLE
trevorzegras back off that’s my thing
user2 alexa play that should be me by justin bieber
yourusername shut up i’m crying wtf i love you
yourusername who wrote this caption for you
╰➤ jackhughes i came up with it all by myself thank you (quinn helped me)
user3 who knew jack was so sappy????
yourusername i didn’t tbh
lhughes_06 hard launch 🗣️
_quinnhughes simp
jackhughes no shame
user4 called it
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fatehbaz · 9 months
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A devastating rail crash that left almost 300 people dead has refocused international attention on the importance of railways in the lives of Indians.
Indeed, to many Western observers, images of men and women crammed into overcrowded cars serve as a metaphor for modern India. Take, for example, a report by German newspaper Der Spiegel on India’s population surpassing China’s. Published just weeks before the accident in Odisha province on June 2, the now much-criticized cartoon depicted a shabby Indian train crammed with passengers rushing past a streamlined Chinese train with only two people in it.
Where does this enduring image in the West of Indian railways – and of India – come from? As a scholar of Indian history and author of 2015 book “Tracks of Change: Railways and Everyday Life in Colonial India,” I believe the answers lie in the gigantic infrastructure projects of the 19th century – forged at the intersection of colonial dictates and capitalist demands.
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A carrier of freight, not people
Railways remain the backbone of passenger traffic in India, transporting some 23 million people daily. In the pre-pandemic 2018-19 financial year, 7.7 billion passenger journeys in India. [...] Yet, when first planned in the 1840s, India’s railways were intended to primarily transport freight and livestock, not people. Indians were thought unlikely to become railway passengers by directors of the English East India Co., a merchant monopoly that gradually annexed and administered large parts of India under U.K. crown control. [...] However, early colonial railway policy was driven by pervasive Orientalist imaginings of a people rendered immobile by poverty, living in isolated villages [...]. The trope interlocked with colonial thinking that railways would foster greater industrialization which in turn would further a capitalist economy. They also aligned with the practical needs of a colonial trading monopoly which needed raw materials for English industries, such as cotton, to be moved swiftly and efficiently from India’s interiors to port towns [...].
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Despite the doubters, the new Indian railways attracted an increasing number of passengers. The half-million passengers recorded in 1854 when tracks became operational increased to 26 million in 1875. By 1900, annual passenger figures stood at 175 million and then almost trebled to 520 million by 1919-20. By the time of the partition of India in 1947 it had risen to more than 1 billion passenger journeys annually. Indeed, images of overcrowded trains came to epitomize the upheaval of partition, with the rail system used to carry swaths of uprooted peoples across the soon-to-be Pakistan-India border. Third-class passengers, overwhelmingly Indians, comprised almost 90% of this traffic. These escalating figures did not, however, generate a lowering of fares. Nor did they result in any substantial improvements in the conditions of [...] travel. [...]
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The generally British railway managers seemed disinclined to remedy systematic overcrowding, which included transporting passengers in wagons meant for livestock. Rather, they insisted that such overcrowding was caused by the peculiar habits and inclinations of Indian passengers: their alleged [...] inclination to follow one another “like sheep” into crowded carriages. These attributes were soon rendered into a more public narrative, especially among Western mindsets. Journalist H. Sutherland Stark, writing for the industry publication Indian State Railways Magazine in 1929, stated that though “unversed” in railway administration and traffic control, he knew railway facilities were not the problem. Rather, Indian passengers lacked the mental preparedness, “self-possession” and “method” necessary to travel like “sane human beings.” Stark suggested passenger education as a solution to the perceived problem, making railway travel a tool for “self-composure and mass orderliness.” [...]
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More than a century later, this depiction endures, though, ironically, it now serves as a foil to understanding contemporary India. In a piece published in The New York Times on March 12, 2005, the author lauded the then-new Delhi metro, emphasizing that it had “none of the chaotic squalor of hawkers and beggars that characterizes mainline railroads in India, nor do desperate travelers hang from the sides of the trains.” As the debate rages on whether safety has taken a back seat to “glossy modernization projects” in India – early analyses suggest signaling failure might have caused June 2, 2023, accident – railways continue to represent India’s history.
In the heyday of empire, they were deemed the technology through which Britain would drag India into capitalist modernity. In 1947, they became a leitmotif for the trauma of the partition that accompanied the independence of India and Pakistan. As the coverage of Odisha accident reminds us, it continues to be a metaphor in the West for evaluating contemporary India.
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Headline, image, caption, and all text above by: Ritika Prasa. “Overcrowded trains serve as metaphor for India in Western eyes -- but they are a relic of colonialism and capitalism.” The Conversation. 9 June 2023. [Bold emphasis and some paragraph breaks/contractions added by me.]
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nyushkawritesstuff · 4 months
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A Critical Take on Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 3
Hey everyone, it's me, your friendly neighborhood Nyushka. Today, I want to dive into a discussion about Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 3. I know I'm very late to this conversation, but I've been busy and I still want to share my thoughts. Now, don't get me wrong, I love gaming and the thrill of a good shooter, especially when there's an exciting storyline to follow. But there are a few aspects of this particular game that I think deserve some serious critique.
First and foremost, let's talk about the issue of Islamophobia. It's disheartening to see that Muslim characters in Modern Warfare 3 often fall victim to more brutal deaths compared to others. Take, for example, the tragic demise of Farah's friend, whose car was blown up. It's instances like these that perpetuate harmful stereotypes and contribute to a negative portrayal of Muslims in media. And don't get me started on "No Russian", the plane hijacking cutscene. It'd already been established that the west thinks Urzikstani people are terrorists, it'd already been established that they fought through the allegations and proved their innocence, which paints the cutscene useless - and islamophobic.
Another concern I have is the depiction of women in the game, specifically in relation to Milena. It's disappointing to see that her wealth and success are attributed solely to her husband. We're introduced to her and we see her as a very successful and ambitious woman, so it was disappointing, to say the least, when we find out that Milena killed her husband and stole his wealth through a conversation with Laswell. This kind of portrayal reinforces gender stereotypes and fails to empower female characters in their own right. This is especially bad considering Milena is Russian, so the game is also reinforcing the "Russian golddigger wife who'll murder you" trope.
Moving on, let's discuss the excessive use of death fakeouts. Modern Warfare 3 introduces a whole list of characters whose deaths are teased, like Farah, Alex, Graves, Price, Laswell and a few more, only to reveal that they miraculously survived. This tactic may create momentary excitement, but it ultimately cheapens the impact of death in the game and undermines the emotional investment of the players.
And then there's the ending. Oh boy, where do I even begin? Soap, a beloved fan favorite character, meets a tragic end, leaving us devastated. Meanwhile, Makarov once again manages to escape, leaving us with an unsatisfying resolution. It feels like a missed opportunity to provide closure and a fitting conclusion to the story arc.
Additionally, so many people joined the campaign after the last installment solely because of the loveable banter between Ghost and Soap. We expected more in this one - only to be disappointed by a few lines of Ghost teasing Soap for admiring the luxury of Milena's estate and boats.
Lastly, let's touch upon the issue of military propaganda and politics. Call of Duty games have often been criticized for glorifying war and promoting a biased perspective. While it's important to acknowledge the bravery of soldiers, it's equally important to question the underlying motives and messages conveyed in these games.
Remember - your fiction might be someone else's nonfiction. Your fun game might be someone's reality. War is something you glorify and play with while someone else actually suffers through it. The genocide in Gaza is a good example of this in current time. So please, don't be insensitive to this. Playing war games is okay, but try to be respectful and not glorify these awful situations where so many people lose their lives or loved ones.
Now, don't get me wrong, I still enjoyed playing and watching Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 3 for its action-packed gameplay and adrenaline-pumping moments. But as a critical gamer, it's essential to voice our concerns and hold game developers accountable for the content they create.
In the end, it's up to us as players to engage in thoughtful discussions, raise awareness, and promote a more inclusive and responsible gaming industry. Let's encourage game developers to push boundaries, challenge stereotypes, and create games that not only entertain but also inspire meaningful conversations.
So, what are your thoughts on Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 3? Share your opinions and let's keep the conversation going. Reblogs, likes and comments are highly appreciated!
-your friendly neighborhood Nyushka :)
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starlostseungmin · 2 years
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— good boy gone bad, felix
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pairing: gangster!felix x spy!fem reader (with she/her pronouns)
genre: suggestive, slight enemies to lovers trope, fluff
warnings: mentions of weapons, sex (not executed), drugs & profanity, kissing, making-out, minors dni, a freaking cliffhanger, not proofread.
word count: 4.4k
note: my first ever fic after a whole month of hiatus! i know this is such a disappointment, i'm so lazy af TT and HAPPY BIRTHDAY FELIX !! ♡
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The solemn rays of sunset kissed his skin as he sat at the edge of an empty rooftop. Blue skies were mixed with yellow and orange to prepare for the end of the afternoon. His skin glows with the natural light highlighting the stars imprinted on his cheeks. A feeling of ease and quiet, but it will turn into chaos after the sun disappears. He watched the busy streets as the sounds of cars faded when they get to a distance, people take the crossings and choose different paths to their destination, and the buildings start to light up before dark. 
“You should get home before they see you,” A friend of his spoke, taking the empty spot next to him. 
“Let them chase me, they won’t get anything from me anyway,” He smirked. “Did you hear from Chan?” 
“No, but they thought you stole drugs from them, it’s dangerous for you to hang around,” 
“It’s not my fault why he screw up the plan,” Felix hissed. “Whatever the fuck is going on, it wasn’t me,” 
“We know,” His friend sighs. 
“The government doesn’t have the power to take us to prison too,” Felix said. 
“I know, but just be careful, you know the Boss won’t bail us out once one gets caught carelessly,” 
“Right,” Felix answered, sighing heavily. “How is Y/n doing?” 
“Since when did you get interested in her?” His friend smirked but Felix just scoffed in response. 
“I’m just worried that her roommate is a criminal,” He laughed. “Does she know?” He asked again, looking at his friend. 
“No,” 
“Good,” Felix nodded. 
“It’s not good knowing that I might cause her danger. I need to move out soon,” Hyunjin sighs. 
“Why don’t you stay in our dorm? It’s easier than risking a life of a stranger who doesn’t know your crimes,” Felix suggested as Hyunjin shook his head. 
“I’ll try to talk to her about it, and by the way, do you want me to introduce you to her?” Hyunjin smirked which made Felix laugh along.
“No thanks, I don’t want to get someone involved in my crimes,” Felix answered, looking back to the wonderful afternoon view. 
“Such a good boy you are Felix,” His friend laughed when he nudged his arm playfully. 
“Shut up Hyunjin,” He chuckled. 
“It’s getting dark soon, are you sure you’re staying longer?” Hyunjin asked, glancing at the younger boy beside him. 
“Yeah, get home safely,” 
Hyunjin left the rooftop and disappeared as he sighs heavily, taking his time watching the sunset again. He fell into deep thoughts after realizing he was all alone, but the noisy crowd kept him distracted. It was getting cold anyway, the autumn breeze was being ignored by a busy city. Everyone except him but the authorities won’t ignore him for his alleged crimes. If it wasn’t for Chan, he wouldn’t be running around and hiding but he can’t blame the old man for screwing it up. Closing his eyes, things don’t matter to him anymore. Life is already bullshit to give a shit. 
He rested his elbows on his knees, watching everything from above. Streetlights were already lit up and the population multiplied from what he saw before. This city life is no joke, all the bustling sounds of different things from here and there have gone suffocating. He knew he needed to leave—some big guys are going to find him soon. 
Felix stood up and stared at the horizon for a bit, hands in his pockets and a lollipop in his mouth. The sun has already reached the other side of the earth—the night will be much more difficult than the day. Leaving the building in a blink of an eye was not effective when he reached the streets. Too crowded to make way, too noisy to feel peace, too suffocating to breathe, and the eyes of evil never wanting to let him go. He bumped a few shoulders as he went inside the chaos and suddenly stopped in his tracks. Being a member of a wanted gang makes it difficult but it will be fun playing chase—yet those glaring eyes of two men weren’t wearing uniforms. Felix smirked at them as he slowly stepped back, taking the candy out of his mouth. He started to smile while they stepped forward and threw the lollipop away before starting the game. 
