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coochiequeens · 1 year

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This is the perfect example of how transwomen have male socialization. He does something tasteless and gets criticized by women. And instead of looking inward and asking himself if there are more productive ways of breaking down gender roles (like maybe showing himself doing laundry and how to take care of clothes instead of collecting more props) he calls the women hateful.

A controversial male social media influencer is sparking backlash after an Instagram video he made scolding women began to circulate on social media. In the video, Jeffery Marsh, who identifies as non-binary, addressed a past sponsorship he had been offered to promote tampons and other feminine hygiene products.

Last month, Marsh posted a video to his Instagram page speaking to “the ladies of Twitter, especially” over “hate” he received for a tampon ad campaign he took part in. After being uploaded to other social media platforms, the video began to spark backlash, amassing hundreds of critical comments from women concerned about female erasure.

In the video, Marsh addresses the “hate” he received for a paid campaign he took part in with feminine hygiene product brand This is L. The partnership had actually taken place in 2020, but had recently begun receiving new attention after images from the photoshoot with Marsh were shared on Twitter once again.

As new comments began to pile under his campaign photos, Marsh filmed a video addressing his reasons for taking part in a tampon promotion.

“I made the video for 2 reasons. So that women would feel less stigmatized, so that people who menstruate would feel less stigmatized,” Marsh said, noting that menstruation is often seen as “gross, disgusting, a joke” by “cis” men.

Calling himself a “non-binary person who does not menstruate,” Marsh claimed his intentions behind taking the paid gig were to help end the stigma associated with periods. He continued: “And then the hate came for me,” and scolded the women who took issue with his participation in the tampon promotion, claiming that they were “policing” gender by criticizing him.

“We should be working together. The more you police your gender role the more you are policing the idea that one gender role is the best. I will keep fighting for your rights even if you hate me to my core because women are not second class citizens.”

Marsh’s claimed reasons for his participation in the ad campaign fell flat on social media, with many pointing out that Marsh frequently uses the term “TERF” when addressing women who vocally support the basic rights and safeguarding of women and children. TERF – an acronym standing for “trans exclusionary radical feminist” – is often used in a derogatory fashion and coupled with threats and abuse.

Jeffrey Marsh is well-known amongst advocates for women’s rights and child safeguarding due to his catalogue of videos denying the existence of biological sex, as well as those where he directly addresses the “kids” in his audience. Marsh has advocated people to go “no contact” with families or relatives who invalidate their gender identity, and has advised parents to provide“gender affirming care” for their children.

Marsh’s most recent video on his past collaboration also referenced popular trans-identified male influencer Dylan Mulvaney, who similarly defended his decision to become a spokesperson for Tampax last year. Both Tampax and This is L, the brand Marsh promoted, are owned by mega-conglomerate Proctor & Gamble.

In 2020, This is L partnered with the Phluid Project in a promotional video featuring individuals of varying “gender identities” to spread the message that periods are not specific to females. Amongst the “queer” influencers who shilled their “gender neutral” menstrual products were Blair Imani and Alok Vaid-Menon.

Phluid is a “gender free” clothing and lifestyle brandbased in New York which also often involves itself in trans activism. On its website, Phluid states that it “…support[s] the most at risk of the LGBTQIA+ community [by] supporting trans-led organizations.” Phluid has provided direct support to the Sylvia Rivera Law Project, which provides assistance to incarcerated males who wish to change their gender or be moved to a women’s institution.

Among the inmates the SRLP has worked with are convicted child murderer Synthia Chyna Blast, who was invited to be part of their prisoner action committee, and Xena Grandichelli, who raped a toddler yet assisted with SRLP’s community outreach.

This is L also features multiple partners on their site, most of which equally propagate that women are not the only ones who menstruate. In particular, the Period Project, which strongly advocates for “gender neutral” language around menstruation.

On its website, the Period Project writes: “Not all women menstruate, and not all menstruators are women. At The Period Project, we are dedicated to supporting all menstruators, and we want to make sure our fight for menstrual equity is gender inclusive. We use the term ‘menstruators’ to refer to all people who experience menstruation, including cisgender, transgender, nonbinary, and genderfluid individuals.”

#Jeffery Marsh #This is L #The Phluid Project #Males don’t need tampons #Proctor & Gamble #Sylvia Rivera Law Project #Menstruators #just say woman

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she-wolf09231982 · 2 months

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Chapter 1-Dynamite

Summary: Growing up in Chicago, you haven’t seen much outside the city limits, except maybe Wisconsin or Indiana. After the Pearl Harbor attacks, WWII was announced across the country. Not long after you find yourself with your brothers resisting temptations after you stumble upon two military recruiters encouraging you to join the Army or Marines to make a difference.

A/N: Mature audience, BillHoosierSmithx!FemMedic, WW2, OCIntroduction/Kate Danaher, Female Pronouns, Cursing/Swearing, Derogatory Slurs, Womanizing Comments, Military and Medical Terminology, Inappropriate Nicknames, HBO The Pacific References, Mentions of Weaponry, Smoking.

Story takes begins Episode 1/Chapters 1-4 Guadalcanal/Leckie

*These stories may not fall entirely in accordance with the TV series timeline. I do not know the real Marines the actors portray in this series, so please understand I show no disrespect. Some or most of historical events and character interactions in my fanfics are fabricated purely for the sake of the enjoyment of fiction*

~~~~~~~

December 7th, 1941

Chicago, IL

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, I am speaking to you tonight at a very serious moment in our history. The Cabinet is convening and the leaders in Congress are meeting with the President-”

Kate listens intensely to the radio one evening with her family in the parlor.

“-In fact, the Japanese ambassador was talking to the president at the very time that Japan's airships were bombing our citizens in Hawaii and the Philippines and sinking one of our transports loaded with lumber on its way to Hawaii.”

Kate's mother obviously in shock sitting next to her father on the loveseat, reached for his hand as her other hand slowly rests over her mouth.

“In the meantime, we the people are already prepared for action....Preparation to meet an enemy no matter where he struck. That is all over now and there is no more uncertainty. We know what we have to face and we know that we are ready to face it.”

When the announcement ended and the regular scheduled program continued, her father walked over to the radio and turned the volume dial down. Kate, her two brothers and mother waited for him to speak.

“Well, all we can do is wait.” he said with finality.

The following day, newspapers all over the U.S. had “WAR DECLARED!!” across every headline.

So, this was it. World War II has begun.

~~~~~~~

Kate and her two older brothers, Peter and Tommy, walk through Sears, Roebuck & Co retail store trying to find Christmas gift ideas for their mother.

“I heard they’re sending guys all over! Britian, Australia, Philippine's, Italy, Germany-” Tommy said excitedly.

“Yeah, that’s what I heard, too.” Peter confirmed.

Her brothers walking ahead gossiped about war details between them, not bothering to even look around for a gift.

Kate huffed irritably, “Why did you guys even come with me if you’re not going to help me find something for mom?”

They looked back and chuckled, “Ah come on, Ace, ma will love anything we get her.” Pete dissolved with a wave of his hand.

Kate rolled her eyes then continued to search for something worthwhile.

As her eyes scan the decorated windows of each shop, two uniformed men were standing in a storefront entrance each next to a military recruiting poster. One bearing “I WANT YOU FOR THE US ARMY” and another “WANT ACTION? JOIN THE U.S. MARINE CORPS!”

“Hey, get a load of this!” Pete nudged Tommy when he saw the two posters.

The uniformed men saw that your brothers’ interests were peaked.

“What do you think, gents, wanna do your part for your country?” The Marine asked.

Pete and Tommy shot eager glances at each other while walking closer to the two men.

“Your country needs you, boys, we’re always looking for good, strong men.” The soldier added.

“See the world and get paid for it!”

“-an extra $50 if you join the 101st Airborne!”

Kate's brothers’ eyes lit up, so she decided to intervene.

“Excuse me, gentlemen, I think these two-” she began.

Each recruiter redirected their attention to her as she approached.

“Ma’am, we’re looking for abled women as well.” the soldier interrupted.

All of Kate's thoughts dissipated at this statement, stopping her dead in her tracks.

“Ever thought about becoming a nurse?” the Marine asked.

“That’s actually what she’s always wanted to do!” Tommy verified for you.

“Shut up, Tommy!” she snapped.

“Well then-” the soldier began, “-sounds to me we have three new U.S. Army recruits!”

“More like three Marine Corps recruits.” the Marine countered with a sly grin.

~~~~~~~

Kate convinced her brothers to revisit the idea later when more was known about where the war was heading. It’s only been a week since the start of the war was announced, and they were already jumping into the snake pit feet first without looking.

But she had internally thought about it herself. Was it really such a hasty idea? The military would pay for all her training to become a nurse. And it’s not like she’d be on the front lines, right? So, she’d be safe.

Kate wasn’t sure who she would be trying to sell the idea to more: herself or her parents. They’d be more against the idea of her joining than Pete and Tommy. The more she considered it, the more she was inclined to join. But which branch?

Tommy and Pete were already dead set on becoming paratroopers for the Army. The idea of $50 more per check was more than enough to motivate them.

Kate discussed your idea with her best friend, Blanche.

“I mean, financially it makes sense.” Blanche agreed.

“They’d pay for me to become a nurse AND pay me while I go. Other than being away from my family, I can’t see why I shouldn’t do it.” Kate reasoned.

“Well, you would be without your best friend.” Blanche eluded.

Kate laughed, “That’s right.” she agreed with a slight look of disappointment.

“You know what, I’ll do it with you!”

A look of surprise appeared across Kate's face.

“Do what?” she queried.

“I’ll join with you and we’ll both become nurses in the military.”

She studied her best friend, “Really? You'd join because I’m going to?”

“Of course! We made a pact, remember?” Blanche reminded.

They each had promised eachother as children they’d always stick together and be best friends forever.

Kate smiled, “Ok! But let’s wait til after the holidays to go see a recruiter. I don’t want to ruin my parents’ Christmas and New Years.”

“Good call.” Blanche concurred.

~~~~~~~

The holidays came and went, and before Kate knew it, her, her brothers, and Blanche had enlisted as service members of the U.S. military. Tommy and Pete signed up as paratroopers for the Army, while Kate and Blanche decided on the U.S. Marine Corps. Needless to say, this news didn’t go over well with any of the parents. Especially for Kate and Blanche being women.

Kate and her brothers sat at the kitchen table across from their mother, Elaine, who was weeping, while their father, Mortimer, paced behind her.

“So,” Mortimer began, “-all three of you signed your lives away.”

They all remained silent with only the muffled bawls of their mother filling the room.

“You see what you’re doing to your mother!?” their father scolded, gesturing towards his wife.

“Pops, we just-” Pete began.

“Do you understand what you just did? The government owns you now. You’re just a number to them. They don’t care if you live or die over there. Who know what will happen to you!” their dad continued as he ran his hand through his disheveled hair.