Running through the streets in the middle of the night and being chased by thugs wasn’t part of his plan. He just wanted to get back to the dorms without getting caught but fate loves to play. Men’s voices were heard as he escalated to the alley, jumping over a few barriers on the way. His hair is already a mess, his forehead covered with sweat—a bunch of profanity came out of his mouth. The sounds were getting louder in a quiet alley as he was panting heavily. He needed a place to hide after executing parkour on a busy evening. His hands rested on his knees trying to catch his breath with an exhausted laugh escaping his lips. They won’t catch him easily in a crowded street anyway but then again, he needs to lay low. 
Felix took one last glance behind but only to find them glaring at him before walking away. Leaving the area would be safe for now but he needed a place to hide until he gets back to the dorms. A sigh escaped his lips as he wears his hood, shoving his hands in his pockets and left as well. This is going to be a busy night indeed. The sounds of cars on the highway blasted their horns making everything noisy, the heavy traffic wasn’t helping either. People are rushing by, several stores are preparing to close for the day, he didn’t know why he ended up going to college in such a chaotic place. 
You turned off the lights of the bakery at exactly 7 o’clock. Another hectic day, you can’t blame the owner for having good quality pastries every day. It is a great experience but it doesn’t mean it’s that easy to fulfill. You needed a job to sustain yourself in the few remaining months of college. Graduation needs a lot of compliance and hard work isn't enough. This life is already a living hell after you cut off relations with everyone in your family. 
People may not know what the future holds, but you are hoping everything will turn out well for you. Or that’s what you thought it would be. Life in the city has always been busy, people are always after money. It’s nothing new to you when you are one of them for the sake of surviving. You have no power in this world without it. Looking up to the sky, you could only hope. It’s been a long time since that man promised to pay you but nothing reaches your bank account—only from the owner of the bakery. You had to contemplate getting a second job because you knew the bakery’s salary won’t be enough, it made you regret working a side job. That man is a liar. 
“Hey! Watch it!” Someone with a deep voice exclaimed after you felt something bump on your shoulder. 
“Sorry, I一” You stopped, seeing who it was. “I wasn’t… looking,” 
“Keep your eyes on the road,” He growled, rolling his eyes at you before taking his lollipop back inside his mouth. 
“Sorry,” You said quietly stepping aside to make a way when he purposely bump his shoulder against yours the second time and left. “I said, ‘Sorry’! Idiot,” 
Hissing underneath your breath, you just had to let it go. A jerk like him doesn’t deserve your attention anyway. But there was something about him that woke the curiosity inside you, even attraction. You shake your head while taking your way home, the usual direction you use for a shortcut to lessen the commotion. Streetlights started to dim their lights upon your presence which makes you tense. Everyone knows you are prone to danger when alone, especially when you could see the faces of thugs chasing that guy who bumped your shoulder. Your roommate didn’t even bother to call you, but you can’t blame him for being a wuss or probably he was just avoiding danger. 
“I’m home,” You said, shutting the door behind you yet no response from them. “Hyunjin? Are you here?” Still nothing. You opened the door of his room and saw him passed out on his bed. A bunch of art materials on the floor and an unfinished painting on the easel near his mattress. Scoffing at the sight, he must’ve been so exhausted with the details. But seeing him being so passionate about his interest made you smile. 
Closing his curtains and taking a few things on the floor, Hyunjin is careless sometimes, not minding the fact he’s been a few months older—he still needs someone to take care of him. The door gently shut after you were done and went to the kitchen to cook dinner. Hyunjin will never wake up in the next few hours anyway. Ramen became the only option after realizing there was nothing left in the fridge. You need to go food shopping the next day, which will be another busy day. Nothing changes, just like how the instructions for cooking ramen remain the same but one can be innovative with recipes. But on simple terms such as yours, innovation didn’t come yet. You let out a harsh sigh after having an exhausting day, a cup of ramen won’t satisfy your hunger but no other options left. Tasty noodles have always been the option that never disappoints. 
⁠♡
“You almost got caught!” Chan exclaimed at Felix who was sitting on the couch across from him. “And what if they kill you?” 
“They won’t get me,” Felix answered but Chan glared at him. “My job was to be the lookout with Jisung, you and Minho were in charge to get the drugs, how come you screwed up? And why I am to blame? Now I am the one they are looking for!” 
“You didn’t touch anything that night don’t you?” Chan asked when Felix leaned at the backrest, poking his inner cheek with his tongue. 
“Are you accusing me right now?” He asked. 
“I’m not,” Chan spoke. “Just reassure me that you didn’t.” 
“That place was a fucking warehouse, what am I supposed to take? Rusty metals? Garbage?” Felix hissed. “We’re just being fooled by that man, I can’t trust him,” 
“I heard he took someone in,” Chan said, taking the seat beside Felix. 
“A new spy?” Felix asked knitting his brows. 
“I doubt it is,” Chan sighed. “I’m off to see him right now, he better do something about this matter of yours,” He added and went to take his way leaving the younger boy to fall into deep thoughts. The couch was comfy enough to rest as he stared at the old dirty ceiling. But instead of having a peaceful train of assumptions, the chaos happening within the neighborhood kept him awake. Sounds of moans and clatter were heard behind the thin walls, he shut his eyes tightly covering a pillow on his face but nothing works—why did this place was made of cheap materials with a high rate anyway?
“Bloody hell,” He hissed and jumped out of the couch, taking his leather vest, and left the dorm. The alley was quiet enough to pursue a train of thought as the stray animals ran past him. Felix bit his hair tie in between his teeth as he gather his black locks, trying to make a half ponytail. He crept and reached the busy streets again, taking a strawberry-flavored lollipop from his pocket. 
Hyunjin was out again, the same thing he does almost every day if he’s nothing painting anything. You were alone on your day off and the groceries were left to take care of. Two paper bags sat on the table as you read the receipt, so foolish of you to forget a few things, and sighed heavily. It looks like it’s going to rain, another hassle would lead to a high inconvenience. You were supposed to take a rest after grocery shopping, but bloody hell as it is—you left your apartment again. 
Clouds started to gather as they paint the sky gray, you walked slowly out of your street address and went for a shortcut you always take in a broad daylight. You were already convinced that your life is in danger when the same men you saw last night are behind you, one was holding a baton and the other one has a knife. The orientation of your boss from your side job was right, working for him is already risking yourself but that doesn’t mean you’re weak to escape. You walked calmly to the crossing but another man showed up to stop you from escaping. Taking a few steps backward, you were already surrounded as you clutched the straps of your bag. 
“Shit,” You hissed under your breath. 
“You’re working for Mr. Yang right?” One man asked. 
“You stole the drugs didn’t you?” Another one asked. 
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” You smirked, taking your self-defense metal stick— clicking it to expand before whacking it to them, one was hit on his neck and waist. The metal was strong enough to make someone unconscious but that won’t be part of the plan for now. You need to escape, one of them tried to stab you but you managed to kick him away and ran. 
Felix finally found a quiet place to think and be alone, a familiar alley he used to get home when he was still in middle school. But things happen for a change, once a quiet place turns into a chaotic one. He was sitting on the ground while having his back rested on a roller shutter filled with graffiti art, the lollipop stayed still inside his mouth as he closed his eyes. The stillness of the ground and the holding breeze of the wind were the only things he wanted to consume, but then, familiar voices were heard coming his way, and you, running for your life. 
“After her!” One yelled. 
“Fuck,” Felix hissed. 
You were already at a distance from those thugs when you saw Felix glaring at them, you remembered his face from last night as he stood there, watching you. 
“What are you doing? Fucking run, idiot!” You yelled at him. 
“Don’t tell me what to do,” He said and grabbed your hand, running towards somewhere unfamiliar. 
“Hurry up! We’re losing them!” One yelled from behind as Felix keeps running head, tightening his grip on yours. 
“Where are you taking me?” You asked, following his direction. 
“Just shut your mouth!” He said before going inside an abandoned house and leading you to the bathroom. “Get inside the tub,” 
“What? It’s dirty!” You exclaimed as he locked the door. 
“Just fucking hide, they won’t find us here,” He hissed as you get inside the bathtub and let your back rest on the cold, dusty ceramic. Felix heard voices coming inside the house, and went to close the shower curtain, suddenly hovering above you. 
“What are you doing?” You whispered beneath him. 
“Hiding, not shut up, they’re here,” He said. 
His face was just a few inches away from yours and you could feel his breath. His hands were placed on your waist as he lay above you, feeling each other’s bodies. The scent of his perfume is intoxicating and the way he stares at you made a weird feeling. His heartbeat is fast, the same as how yours respond in the current situation. You two fell into silence while listening to the heavy footsteps outside and loud footsteps became murmurs. Your eyes shut when one of them tried to open the door, forcing the doorknob to twist open. 
“Fuck,” He breathed. “Don’t move,” 
“They’re not here,” One said. 
“This door is locked, they must be inside,” Another one said. Felix and you looked at each other, hoping they won’t pursue getting in—heartbeats became faster than usual. 
“Leave it, this is haunted anyway,” The last one said. The sounds of their footsteps faded in the ditch which made you and Felix wait until everything is cleared. A sigh of relief escaped your lips as he collapsed above you. 
“Are you alright?” You asked but he didn’t answer. “Please get off of me,” But no answer again. 
He fell asleep inside the tub as you lay beside him gently caressing his black locks. His arms wrapped around your waist tightly to pull you closer to his exhausted body. Felix is a stranger, a new person you just met on the streets a few minutes ago, maybe hours after you saw him last night. But if it weren't for him, you would be dead by now. It was a careless move of yours to choose that alley for a shortcut towards the city, but a man sucking on a lollipop while leaning on a roller shutter saw you—an alleged gang member who was being followed too but had to involve you in his crimes when you were the one being chased. 
Then again, you are convinced that your life is already in danger, but the beauty that lies within this person made him look like an angel. You stared at him, he was so gorgeous and his freckles were like constellations, a beautiful creature looking innocent but can kill a man. One look and you're done, yet it doesn't scare you in any way. But one thing about him, he is fucking insane. Trespassing an abandoned house wasn’t a part of the plan, it was to escape. A sigh suddenly escaped your lips, minutes will turn into an hour in a few, and he is still not moving. 
“Please wake up, my back hurts already,” You said and that’s when he fluttered his eyes open. 
“They’re gone?” He asked, slowly getting up. 
“Yeah, it has been a while,” You answered as he reached his hand to help you up. “What’s your name and why are they chasing you?” 
“I should ask the same question,” He said, walking out of the bathroom as you follow him to the living room. “I’m Felix, I work under Mr. Yang, the mafia.” You stopped in your tracks as he sat on the stairs, taking off his leather vest before looking back at you. “How about you?” 
“Y/n, I work as a spy for him,” You said but Felix suddenly washed his face with his hands when he realized you were the one Chan was talking about. How come Hyunjin didn’t know? 
“I know your name,” He said. “You stole it, didn’t you?” He said as his voice went deep while glaring at you. 
“Stole what?” You asked, leaning at the backrest of a dusty couch. 
“The drugs, you were there that night,” 
“You saw me? Do you have proof I was there?” You smirked when suddenly you found yourself, leaning against the wall with Felix pinning you on it, faces slowly closing their gap against each other. 
“Be honest with me, if it was you, I swear I’m going to fuck with you right now,” He said, having his grip on your wrist tightened. 
“You don’t know me, Felix,” You growled at him. 
“It was you right?” He asked again. “I was blamed for stealing drugs from those thugs, they thought it was me because I wasn’t there when the negotiating happened. I was on the lookout, you sneaked in and stole them right?” But despite his anger, you ended up smiling at him. “You’re insane,” 
“No, you are,” You whispered. “Do you want me to apologize for the inconvenience I gave you? Then, I’m sorry,” You shrugged. “But I’m never going to say sorry about you being a fool,” 
“What?” He hissed. 
“Mr. Yang doesn't trust you guys, he sent me to take care of the drugs,” You confessed. “He already has it,” 
“How am I supposed to believe you?” He asked, pinning you harder. 