Tommy, Pete, and Kate looked towards the floor with the weight of guilt weighing upon their backs.

Their mother finally straightened up and composed herself.

“Mortimer, what’s done is done. Shaming the children won’t do any good. Only thing we can do is support them now.” she defended.

Their children exchanged confused glances. Their father turned to her with a look of shock painted across his face.

“Elaine?” he questioned.

“Mortimer, they’re grown enough to make their own decisions. The least we can do is be there for them every step of the way.” she responded.

Their mother looked each of them over with a weak yet genuine smile.

“You will all be outstanding. I am proud of you all.” she added.

~~~~~~~

August 7th, 1942

After Kate and Blanche completed basic training, they surprisingly found themselves aboard a battle cruiser heading for Guadalcanal with well over 1,000 some male Marines. The Corps decided to assign two medics to each platoon, regardless of gender. When they ran out of men to assign, they resorted to placing females.

Kate was just thankful to be paired with Blanche, so she wasn't alone with all these unfamiliar faces. She wasn't one to enjoy too much attention in big crowds. Blanche, however, relished the spotlight. Especially when most of the attention were from men.

“Just look at them! So many handsome ones.” Blanche whispered as she nudged Kate.

“Mmhm.” Kate hummed unamused, looking around the mess hall below the main deck of the ship.

The kitchen prepared a special meal for the Marines today, so the men were buzzing, quite eager to eat something tasty for once. Kate and Blanche (being the only women within hundreds of miles) were usually allowed to get their meals beforehand to avoid unnecessary interactions with the males. Usually, they were able to finish their meals and leave before the guys would get there, but today seats filled up rather quickly upon hearing about the exclusive meal that was prepared.

The only encounters they usually had with the men were when they visited the aid station in one's and two's within the ship to receive medical attention as needed. So, to see them all at once in the chow hall was very overwhelming...specifically for Kate since most of them watched her and Blanche’s every move.

They were pushing through the crowd, trying to get back to their sleeping quarters when a Marine accidentally bumped into Kate with his arms cradling a bunch of oranges, causing him to drop a few.

“Oh! I’m sorry ma’am!” the boyish blonde Marine offered.

Kate crouched down and picked up the two oranges that fell to the ground.

“It’s ok, Private, no harm done.” she assured trying to place the two oranges strategically back on the pile in his arms.

“Oh no, please take them. A gift for two pretty ladies.” he added winking at Blanche.

“Why thank you, Private..?” Blanche began waiting for him to introduce himself.

“-Phillips. But call me Sid.” he insisted.

Blanche and Sid shared a brief moment of staring until it became too painful for Kate.

“Thank you again, Private Phillips. Try not to drop anymore, it would be a shame to waste those.” Kate said as she pulled Blanche in the opposite direction.

“See you around, Sid!” Blanche called out as she waved at him.

Sid made it to his table with the rest of the fruit unscathed.

“Dessert!” he announced to the guys seated as he distributed the oranges onto the table in front of them, “Make sure you save one of those for me!” he added.

“I just wanna get off this goddam rust bucket, I can’t hear myself think!” PFC Wilbur Runner complained.

“Yeah, at least they give you a good meal before your send-off" PFC Lew Chuckler justified.

“Yeah, like the electric chair.” PFC Bill ‘Hoosier’ Smith interjected sarcastically before continuing, “But you, Runner,” placing a hand on the seated man’s shoulder, “-you have won a trip to a tropical paradise called Guadal-Kenel...Guada...ken...I still can’t pronounce it.” He dismissed with a laugh.

The table laughed collectively.

“Hey Sid, who was that doll you were chattin’ up?” Chuckler asked.

“Her name is Blanche.” Sid replied.

“Weren’t there two of ‘em?” Runner questioned.

“Yeah, but I didn’t get the other one’s name. She was a looker, too. She didn’t seem interested, though.” Sid proclaimed.

“Maybe you ain’t her type, Phillips.” Hoosier teased.

“Oh yeah, and you think you are?” Sid shot back with a snicker.

“Guess we’ll see, won’t we?” Hoosier returned with a confident smile.

“Not if I get to her first!” Chuckler chimed in.

“Ok, you’re on.” Hoosier said shaking Chuckler’s hand officiating the bet.

~~~~~~~

You sit on your bunk trying to concentrate on reading your anatomy and physiology research journal while Blanche drummed on and on about Sid Phillips.

“Blanche, please. That was an hour ago.” Kate resounded.

Blanche rolled her eyes at her, “You’re such a book bug!”

“Excuse me?” Kate chuckled back at her.

“We’re surrounded by strapping handsome Marines and you got your nose stuck in that book.” Blanche teased as she snatched Kate's book from her hands.

“Blanche! Be careful with that! It’s old-”

“Please, quit being sucha crumb. You’re always reading or studying.”

“Well, my brothers don’t call me ‘Ace’ for nothin’.” Kate explained.

“Just live a little, ok!? Look beyond the hard covers and enjoy the boys.” Blanche insisted.

“I’d say you’re a little slack happy, Blanche. I’m here to make sure these boys make it through the war alive. Not to find a boyfriend.” Kate clarified.

Blanche laughed, “Well, some things are out of your control. Because let me tell you something, you may not have been noticing all the hot bodies on this ship, but they absolutely been noticing you.”

Kate flashed her a bored and surly glance then snapped the book back from Blanche's hands.

“I’m not the least bit interested.” Kate finalized, flipping back to the page she was previously on.

“Not yet,” Blanche purred, “but you will.”

Kate ignored her comment and continue reading.

~~~~~~~

“Wrap it up now! Get your gear! Everybody topside for the pre-landing briefing! Let’s move!”

Kate heard the officers calling out in the slim hallways of the ship.

Kate and Blanche began collecting their medical supplies and duffels.

“Don’t forget your brassard.” Kate reminded her best friend as she pinned her own white armband donning the red cross to her left arm of her own uniform.

Soon, they stood on the deck with the rest of the Marines as an officer projected his voice as far as he can to brief everyone.

“Forget all the horseshit you’ve heard about the Japs. They had their turn, now it’s our turn!”

Kate and Blanche side eye each other with wide eyes.

He proceeded, “They may have started this war, but I promise you, we will finish it!”

“YES SIR.” The men responded outloud in unison.

“Hit the beach. Keep moving to your rendevous and primary objectives. When you see the enemy, kill ‘em all!” he ended.

“YEAH!” the men collectively roared together.

“Go! Let’s go get ‘em!”

All the men started to stir, each either tightening their helmet straps or adjusting their web belts.

Kate looked to Blanche to ask her if she has everything but discovered she had wandered off somewhere leaving her alone. Kate tried to look over the swarm of Marines then saw her talking to Sid. Kate shook your head and started to push through the crowd to get to her.

It was like swimming against a current walking through the sea of men.

“Excuse me.” Kate called out to no avail.

She suddenly felt a shoulder deliberately check her, knocking the strap of her duffel off her own shoulder.

“Hey, asshole, watch it!” Kate snapped.

A rather tall and broad Marine turned around staring her down.

“What the fuck did you just say to me?” he dared.

“I said watch it.” She repeated emphasizing the last two words without flinching.

He started to approach her as a devilish grin started to stretch across his face.

“I like ‘em feisty.” he whispered inches from Kate's face.

She stood her ground, not giving him the satisfaction he can intimidate her.

“You’re not getting anyone with that breath.” she replied with a grimace.

The large man fisted the front of her uniform practically lifting her off the ground.

“Hey, Bennetti! That’s enough!” a voice barked out from the crowd.

He doesn’t let Kate go but does allow her feet to touch the ground again. She looked to the side and saw another Marine pushing past the others with a few members of his squad close behind him.

“What’s it to you, Hoosier?” Bennetti retaliated.

“Well, that there is our medic, so get your meat hooks off her. Do you not know how to treat a lady?” Hoosier asked smoothly.

“I can think of a few ways to treat her.” Bennetti stated winking at Kate. She strained to get out of his grip as anger started to boil over from within her.

“Let her go. Now.” Hoosier warned as Chuckler, Runner, Sid, and Private Bob Leckie line up ready to square off in case Bennetti decided not to comply.

Bennetti sized up his competition, then let her blouse top go with a bit of a shove, slightly projecting her into opposite direction. With her chest heaving, Kate spat at Bennetti’s boots, then turned on her heel to walk away.

Hoosier and the rest of the boys “oooo-ed” then laughed impressed by her gumption.

“She is feisty, isn’t she?” Leckie acknowledged.

“Yeah, like a firecracker.” Chuckler added.

“More like a stick of dynamite...I think I’m in love.” Hoosier confessed while his eyes were glued on Kate disappearing into the mass of men.

~~~~~~~

Kate and Blanche boarded a Higgins boat with H Company. Almost forty people were packed like sardines in the floating metal box, not allowing for much personal space. Blanche conveniently sat herself next to Sid for the ride to the island, once again leaving you to fend for yourself. Fortunately, Kate found herself in better company next to the Marine that defended her earlier from the brute, Bennetti.

She side-eyed him awkwardly, knowing she hadn’t properly thanked him for helping her yet. Hoosier sensed her apprehension to speak first so he took initiative.

“You alright?” Hoosier asked.

Kate's breath caught in her throat before she spoke, “Oh, uh, yes. I’m fine.”

He smiled, “That’s good.”

She looked down at her boots, swallowing hard before she spoke again, “Thank you. You know, from before.” she muttered.

Hoosier’s smile increased, “Don’t mention it.” he replied admiring her shyness.

Another moment of silence passed.

“I’m Bill Smith. But my friends call me Hoosier.” he said extending his right hand.

Kate coyly smiled at him then grab his hand to shake, “Mary Kate Danaher. Call me Kate.”

Hoosier raised his eyebrows, “Irish?”

“How did you know?” she asked mockingly.

He chuckled, “Just a hunch, I guess.”

They remained quiet for the rest of the journey to shore while explosions tore through the air, as hundreds of C47’s soared over them in flocks. The water was choppy and rough, causing a lot of the men seasickness and lose the meals they had just eaten. Kate wished she could help them, but they could only just push through until they all reached land.

She began to hear indistinct shouting.

“Standby!” The driver shouted.

“Hoof it up to the beach! Spread out! GO! GO! GO!”

The hatch of the boat drops and Marines hit the beach running forward each yelling profanities as they find themselves knee deep in water trudging to get through the sandbar. Many suddenly slow down to take in the scene before them.

“What took you so long?” a random Marine called from the beach, leaning against a palm tree relaxing in front of what can only be described as a campfire.

“Welcome to Guadalcanal.” another added sarcastically seeing the confused looks on the new arrival’s faces.

Leckie, Chuckler, Hoosier, Sid, and Runner collectively laugh, amused by the laid-back atmosphere that they weren’t expecting to experience.

~~~~~~~

Kate sat close to where H Company settled on the beach. Blanche checked in with her before rejoining Sid on a makeshift bench made from beached driftwood. Kate decided to make use of this time by reorganizing her medical supplies.

Kate was startled when she heard Chuckler repeatedly beating a coconut against a stone. She laughed to herself imagining him as a caveman. As he successfully breaks through the shell of the coconut, he becomes disgruntled to find there’s another solid layer.

He shows Leckie, “Hey, now what do I do?” he asked.

“I think the islanders us a machete or a rock.” Leckie responded with a smile.

“Try using your head, Chuckler, it’s big and rocklike.” Runner added.

Chuckler grabbed his machete.

“If you do get that open, you might not want to drink too much of the juice right away.” Kate advised Chuckler.

He looked over at her and smirked, “Oh yeah? Why's that?” he asked flirtatiously.

“Coconut water has mild laxative effects if you consume too much at once.” she clarified.

Chuckler tilted his head eyebrows drawn together confused.

“You’ll get the shits if you drink too much of the stuff inside.” Leckie simplified.

“Ah ok...” Chuckler comprehended while looking disappointedly at the fruit on his lap.

“But the coconut meat is very good for you, so you can eat that.” Kate expanded to cheer him up.

Chuckler smiled at her, “When I get in this son of a bitch, I’ll bring you some.” he offered with a wink.

She only smiled and return to packing her supplies.

Leckie walked over to Kate, “Yeah, you kinda have to dumb it down for him. He’s a great guy. Great Marine, just not that bright when it comes to big words.”

She looked at Leckie and snickered.

“Bob Leckie.” he offered his right hand.

“Kate Danaher.” she took his hand firmly.

“Strong Irish name! Good to meet you. So, your assigned to H Company?”

“I am. And I already have a good feeling about it.” she stated.

“Yeah? How’s that?”

“Well, you all came to my rescue when that bum had me dangling a foot from the ground. You guys didn’t even know me, and you stood up for me anyway. Speaks volumes about you guys.” she illustrated.

“Oh, we knew you long before that happened.” Leckie confessed.

Kate looked at him befuddled.

“Yeah! You and your friend, um, Blanche, is it? Yeah, you two have had these guys’ heads spinning since you boarded that carrier to get here. Of course, we all had to asked around about you.” he explained with a dismissive shrug.

Kate's eyes widened, “Weren’t there more important things to worry about?” she questioned.

“Uh, like?” Leckie returned.

“Oh, I don’t know. Battle plans perhaps? Maps of the beach and the rest of the areas we’re about to trek through?” she listed.

“I don’t know about the rest of these guys, but I write more than I read. Would’ve brought my typewriter if I could.”

“Leckie, you’re going to bore her to death.” Hoosier teased sitting on a fallen palm tree right next to Kate.

She beamed at Bill.

“Well, Bob Leckie, since I love to read, and you love to write, perhaps we can exchange some literature sometime. I’m always looking for new material to read.”

Leckie looked at Hoosier with a cocky, triumphant smile.

“Absolutely, Kate Danaher.” Leckie replied with a slight bow.

She nodded and occupied herself with the project at hand.

Leckie raised his eyebrows at Hoosier.

Bill presented Leckie his middle finger then waved him away mouthing, “Get lost.”

Leckie trotted off laughing to himself.

“So, what do you like to read?” Hoosier started.

“Mostly medical journals. Medicinal studies, anatomy and physiology, physician dissertations-” Kate glanced at Hoosier noticing his furrowed eyebrows, “-um, sorry, I’m what Blanche refers to as a ‘book bug.’”

She winced looking down at her medic satchel embarrassed.

Hoosier chuckled as he scooted closer to her, “No need to be sorry. Only thing I read is the newspaper or Dick Tracy comics. Not exactly a disser-uh-dissrat-”

“Dissertations.” Kate corrected him with a nervous giggle.

He laughed, “Yeah, that.” He started to rub the back of his neck.

Chuckler abruptly walked over to Kate handing her a half-gutted coconut filled with sliced coconut meat.

“As promised, doll.”

“Oh my, thanks Chuckler.” she praised as she accepted the coconut.

“Anything for you. And call me Lew.” he implored with a proud grin.

Hoosier rolled his eyes at Chuckler’s intrusion and sickening attempt to seduce her. The moment was short lived as the meek voice of Pharmacist’s Mate Third Class Lewis chimed in.

“Hey, for what it’s worth, Col Dobson said the Japs might’ve poisoned the coconuts.” he announced nervously.

The group looked at him perplexed.

“They poisoned…a billion coconuts?” Runner asked him.

Lewis shrugged his shoulders, taking a second to think about how silly that sounded until he heard a man cry out in pain behind him.

“Excuse me!” Lewis pardoned himself from the conversation to run towards the injured man.

The group exchanged amused glances, enjoying a good laugh together.

Lieutenant Corrigan appeared, stomping through the camp.

“Intelligence has it the Japs moved back into the jungle. Clean the sand out of your weapons. We move in three minutes. Let’s go find some Japs.” he bellowed.

Hoosier stood up and walked past Kate to where his gear was.

“See you around, Bill.” she called after him.

Hoosier met Kate's gaze with a gleam of excitement behind his own.

“You bet you will.” he called back.

She smiled then redirect her attention to packing up.

Blanche came skipping over.

“See?? I told you!”

“Ugh! Told me what, Blanche?”

“You got yourself a beau!” she tittered poking Kate's ribs.

“Unlikely. I was just gettin’ to know the guys we’ll be taking care of, that’s it.”

“I saw how you looked at him. You can’t fool me.”

“Can we focus on getting our gear and supplies together before the LT snaps his cap?” Kate warned.

“Sure thing, Ace.” Blanche squeaked as she walked off.

Kate shook her head, “She’s going to kill me.” she huffed to herself.

~~~~~~~

#the pacific #hbo war #bill hoosier smith #Hoosier #jacob pitts #bob leckie #chuckler juergens #sid phillips #wilbur runner conley #james badge dale #josh helman #ashton holmes #keith nobbs #ww2 #us marines

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cazort · 2 months

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I'm really uncomfortable with some of the rhetoric that characterizes all Israeli citizens as "former IDF soldiers" or uses other similar language to describe them and then implies that they are bad people and/or support zionism because of this record.

Israel has compulsory military service, meaning all citizens are required to serve in the IDF. Although there are conscientious objectors, in practice objections are typically only granted on religious grounds, and Israeli courts tend only to recognize orthodox forms of Judaism as religious, considering movements like conservative, reform, and reconstructionist Judaism, all of which have active peace movements and anti-zionist movements, to be "not religious". Thus Israeli citizens refusing to serve in the IDF can be jailed, if they are in Israel, or can lose citizenship, if they are not located there. Courts have explicitly ruled that group action to refuse service in the IDF because of objection to Israeli's policies is not conscientious objection but rather civil disobedience and thus is jailable. People have been given sentences as long as a year for merely refusing to serve.

Refusing to serve is also heavily culturally frowned upon, with people doing it labeled "סרבנים" which is a derogatory term like "draft dodgers", not a positive-to-neutral term like "conscientious objector".

Israeli citizens living in Israel, even Jewish ones, can be subjected to harassment and violence for speaking out against the state, and can face career consequences too like getting fired and barred from employment by a lot of employers.

Given all these things I think it is critically important to recognize that the fact that an Israeli citizen served in the IDF does not mean that they are a bad person nor does it mean that they necessarily support the state. For example, I know two people who served in the IDF who are among some of the most outspoken anti-Zionists and critics of the modern state of Israel; one of them was so outspoken that he lost his job and was forced to leave the country to seek employment elsewhere.

Some people have never supported the state of Israel but made a calculated decision to serve in the IDF, maybe hoping they could help mitigate damage from the inside out, or maybe because they feared consequences like jail and harassment. Other people (this is extremely common) become critical of Israel later, either during their service in the IDF or after serving.

Although it is technically accurate to call these people "former IDF soldiers" it is not always relevant and it is sometimes misleading. It can be relevant, for instance, when someone who served in the IDF later speaks out against abuses within it. In this case it's relevant.

However what I often see circulating in activist circles these days, is material that attacks people or discredits their perspectives because they are "former IDF soldiers". Often, it's not relevant at all.

If someone is a zionist or is an apologist for genocide, defending Israel's actions even when they reach the point of committing atrocities, then just say that. These things are a problem whether or not someone has served in the IDF.

#israel #idf #conscientious objector #anti zionism #israeli defense forces

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religion-is-a-mental-illness · 1 year

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By: Matthew Syed

Published: Aug 14, 2022

Yesterday morning, it was reported that Salman Rushdie — who had been attacked at a literary event on free speech in America— was unable to speak. Many fanatical Muslims will take this as a sign from God. This, after all, was their intention: to censor those who criticise their religion. The assailant kept trying to attack Rushdie even after he was restrained, according to witnesses. “It took like five men to pull him away and he was still stabbing,” one said.

A fatwa was imposed on Rushdie after the publication of The Satanic Verses, a beautifully written novel that was, in my view, tame in its supposed mockery of Islam. To Ayatollah Khomeini of Iran, however, the book was blasphemous. After a bounty was put on his head, Rushdie lived under British protection while his book was burnt on the streets and craven politicians such as the former Labour MP Keith Vaz spoke out in protest. Cat Stevens — the singer now known as Yusuf — said in a speech to students in London that said “he must be killed”, although he later claimed he had not called for Rushdie’s death.

Yet while Rushdie survived this hostility, others did not. Hitoshi Igarashi, his Japanese translator, was stabbed to death. Ettore Capriolo, his Italian translator, was also stabbed, and William Nygaard, his Norwegian publisher, was shot and critically injured. Mustafa Mahmoud Mazeh perished while preparing explosives designed to kill the British novelist. A shrine in Tehran for Mazeh says: “The first martyr to die on a mission to kill Salman Rushdie.”

But while we look at all this with anger, while we condemn the religious fundamentalists, while we pray for Rushdie himself, let us also acknowledge something closer to home. Many of the comments on the Rushdie affair over the past 24 hours have pointed out that for many years he has been living quite freely, that the fatwa had been revoked by Iran (although the bounty remains) and that society has moved on from the dark days of book-burning, even if lone attackers remain a threat.

I would suggest that this is delusional, a fantasy conjured up by western liberals to distract from a more sinister truth: over 30 years they have worked as the de facto accomplices of the ayatollah, assisting in the task of dismantling free speech, sending fear through those who dare to criticise or ridicule religion or anything else. Rushdie, in this sense, is not — and never was — a historical affair but a live scandal running through the veins of British life, not to mention other western societies.