“I won’t be here with you if I was lying right?” You said, rolling your eyes. “Do you want to fuck?” Felix stared at you for a minute, he couldn’t believe what was going on yet a laugh was heard from him. “You’re crazier than me,” 
“No, you are,” You said, pushing him away. 
“Why do you work for him?” He asked when you were about to leave. 
“I need the money, Felix, I can’t depend on my job at the bakery,” You said. “And it’s weird that you know me,” 
“Hyunjin told me things about you, I just didn’t know why you didn’t tell him that you’re a spy and you work under the same Boss! You knew we’re in the same gang,” He exclaimed. 
“I just met you last night, I didn’t know your name, I didn’t know you have connections with Hyunjin and the Boss, Mr. Yang just told me there’s a group of 8 boys who work for him and said he can’t trust you so he sent me,” You said. “I only thought Hyunjin was just simple as a college boy but I guess I was wrong then, and Mr. Yang promised to pay me a few days after I got him the drugs but I still got nothing from him. It’s been a week.” You sighed heavily. 
“That’s tragic,” He said. 
“I know right?” You laughed. “I’m going to get a few things, do you want to go with me?” 
“I don’t want to get caught,” He said. 
“So it’s a no, then?” You asked as he nodded. “I’ll see you around,” 
“Sure,” He smiled as you were about to leave. You stopped before you could reach the door and turned to look at him. 
“Before I go, here,” You said, walking back towards him and punching him in the gut, which made him groan in pain. 
“Fuck! What was that for?” He winced with a hand on his stomach. 
“That is for not apologizing after bumping into me last night,” You said pointing your finger at him. 
“I thought we’re already okay?” He asked, looking at you with pain written in his eyes. 
“We are, so,” You paused as you held both of his cheeks, crashing your lips onto his. Felix was stunned before he could melt in and wrap his arms around your waist, deepening the kiss. It tastes like strawberry candy—the lollipop he had to throw away again after being chased by those stupid men. But he thought that these happenings were worth his while. “And that’s for saving my life,” You smiled before giving him a peck on the lips and grabbing your bag. 
“You can’t do this to me,” Felix said quietly. 
“Yes, I can. I’m leaving,” You said and was about to leave when Felix once again grabbed your wrist, pulling you closer to his body, and staring into your eyes. 
“You can’t,” He smirked. 
“Okay, I won’t then,” You said. Felix leaned closer as your lips meet again, feeling the softness he failed to sense when you kissed him out of the blue. He held your cheeks as he deepened the kiss with your hands wrapped around his neck. It started to get intimate when he slid his tongue inside your mouth as a delicate moan was heard from you. Kissing a man you just met felt so strange but the idea of you being in the same situation ended up, touchy. The thumping of your heart was loud and fast enough to handle the adrenaline rush inside your body. 
Felix made you sit on his lap when he reached the old sofa. The delicate strawberry flavor remains on his lips that you want to taste even more. He held you closer to him as you felt his hand squeezing your ass, enough to make you glare at him. 
“You’re a little naughty, aren’t you?” You chuckled. 
“Says the one just kissed me out of the blue,” He smirked. “You’re one to talk,” 
“Shut up,” You hissed when he crashed his lips onto yours again. Your hand reached for the hem of his white tank top, pulling it over his head before you pressed yourself against him. A groan escaped his lips as his hand held your nape while the other one reaches inside your shirt to caress your bare skin. Felix bit your lower lip, sucking it in as you whined in response. Your hands were around his neck again when he traces his fingers on your back to unclasp your bra, slowly squeezing your breast. “Fuck,” 
“Can I?” He asked, breaking the kiss. 
“Go ahead,” You smiled, before kissing him again as he lay you down on the couch and hovered above you the second time. His kisses traveled from your cheek down to the neck, licking and nipping your skin as you hugged him. It felt good that it had your eyes shut, biting your lip to savor the moment. “Hmm, Felix,” 
“You like that, honey?” He whispered in your ear before leaving wet kisses when you heard your phone ring, making him stop. You heard a groan from him as his eyes met yours. “Who is it?” 
“I don’t know, should I take it?” You asked as he sighed in response, giving a nod before sitting beside you. The ringtone was loud enough to make an alarm, you should’ve set it in silent mode. You grabbed your bag and sat up before taking your phone to check. “It’s Hyunjin,” 
“Answer it,” He said. 
“Hello?” You asked, pressing the phone on your ear. 
“Y/n where are you? Come home, the landlord’s here,” Hyunjin said, filled with frustration in his voice. 
“What happened?” You asked, sighing in between. Hyunjin was so pissed off, his voice was filled with frustration and worry that Felix was unable to hear. “I’ll be there, wait for me,” 
“What else should I do?” Hyunjin said, putting the phone down, leaving you sighing again and Felix watching you. 
“What happened?” He asked. 
“Renting problems, I need to go,” You told him while fixing yourself from being a mess. “Are you coming?” 
“Nah, I have other plans,” Felix said, voice filled with disappointment. How could it be so urgent that Hyunjin wanted to ruin it? 
“I’ll make it up to you soon,” You said as he sighs. 
“Fine,” He sighed. “Don’t be long,” 
“I won’t,” You answered as he went to pull you in for a kiss. 
“I’ll see you around, Y/n,” He answered before you smiled and left. Little didn’t you know Hyunjin knew what you were up to. 
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part two?? kinda cliffhanger tho, let me think... what do you think? lmk ♡
@wolfchanchan @inseonqt @soobin-chois @hanjiesgf @koovvie @lix-ables @zoe8stay @gwynsapphire @cherryhanji @lixesque @seungly @sleepyleeji @h0neydewmoon @kim-seung-mo @ppiri-bahng @myjisung @snow-pegasus @smincado @milkybonya @l3visbby @yejis-biggest-simp @tangylemonade @1alesakura — please lmk if you want to be added or removed !!
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grandgrief · 27 days
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Trope! 🛰️
For every “Trope” I get, I will post a TV trope for my muse.
The Alleged Car
The UFV Wishbone is not a standard INTERPLAN starship. It's actually a repurposed mining freighter. All of the survey-support initiative ships are also refurbished.
The ship itself comes from the 'Bakshi-class' of large, outwardly chunky near-brutalist architecture. It's crashed several times into other ships, celestial bodies, it's even survived collision with a large asteroid (with massive casualties among the crew). It has to be serviced via orbital spacedock, because bringing it planetside would be a pain given the fact it's the size of a town bordering on a small city.
The Wishbone has since been given a refit: The science lab has been given cutting edge research equipment. A fairly average array of deflector shields, FTL engines, and particle projectors for combat. And then everything else is repurposed from leftover mining equipment, such as the excavation bazookas for crew members, or the unstable thermonuclear mining torpedoes in lieu of any reasonable artillery.
On top of that the Wishbone's Ship-To-Surface shuttlecraft are considered as the unofficial 'Hodgson-class,' a category of vehicle put together from material that may not have even been intended for a starship in the first place. Most manage to look like respectable rocketships from b-movies, but some are just RVs and minivans/SUVs/ETC. that have turbines, satellite dishes, or wings welded on haphazardly.
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eretzyisrael · 6 months
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by Luke Tress
Leading US Jewish groups on Monday said they had filed a lawsuit against a large California school district alleging the school’s board covertly approved anti-Israel curricula, deliberately depriving the Jewish community and others of their legal right to weigh in on the controversial lesson plans.
The lawsuit against Orange County’s Santa Ana Unified School District sought to overturn the curricula, in the latest salvo in a years-long battle over the handling of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, and Jewish American representation, in ethnic studies courses in California schools.
The Anti-Defamation League, the American Jewish Committee, the legal advocacy group the Louis D. Brandeis Center for Human Rights Under Law, and Maryland’s Potomac Law Group filed the lawsuit on Friday, claiming the courses include materials biased against Jews and Israelis that veer into antisemitism.
https://imasdk.googleapis.com/js/core/bridge3.590.0_en.html#goog_1582919429The video player is currently playing an ad.
The lawsuit claims the school district passed the curricula for four high school courses earlier this year without providing proper notification to the public, as required by law. The Brown Act, California’s open meeting law, requires school boards to inform the public about educational agenda and plans so the community can provide input and participate in the decision-making process.
The educators were aware of potential objections from the Jewish community to the content, but avoided engaging with community members, the lawsuit said, citing material obtained from a public records request. The board’s course and curriculum subcommittee notes from October 2022 included the comment, “Address the Jewish Question — do we have to create a response,” and recommended consulting with two outside groups who had previously supported the curricula, but not with Jews.
The “Jewish question” is a term with a long antisemitic history.
Other minority groups were not discussed in the same way. For a course on Native American history, the notes included the comment, “Yes can ask for help from Native American local community, but make sure to vet them.”
The lawsuit also said the board had deliberately removed an educational unit on Arab and Muslim Americans from course materials presented to the public, which the board would have expected to be controversial.
The curricula include “one-sided anti-Israel screeds and propaganda” that say Israel is a racist, settler-colonial state that “stole” land from Palestinians and carries out unprovoked warfare against Palestinians. All but one of the approved classes is currently being taught in the school district, the lawsuit said.
When community members found out about the school board’s decisions and appeared at a board meeting, they were subjected to harassment and intimidation, the lawsuit said, claiming the board failed to adequately protect members of the public at the hearing, in another violation of the Brown Act.
At a general board meeting on May 23, members of the public employed harsh anti-Israel rhetoric that included antisemitic tropes and threatening language. An audience member told a Jewish speaker to “go home, colonizer,” drawing a light-handed request for quiet from the board, but no further action. One Jewish student said she had been followed to her car and harassed after the meeting, and others said they had been called “racists” and “killers.”
In a response to complaints, the board denied any legal violations and said no “cure or correction is necessary,” prompting the plaintiffs to take legal action. The lawsuit stressed that the groups did not take issue with ethnic studies, but sought more balance and public input in their curricula.
The lawsuit led by the Brandeis Center was filed in California’s Superior Court for Orange County. The plaintiffs have asked the court to void the decisions and board approvals by the school district and to compel the school board to abide by the law in the future.
The Santa Ana Unified School District is the second largest in Orange County with around 45,000 students, 5,000 employees, and an $890 million budget, according to the district’s website. The district’s board members did not respond to a request for comment.
The Brandeis Center filed the suit with its local membership arm, Southern Californians for Unbiased Education. Other local groups including the Jewish Federation of Orange County, congregations, rabbis and Hebrew schools also submitted support for the lawsuit. The Jewish Federation of Orange County earlier this year said the courses were “a direct assault on the Jewish community,” with defamatory accusations of ethnic cleansing and colonialism.
The lawsuit follows years of wrangling over ethnic studies courses in California schools, and amid a number of lawsuits aiming to protect Jewish, Zionist and Israeli students on US college campuses. Title VI of the Federal Civil Rights Act of 1964 protects Jewish students at federally funded schools and colleges from discrimination and harassment, including over their connection to Israel.
A California law set to go into effect in the 2025-2026 school year will require high school students to complete a one-semester ethnic studies course. The law prohibits schools from using curricula that include bias against any person or group.
Before the law passed in 2021, the course content was subject to years of debate, and criticism from Jewish groups, which said its early drafts included one-sided criticism of Israel, but no sections on American Jews. Later drafts took some of these concerns into account, but districts are not required to follow the state’s recommended curricula.
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mayasinghal · 4 months
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Writing on the Walls:
A Socially-Distanced Ethnography of Asynchronous Communication
Son looked in vain for children. He couldn’t find them anywhere There were short people and people under twelve years of age, but they had no child’s vulnerability, no unstuck laughter… It wasn’t until he caught the downtown A that he saw what they had done with their childhood. They had wrapped it in dark cloth, sneaked it underground and thrown it all over the trains. Like blazing jewels, the subway cars burst from the tunnels to the platforms shining with the recognizable artifacts of childhood: fantasy, magic, ego, energy, humor and paint. -Toni Morrison, Tar Baby (1981, 215)
So many things begin and perhaps end as a game, I suppose that it amused you to find the sketch beside yours, you attributed it to chance or a whim and only the second time did you realize that it was intentional and then you looked at it slowly, you even came back later to look at it again, taking the usual precautions: the street at its most solitary moment, no patrol wagon on neighboring corners, approaching with indifference and never looking at the graffiti face-on but from the other sidewalk or diagonally, feigning interest in the shop window alongside, going away immediately. -Julio Cortázar, “Graffiti” (1983, 33)
In April 2020, about a month after Boston began Covid-19 social distancing protocols, posters appeared around my neighborhood in Allston, stuck to mailboxes and streetlights. On brightly colored paper, bold printed lettering read, “Meat markets cause pandemics,” referring to allegations that Covid-19 originated from human-animal contact in a meat market in Wuhan, China. A few weeks later, I took a walk around the neighborhood and noticed that someone had written on the left side one of the posters in black Sharpie: “This is anti-Chinese racism.” On the right side, in the same black Sharpie handwriting, it said, “We have them here too.”