As I read about the attack on Rushdie, my mind turned to Louis Smith, another high-profile Briton from an ethnic minority; a gymnast who won three Olympic medals before going on to a TV career. A few years ago, he and his friend Luke Carson, a fellow gymnast, were frolicking around, singing (as they often did together) when Carson lay down on a mat and shouted “Allahu akbar” while Smith laughed. It was a bit of a giggle, nothing nasty, scarcely satirical. But the video, as you have probably guessed, leaked.

In the following days, liberal commentators were united in outrage. None saw this as two kids harmlessly mocking religion. None saw it as a trivial episode of ridicule of the kind that has always existed in liberal societies. None stated that no citizen, religious or otherwise, has a right or even a reasonable expectation to not be offended. Instead, they called for Smith to be banned — and he was, for two months, by British Gymnastics. He was accused of Islamophobia, racism, you name it. He appeared to have broken a chilling clause in UK Sport’s athlete’s contract: “Athletes may be ineligible for funding if they are derogatory about a person’s disability, gender, pregnancy or maternity, race, sexuality, marital status, beliefs or age.” I was astonished when I read this clause for it didn’t just prohibit mockery of protected characteristics, but all beliefs, of whatever kind. It meant that British athletes were prohibited from criticising Scientology, astrology or even Nazism. Under such a decree, Billie Jean King would have been banned in five minutes flat and Muhammad Ali even quicker. This wasn’t a contract; it was a gagging order. And yet this was the clause that UK Sport deemed necessary to “protect” its reputation

But this isn’t the half of it. I interviewed Smith a few months later, and he still looked shell-shocked. Death threats had started almost immediately: “We are going to find you, and kill you.” “You are going to get it.” One posted a video on social media: “I am going to splash acid in your face.” Scarcely any of this was reported in the media. In the week of our interview, he had received the message: “We are going to cave your face in.” Smith was forced to take out 24-hour protection, a hired heavy at his side at all times, even while he slept.

Yet the truly chilling aspect of this affair — which also went largely unreported — is that Smith couldn’t earn a living after his “crime”. Sponsors and broadcasters turned their backs on him. Progressives didn’t want to know. His income vanished and he struggled to pay his mortgage. To be clear: this punishment beating was perpetrated on Smith not by fanatics, not by knife-wielding fundamentalists, but the monolithic liberal ideology that will not tolerate opinions (or even jokes) that breach their antiliberal creed.

It was the same creed that defended those who hounded into hiding a teacher at a school in Batley, West Yorkshire, last year for showing his class a religious cartoon. It is the same creed that equates criticism of the myriad excesses of the Muslim Brotherhood with Islamophobia. And it is the same creed, to broaden the perspective, that connives in the cancellation and intimidation of anyone who engages in wrongthink on trans rights, climate change or the demolition of statues.

I pray — metaphorically — for Rushdie. He is a great and courageous Briton. But I also pray for the West. We like to think we have free speech but we lack even its pale imitation. Smith found work again only by issuing abject, almost pitiful apologies, bending the knee to liberal dogma, just as Galileo once prostrated himself before the Inquisition. Is it any wonder that myriad surveys reveal that people throughout the West desist from speaking out on sensitive issues, out of fear of the consequences?

This is the destination at which the liberal world has arrived — through stealth and increment, through a million little retreats, through the acquiescence of those who should know better. For initially noble motives related to the fear of giving offence to minority groups, we have committed the most grievous offence on our way of life. “I disapprove of what you say, but I will defend to the death your right to say it” was the view attributed to Voltaire by his most famous biographer. We must resurrect its spirit, reclaim its beauty. For today, with Rushdie hooked up to a ventilator, we continue to sleepwalk towards disaster.

[ Via: https://archive.ph/md8Uk ]

This is how Islam wins. Not by spreading the "truth" of Islam, not even by threatening violence. It wins by learning how to play the victim and recruiting virtuous flying monkeys.

#islam #this is islam #Salman Rushdie #freedom of speech #free speech #blasphemy #blasphemy laws #victimhood #victimhood culture #religion #religion is a mental illness

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ausetkmt · 7 months

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A viral video is now being investigated by the Jacksonville Sheriff’s Office, after it shows officers slamming Le’keian Woods to the ground while handcuffed.

“The video speaks for itself,” Isaiah Rumlin said “How can someone be handcuffed and brutally beaten at the hands of those who supposed to be protecting us?” Rumlin is the President for the NAACP Jacksonville chapter.

Action News Jax obtained the police report for the arrest and then requested the concise history for each officer involved. It’s important to note, we do not have their full files yet, so we do not have all the incident details at this time.

The three officers who arrested Woods are Hunter Sullivan, Robert Bias, and Beau Daigle.

Officer Hunter Sullivan has five incidents listed in his file. One is listed as an “in-house complaint.” He was cleared of any wrongdoing in the other four incidents.

Action News Jax, Meghan Moriarty, found a civil suit involving Sullivan that matched the date of the in-house complaint. It accuses the officer of assault.

In digging through our archives, we found an Action News Jax report from 2020, where two officers were suspended for a fight with a woman outside a downtown Jacksonville bar. Surveillance video from the November 2019 night captured the encounter. In it, you can see a woman being beaten by two men and knocked to the ground. The two men in the video are Detective Dennis Sullivan and his son Officer Hunter Sullivan—the man now being investigated in the bloody arrest.

In a civil suit, the woman claims the Sullivans were making “derogatory, inflammatory, hostile, and threatening remarks” towards her and a friend.

“I got up and walked towards him, I was like ‘yo, just leave us alone,” she told investigators, a report says.

Related Story: Two JSO officers suspended after bar fight

The Sullivans claim they felt she was about to assault them. The State Attorney’s Office agreed with the Sullivans, saying the video supported they were acting in self-defense, and that the father and son did not commit a crime. The case was dismissed.

Hunter Sullivan was suspended for 15 days and given a ‘written reprimand’ by the Jacksonville Sheriff’s Office due to the incident.

Officer Robert Bias has nine incidents in his file. Five are citizen complaints. Two were found to be legitimate or substantiated by JSO.

Related Story: JSO investigating arrest amidst allegations of police brutality, according to family

In 2013, Bias was accused of failing to conform to work standards and he received ‘formal counseling’ as a result.

In 2015, he was accused of the same thing and again received formal counseling. Moriarty got her hands on the incident report associated with that claim.

The report said Officer Bias and another officer were conducting a traffic stop. The woman was standing nearby on the sidewalk in front of a store, interrupting as they were conducting their investigation. The report said “there are ‘no loitering signs clearly posted on the front of the store and I [Bias] asked the suspect to stop interrupting the officers.” Officers asked for her identification several times, she wouldn’t provide it.

She was told she would be arrested if she refused to identify herself. She told officers “don’t put your hands on me.” The woman began resisting the arrest. The report said one sergeant delivered “a knee strike to the suspect’s left outer leg and I [Bias] delivered one to her right outer leg in an attempt to overcome her resistance.”

Bias was not found guilty of a crime in this case and charges were not pressed. But, again, he did receive formal counseling as a result.

Another complaint from 2015 alleges “unnecessary force.” He was exonerated in that case.

Officer Beau Daigle had no citizen complaints or reprimands in his file. He was previously recognized as ‘detective of the month.’

#INVESTIGATES: Documents reveal previous complaints against JSO officers involved in bloody arrest #jacksonville #jacksonville pd #jso #jacksonville gang unit #racism in policing

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yin20009 · 1 year

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Week 10: Digital Citizenship and Conflict

Most of us can say we have some form of social media, or at the very least use social media despite not having an account. Anyone who has been on the internet for longer than 5 minutes would have already encountered hateful comments or questionable takes. With people being more expressive online due to the extra false sense of security of anonymity. There are different types of harassment but at its core it is “is defined as threats or other offensive unwanted behaviours targeted directly at others” (Haslop et al.2021).

Gen Z receives more criticism for being “overly sensitive and easily offended ‘snowflakes’” (Haslop et al.2021). However, is this statement true or are younger generations just more socially aware of harmful comments or behavior online and in person? With even the term ‘social justice warrior’ used as a derogatory term. People see social justice warriors as a “self-interested internet user with a progressive agenda.” (Herbst 2018). More recently a trend I have been seeing online is that people who are overly sensitive are deemed as ‘chronically online.’ These people are seen as overly critical of situations. Although in some cases it is evident that these social justice warriors sometimes push their agenda too hard, deterring others from listening to them, their points are not always entirely wrong. Perhaps the younger generation feels the need to overcompensate for the lack of rules and regulations on social media sites against things such as hate speech. Often with posts or comments only being taken down if there is a large amount of people flagging it as inappropriate. People could just be doing their part as a digital citizen to ensure the safety and inclusion of others in a public sphere by standing up for more marginalised groups. With so many young and impressionable kids using the internet now it's even more important to debunk and speak out against harassment and hate speech online. For example, Andrew tate has amassed a huge following over his controversial opinions often targeting women and encouraging boys to believe the same, these posts are often left on TikTok to circulate and gain views. Social media sites have to have a clearer limit to what is and isn’t allowed to be said on their platform. The content of their site also reflects their own values and reflects poorly on them. Haslop, Craig, et al. “#NoSnowflakes: The Toleration of Harassment and an Emergent Gender-Related Digital Divide, in a UK Student Online Culture.” Convergence: The International Journal of Research into New Media Technologies, vol. 27, no. 5, 11 Mar. 2021, pp. 1418–1438, https://doi.org/10.1177/1354856521989270.

Herbst, Abigail. “How the Term “Social Justice Warrior” Became an Insult | Abigail Herbst.” Fee.org, Foundation for Economic Education, 13 Aug. 2018, fee.org/articles/how-the-term-social-justice-warrior-became-an-insult/.

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enjoyyourdunghillbaal · 1 year

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Derogatory, disrespectful behavior or conduct towards me begets derogatory, disrespectful names or assigned adjectives to the subject.

Example. you're a fag because the way you disrespect me is derogatory.

Fuck your beef industry. Fuck your dead lifeless cows. Fuck your pork. Fuck your fish. I'm keeping my hair.

You can have your clogged arteries and strokes and double chins and pig-eating, chinless assholes. I will not stand up for you.

Do you need feedback on your bugfucking and wirelick8ng without dye process too? Mr "secret seeker"? To go back and spellcheck? For what? So i "don't forget to include everyone" that i choose to walk away from? For the sake of My career as an unpaid slave writer so a piss-addict faggot can get rich off my downfall, misfortune, or poverty?

So you can know if your overhead drum microphone is on at soundcheck? What, faggot?

You ask for this from me, faggot, you seek me out and don't stop bothering people with your piss-addict, negative attention-seeking behavior. until you get what you want.

To empower yourself over me and undermine what belongs to me from birth. everything good or bad that exists without you in my life. Faggot.

It's not your responsibility to concern yourself with my conduct in my own home. This isn't colonial America in the revolutionary War, fucking lime-eating redcoat.

I'll take my chances regarding consequences with the law. You making things into a domestic violence issue because your a possessive micromanaging control freak without authority won't be tolerated. I'm not a fucking two year old, and you aren't my mom or my dad, and I don't live under your roof.

Stop seeking evil with me faggot. Noone is hiding anything from you or for you to expose for the sake of your piece of shit Australian international news gossip shitrags trashing the USA to the other world viewers, from a country that started out as prison exiles from england.

What ranged device would they find pointed at my home if they decided to seek out your source origin fsggot? The room starts creaking and reacts through the plastics, glass, televisions, mirror frames, wood or cloth or metal has no kinetic response. Everytime the thermostat kicks in and the electric fan starts.

Everything I fucking hate about you, so would any woman if she was subjected to your bullshit egotrip everyday.

jealous Little bitch.

Because of won't ball up in a fetal position every time you try to stick you fist in my face faggot? Because I won't flinch from you when you try to clech your shit up and make a fist faggot?

What about spellcheck? Who did you need me to look back for, more of the same Sodomy and gemmorah shit from you, Mr buttfuck?

Maybe I'm not your right hand. Or your jerkoff hand.

Take away your steroids and go jerk off to something other than asking me to provide for your beta boy cuck verbal abuse fetish. iron theif. stupid life-draining faggot.

Who else was in my room last night while I was downstairs outside at 4am? I clearly remember NOT using the last of the toilet paper.

Do you pull this shit with the president too during his press briefings or public speaking for our United States Citizens, faggot? You know, when your journalist troll friends start asking about personal shit in their private homes like camp david, trying to put the President on the spot?you know, making dickheaded off topic questions about his sock drawer? Was that meant for him, or me on the other side of TV land, faggot?

Do i look like a training dummy to you faggot? You sure look like one to me right now faggot. Where'd you get the key, faggot? Is that why I was barking at you faggot? Were the birds watching out for me and trying to get my attention faggot? You snooping through my car too faggot?

What about my stolen license plate? I already filed a report, you gonna try to claim a repo job faggot? It's in clear view of cameras too faggot. Because you had my place staked out to snoop around while I was outside? Huh faggot? What else did you do? Do I have to throw all my food out because your faggot ass tried to poison my food, faggot? No, that's not an inconvenience. What was this pill on my floor faggot? Cyanide? What if i took it to a lab. What would i find? Piss addict faggot.

What other cameras can see you in the hall, faggot?

Close curtains while I'm here, open them when I leave so you can violate peeping Tom conduct, faggot.

All just US secret service training at my life's expense to play bodyguard for some corrupt politician vs. some criminally insane asshole, huh faggot?

#piss-addict。

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amygdalae · 3 years

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thinks abt the way bethesda game faction questlines almost always end up with you as the #1 big leader head honcho and how deeply american a mindset that is

#speaking as a US citizen (derogatory)#maybe its not THAT deep and thats a part of other videogames as well but. not to the same extent as bethesda games lol #like. idk growing up in the US youre trained to want to rise above and compete #and theres this whole focus on finding/doing/being the absolute best. and striving for perfection. etc etc #and how success and happiness are tied in leadership for some reason #its so dumb #and unnecessary #like. encouraging every single person to be a leader is just gonna encourage competitiveness and a resistance to working as a team.#like when u see everyone around you as a rival like that. cuz its unrealistic to expect every single person to seek out leadership #that just leads to people wanting control over others in whatever form they can find #i understand like. a lot of videogames are about being special powerful chosen one and stuff #but when you join a faction i think there should be more actual teamwork involved in that yknow?#like you do hafta put aside a bit of individuality to work together and thats perfectly natural #idk im rambling #and sorta straying from the main point here #but im procrastinating doing schoolwork again and dont wanna shut up #anyways bye

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reginarubie · 2 years

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So, let’s, for a moment discuss this. My post was screenshot and it was used to comment on how white people are playing the victims in this fandom war because of something I said.

Post in reference: https://reginarubie.tumblr.com/post/675622796796346368/ahahaha-me-too-because-you-just

In this I say, and I quote, that the term “they are all just 40yo white hags” used in the tags was derogatory and insulting because of many problems:

a) because it was misogynist against men who ship Jonsa

b) because it was ageist

c) because it contained the term “white” in it used as an offense (a term I refused to repeat — notice I did not use the term “black” either — and explained why) pointing out that it was insulting of all people as a general, but first and foremost it was insulting of POC because they actually advocate for equality and by using the term white as derogatory the person in question was actually offending the POC because they were made to pass off as bad as the racists they fight against; and for obvious reasons it was offending of white people). Now my error — as it happens — laid in the point I made that this use of the term white was reverse racist.

And people got mad about it. Now, I am a white woman and I don’t shy away from all the abuse the POC have suffered in the whole of history from white people, but since I am a person who likes to learn when I saw what was being said I was confused as to why my comment could be taken as “white woman plays the victim”.

Also because my master thesis at university also touched this topics, I usually am very careful about what I write and the way I write it, to not elicit insult to other people.

I was lucky enough to engage into a conversation about it with a POC @undeadlilies — who I thank again for his politeness and availability toward me in explaining things and for having reached out to me to explain the situation — so that he could explain why my comment made such an impact and what could set off people in such a way.

Let’s start by a premise, I am a white woman, but I don’t live in the US, so I’m vastly ignorant about the society structure there. I am from Italy and here racisms is not the same plague as in the US so — due to this ignorance of mine — I have used the term reverse racism inappropriately for which I apologize to anyone who may have felt insulted by it, that was not the intention.

To explain in Italy racism is not as bad, I grew up in a non-racist home and our own fundamental law forbids and acts against any act of mistreatment or different treatment based of one’s skin color, religion, language or sexual orientation (as stated in article 3 and following articles which discipline the single matters):

Art. 3, Italian constitution

All citizens have equal social dignity and are equal before the law, with no differences based on gender, race read skin color, language, religion, political opinion, personal and social conditions.

— do not be offended by the term race used in the text please, because the constitution was written in the late 40s of last century and some words have changed their meaning since and it is commonly regarded as skin color instead of race.

So, that premise done with, I hope this explain that my background is a bit different from US based bloggers and thus has led me to misuse the term reverse racism.

Now, what I meant is that the person in question (who had used the derogatory term of which I was speaking before) was using the skin color (supposed) of other bloggers to insult them, something that — I did point out — was insulting of mankind in general and especially of POC because of how they would be put on the same level as the racists they fight against and have fought for centuries.

So perhaps the term I should have used was prejudiced against (supposed) white people, making a shield of them being POC against criticism (because that is what they’ve done and done again by screenshotting my post and blatantly ignoring what I had said in the post about such an insult to be offensive of all people in general and of all other problems such a derogatory term had displayed — ageism, misogyny towards men and also offense against his own shipmates since in the tags they also commented on how they were pathetic).

Now, while I am sorry my misuse of the term has insulted them and again I do apologize for it, I do feel like the comments that followed the post they made actually do prove what I was trying to say. You are actually being prejudiced toward people you suppose are not of color:

Saying that “white people should be honored to be shat on by POC” and that “white men are all inherently racist, evil and annoying as fuck” are the undeniable proof that you are having race-prejudices against other people and that you resort to use the same kind of verbal violence you have been subjected to against people who are innocent or have done nothing against you. The very same kind of verbal violence POC as a whole — and good portion of white people as well — advocate against!

Not all white people are racist and not all POC are saints; and the reverse is true as well, not all white people are saints and not all POC resort to the same kind of verbal violence/verbal insult that they may have received. People are just people, indiscriminately from their skin color, it’s your actions that show your true self.

And thankfully for it as well!, because some people instead of insulting, debate about misunderstandings and actually find common ground to understand each other — because most times, like in this case, it is about misunderstandings happening because of different backgrounds and not an inherent hate toward each other — and I and extremely grateful to @undeadlilies because our conversation has been an occasion for me to grow and learn new things. Thank you so very much.

Again, I apologize if my misuse of the term has offende anyone, it was not my intention and I hope to have cleared up the air about what I meant.

A more throughout, level headed apology can be found here.

#anti racism #anti discrimination #apology

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cyantomatos · 2 years

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Cliché

Pairing: Javier Peña x fem!Reader Word Count: ~3000 Warnings: Reader is a sex worker, physical violence(implied and experienced), there’s no actual sexy time but it gets real close, sex-worker adjacent misogyny and derogatory language Notes: Another exchange fic! This is for @louderrthanthunderr and I really hope it lives up to what you were hoping for. Originally I was assuming most of the dialogue would be in italics, because I would assume someone born in Colombia would speak mostly Spanish and Javi would also be speaking Spanish with her, and I didn’t want to have to translate that much Spanish because it would have gotten clunky in a fic format. But then I realized it ended up all just being in “Spanish”, so...yea. Just remember they’re speaking in Spanish 😅

Also, I tried my best to portray the reader being a sex worker, but I don’t guarantee there aren’t things I got wrong or I got stereotypical about.

Sometimes, despite the best efforts of a parent, a child’s life doesn’t end up the way they wanted.

You try not to think about that fact too often. It’s hard to imagine your mother would be thrilled with the reality of her daughter sleeping with sicarios to make a living, but your mother isn’t here.

You do a job, and it keeps you alive.

For a while, that’s all it was. Get up, get dressed, do your makeup, go out and find someone to entertain for the night. Usually it was a low-level sicario, barely high enough on the food chain to afford your fee. Sometimes it was a normal citizen, lonely and looking for someone to pretend she wasn’t being paid to sleep with him. Rarely it was someone important, someone you knew better than to ever mention you’d even been in the same room with.

Sometimes, it was a government agent.

Nearly every prostitute in the city could lay claim to a night with a DEA agent. Most were just a way to pass the time, a warm body to distract the agents from the horrors they dealt with on a daily basis. A good portion of the time it was looking for information, since most of the prostitutes in the city could also lay claim to a night spent in the bed of a drug dealer.

You’d been approached by agents before, hoping to trade money for information. You never had the heart to tell them most of what you knew wasn’t useful. Not when they kept getting younger and more desperate looking.

So you fed them information, small things you overheard from the men who paid you and the women you shared a profession with. Enough that they felt they’d gotten something more than temporary bliss out of you. It would never be enough to topple a drug lord, but that wasn’t your problem.

You had a routine down, a good routine. Until the DEA agent caught your eye.

The same as nearly every girl in the city could lay claim to a night with a DEA agent, a significant portion could say that night was spent with one specific agent. Javier Peña had…let’s call it a reputation.

He approached you one night, and you knew enough to know who he was. You knew it was a gamble, if he wanted you for your job or for information, or possibly both. You weren’t exclusive to the cartel - you weren’t important enough for that - but that didn’t mean you didn’t have information for him.