It was not immediately clear why the poster should be construed as anti-Chinese racism. Maybe the Sharpie scribe was reading the sign as referencing racist tropes about Chinese people eating varieties of meat jarring to Western ideas of morality and health (for instance, dogs and bats). I also wondered what the commentator meant by “We have them here too.” We have pandemics here, too? We have meat markets here, too? And, what is the importance of “here” versus “there” in racialized reactions to global events? The Sharpie scribe seemed to emphasize the xenophobia central to anti-Chinese racism: that there is some fundamental, inheritable Chinese-ness that marks all Chinese people and practices as inherently blameworthy for problems between China and the rest of the world.
These posters disappeared shortly after I witnessed this graffitied commentary. They were replaced by pig head illustrations bearing the caption, “Animals are not products.” A few weeks after these posters went up, I found another poster glued on top of them. It showed two Black children, climbing on the Lincoln Memorial with large red letters that stated, “Black liberation is human liberation” (Fig. 1). It was June 2020, not more than a month since an African American man, George Floyd, was murdered by a white police officer, Derek Chauvin, prompting Black Lives Matter protests around the world. Recalling histories of legalized enslavement in which Black people were sometimes treated as commodities, the “Black liberation” poster challenged the “Animals are not products” one it was placed over, highlighting tensions between animal rights and human rights. Certainly, environmental degradation, climate change, and pollution disproportionately impact communities of color around the world (Nixon 2011; Taylor 2014). And, many indigenous approaches to animal studies argue that decolonization must be a multispecies endeavor that accounts for Native peoples’ relationships to the environment and land (Struthers Montford and Taylor 2020). However, in practice, white environmentalists and animal rights activists often use concerns about non-human species to legitimate violence against people of color or prioritize non-human species over people of color (Kosek 2006). The juxtaposition of these posters raises questions about the status of arguments for animal liberation when predominately African American populations are still legally enslaved and otherwise financially exploited in the US prison system.
Throughout the first year of the Covid-19 pandemic, I saw several of these graffitied exchanges about human and animal rights on walks around my neighborhood. While animal rights posters are somewhat ubiquitous around all of the college campuses I’ve been to in the Northeast, I was struck by the extent of these asynchronous conversations that took place on my neighborhood’s walls during the pandemic. In this essay, I want to think through the content of these discussions: human and animal rights in the context of the pandemic, the Movement for Black Lives, and Stop Asian Hate. I also want to think further about the form of these discussions, about doing socially-distanced ethnography by reading writings on the walls.
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Fig. 1: A poster reading “Black liberation is human liberation” on top of posters that read “Animals are not products” (June 2020)
Wall Art
In the epigraph to this essay, taken from her 1981 novel Tar Baby, Toni Morrison describes New York City in the 1970s from the perspective of Son, an African American New Yorker returning to the city after a long absence. In the face of poverty and mass incarceration, Black people in the city do not seem to Son to experience childhood anymore: “There were short people and people under twelve years of age, but they had no child’s vulnerability, no unstuck laughter” (Morrison 1981, 215). They seem to be missing the kind of freedom, but also the innocence and helplessness, associated with childhood. This idea parallels a common claim from law enforcement officials guilty of using force against unarmed African Americans who insist they feared for their lives during encounters with young Black people they perceive as having the size, strength, and prowess of grown men. However, unlike law enforcement officials, who have sometimes used graffiti as evidence of local criminality, Son sees childhood in graffiti. For Son, 1970s New York is jarring, filled not only with new fashions, but, he thinks, new kinds of gender- and racially-ambiguous people: “beautiful males who had found the whole business of being black and men at the same time too difficult and so they’d dumped it” and “black people in whiteface playing black people in blackface” on TV (Morrison 1981, 216). Stunned by these changes, Son searches for signs of normative life stages: children and old people. When he finds no old people either, Son clings to his recognizable sign of childhood: graffiti. Graffiti, for him, is a public display of things that cannot be communicated publicly or embodied in other forms, a material vestige that he collects, almost archeologically, as proof that these new New Yorkers are still human.
Julio Cortázar similarly treats graffiti as an illicit method for communication under repressive conditions in his 1980 short story “Graffiti.” Going further than Morrison in this regard, Cortázar depicts a conversation through layered public art, similar to the postering that I discussed, shown in Fig. 1. Set in the context of authoritarian rule, an allusion to Argentina’s military junta in the 1970s, two graffiti artists navigate a prohibition on street art and increasing “disappearances” of people in the city. The narrator writes in second person to a male artist who makes chalk sketches on walls when one day, he finds a sketch next to his done, he is sure, by a woman. The narrator explains: “You couldn’t prove it yourself, but there was something different and better than the most obvious proofs: a trace, a predilection for warm colors, an aura” (Cortázar 1983, 34). This logic and evidence prime the reader for the interpretive and imaginative relationship the artists develop. Their art becomes a call and response, building on each other’s meanings to develop a visual language between the two of them: “if he didn’t look at it closely, a person might have said it was a play of random lines, but she would know how to look at it” (Cortázar 1983, 35). Cortázar doesn’t describe most of the drawings in detail—focusing simply on outlines or colors. However, the climax of the story is told with pointed emphasis on the art:
At dawn on the second day you chose a grey wall and sketched a white triangle surrounded by splotches like oak leaves; from the same café on the corner you could see the wall (they’d already cleaned off the garage door and a patrol, furious, kept coming back), at dusk you withdrew a little, but choosing different lookout points, moving from one place to another, making small purchases in the shops so as not to draw too much attention. It was already dark night when you heard the sirens and the spotlights swept your eyes. There was a confused crowding by the wall, you ran, in the face of all good sense, and all that helped you was the good luck to have a car turn the corner and put on its breaks when the driver saw the patrol wagon, its bulk protected you and you saw the struggle, black hair pulled by gloved hands, the kicks and the screams, the cut-off glimpse of blue slacks before they threw her into the wagon and took her away.             Much later (it was horrible trembling like that, it was horrible to think that it had happened because of your sketch on the grey wall) you mingled with other people and managed to see an outline in blue, the traces of that orange color that was like her name or her mouth, her there in that truncated sketch that the police had erased before taking her away, enough remained to understand that she had tried to answer your triangle with another figure, a circle or maybe a spiral, a form full and beautiful, something like a yes or an always or a now. (Cortázar 1983, 36)
Particularly when the woman is arrested, the conversation becomes clearer. For the first time in the story, the reader is given descriptions of the drawings, but the narrator also provides the interpretations. Where the graffiti at first was a sign of the presence of others, the public life available even under authoritarian conditions, when the other is taken away, the communicative capacities of graffiti become even more clear.
Later, the man returns to the spot the woman had been arrested: “There were no patrols, the walls were perfectly clean: a cat looked at you cautiously from a doorway when you took out your chalk and in the same place, there where she had left her sketch, you filled the boards with a green shout, a red flame of recognition and love, you wrapped your sketch in an oval that was also your mouth and hers and hope” (Cortázar 1983, 37). The patrols somehow miss this sketch, and it stays up for a long time. In the last scene of the story, the man returns to his sketch and sees a reply:
From a distance you made out the other sketch, only you could have distinguished it, so small, above and to the left of yours. You went over with a feeling that was thirst and horror at the same time; you saw the orange oval and the violet splotches where a swollen face seemed to leap out, a hanging eye, a mouth smashed with fists. I know, I know, but what else could I have sketched for you? What message would have made any sense now? In some way I had to say farewell to you and at the same time ask you to continue. I had to leave you something before going back to my refuge where there was no mirror anymore, only a hollow to hide in until the end in the most complete darkness, remembering so many things and sometimes, as I had imagined your life, imagining that you were making other sketches, that you were going out at night to make other sketches. (Cortázar 1983, 38)
In this final scene, the narrator is revealed as the woman artist, after her arrest. The torture she endured has broken down her sense of self (“there was no mirror anymore”), so instead she narrates her past through the eyes of another artist who represents her hope and lingering sense of community, of social life. Through a tale of layered artworks, Cortázar treats graffiti as a form of public discourse when public discourse is limited. Where scholars often focus on graffiti as a way of communicating marginalized ideas, Cortázar’s story takes it up as a way of preserving public space and public fora. The comparison of the Covid-19 pandemic, particularly in the US, to an Argentinian dictatorship is problematic, not least because the US has not had mandated lockdowns. Still, the pandemic has occasioned state and municipal strictures concerning public congregation. Cortázar highlights the ethnographic importance of attending to how layered graffiti can function as a kind of artistic conversation, especially when considering how people develop socially distanced spaces of interaction.
Police and Pigs
During Black Lives Matter protests in 2020 and 2021, some protestors brandished severed pig heads, playing on “pig” as a slang term for a police officer. These expressions of outrage at police violence were quickly taken up by some animal rights organizations and condemned as “hypocrisy,” “protesting against rights violations while violating the rights of others.” Meanwhile, other animal rights activists argued that it is anti-Black to focus on how Black people use dead animals to protest oppression instead of the much more serious violence against animals perpetrated by racist institutions. The layered “Animals are not products” and “Black liberation is human liberation” graffiti (Fig. 1) index these debates about real and metaphorical pigs, emphasizing the pig head in the middle of the “Animals” poster. Not only are the rights of real pigs put into tension with human rights, the rights of Black people specifically, but also the pig head becomes a representation of police, bringing these human and animal rights into greater conflict.
Animal rights and human rights, particularly those of African American people, have often been placed at odds with each other. For instance, in 2018, actress Tiffany Haddish suggested that she would not stop wearing fur until the police stop killing Black people. “So sorry, PETA!” she added in an Instagram video. “Don’t be mad at me. Be mad at the police.” The implication of this joking “protest” was that white people often seem to prioritize animal lives over Black lives; therefore, by threatening animal lives, Haddish might force white people to address police murders of Black people.
Similar arguments about people caring more about animals than African American people have been made about pets being rescued after Hurricane Katrina while many Black New Orleanians died. An analogous claim centers on the football phenom, Michael Vick, who was incarcerated on dog fighting charges, while police officers (and some civilians) accused of murdering African Americans have frequently been acquitted (Kim 2015). Yet, the utility of these comparisons is not always obvious. In fact, as Bén��dicte Boisseron has argued, “The ‘America-likes-pets-more-than-blacks’ attitude… is symptomatic of a system that convulsively pits blackness against animality, forcing blacks themselves to engage in a battle over spared likeability” (Boisseron 2018, xiv). Furthermore, these comparisons also obscure real concerns about the status of animals, given anthropogenic climate change and environmental degradation.
On the other hand, animal rights activists have often compared the plight of farm animals to chattel slavery to argue the injustice of animal treatment (Boisseron 2018). These analogies are troubling, not only because they recall racist comparisons between Black people and animals. As Claire Jean Kim writes:
Analogizers claim to be connecting and avowing, but in many cases they seem to be instrumentalizing the other cause in question or treating it as a means to an end. The analogizer does not connect x and y in the sense of exploring them as independently significant and conjoined logics. Rather, concerned to validate x, which is her true focus, the analogizer seizes upon y, which already enjoys some measure of social validation, and posits x =  y. This exercise seeks to transfer the legitimacy and social importance of y to x. (Kim 2015, 285)
In short, by comparing the experience of enslaved African people to animals, this analogy “suggests that the Black story is a triumphalist one of overcoming racism, thus bolstering white fantasies of colorblindness and postraciality. It succinctly repackages and falsely truncates the story of anti-Blackness to serve the present purposes of animal liberation” (Kim 2015, 285).
Perhaps it is these regular implications of “postraciality” by animal rights movements that so frequently prompt people to respond to animal rights postering with graffiti about racism and slavery. In February 2021, on another walk around my neighborhood in Allston, I found a poster advertising a documentary about animal abuse papered over with an image of George Floyd, the man whose murder by police prompted the Movement for Black Lives in 2020 (Fig. 2). A few months later, a little north, around Harvard Square, I saw posters depicting a cow strung up after slaughter with the caption “Stop lying to your kids about their ‘food.’ ” On top of them, someone had written in Sharpie, “Socialism is slavery” (Fig. 4). However, the fact that graffiti about animal rights is often read by other graffiti writers as having implications for communities of color certainly also has to do with how racism references animals, from comparisons between people of color and animals to allegations that communities of color endanger animals or enact particular cruelty against animals (Kim 2015; Boisseron 2018). Shortly after the beginning of the Covid-19 pandemic, an art director for the brand Lululemon posted a link to a shirt depicting “bat fried rice” with the words “No thank you” on the sleeves, referencing allegations that Covid-19 originated from Chinese people eating bats (King 2020). In the context of these prevalent forms of Sinophobia, particularly at the beginning of the pandemic, the exchange about anti-Chinese racism on the “Meat markets cause pandemics” poster reads into a statement about vegetarianism a whole history of associations between Chinese people and forms of meat consumption deemed “cruel and transgressive” (Kim 2015). Still, other graffiti discussions about veganism and racism begin from links that seem much less apparent.
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Fig. 2: Poster showing George Floyd placed over an animal rights poster (text illegible)
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Fig. 3: A similar animal rights poster as the one visible in Fig. 2, advertising a documentary called Dominion
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Fig. 4: Posters showing a picture of a cow hung upside down with the words, “Stop lying to your kids about their ‘food.’” Several of the words have been crossed out in Sharpie. In pencil, someone has written “Who’s lying” on one poster. Another person has written in Sharpie, “Socialism is slavery,” which another person has crossed out in Sharpie.
If These Walls Could Talk
In October 2020, a couple months after I found the “Black liberation” poster, I saw a more extensive discussion on another set of animal rights posters. On a mailbox, someone had placed two posters of roosters with the words “Go vegan” coming from their mouths. One respondent wrote in black capital letters, “End human suffering first.” In the same handwriting, “This is cringe” was written next to the rooster, suggesting that the poster is problematic and “cringe-worthy.” Another person then added in black marker, “You can’t buy tofu and vegetables because someone else is suffering?” Yet another person added a profane statement, playing on the rooster or “cock.” Still another person, in white marker, wrote, “I don’t like ppl [people] who can’t write words.” The second poster was colored black except for the rooster to obscure the “Go vegan” statement, faintly visible under the marker, and someone added in reddish ink, “BLM,” or “Black Lives Matter,” coming from the rooster’s mouth in its place.
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Fig. 5: “Go Vegan” posters with annotations and redactions
This exchange highlights another kind of graffiti debate concerning animal rights and human rights through revision, or what Christina Sharpe might call “Black annotation and Black redaction.” For Sharpe, the most familiar work of annotation and redaction takes the form of violence against Black people: captions included with photographs of Black death and suffering and redacted government files about Black activists, for example. Through “Black annotation and Black redaction” (emphasis added), Sharpe proposes a radical reappropriation of these editorial tools. They are “ways to make Black life visible, if only momentarily, through the optic of the door” (Sharpe 2016, 123). Sharpe uses the examples of the annotations on the second autopsy Michael Brown’s family requested after he was murdered by police officer Darren Wilson in 2014 and her own redactions of a New York Times article to highlight the voice of the Black girl who was its subject. She argues that through these Black annotations and redactions, we see the lives of Black people beyond how they are portrayed by the state.
In the example of the mailbox “Go Vegan” and “Black Lives Matter” graffiti, the Black annotations and redactions make visible Black people who may or may not have been there before. As one of the graffiti writers asked, “You can’t buy tofu and vegetables because someone else is suffering?” Or, as Boisseron has asked, “Why should the black become so blatantly visible against the animal rights backdrop?” (2018, xix). In part, in October 2020, Black Lives Matter and Defund the Police were still central in the national conversation about social justice, and communities of all kinds were organizing under the slogans: “X for Black Lives.” As such, one reading of the annotations and redactions here is that it places animals in solidarity with Black people. Where, in the first poster, the rooster is meant to highlight the animal lives at stake in “going vegan,” through Black annotation and redaction, the rooster becomes an animal arguing for Black lives. Perhaps part of the appeal of this message, too, is that the animal rights posters I saw never highlighted how the environmental impact associated with farming animals impacts communities of color. Instead, I only saw comments on the experience of the Covid-19 pandemic as a whole (“Meat markets cause pandemics”). By avoiding how animals and people of color are connected, not merely compared, these posters invite people to write back to them—to paper over them, annotate and redact them—to highlight the diverse groups implicated in any project concerning animal rights.
Open Letters
I want to suggest another genre to make sense of this form of political graffiti: the open letter. Laurence Ralph, in his 2020 book The Torture Letters, experiments with the open letter as a form of ethnographic writing by writing open letters to a variety of people and groups affected by the cases of torture by police officers in Chicago between 1972 and 1991. Ralph writes that his method of “ethnographic lettering”—
includes three ways of layering field research. First, it transforms research “subjects” into “interlocutors” during the research process by focusing on the projects they are already invested in as a way to explore broader social problems; second, it includes exchanges with interlocutors in the research and writing phases of the project; and third, it positions one’s interlocutors and the communities they want to address as the primary audience for the ethnographic material that will ultimately be produced. (Ralph 2020, 192)
This method, he explains, is indebted to James Smith and Ngeti Mwadime’s Email from Ngeti (2014), which is written through the authors’ email correspondence; however, Ralph writes, “As I have written to a host of dead people, others who had no interest in responding to me, and to another group who did respond but whose responses are not included in this book, my idea of exchange is much more expansive than Smith and Mwadime’s approach” (Ralph 2020, 199). Ultimately, Ralph explains that his method of “ethnographic lettering”—and letter writing generally—requires an invested audience and “a sense of voice and a sense of purpose” (Ralph 2020, 199). Certainly, these criteria apply to any form of writing, but Ralph’s book of open letters does highlight the uniqueness of the open letter as a genre of writing.
If a standard letter’s audience is the named addressee, an open letter’s audience is not. It is possible, but not necessary, for the open letter that the addressee will read it. The audience of an open letter is the public, who is recruited to witness the writer speaking toward the addressee. Written in the second person, Cortázar’s story, “Graffiti,” functions similarly to an open letter as well. The reader is positioned as a witness to the narrator speaking to the artist she addresses as “you.” Similarly, the creators of the original animal rights graffiti posters need not ever return to their pieces for the graffiti commentators’ discussions to be effective, as the point of these layered posters, annotations, and revisions is to register disagreement or offer an alternative perspective rather than to change the original writer’s mind.
During the Covid-19 pandemic, open letters have also been an important mode of public art and activism in more official capacities. In response to anti-Chinese violence by people who blamed China for the pandemic, people around the country began “Love Letters to Chinatown” projects. Inspired by the first Love Letter initiative started by the Wing On Wo Project in New York’s Manhattan Chinatown, Pao Arts Center in Boston collected its own set of love letters to Boston’s Chinatown, which they translated into English and Chinese and posted around the neighborhood. Many of the letters are addressed to Chinatown as a whole, while others are addressed to specific shops and restaurants that people hold dear. First shared online and then posted throughout Chinatown, these open letters become part of the street art landscape of the neighborhood—ways of communicating support to a neighborhood particularly hard-hit by the pandemic, often by people who are no longer frequenting Chinatown’s streets due to public health concerns. Projects like these are fascinating ethnographic sites in themselves to consider the innovative ways that people have found to conduct public dialogues in public space, despite social distancing requirements. In conjunction with the graffitied conversations about animal rights and racial justice, these open letters shape how I read the possibilities of street art as a kind of letter writing. Rather than seeing graffiti only as a one-directional form of protest or speech more broadly, the graffitied discussions during the pandemic have served as forums for people occupying the same space at different times to argue over how to weigh concerns about animal rights and human rights and racialized and culturally specific approaches to food. With restrictions on public space, graffiti served as a mode for people to discuss some of the most fundamental issues about how Covid-19 impacted all of us yet impacted us differently.
Works Cited
Boisseron, Bénédicte. 2018. Afro-Dog: Blackness and the Animal Question. New York: Columbia University Press.
Cortázar, Julio. 1983. “Graffiti.” In We Love Glenda So Much and Other Tales, translated by Gregory Rabassa, 33–38. New York: Alfred A. Knopf.
Kim, Claire Jean. 2015. Dangerous Crossings: Race, Species, and Nature in a Multicultural Age. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press.
King, Michelle T. 2020. “Say No to Bat Fried Rice: Changing the Narrative of Coronavirus and Chinese Food.” Food and Foodways 28 (3): 237–49.
Kosek, Jake. 2006. Understories: The Political Life of Forests in Northern New Mexico. Durham, NC: Duke University Press.
Morrison, Toni. 1981. Tar Baby. New York: Vintage Books.
Nixon, Rob. 2011. Slow Violence and the Environmentalism of the Poor. Cambridge, MA.
Ralph, Laurence. 2020. The Torture Letters: Reckoning with Police Violence. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press.
Sharpe, Christina. 2016. In the Wake: On Blackness and Being. Durham, NC.
Struthers Montford, Kelly, and Chloe Taylor, eds. 2020. Colonialism and Animality: Anti-Colonial Perspectives in Critical Animal Studies. New York: Routledge.
Taylor, Dorceta. 2014. Toxic Communities: Environmental Racism, Industrial Pollution, and Residential Mobility. New York: New York University Press.
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reportwire · 1 year
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Does pot really make your memory worse? Here's what the science says
Does pot really make your memory worse? Here’s what the science says
Along with Bob Marley and velvet blacklight 420 posters, cannabis is strongly associated with memory loss. Stoner flicks like the 2000 movie “Dude, Where’s My Car?” plays this trope to absurd lengths, but a good deal of scientific evidence backs up the idea that if you toke up, you might struggle with total recall. Prohibitionists have been hand-wringing about the alleged damaging effects of…
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The Inspector has gone without a working BOOTH in the past and has lost the BOOTH for a few episodes here and there.
But, what if there were no BOOTH to use to travel across spacetime?
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qoomakuma · 2 years
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night of love with you: episode 2
episode 2 (spoilers):
i’m screaming at how after the kiss, luo qing just broke away and went limp against the couch then she was like “damn this heart attack is fr!!!” and leng yehan looked so unbothered as he was swirling the wine glass lmao. 
***
leng yehan looks like a puppy omg if evil why puppy!!! 
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leng yehan failed to beat the gay allegation 
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eyyyyy i think it would’ve been better if she just took a ride in his car bcs they’re meeting at the intersection later anyway? does she have other plans? 
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SHE TRICKED HIM but her choice of hiding place is...interesting 
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“i know you too well. a villain like you will kill me after knowing where i got my information.”
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“he’s in a vegetative state.” EXCUSE ME? is this show meant to take a jab on these kinds of tropes 
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spacesweepers · 2 years
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Sorry for Succ discoursing on main, but Succ isn’t saying that queerness is decadent bourgeois degeneracy just because it’s implied of amoral wealthy characters. It’s actually one of the few points where the audience can sympathize with the Roy siblings, and reading the characters through that lens deepens understandings of them because their emotionally and physically abusive father is so homophobic (and the characters who knew them as children did nothing to intervene on their behalf). 
Roman's alleged affair with his male trainer was brought up by Gerri in s2 and Shiv in s3, and that relationship, whatever it may have been, and the fact that something is “wrong” with him, are framed as threats to him and the family, and are constantly weaponized against him or used to belittle him.