Javier was nice. He wasn’t gentle, you weren’t naïve enough to expect that from a man that did the job he did, but he was nice. There was a difference, one you’d learned to see. Gentle was soft caresses and sweet kisses. Nice could still be rough, and often was, but it wasn’t mean. Nice was making sure you enjoyed yourself, even if he was taking from you. Nice was holding you tightly, rough hands and lips and teeth, but never painful.

He seeks you out again, trading government money for secrets and time spent with you. It becomes the highlight of your week, although you never know when he will darken your doorstep. Javier was always quick, like he was afraid to spend too much time around you, but no matter how quick he was he always made sure you got something out of it too. You got the money, but he made sure you enjoyed it too.

Rarely does he linger. Usually he’s up as soon as you’ve both finished, counting out the fee he knows by heart now. There are nights, however, where you can tell his feet turned towards your tiny apartment more for the comfort of losing himself in another person, and less for the information you may or may not have.

Especially as that information becomes increasingly more scarce.

You find yourself curled into his side, eyes closed, safe in the knowledge that no matter what kind of man he might be, he would never hurt you. He rarely talks to you in these moments, preferring instead to soak in the feeling of having another person near.

Sometimes he talks.

“Do you enjoy your job?” The question slices through the silence, surprising you with its suddenness. You tilt your head back, resting it on his bicep to see him staring at the ceiling through the thin haze of cigarette smoke.

After a moment of confusion you shrug. “Do you?”

You get the closest thing to a laugh you’ve ever gotten out of him in response, punched out of his chest like it pains him. “I guess it would make more sense to ask if you hate it.”

You know the answer to that for him, but it’s less straightforward for you. When you don’t respond after a moment he glances at you out of the corner of his eye, and you finally give him another shrug.

“I don’t hate it. It’s a job. A better job than some others I could be doing.” You shift your head back to resting on his chest, even the sidelong eye contact making you uncomfortable with the topic. “I used to hate it, in the beginning. It felt unfair, made me feel dirty.” You shrug again, suddenly aware of how many times you’ve done that now. “It isn’t so bad, now.”

You don’t mention that part of what made it “not so bad, now” was him.

You know how that will go.

You also know he doesn’t only come to you for information, but it starts to sit heavy on your chest when you have little to give him. You know he comes more and more for the company, specifically company that doesn’t judge or try to justify the things he’s done.

But still. It weighs.

So much that you decide to do something about it.

Maybe it’s reckless. No, it’s definitely reckless, and you know it. You know you’re making decisions with your heart, that a certain DEA agent wormed his way in there and is making you want to do things you know you shouldn’t do.

You also know when he finds out he’ll be furious.

It seems so easy in your head.

Most of the reason you don’t sleep with the higher-ups is by choice. You know it’s more dangerous, especially if you do your job too well and they decide to keep you. You’ve seen too many other women come back with bruises and broken bones, victims of the nastier tastes the powerful men of the world enjoy.

But you know how to get to them.

Bat your lashes, show some skin, flirt with the right underling, and you have yourself an invitation to a cartel party. From there, it’s just a matter of looking for the sleaziest, creepiest guy in the room, and bam - one drug lord coming right up.

It’s almost laughably easy to get an invitation to his bed. You spend the night on his lap, ignoring the hand that blatantly sweeps higher and higher up the inside of your bare thigh while he holds court. When he tugs you to your feet, pressing hot kisses to your neck he probably thinks are seductive, you produce a high-pitched giggle and feign at being complimented he chose you.

You realize you’ve gone soft somewhere along the way. You’ve gotten too used to Javi’s touches, and suddenly you wonder when he got gentle. The cruel hands on your hips holding you in place aren’t his. The hard kisses are too rough to be him, the harsh Spanish isn’t his gruff voice.

You hate him for doing this to you, briefly. For making your job suddenly harder to do, because it isn’t him.

Not-Javi is, at least, quick. It’s over in under ten minutes, and he’s asleep in thirty seconds. He’s too smug, too sure of himself, to think someone like you could be a threat to him even while he sleeps.

You wait, counting his breaths and ensuring he really is asleep. You’ve heard stories of women, sent by the DEA to gather information, moving too early and being caught by the men they were spying on.

After half an hour, when you’re sure he’s asleep, you creep out of bed. You dress quietly, grateful you chose an outfit that is easy to put on in the dark. Gripping your heels in one hand you creep from his room, holding your breath while the door clicks shut.

It isn’t hard to find his office, although the emptiness of the halls makes you uneasy.

You ignore the thread of unease curling in your gut, too focused on the idea of getting information for your agent.

When did he become your agent?

You shake your head, pushing the thought away for later. It was too late for doubts now.

There’s papers everywhere, and you curse your luck for getting one of the disorganized lords. You waste precious minutes sifting through the piles and mounds of paper, drawers opening and closing softly. The only benefit was he was unlikely to notice anything was disturbed, if it was out of place to begin with.

There’s also an absurd number of knick-knacks and tchotchkes everywhere that you have to avoid knocking over. A large snow globe from New York sits precariously on a stack of papers. A shelf on one wall holds a set of trophies, although in the darkness you can’t make out what they’re from. Small things, most of which hold no meaning to you, litter the desk.

Most of the papers are useless - shipment logs with names scratched out, money tracked in such large numbers that for a moment you wonder if you’re in the wrong profession, a list of known government agents and pictures if they’re available. You don’t even check to see if he's there - that’s inevitable.

Even more of it is just junk. Porn magazines, take-out receipts, pieces of scrap paper, to-do lists - drug lords make to-do lists apparently. You stop briefly to look at that, curious about what it could be and half expecting to see “torture spy”.

You’re close to frustration, a sense of failure beginning to burn at the back of your eyes when you see it.

A torn scrap of paper, clearly meant to be thrown and instead shoved into the corner of a drawer. There’s an address and a name.

Pablo.

That could be anyone. It’s a popular name.

It probably wasn’t him.

You shove it in your bra anyway.

You do intend to look for more, knowing the likelihood of that actually being Escobar were slim - until you hear a noise.

Footsteps.

Before you can react a hand closes in your hair, wrenching you backwards and throwing you to the ground. You catch your tongue between your teeth, preventing you from crying out, but now you taste blood.

“Stupid fucking whore. You thought you could come in here and just spread your legs and find some information? For who? Did some American promise he loved you?” The only thing you can see in the darkness - and with how your vision is still spinning - is a large shape stalking towards you.

“Or did he promise you a trip to America? You’d just be a whore there too, you know.” One of the benefits in your line of work was the ability to compartmentalize. Shut the words out, shut the pain out, and get through it.

You shut the harsh words and throbbing pain out and roll, feeling the air rush past as a boot comes down with a heavy thud right where your head had been moments before. Rolling to your feet you scan the room desperately just as he lunges for you again. This time when you dodge he takes you down with him, a hand gripping your leg. Your head knocks against the edge of the desk as you go down, close enough to your eye to be grateful you still have it but aware it will probably bruise.

He’s clawing at you, close enough now for you to see the vicious snarl on his face. It’s not the man from before - he’s probably still sound asleep in bed. Most likely it’s a low-level grunt, someone with higher aspirations hoping to get some clout out of taking down someone stupid enough to steal from the cartel.

“You’re going to regret this, you fucking bitch.” You squirm in his grasp, desperately trying to break free as he pulls himself on top of you. “I’m going to enjoy killing you. You’re going to wish you-”

There’s a thud, and then silence. His body suddenly slumps, dead weight on you.

What just happened?

You feel a cold liquid seeping into the fabric at your shoulder and suddenly it hits you - or rather, it hit him.

The snow globe.

The grunt must have bumped the desk and brought it down on himself. It’s so comical that for a moment all you can do is lay there, a hand over your mouth as your shoulders shake with silent laughter. You think maybe you’ve snapped with how long that goes on, until you’re finally able to think clearly again.

Getting out is harder than getting in was.

Roll the dead weight off of you - check if he actually is dead and breathe a sigh of relief when you find a pulse. Pull the door shut behind you and tiptoe down the hall. Hold your breath what feels like through the whole building, eventually slipping your shoes back on just in time to waltz out the front door like the other girls trickling out with their jobs done for the night.

You try to act casual, your head down to hide where you can already feel your eye swelling. It wouldn’t be too much of a stretch to believe you’d gotten it doing the job you were brought in for, but better safe than sorry.

How you end up on Javi’s doorstep is a blur. You think it involved a bus ride, but your adrenaline was so high the entire time you can’t be sure. To be honest, you don’t even remember knocking until he opens the door.

There’s a scowl on his face before he sees you, morphing into shock once he does. Hands grip your shoulders, and you try not to flinch at the memory of the hands that had been on you tonight. Hands that almost kept you from ever leaving that place alive.

“What are you doing here?” His eyes are scanning over you for injuries before the words ever leave his mouth, and you know the moment he sees where your eye is likely already bruising from the way his expression darkens. “Sweetheart what happened?”

The barely concealed rage in his voice is what snaps you out of your fog, more than the endearment does. It still takes you a moment to respond, your mouth feeling like it’s full of cotton.

“I…I didn’t know where else to go. They caught me.”

He pulls you inside gently, shutting the door firmly behind you. There’s the sound of several locks clicking shut, and he guides you to sit on a soft couch. “Who caught you?”

You explain it then, all of it. How you’d felt guilty for not being able to give him more information. Getting into the party, getting caught in the office. Almost killing a man. At the end you pull the piece of paper out of your dress, handing it to him with a shaking hand.

“I don’t know if it will be helpful, it might not even be him, but it was all I got.” Javi is silent as he takes the paper, and you know he’s furious. He won’t even meet your eye, his hand shaking where he holds the scrap of paper.

“I’m sorry, I know it was stupid-” He holds up a hand, cutting you off.

“If they had-” He cuts himself off this time, hand clenched in his lap.

After a moment he slides to the floor, shifting to his knees in front of you. He reaches for your face and you flinch, hating yourself the moment the guilt crosses his face. When you don’t outright pull away he cups your cheek, an emotion you can’t quite place written on his face.

“I never would have forgiven myself if something had happened to you, sweetheart. You didn’t…I wasn’t coming to you for information anymore. I was coming for you. I didn’t care if you didn’t have information.”

You feel your eyes go wide at the information. It’s the most vulnerable he’s ever been for you. The thought stops you dead, freezing any response you might have had.

Javi interprets the silence as rejection, a sad sort of smile coming across his face. “I know it’s cliché, the cop falling for his informant, but-” You’re the one to cut him off this time, pressing your lips to his desperately and nearly falling off the couch in the process.

You’re smiling when the kiss breaks, meeting his shocked expression. “It’s so monumentally cliché, Javi. It’s just about as cliché as the informant that does something stupid for the playboy government agent she cares a little too much about.”