With Kendall, there's whatever went on with Stewy, and also the cruising subtext with the waiter: their conversation sounds like a pick-up, they get into a car, and then “Uptown Girl” plays, which is arguably about both the waiter and Kendall, and Tom and Shiv. The idea of a pick-up is bolstered by the fact that the waiter also took Greg home with him the previous night. The fandom likes to joke about Logan being like, “Fellas, is it gay to kill someone in a car crash?,” but yes, of course it is! Logan asking if Kendall tried to fuck Andrew Dodds wasn’t out of nowhere. If Dodds was a waitress, even if nothing happened, people would be like, oh, the mistress? It’s the classic fiction trope of a powerful rich man's partyboy lifestyle killing a disposable working class lover, and it happens in real life as well! This was assumed to be the case in the fictional Myrtle Wilson's death (though it wasn’t), and also in the death of the real Mary Jo Kopechne, which inspired this plot line. There’s additional weight to Logan holding the waiter’s death over Kendall’s head because there’s the implicit threat of Logan outing Kendall in addition to everything else.
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I have a request with dark prompts and tropes/ kinks from the list.
The Dialogues:
“Please, I have to get home.”
“Don’t move a muscle.”
Tropes:
Stalking/obsession
Kidnapping
(With the character Andy Barber)
Thank you in advance.
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Hard day's night
Warning: 18 + Only, dark theme, kidnapping, choking, bondage, non-consent, dubious consent, forced fingering, cream-pie
Note: hope you enjoy
Dark Andy x Reader
The parking garage was partially empty compared to when you first arrived to work. Your heels echoed off the cement garage walls as you searched for where you parked. Some days you were lucky to park on L3 the prized spot closest to the ground, but today you were late and in your hurry you couldn't remember if you were on L5 or L8.
With the car fob in hand you press the unlock button. The familiar beep signaled that you were further away than you anticipated.
*Honk
The loud car horn from behind had you jumping out of your skin and screeching at the top of your lungs. With your heart hammering in your chest you turned only to be immediately blinded by the car behind you.
Blocking the light with your hand, you realized you were wondering in the middle of the driving path. "Sorry" you shouted back, moving over to allow them to pass you.
The black sedan creeped up and idled beside you. You clutched your purse and moved over closer to the side as the window rolled down. You didn't have mace, but you were sure your purse was heavy enough to wheeled as a weapon.
"Sorry I scared you" Andy leaned over, smiling as he looked up at you. It was slightly jarring seeing him like that. He had been extremely combative towards your boss during the deposition, each session ending in a screaming match.
Mr. Thomas, the defense attorney you paralegal for, had always been mild tempered. The objections during Mr. Thomas's cross drew an ire that you had never witnessed before. It was as if he sought to provoke him on purpose. Tempers were so high that Judge Peters threatened both sides with contempt, forcing several recesses to cool them off.
A process that normally lasted a few hours somehow turned into three grueling days of high tensions and long nights going over transcripts.
"Sorry I was in the way. I forgot where I parked." You jiggled your keys, almost embarrassed.
"Get in I'll help you find it. It's really late and you shouldn't be walking alone in the garage like this."
The offer was nice, but getting into the car of opposing console would surely be frowned apron at your firm.
You were about to protest when he unlocked the passenger door. With a sigh of defeat you got inside. Thankfully Mr. Thomas parked in reserved parking on the lower levels. Far from the general parking on the upper floors that you used.
"I assume your late because of me" he laughed lightly as he slowly drove on.
"Yeah its safe to say you are correct" you dryly chuckled as you hid low in the seat. The garage was slightly empty, but you didn't want to take the chance of being seen as doing something inappropriate. Idiot why did you get in the car?
Aside from him being apposing console Mr.Barber made you feel uneasy. During the hours long deposition you would feel a weird tingle, that made you look up from your notepad only to look up and lock eyes with the DA. You shrugged it off as an intimidation tactic used to get under the skin of the opposition.
---
Clicking your fob again you listened for your car, but somehow you were now further than you were originally. "Oh gosh can we turn back? I think I' m further up."
Andy nodded as he continued down the path. The signs above indicating 'More parking turn left' and 'Exit turn right'.
"Why are you still here?" You questioned him as you searched. The deposition ran long, but it ended hours ago.
"Oh.." He said caught off guard as he made a right turn toward the exit. "I spotted an old colleague John Wilson. We chatted for a bit, didn't and realize how late it was until the old ball and chain called."
Your office had a few former district attorneys. Most left the DA's office for the more lucrative life of defense.
"Um Mr.Barber.. you needed to make the left to go back into the garage." You pointed back when Andy made the right turn toward the garage exit.
"You know I'm impressed by your professionalism." Andy ignored and continued down the wrong path. "Thomas is lucky to have you on his team" he explained as he rolled to a stop behind a car inline to exit.
"Um thank you." You shifted in your seat at the impromptued complement. You hadn't done anything special or out of the ordinary. You just took notes like any other paralegal would.
Was he head hunting you? You heard about big firms doing stuff like that, but not for paralegals that were a dime a dozen.
Andy made no effort to change course and you felt increasingly uncomfortable as he inched closer to the exit.
"Um...you know I will just get security to escort me to my car from here." You pointed at the man in the glass box guarding the exit. "Thank you" you reached over to touch the door handle and heard an immediate click of the lock snapping shut.
"Don't move a muscle." You froze at his command.
"I wouldn't get out if I were you." He warned glancing at the rear-view. "Your boss might frown at you getting out of the apposing consoles car."
Stiffly you turned to peak over your seat, a cold chill fell over your body at the sight of Mr. Thomas car waiting in line behind Andy's in the queue. If you got out now you would be in deep shit. You slunk down low in the seat, in a veiled effort to hide. You shouldn't have gotten in this car. What the hell were you thinking?
"Come work for me" Andy casually grabbed his ticket to feed to the machine as he rolled to a stop. So this was just a job offer? If that was the case you were sure there were better ways to go about it. You had a nice chemistry with the old defense attorney and you were not interested in the stress of the DA's office or the pay cut you were sure to get.
"Um I'm not looking for a new job." You rejected him nervously. Hoping he would turn around and let you out.
"At least here my offer."
It seemed as you had no choice in the matter as he proceeded to pull out onto the road.
Your lips pressed into a frown. If you placate him, maybe he would let you go. He was a DA after all he wasn't going to hurt you tried to convince yourself.
"Fine, what is it?"
---
"Come work for me and I don't charge you with witness tempering"
Your eyes went wild at the allegation. "What!"
A lot of firms were dirty, but yours was not one of them. The cases you handled with Mr. Thomas didn't even rise to that level. At most he handled cases of over zealous brokers, financial fraud cases or embezzlement. The only time you ever came in contact with a witness Mr.Thomas was there with you. And even if it did you would never take penitentiary chances to get a leg up on the competition.
"Don't worry it's not true. I know your a good girl" he glanced over at you with a smirk. The praise graded you as you sat still stunned. "But that won't stop me from charging you. I'm willing to bet that until you get yourself untangled from the mess I am going to make of your life, your boss and his associates wouldn't think twice about letting you go."
You stared at him in disbelief. You barely said two words to this man, yet he was ready to blow up your life. And for what? For you to work for him? "And from what I know of paralegal salaries I would bet you could afford a public defender at best."
"Mr. Thomas would defend me" you scoffed.
"I wouldn't count on it. Because I would take him down too if he tried." He was serious.
You fell back on the seat as your head swam with the madness. You tried to think what you could've done to bring this on.
--
You had been to the DA's office a handful of times so when you saw the familiar building in the horizon you shrunk further in the leather seat.
Andy pulled into a reserved parking spot as the clock crept closer to midnight.
You didn't belong here. Maybe if you got out you could run for it. Make a mad dash somewhere and call the cops. But what would you say? The DA threatened you with a job, kidnapped you and took you to his office? They would think you were insane.
"Let's start your interview." He announced as he killed the engine. You pursed your lips and frowned deeply.
You were being made to interview for a job you didn't want nor ask for.
“Please, I have to get home.”
Andy paid you no mind, slamming the door in the face of your plea. Your eyes followed him as he headed toward the stone steps to the building.
What did he expect for you to do? Show up tomorrow at your office and sit on prosecutions side? You doubted the judge nor your boss would allow that to fly.
You watched him as you stayed paralyzed in the car. This had to be a joke or a dream. Had you slipped in the parking garage earlier and bumped your head. You tried pinching yourself to snap out of it only to be disheartened by the gravity of this situation.
---
Andy led you down the empty hallways, until he stopped at a door that bared his name.
You stood back while he unlocked it and motioned you to go inside. You couldn't move, dread cemented you in place. It was a miracle he had got you to come this far.
Andy tsked and shook his head in disappointment as he walked inside.
You tried to play back every encounter, every word you could've uttered that could've spearheaded this, but there was nothing.
You would've been surprised if he even knew your name, you couldn't even recall it being mentioned during the depositions.
While you drowned in despair Andy shimmed out of his blazer, tossing it on a chair off to the side.
"You're wasting your potential with Thomas" Andy declared, perching himself on the edge of his desk.
"I can tell your very focused and career driven." He continued on. It was surreal, watching him unbutton and roll up his sleeves. Like a disappointed father ready to reprimand their child.
"I noticed it from the start." The anticipation of what was to come became too much under the weight of his stare. You hugged yourself defensively while warm Tears streamed down your cheek.
It was as if he were a wolf ready to swallow you whole. You squeezed your eyes shut unable to hold his stare.
"Eyes on me" he said firmly. You sniffed uncontrollably as you forced them back open. "Good girl" Andy praised, adjusting his cock. He delighted in this, wetting his bottom lip, reveling in your discomfort.
"With a little more discipline and guidance you will reach your full potential. And I want to help you do that" Andy grunted as he loosened then knot of his tie.
Andy stayed sat before you unmoved by your tears as he slipped the fabric from around his neck, pulling it taunt with one hand while wrapping it around the other.
"You just need a firm hand to mold you. Or you can stay out there and watch as I turn your world upside down."
What could you say? He had you where he wanted you. You held your head low, sobbing to yourself as you approached him. You were no match for the power of the DA's office.
Andy rose from his perch and circled you like a shark with blood in the water. "Hands behind your back." He whispered into the shell of your ear. You looked back at him eyes wet with tears pleading. He sighed disappointed again taking matters into his own hands. You whimpered as he pried your hands from their hold, forcing them behind your back.
"Please Mr. Barber " you chanted as he encompassed your wrist with the tie. Knotting it so tight you feared for the circulation of your hands.
---
Andy's firm body pressed against you, his arms wrapped around you, roaming your body freely. The fabric of the tie burned as you struggled to free yourself. He ripped open your cheap blouse with ease, groping your breast over your bra. You withered in his embrace, unable to fight back.
"You made it hard to concentrate" he hummed into your neck while he played with your hard nipples over the fabric. The heat of his breath and the kneading of your breast electrified the coil that tightened in your core.
You tried to crouch into your shoulders, but Andy cupped your chin harshly. Forcing you to expose your neck to him and endure his assault. You went rigid when his other hand started to trail down your abdomen, tunneling past your waistline in desperate pursuit of your mound.
"Sitting so quiet, taking notes."
Your tears glazed Andy's hand as he forced you to look at him as he plunged beneath the elastic of your panties. His eyes clouded with lust at the sight of your facial contortions. Your clit buzzed as his fingers moved over it. You clamped your thighs tightly around his palm in an effort to stop further intrusion, but he pressed on. Rubbing firmly against your mound repeatedly, sparking an unwanted warmth. You felt shame and guilt as heat pooled in his hand.
"Hmmm so ready to be my perfect little helper." Andy purred.
"Are you ready to be molded by me" he teased. Andy pushed his fingers inside of you, releasing a gasp you could not contain.
"Fuck you're so tight" Andy cursed in your ear while he fingered you.
You bit down on your lip to stop the moan trapped in your throat. The embarrassing wetness, the involuntary moans, it was as if your body no longer belonged to you. Andy manipulated you like a puppet on a string.
You exhaled deeply when he pulled his fingers from you and released your neck. You panted from the over stimulation.
He built up a need and left you cradling on the edge. Without warning Andy spun you by the shoulder to face him.
"Look at you my needy little helper. Ready to learn." He smirked at you.
Your eyes went wide when he began unfastening his belt. You didn't want to find out what he would use that for. Your flight response started to kick into high gear as he closed the space between you.