You rarely see Javi smile, and when he does it usually carries a certain amount of pain behind it. This time, the smile is wide and real and happy. He pulls you against him, one hand on the back of your head holding you close. “I guess we’re both just walking clichés, then.”

There’s still so many things to talk about. What to do with the information you found, if any of it is even useful. You’ll probably spend hours going over what happened and what you saw. You’ll be in danger, if the grunt you knocked out remembers what you look like. You’re not even sure if it’s love you’re feeling for the man holding you, if it will grow into something real or fade away over time.

For now, you don’t think about any of that. In this moment, you focus on the feeling of Javi’s arms holding you close, focus on breathing in the smell of his shampoo and the leather from his jacket.

For now, you feel safe.

#javier peña #javier peña x reader #javier peña x f!reader #narcos fanfiction #narcos #secret santa #fic exchange

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houseofhurricane · 2 years

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I love the Asteri as villains for a lot of reasons, but one of their great fringe benefits is that they can help SJM get out of the corner she's painted herself into with the Illyrians in ACOTAR.

There's no way of getting around the fact that the way that SJM has written the Illyrians so far has been problematic. To borrow a term from the great Isabel Wilkerson, SJM has written a lower-caste group in her world in such a derogatory way that she could never reveal whether the Illyrians were actually based on a people group. Literally every sympathetic character in the series criticizes the Illyrians and their culture without finding any goodness in it. This includes actual Illyrians themselves (particularly Azriel) as well as High Fae whose impressions we are told to trust (like Feyre and Nesta). Of course the Illyrians have done horrible things, but so do the High Fae, and they are never painted with such a broad brush. Illyrians are sexist, ruthless killing machines, and the characters we see act otherwise either renounce the Illyrians (except for Cassian, who I'll get to in a second) or have been cast out by them (like Emerie).

Though we see Rhys, Azriel, and Cassian get the Illyrian tattoos, this passage in ACOMAF shows how Rhys' view, at least, makes them a personal tribute rather than a cultural one:

"I got the tattoos in part for my mother, in part to honor my brothers, who fought every day of their lives for the right to wear one." (ACOMAF, 446)

The problem with all of this is that SJM is basically validating the oppression that the Illyrians face in their society. Illyrians are treated as lesser than the High Fae because, as far as we've seen, they deserve to be treated that way -- unless they renounce their culture or are cast out by it. While you may be able to find examples of groups that act like this in history, they're groups that historically have power (I'm thinking of the Nazis or the Confederacy, for example). And, if anything, such parallels only make Rhys look like an even more terrible ruler, because these groups have only risen to power after being repeatedly appeased. But I digress from my point, which is that SJM has written this lower-caste, ostensibly POC group in a really problematic way, making them no-good oppressors without redeeming qualities, even to people who have grown up among them.

And personally speaking, as someone with a country of origin that is currently a repressive dictatorship where citizens lack fundamental human rights, I know that it is possible to celebrate a culture and a people while still heartily criticizing a government and societal structure!

Like many of us, I expected that the Illyrians would get this kind of treatment in ACOSF, particularly given the rebellion that's alluded to in ACOFAS, where Cassian at minimum would realize and/or demonstrate the good qualities of the Illyrian culture. However, it's resolved off-page and SJM's treatment of the Illyrians was, if anything, more problematic than it's ever been. We see Cassian speculating that Azriel would destroy the Illyrians if he got the chance (ACOSF, 42), and though Emerie can speak of the Illyrian legends, she doesn't ever speak up for the culture as a whole.

However, finding out that the Illyrians very likely bred by the Asteri to be warlike gives SJM a route out of this quagmire. First, let's consider this part of Rigelus' speech to Bryce, where he seems to be talking about the Asteri's rule over the world of ACOTAR:

"Our people, who built fearsome warriors in that world to be their army. All of them prototypes for the angels in this one. And all of them traitors to their creators, joining the Fae to overthrow my brothers and sisters a thousand years before we arrived on Midgard. They slew my siblings." (HOSAB, 761)

If, as seems likely, Rigelus is talking in part about the Illyrians, he gives them a) a reason that the Illyrians are so war-like and potentially why they are so oppressive, and b) a heroic backstory. The Illyrians (and likely Enalius, who does seem to have his own heroic backstory that has been mostly lost) were instrumental in banishing the Asteri from their world, turning against the villains who had created and bred them to be killing machines. Far back in their history, the Illyrians demonstrated that they were more than vicious warriors.

SJM likely saved this consideration of the Illyrians not only for Azriel's book (I've seen great theories on this topic) but also so that the crossover could shed additional light on the Illyrians.

Now that she's in Prythian, Bryce can help the Illyrians learn the forgotten aspects of their history, allowing them to reclaim it. Now, this would likely still be white feminism (although Bryce has golden skin, she's still a member of a higher caste and also this scenario would be an individual solving a systemic issue), but it does dig SJM out of the major hole she's created for herself in ACOTAR, and it paves the way for Azriel to have a healing journey that includes his heritage in future ACOTAR books, as he and others realize the implications of the true history of the Illyrians. I can only hope that SJM, who generally has been improving when it comes to writing representation in her books, will make a point of involving Illyrian characters, particularly Emerie, in these revelations and reclamations, so that it's not just Bryce dumping knowledge and solving everything.

This progression wouldn't make SJM's depiction of the Illyrians to this date any less problematic -- it's still wrong -- but it at least gives her a way to demonstrate that she's learned in the years since she started writing ACOTAR.

At the end of the day, the Illyrians don't need to be wholly good. The High Fae in ACOTAR are always complicated characters, capable of good and evil while still being compelling. It's time that the Illyrians received the same treatment. Maybe I'm being overly optimistic, but I think this crossover is going help pave the way towards this portrayal.

Incidentally, if you're reading this and you're a writer wondering how to write people outside your race, gender, ethnicity, or sexuality, please don't follow SJM's example with the Illyrians! There is a very good chance you won't be able to pull off this twist to explain your writing -- and, to be clear, SJM should not have had to rely on it, either.

#house of sky and breath spoilers #hosab spoilers #acotar theory #acotar close read #the illyrians in acotar #acotar 5 #acotar5 #azriel #cassian #the bat boys #hosab theory #house of sky and breath theory #sjm critical

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nincompoopydoo · 3 years

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“ what good is heaven, when all i want is hell “ with Loki Laufeyson x reader, enemies to lovers

IN ANOTHER TIMELINE

PAIRING: Loki Laufeyson x reader WORDS: 1.4k (my hand slipped) SUMMARY: Stranded on Lamentis, the event of the impending apocalypse seem to mend the fire and fury between you and Loki as deeper feelings begin to come to light. A/N: Starting a fic with the f-word is such a classy move 😎Also, why the hell do I keep writing stuff that's angsty? And I replaced the words heaven and hell to fit the situation and their backgrounds a little more, I hope you don't mind. Thank you for requesting, nonny! WARNINGS: Swearing. support my writing through ko-fi💖 MASTERLIST

“Fuck you.”

The profanity spits from your mouth, reflecting the spitfire of your personality. You’re like a raging fire that licks through everything in its way with ravenous swipes. Your eyes are sharp, needle-point orbs that prick his own. He would have to turn away from the overwhelming sense of a sting you leave without a care of the world. No touch or a strike to him, yet you have managed to bruise him all over again. It boils down to the only reason he hates you with as much passion as you portray. Forever caught in a time loop with you with the neverending raking of fire—taking turns playing Victory and Bucentaure.

You turn your back against him, hair swinging as it nearly flicks the tip of his nose. Loki staggers in his step as he watches you trudge through the rocky grounds, hiking up the slope of the crater. Moondust seems to shimmer under the violet hues of the imminent apocalypse as it billows into the air like puffs of smoke with every step of your feet, grazing upon the sand. He trails behind you, scoffing in response.

“I beg your pardon?”

Your hair swings again, angered eyes meeting his own. “You heard what I said. Fuck you. Fuck you for pulling me with you into this space rock. Fuck you for destroying our only way out of this mess.” The ground rumbles as falling meteorites leaving fiery streaks in the sky above cast an illusionary halo around your head, hair frizz untameable as you look down on him like you are some saint, some martyr.

He remembers you from his childhood in Asgard. You were an immaculate being. You still are.

The back of his earlobe itches, like an emotion, buried so deep in his brain, wanting to be set free. He knows you are beautiful. He knows that there’s a chance you would be a martyr with your undying faith and loyalty to the Sacred Timeline. You would die in battle for it.

He knows there’s a place for you in Valhalla.

He hates how intelligent you are. How valiant and habitually good-natured in an unpretentious way—you cast a shadow onto him, presenting his ways as fraudulent and outright evil. He tries so hard to do right but you don’t even have to try.

He hates the way you speak to him as if you know him better than he does. He hates that beautiful soul of yours. He hates how the both of you fall into a natural state of bickering, spitting words of hurt. He doesn’t mean any of them but, he doesn’t know whether you do.

All Loki knows is deny and refute.

He pulls himself out of the crater, watching you walk away with fast strides, almost stomping out of frustration. “Correction. I did not pull you with me onto Lamentis. I didn’t even know where it was going to take us. You had a knife to my throat so, it’s your fault we’re stranded here.”

You ignore him. You seem to be walking aimlessly and away from him rather than with purpose and an intention of a destination. Loki quickly catches up with your pace, stepping in front of you and in your way.

“Are you going to ignore me?”

His question comes off as desperate rather than derogatory to his surprise. Perhaps, experiencing an apocalyptic event tends to affect the mind’s filter. Perhaps, it’s the moon dust. Perhaps, it’s the imminent deafening feeling that Loki might want to be honest for once and wanting to be honest with you.

You abruptly halt in your step as your foot collides with his, wincing as you heave a deep exhale out of frustration. “Would you piss off just for one second!” you spit through gritted teeth. With a flash of daggered eyes to his, you continue trudging through moon rocks, shouldering him as you pass by.

Presently, questions were the only thoughts that filled his mind and were the ones that left his scowled lips. Questions don’t provide answers. They avoid the truth that waits to be freed from the chaos of his brain.

Living up to his true nature of existing as the very embodiment of annoyance in your presence, the one word he questions seemed to have triggered the ticking time bomb in you, resetting it to a shorter countdown until the bomb goes off

“What?”

A simple word. But, the tone makes all the difference. Still, he continues to trail closely behind you. The closeness makes you tick.

You whip your head to him. “What don’t you understand from what I just said? Or would you like me to translate it to language that’s best suited to your magnificence and eliteness?” Your voice is loud as you near him in a threatening manner, waving your hands in the air like he’s some flying pest. “Out of my sight! thou dost infect my eyes, thy majesty!”