Reflexively you took a step backwards, almost stumbling to the floor when you tripped on the leg of the chair behind you.
There was no way out of the room without going past him. You doubted you would get far even if you tried. The back of your legs hit his desk, halting your movements.
"Gonna be my perfect little helper?"
You opened your mouth to finally scream, but Andy swiftly rushed you. The grip on your neck felt deadly as you croaked. He leaned his weight on you, tipping you over until you slammed hard on his desk.
Whatever trinkets he had on his desk dug into your back and arms painfully. Andy wedged himself between your thighs, and haphazardly fumbled with his pants. Pushing them down with one hand as he kept you pinned with the other. You bucked and squirmed when you felt his need pressed on your pelvis.
Your skirt had rode up past your waist leaving your thin panties the last line of defense.
"Don't do this please Mr. Barber please I'll work for you please." Choked out incoherently.
You bucked more feverishly when he yanked your panties to the side. The tip of his cock lined up against your entrance.
"That's it. That's my good little helper. So wet for me." Andy praised as his sunk into you as he kept a firm hold on your neck. Your pussy pulsed around him as you strained to adjust. He made you painfully full.
Andy lifted up your left thigh, allowing himself to sink deeper. The added weight of him on top of you married with the pain from your arms.
His focused grip on your neck helped muffle your mewls, but not the sloppy sounds of your cunt. You turned away from his face as he rolled his hips into you. Only to be met with the smiling faces of his family. The facade of his wholesome life seemingly entrained by your predicament.
"Perfect little cunt fits me so well."
Your pussy clenched with every praise to your shame. There was no way to bite back the need he fed deep within you. Your stomach tensed as a staggered moan fell from your mouth.
Your feet curled in the air as your thighs squeezed around him. You felt of mix of shame and disappointment as you came around his cock.
Loosening his grip on your neck Andy could no longer hold himself back. He filled you to the brim, his seed seeped out of you as you milked him dry.
He laid on you briefly, panting heavily before pulling off. Carefully adjusting himself as he watched his cum drizzle down your raw cunt. "Get yourself cleaned up. We have cross in a few hours."
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Everything You Didn’t Know About Black-Eyed Children & The 5 Creepiest Reported Sightings
Cannock Chase is a quaint, British park by all respects.
Nestled in Staffordshire is a small plot of greenery featuring a model WW1 battlefield, an archaeological exhibit and a ribbon of mountain biking paths. But this so-far hidden gem of the Midlands is also concealing a dark secret.
Since the 1980s, strange things have been seen and heard in the dark of the Cannock Chase woods.
Reports coalesce around typical paranormal phenomena: werewolves, UFOs and even Bigfoot allegedly have been sighted here in the past. But there’s one creature that has both tormented and terrified visitors since the 1980s.
It’s the black-eyed children.
Back in 2013, a woman was walking with her child through Birches Valley when they heard a scream.
The maternal instinct kicked in; she took off running with child in tow until she found a young girl, no more than 10 years old. Her hands were covering her face.
“Are you alright? Was it you that was screaming, love?”
The young girl slowly removed her hands from her face and put her arms by her side. She blinked her big, innocent eyes.
Black eyes.
No iris. No white. Just black.
The woman was jolted back in fear, grabbing her own child before turning back to that thing that stood before her. But it was gone. After they left, she couldn’t help but ruminate on this anxiety she felt even before she heard the screams.
A distinctive feeling of dread.
She would not be the only one to see such things, nor to experience that terror. Today we return to Cannock Chase and explore the worldwide phenomena of black-eyed children.
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What Are Black Eyed Children?
We have this thing about creepy children. We’re obsessed. They drive the narratives of the horror genre and they lead us down the rabbit holes of our most disturbing urban legends.
That’s what makes this little-sighted and not-so-mysterious paranormal phenomena quite so famous.
Black-eyed children are 6 to 16-year-olds with pale skin and jet black eyes. They are often seen hitchhiking, begging or turning up at doorsteps and they will always ask for something. Could be to enter your car, could be to come into your house. They will ask for something and insist upon it - they try to make a verbal connection with you.
This is important.
A few other features have been noted: they might be wearing old-fashioned clothing or they could have talon-like feet. But above all, the most striking feature of encountering a black-eyed child is this overwhelming sense of dread.
Like most paranormal phenomena, there are several theories that lay claim to black-eyed children.
Are they aliens attempting to infiltrate society? Trying to get back to their home planet?
Are they the ghosts of the missing children that just disappeared into the shadows?
Or are they children of the devil? Demonic entities searching for souls?
The latter two, according to alleged sightings, fit the theories better. There’s always an emphasis in the stories of making a connection with the human victim. This aligns closely with ghostlore: communicating with a spirit is a bit like ‘inviting them in’. It gives them power and allows them to latch onto you.
It’s an invisible contract you can only break with specific spiritual know-how.
On another level, some believe the children’s questions are designed to test you with temptation - the buzzword of the devil himself.
However, black-eyed children aren’t as much of a paranormal phenomena as they are an urban legend. Sightings are far and few between, often only shared on creepypasta websites or by word of mouth.
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So, Why Is The Black-eyed Child Such A Popular Urban Legend?
Two reasons: it's easy for us to visualise a black-eyed spooky child as opposed to a werewolf or a vampire or a ghost, and we’ve been spoonfed the trope of the creepy child since we first watched horror films from behind our hands.
The creepy child trope taps into our innate instinct to protect the innocent.
But it’s this same drive to protect that stirs suspicion; a mysterious child is considered a disguise for a darker force. They’re a trap for innocent human victims.
The origins of this urban legend vary. It cannot be traced back to one sighting or to one story. They formed independently on either side of The Pond at the same time.
Does this confirm their potential existence?
That’s up to you.
In the US, the urban legend first found its feet in the 1980s but was popularised by Texas journalist Brian Bethel in 1996. He reported on his own encounter with two black eyed children (his experience is included later in this article).
Stories similar to this slowly emerged after the 2012 horror film Black Eyed Kids. In the 2010s, following the introduction of creepypasta to mainstream internet culture, the phenomena sunk its teeth into modern ghost stories.
In the UK’s alternative history, black-eyed children are actually local to Staffordshire, with the first sightings of a black-eyed young girl here in the 1980s. The sightings at Cannock Chase - though rare - are a very real topic of discussion in the area. But the alleged origins have the dark twist that the American version is missing.
These sightings are positioned on the site where three young girls were kidnapped, sexually assaulted, and murdered in the 1960s. They were the victims of what is now known as the A34 murders.
In 2014, the Daily Star (a not-so-reputable tabloid) splashed the sightings of the black-eyed girls across their front pages, linking the phenomena to a local haunted pub. The “shock rise” of reported sightings coincided with the surge of pop culture notoriety in the US.
The 5 Most Infamous Sightings Of Black-eyed Children
#1 - Cannock Chase, 1982
We start ith the first alleged sighting of the black-eyed child. This is the testimony of Lee Brickley, a paranormalist who has researched the paranormal phenomena local to the area:
“In the summer of 1982, my aunt was 18 years old, and she and her friends would often meet on Cannock Chase in the evening time, probably in much the same way many teenagers still do today.
One evening, just before dark, she heard a little girl frantically shouting for help. Rushing to locate the sound, she stumbled upon a dirt track and caught sight of the girl, about six years old running in the opposite direction.
When my aunt caught up, the girl turned around and looked her in the eyes, and then ran off into the dark woodland. Her eyes had been completely black with no trace of white.
There was a police search but to no avail.”
Before we turn to the American sightings, the British version of the phenomena is unique in that often only one child is spotted. In the US, they typically come in pairs.
#2 - Texas, 1996
I’ve already mentioned Brian Bethel - the man that introduced black-eyed children to America. This is his story:
The news reporter was in a car park just outside of a cinema when he was writing a cheque.
He noticed halfway through signing the cheque when he noticed that two young boys were standing outside of his car.
*tap tap*
The older boy was rapping on the driver’s side window. Upon seeing them, gut-wretching dread swept through his body. He rolled down the window out of concern for the children.
They told him they wanted to see a movie but left their money at home. They asked if he could give them a ride back to their house so they could get some cash. They assured him they were just two kids and that they didn’t have a gun.
Bethel found these reassurances odd.
It was when he broke eye contact with them that his concerns only grew. His fear swelled. And then he picked up something even stranger about them. Their eyes were completely blacked out.
Bethel told them he wouldn’t give them a ride and sped out of the parking lot.
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#3 - Virginia, 1950
This is one of the earliest accounts of black-eyed children.
Harold was a 16 year old student walking home from school when he saw a teenage boy - much like himself - leaning against a fence. He looked like he was waiting for something. Harold tried to speak to him, perhaps to say hello or ask if he needed help.
The boy did not respond.
Harold started to walk away when he heard from behind him:
“I want to go to your house. You’re going to walk me up to your house.”
Harold turned towards him again and noticed something new about the boy. His eyes were solid black. So, he started running.
“Now, don’t you run away from me. You’re going to walk me up to your house.”
He kept running until he heard a scream. He recalls that it sounded like the scream of a bobcat.
#4 - Aisne (France), 1974
Yes, the phenomenon has been reported outside of the English-speaking world.
In the 70s, two men were driving around a small French village when they decided they needed to do a 3-point-turn in the road to reach their destination. But mid-turn, they saw something strange in the courtyard opposite them.
There were 5 figures standing in the darkness. They were 4 foot tall and draped in long, flowing robes. Their hair was long and dangling down to their waists. Their eyes were black.
One of them gestured to the men in the car to come into the courtyard.
Naturally, they put their foot down and got the f*ck outta there.
They later asked local villagers if they had seen these young children. One neighbour claimed he thought they were children and saw them playing in the road.
#5 - North Carolina, 2009
An anonymous US Marine was near the barracks where he lived when there was a knock at the door.
He expected it to be his roommate and without hesitation opened the door. But there stood not his roommate but 2 small children with dark pits for eyes.
Fear flooded his body. He fought the urge to slam the door shut. The children said it was cold outside and that they wanted to come inside to read. They stepped towards him and he slammed the door shut. They continued to knock at the door, but eventually stopped.
He asked around the base the next day but no one saw a similar sighting.
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Have you ever seen a black-eyed child?
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kuramirocket · 3 years
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Whenever I visit Olvera Street, as I did a couple of weeks ago, my walk through the historic corridor is always the same.
Start at the plaza. Pass the stand where out-of-towners and politicians have donned sombreros and serapes for photos ever since the city turned this area into a tourist trap in 1930.
Look at the vendor stalls. Wonder if I need a new guayabera. Gobble up two beef taquitos bathed in avocado salsa at Cielito Lindo. Then return to my car and go home.
I’ve done this walk as a kid, and as an adult. For food crawls and quick lunches. With grad students on field trips, and with the late Anthony Bourdain for an episode of his “Parts Unknown.”
This last visit was different, though: I had my own camera crew with me.
My last chance at Hollywood fame was going to live or die on Olvera Street.
I was shooting a sizzle reel — footage that a producer will turn into a clip for television executives to determine whether I’m worthy of a show. In this case, I want to turn my 2012 book “Taco USA: How Mexican Food Conquered America” into the next “Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives.” Or “Somebody Feed Phil.” Or an Alton Brown ripoff. Or a TikTok series.
Anything at this point, really.
For more than a decade, I’ve tried to break into Hollywood with some success — but the experience has left me cynical. Personal experience and the historical record have taught me that studios and streamers still want Mexicans to stay in the same cinematic lane that American film has paved for more than a century. We’re forever labeled… something. Exotic. Dangerous. Weighed down with problems. Never fully developed, autonomous humans. Always “Mexican.”
Even if we’re natives of Southern California. Especially if we’re natives of Southern California.
I hope my sizzle reel will lead to something different. I doubt it will because the issue is systemic. Industry executives, producers, directors and scriptwriters can only portray the Mexicans they know — and in a perverse, self-fulfilling prophecy, they mostly only know the Mexicans their industry depicts even in a region where Latinos make up nearly half the population.
The vicious cycle even infects creators like me.
As the film crew and I left for our next location, I stopped and looked around. We were right where I began, except I now looked south on Main Street. The plaza was to my left. City Hall loomed on the horizon. The vista was the same as the opening scene of “Bordertown,” a 1935 Warner Bros. film I had seen the night before. It was the first Hollywood movie to address modern-day Mexican Americans in Los Angeles.
What I saw was more than déjà vu. It was a reminder that 86 years later, Hollywood’s Mexican problem hasn’t really progressed at all.
Birth of a stereotype
Screen misrepresentation of Mexicans isn’t just a longstanding wrong; it’s an original sin. And it has an unsurprising Adam: D.W. Griffith.
He’s most infamous for reawakening the Ku Klux Klan with his 1915 epic “The Birth of a Nation.” Far less examined is how Griffith’s earliest works also helped give American filmmakers a language with which to typecast Mexicans.
Two of his first six films were so-called “greaser” movies, one-reelers where Mexican Americans were racialized as inherently criminal and played by white people. His 1908 effort “The Greaser’s Gauntlet” is the earliest film to use the slur in its title. Griffith filmed at least eight greaser movies on the East Coast before heading to Southern California in early 1910 for better weather.
The new setting allowed Griffith to double down on his Mexican obsession. He used the San Gabriel and San Juan Capistrano missions as backdrops for melodramas embossed with the Spanish Fantasy Heritage, the white California myth that romanticized the state’s Mexican past even as it discriminated against the Mexicans of the present.
In films such as his 1910 shorts “The Thread of Destiny,” “In Old California” (the first movie shot in what would become Hollywood) and “The Two Brothers,” Griffith codified cinematic Mexican characters and themes that persist. The reprobate father. The saintly mother. The wayward son. The idea that Mexicans are forever doomed because they’re, well, Mexicans.
Griffith based his plots not on how modern-day Mexicans actually lived, but rather on how white people thought they did. 
A riot nearly broke out as Latinos felt the scene mocked them. It was perhaps the earliest Latino protest against negative depictions of them on the big screen.
But the threat of angry Mexicans didn’t kill greaser movies. Griffith showed the box-office potential of the genre, and many American cinematic pioneers dabbled in them. Thomas Edison’s company shot some, as did its biggest rival, Vitagraph Studios. So did Mutual Film, an early home for Charlie Chaplin. Horror legend Lon Chaney played a greaser. The first western star, Broncho Billy Anderson, made a career out of besting them.
These films were so noxious that the Mexican government in 1922 banned studios that produced them from the country until they “retired... denigrating films from worldwide circulation,” according to a letter that Mexican President Álvaro Obregón wrote to his Secretariat of External Relations. The gambit worked: the greaser films ended. Screenwriters instead reimagined Mexicans as Latin lovers, Mexican spitfires, buffoons, peons, mere bandits and other negative stereotypes.
That’s why “Bordertown” surprised me when I finally saw it. The Warner Bros. movie, starring Paul Muni as an Eastside lawyer named Johnny Ramirez and Bette Davis as the temptress whom he spurns, was popular when released. Today, it’s almost impossible to see outside of a hard-to-find DVD and an occasional Muni marathon on Turner Classic Movies.
Based on a novel of the same name; Muni was a non-Mexican playing a Mexican. Johnny Ramirez had a fiery temper, a bad accent and repeatedly called his mother (played by Spanish actress Soledad Jiminez ) “mamacita,” who in turn calls him “Juanito.” The infamous, incredulous ending has Ramirez suddenly realizing the vacuity of his fast, fun life and returning to the Eastside “back where I belong ... with my own people.” And the film’s poster features a bug-eyed, sombrero-wearing Muni pawing a fetching Davis, even though Ramirez never made a move on Davis’ character or wore a sombrero.
These and other faux pas (like Ramirez’s friends singing “La Cucaracha” at a party) distract from a movie that didn’t try to mask the discrimination Mexicans faced in 1930s Los Angeles. Ramirez can’t find justice for his neighbor, who lost his produce truck after a drunk socialite on her way back from dinner at Las Golondrinas on Olvera Street smashed into it. That very socialite, whom Ramirez goes on to date (don’t ask), repeatedly calls him “Savage” as a term of endearment. When Ramirez tires of American bigotry and announces he’s moving south of the border to run a casino, a priest in brownface asks him to remain.
“For what?” Ramirez replies. “So those white little mugs who call themselves gentlemen and aristocrats can make a fool out of me?”
“Bordertown” sprung up from Warner Bros.’ Depression-era roster of social-problem films that served as a rough-edged alternative to the escapism offered by MGM, Disney and Paramount. But its makers committed the same error Griffith did: They fell back on tropes instead of talking to Mexicans right in front of them who might offer a better tale.
Just take the first shot of “Bordertown,” the one I inadvertently recreated on my television shoot.
Under a title that reads “Los Angeles … the Mexican Quarter,” viewers see Olvera Street’s plaza emptier than it should be. That’s because just four years earlier, immigration officials rounded up hundreds of individuals at that very spot. The move was part of a repatriation effort by the American government that saw them boot about a million Mexicans — citizens and not — from the United States during the 1930s.
Following that opening shot is a brief glimpse of a theater marquee that advertises a Mexican music trio called Los Madrugadores (“The Early Risers”). They were the most popular Spanish-language group in Southern California at the time, singing traditional corridos but also ballads about the struggles Mexicans faced in the United States. Lead singer Pedro J. González hosted a popular AM radio morning show heard as far away as Texas that mixed music and denunciations against racism.
By the time “Bordertown” was released in 1935, Gonzalez was in San Quentin, jailed by a false accusation of statutory rape pursued by an L.A. district attorney’s office happy to lock up a critic. He was freed in 1940 after the alleged victim recanted her confession, then summarily deported to Tijuana, where Gonzalez continued his career before returning to California in the 1970s.
Doesn’t Gonzalez and his times make a better movie than “Bordertown”? Warner Bros. could have offered a bold corrective to the image of Mexican Americans if they had just paid attention to their own footage! Instead, Gonzalez’s saga wouldn’t be told on film until a 1984 documentary and 1988 drama.
Both were shot in San Diego. Both received only limited screenings at theaters across the American Southwest and an airing on PBS before going on video. No streamer carries it.
How Hollywood imagines Mexicans versus how we really are turned real for me in 2013, when I became a consulting producer for a Fox cartoon about life on the U.S.-Mexico border.
The title? “Bordertown.”
It aired in 2015 and lasted one season. I enjoyed the end product. I even got to write an episode, which just so happened to be the series finale.
The gig was a dream long deferred. My bachelor’s degree from Chapman University was in film. I had visions of becoming the brown Tarantino or a Mexican Truffaut before journalism got in the way. Over the years, there was Hollywood interest in articles or columns I wrote but never anything that required I do more than a couple of meetings — or scripts by white screenwriters that went nowhere.
But “Bordertown” opened up more doors for me and inspired me to give Hollywood a go.
While I worked on the cartoon, I got another consulting producer credit on a Fusion special for comedian Al Madrigal and sold a script to ABC that same year about gentrification in Boyle Heights through the eyes of a restaurant years before the subject became a trend. Pitch meetings piled up with so much frequency that my childhood friends coined a nickname for me: Hollywood Gus.
My run wouldn’t last long. The microagressions became too annoying.
The veteran writers on “Bordertown” rolled their eyes any time I said that one of their jokes was clichéd, like the one about how eating beans gave our characters flatulent superpowers or the one about a donkey show in Tijuana. Or when they initially rejected a joke about menudo, saying no one knew what the soup was, and they weren’t happy when another Latino writer and I pointed out that you’re pretty clueless if you’ve lived in Southern California for a while and don’t know what menudo is.
The writers were so petty, in fact, that they snuck a line into the animated “Bordertown” where the main character said, “There’s nothing worse than a Mexican with glasses” — which is now my public email to forever remind me of how clueless Hollywood is.
The insults didn’t bother me so much as the insight I gained from those interactions: The only Latinos most Hollywood types know are the janitors and security guards at the studio, and nannies and gardeners at their homes. The few Latinos in the industry I met had assimilated into this worldview as well.
Could I blame them for their ignorance when it came to capturing Mexican American stories, especially those in Southern California? Of course I can.
What ended any aspirations for a full-time Hollywood career was a meeting with a television executive shortly after ABC passed on my Boyle Heights script (characters weren’t believable, per the rejection). They repeatedly asked that I think about doing a show about my father’s life, which didn’t interest me. Comedies about immigrant parents are clichéd at this point. So one day I blurted that I was more interested in telling my stories.
I never heard from the executive again.
A pair of boots
Five years later, and that Hollywood dream just won’t leave me.
I’m not leaving journalism. But at this point, I just want to prove to myself that I can help exorcise D.W. Griffith’s anti-Mexican demons from Hollywood once and for all. That I can show the Netflix honcho they were wrong for passing on a “Taco USA” series with the excuse that the topic of Mexican food in the United States was too “limited.” And the Food Network people who said they just couldn’t see a show about the subject as being as “fun” as it was. Or the bigtime Latino actor’s production company who wanted the rights to my "¡Ask a Mexican!” book, then ghosted me after I said I didn’t hold them but I did own the rights to my brain.
When this food-show sizzle reel gets cut, and I start my Hollywood jarabe anew, I’ll keep in mind a line in “Bordertown” that Johnny Ramirez said: “An American man can lift himself up by his bootstraps. All he needs is strength and a pair of boots.”
Mexicans have had the strength since forever in this town. But can Hollywood finally give us the botas?
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alatismeni-theitsa · 4 years
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It feels like grasping for proper revelancy in modern retellings of Greek heroes and gods but it felt a little good seeing Rick Riordan confirm in his telling that Artemis is Aro/Ace unlike Rachel and her alleged weird "the closer to a certain color" sex trope
I totally get what you are saying (especially the relevancy and representation part because I don’t belong to The Straights™) but personally I think those statements are plain pandering and completely dismiss the cultural context in which Artemis decided to stay a virgin.
The motivation of Artemis for staying a virgin hunting in the woods and punishing men who disrespected her is a totally different thing than “I cannot feel sexual/romantic attraction but I have to live in a society where if you don’t want romance or sex you are ubnormal, so my whole life I felt something was wrong with me.” I don’t see this struggle presented in Artemis’ character and her orientation was never the point of her myths (the decision to stay a virgin was). Plus, aro/ace people can totally have/want relationships and marriage.
Now, in a fantasy world/scenario can you say that Artemis is aro/ace? Definitely. It was never stated that she was not aro/ace and since she didn’t do romantic relationships and marriage you can assume she was. Are Riordan or Smythe hurting the Greek culture by saying that in their stories Artemis has this orientation? I don’t think so.
However, as I said before, it seems like silly pandering to me. I don’t think we should make our own versions/canons for gods and important figures of any culture to feel represented. It’s not polite in the first place, imposing assumptions to those figures because they are so far removed from the current culture and era. I don’t think it is our place, even if we are Greeks and even if we worship the gods. Of course we can still do it (freedom of expression and all). This is me expressing an opinion, not attacking anyone personally.
Additionally, taking figures from cultures and deciding that they are queer in a particular story feels so empty to me. I mean, good for those authors that they make their characters diverse but I don’t feel it has any particular meaning - especially if the statement is made years after the book is out and outside of the book! (To my knowledge).
I want new diverse characters who are closer to me. I want them on movie posters and book covers, becoming the new idols of our generation. How is the “confirmation” of an ancient deity being queer in one book series does that? How am I supposed to relate to an ancient deity who is queer in just one version of an extremely modern story? It’s so generic and at the same time extremely specific. it does nothing to me. It’s like trying to save an old car by slappin on it the newest paint availiable. It would be more satisfying and life changing if you bought a new car.
At the end of the day, those are just my thoughts on the matter... You don’t have to agree with me, of course. I am not here to demand my thoughts become everyone’s thoughts and I don’t aim to police anyone else’s opinion. You are not a bad person if you are happy about what Smythe and Riordan did. I totally understand that some young people who are aro/ace may feel joy knowing that Riordan (and maybe Smythe) considers Artemis aro/ace and this warms my heart. The aro/ace community should be more visible and this blog certainly supports aro/ace people.
TL;DR: It’s not a bad thing what Riordan did but I feel a little weird about it.
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