If it weren’t for the situation, he would have laughed at how dramatic you were being. Even in anger and hatred, sarcasm still plays an important role in your language and how you express yourself.

He lets you walk away this time but, you don’t stray too far. There’s a rock emerging from the sand, shaped like a slab. You find rest there, sitting by its edge as you watch the city begin to submerge in flames and destruction, accompanied by the screams of its citizens. Death is inevitable but cursed as it could be beautiful.

Moments pass, he watches the back of your still figure. He knows to give you time, to give you space. When ragged breaths have turned to slow ones, you become your true self.

Despite the long-lasting feud between the two of you, there’s a sense of hidden comfort when in each other’s presence. When two people are so often melancholy and lonely, it’s only natural for the two to want to fill the gap that’s been left open from before.

Odin knows you don’t hate each other but only acted as a disguise to the feeling of unrequited love and yearning that remains unknown to the both of you.

Loki finds himself drifting closer to you, lingering by the foot of the stone you sit on. Then, in silence, he watches you shift to the side discreetly, making space for him beside you.

This time, he doesn’t question. He only accepts.

Loki settles beside you, closer than he’d imagined. It’s strange when you’re not wanting to kill him.

Suddenly, your voice cuts through the silence, barely audible with the thunderous crashing of rocks that shower around you. “You know, if we do die here, you’re never going to make it to Valhalla.”

He’s quiet, pursing his lips in thought.

He knows there’s a place for you in Valhalla. Even if it isn’t in battle. You don’t deserve the underworld. The underworld doesn’t deserve you.

“Neither will you.”

You simply hum. “What good is Valhalla...when all I want is Hel?”

There’s a hint of humor in your tone and Loki finds himself staring at your cheek. You’re turned away from him but the despondency in your expression is clear under the bursts of meteorites across the sky as the fractured planet drifts closer to Lamentis.

“Do you really mean that?” You turn to him, brows furrowed. He continues, “Do you really want to go to Hel?”

You shake your head, gaze falling to the ground. “I know I belong there.”

The two fall into silence once more. It isn’t deafening but consoling to two beings attempting to hide the growing fear of the end.

Loki has died before but never this way.

Then, you gently nudge him with your elbow. “Maybe in another timeline, we would have gotten along.”

There’s a smile playing upon your lips. It’s small but it’s there.

Loki smiles at you, too.

“Or if we had more time.”

He takes your hand in his, fingers intertwined with your own. You shut your eyes, trying to memorize the warmth of his touch.

The ground beneath you rumbles once more.

You hold him just a little tighter, breath hitched as the two of you watch the planet descending onto the grounds of Lamentis-1 with the sun casting shadows against the purple hues of the sky.

At that moment in time, you’re just two beings in this universe, finally accepting their fate. Finally, accepting their love.

#happy 1000!#loki laufeyson #loki x reader #loki #loki laufeyson x reader #loki laufeyson imagine #loki x you #loki laufeyson x you #loki series #loki spoilers #loki imagine #loki oneshot #loki laufeyson oneshot

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incorrectzutaraquotes · 4 years

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let’s talk racial micro aggressions, because i’ve been seeing a lot of them being used online toward people speaking out about racism and even in fandoms unfortunately, so i think it’s time we have a talk. this is gonna be a semi long one, so buckle up.

just for reference, im asian american. because of that i’ve gone my entire life experiencing racism and discrimination simple because im not white. of course, i have definitely had it better than a lot of people, but that doesn’t take away from my experiences at all. i grew up hating the way i looked, trying to fix myself because i genuinely thought something was wrong with me. this led to years and years of insecurity and self hatred. something i had to go through alone, because my family was white and i was too afraid to tell them how i felt. i was afraid they wouldn’t understand. it’s still something i struggle with, though it’s gotten better.

growing up, as stated before, i was around white people. growing up in a very white town, i unfortunately wasn’t formally educated on racism or what micro aggressions were, i just knew that certain comments made me uneasy and uncomfortable, and hurt my feelings. it wasn’t until i was older, when i started using social media that i really came to understand what all of this was.

a lot of you who have white privilege are using it to uplift bipoc voices, and i think that’s great. however it’s also important to acknowledge that many people who are actively anti racist still have implicit biases, which can lead to microaggressions.

first of all, what are microaggressions? you may or may not be familiar with the term. if you’re not, that’s okay! you can use this post to educate yourself and make sure you don’t make these mistakes in the future. microaggressions are defined as brief and commonplace daily verbal, behavioural, or environmental indignities, whether intentional or unintentional, that communicate hostile, derogatory, or negative prejudicial slights and insults toward any group, particularly culturally marginalized groups.

basically, intentional or unintentional derogatory and prejudice behaviors directed towards marginalized groups.

these are very harmful to marginalized groups, mostly because they’re not as blatant as outright racism, misogyny, homophobia, etc. this makes it often hard to detect, and you may have found yourself using micro aggressions at some point in your life. that’s not important though, what’s important is that, if you have used them in the past, you understand what you said or did was wrong, and that you learn from it.

now, what are specific racial micro aggressions? i’ve compiled a list of them under the cut, and explained why these are insulting and harmful to poc.

“where are you really from” – this insinuates that we will always be seen as foreigners, and not citizens to our own country. it brings on a feeling of not being good enough and that we will not be accepted.

“not everything’s about race” – if you’re white stop telling bipoc how to feel about race. we are tired of it. please don’t speak over us when we are expressing our discomfort. if poc people are telling you something is racist, it’s racist. stop trying to argue with us, as you are not the ones being affected by it.

“your food is so weird” – it’s only weird to you because it hasn’t been westernized or americanized. insisting that foreign foods are weird or gross because you aren’t used to it, is hurtful. it’s insulting.

“all asians look the same” – by saying this, you’re taking away our individuality. asia is a huge continent, not all of us follow the same traditions and not all of us look the same. it’s not a funny joke, and it never has been.

“you’re pretty for a *insert any race here*” – this is just such a backhanded compliment. it implies that we are not typically or conventionally pretty. it has the same negative connotations as saying “you’re really good...for a girl”. that’s misogynistic for the same reasons saying this is racist.

“i don’t see color” – again, you’re basically erasing our individuality and culture and telling us we shouldn’t embrace it. many pocs even completely distance themselves from their cultures to seek white validation, which is in every sense of the word, upsetting. people want to fit in so bad that they’re willing to leave behind their entire culture. something that sucks about being adopted at such a young age from a white family, is that i have never had a connection with my culture. i know nothing about it, and that hurts. i rationalized in my head that the reason i didn’t learn about it sooner was because i was happy, but that was a lie i told myself for years. the sad thing is, is that because i wasn’t connected to my culture at all, i fit in better and had an easier time making friends then other pocs in my school.

assuming all asian people are smart or good at math – stop. it’s not funny. never has been. the stereotype that all asians are smart is not a compliment, and puts a lot of pressure on us as individuals. it objectifies us, assuming we are more like machines and not actual people. long story short, it’s dehumanizing.

“im not/cant be racist i have black friends” – contrary to popular belief, yes you can be. you can still have a racial bias while being friends with bipoc people. being associated with poc people doesn’t suddenly mean you’re not racist. you may even make racist jokes and think it’s okay because they don’t tell you to stop. just because they are seemingly unbothered does not mean it’s not still racist. a lot of times we are uncomfortable in situations like that, but are too afraid to speak up in fear of our feelings being invalidated or being told to lighten up because it’s just a joke. saying we’re too sensitive when it comes to making mockeries of our races and cultures, is also a micro aggression.

saying “you people” or “y’all” when talking, usually negatively, about a person of a specific race – you’re generalizing an entire group because of one bad experience which is just contributing to the stereotypes and racism we face daily. one or a few bad interactions with a person of a different race does not speak for an entire population.

clutching your bag tight when a poc person, usually black or latinx, stands next to you or following them in the store – the way i still have to explain this one in 2020. they are not criminals, but by doing this, you’re contributing to the stereotype that they are all criminals and thugs, which simply isn’t true. this stereotype is very damaging and harmful, as it also contributes to the systematic oppression of those people.

assuming someone only got a certain job or position because they’re bipoc – this insinuates that we did not work hard to get where we are, and that we did not deserve what we got. we simply got it because we aren’t white. affirmative action comes up a lot in this conversation. all affirmative action does is help decide between equally qualified people by favoring the ones who suffer from discrimination in society, but it does not reserve spots for them.

assuming someone knows how to speak mandarin because they’re asian – asia is a large continent with A LOT of languages and cultures. not everyone is chinese. not everyone speaks the same language. it’s insulting and adds to the already hurtful stereotype that all asians look the same.

“you speak english really well” or “how did you learn to speak english so well” – it’s called practicing because people have been making fun of those with accents for years, simply because they are not used to it. being surprised when a poc speaks english well implies that you may think because they’re not white, they are less educated. we’ve simply assimilated because our cultures are constantly rejected and mocked by white people and even other pocs. this also contributes to the notion that westerners are more “civilized” or that they are better, because they(generally speaking this obviously doesn’t apply to everyone)make no effort to learn our cultures, but we have to learn theirs in order to be seen as “acceptable”.

“but *insert race* are racist too” or pointing out immoral things other countries do when people of that race speak up about racism - you’re redirecting the conversation to avoid responsibility. you don’t actually care about those issues, you just want to invalidate our struggles by pointing out that a place many of us have not been to in a long time, or ever, is very flawed. we have no say in what that government chooses to do. not all places are a democracy, and many democracies around the world are flawed.

something important to remember is that anyone can be guilty of implicit bias and micro aggressions. this is not selective to one race.

if you have anymore of these, please feel free to add on. also, if you’re a poc and something i wrote made you uncomfortable, please tell me. i want to make sure im being truthful with what i said. i did do research for some of these, and some were based on personal experiences, but if you want to add to something or you want me to change or delete something do not hesitate to call me out.

unfortunately they and other racial stereotypes are very prevalent in american media, which has normalized it in our society. this post is solely meant to educate if you weren’t previously aware of the dangers micro aggressions have on minorities. i started the list because i was tired of seeing so much normalized racism online, but i hope you learned something useful with this. if you stuck around this long, thank you for listening. i appreciate it a lot.

as for my zutara fans, i apologize for making so many rant posts rather than posting incorrect quotes. i just feel like im able to reach a larger audience with the platform i have on this account than any other one.

anyway, that’s all. thank you again for listening :)

#this is not to take away from blm #i understand that i talked a lot of asian experiences #but that’s just because i am asian #and ive personally gone through them #i’ll link some carrds to blm resources and other world issues tomorrow #it’s 4am now but yeah #please remember that your fight for equality cannot be selective #it’s important that we all understand our differences #and the different struggles we face #but it’s also important that we support each other right now #micro aggression #racism #racial bias #racism in america #black lives matter #fuck the system #its broken #and we need to fix that

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