#who killed malcolm x | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

disasterofastory · 7 months

Text

A shocking night (Brahms Heelshire x Reader)

A shocking night // Brahms Heelshire Masterlist Brahms Heelshire x Reader Kinktober 2023 - 2/14 Warnings: shower smut, a bit dub-c, dead bodies

Summary: You meet Brahms, the living one, for the first time.

It's so quiet you can hear the rapid beating of your heart as it tries to break free from the hold of your ribcage. Your chest heaves as you pant and gulp for air. Your lungs burn. You can feel the wild rhythm of your pulse at the tip of your fingers. It makes your limbs numb and frozen. It makes you stop from running and escaping this hellhole.

The entrance door of the mansion seems far away. Too far away.

Your eyes are on the man. He is the only one still alive. The other three lie on the ground, bloody and motionless. They chose the wrong house to break into. Your attention falls on them for a second before snapping back at the one who stares at you from behind his mask. The white but dirty porcelain is familiar. Too familiar.

"Brahms?" Your voice is high and panicked. At first, you think he doesn't even understand your question. He tilts his head to the side before nodding. His posture is still tense and ready to jump at any second if you dare to move even an inch. His broad chest moves up and down as he pants. The white shirt he wears is dirty and bloody, too. Everything is.

How is it possible? You heard about the history of the family who hired you. Malcolm told you about their son who died in the fire that still marks the outside of the house. That's why you were so accepting to take care of a toy. You had no idea what secret they hid among the tall walls of the mansion.

"Y/N?" Your heart stops beating for a second when a high, childlike voice pulls you out of your thoughts. Your eyes focus back on the man in front of you. "Yes?" You ask back, gasping. "Are you going to leave?" He asks. It's a dangerous question. You hear the silent warning underneath his words. "No, Brahms," you force yourself to speak. "I won't leave you." He nods. Even through the mask, you can see the satisfaction that your reply brings to him. "Did they hurt you?"

Did they hurt you? You have to think about his question. You don't remember. Everything happened so fast. In one second, you were asleep, and the next, you woke up at the sharp sound of breaking glass. You went to see what it was, and before you knew it, chaos ensued. Brahms broke through a mirror and killed everyone. Well, expect you.

He steps closer, and your back presses against the wall as you try to keep your distance from him. His hand lands on your shoulder, sliding over the curve until he reaches your neck. His touch is surprisingly gentle.

Oh, now you remember. One of the men grabbed your neck when they noticed you. Your head is still dizzy because of it. And because of everything else. "I'm fine," you tell him. "Please, Brahms." Tears gather in your eyes as you stand still in his hold. "Please, don't hurt me." The man frowns behind the mask as he moves his gaze from your neck to your face. Your face is wet from crying. Your eyes shine with tears and panic. He shakes his head. "If you are good to me, I will be good to you." His words do nothing to calm you down, and his thin voice makes you want to cry harder. How is it even possible? The boy, the man in front of you, should be dead. Taking a deep breath, you reach for his hand still on your neck. His fingers curl around your fingers instantly. "We have to do something with… them," you tell him, glancing at the lifeless bodies behind Brahms.

You are not even sure what you should do. Call the police? You are sure Brahms wouldn't let you, and you would end up in prison without a question. Nobody would believe you. But maybe being behind bars would be better than staying here.

"I will take care of them," Brahms says. His voice is normal now, and you are surprised at how good it sounds. "What will you do with them?" You ask him. "I will take care of them," he repeats his previous words, and you get the hint. "Okay," you nod. "Take care of them, Brahms." At your instruction, the man's posture straightens. He almost seems happy that you told him what to do. "I will go and make some tea, okay?" You ask him. He is not happy about letting you go out of his sight, but the promise of warm tea after he is done makes him relent.

You know this is your chance to escape, but you can't make yourself do it. You are too afraid. And too tired. You sit at the kitchen island for what it feels like forever. You hear Brahms moving around in the other room, and you can see his dark form outside, but the greenery of the garden hides what he is doing. Well, you have a guess, anyway.

"Are you done?" You ask him when he appears under the door of the kitchen. He is even more dirty than he was. His boots are almost black because of the mud outside.

You have to clean up everything tomorrow. You stop at the thought. What? There is no way you will stay and play nanny after this madness.

When Brahms nods, you push the other mug his way, and he sits down in front of you. "How will you-?" Before you can finish your question, he pulls on the mask, and you get a glimpse of his thick beard and lips. "Oh." For long seconds, none of you say anything. Brahms just stares at you while sipping from his cup, and you look back at him with several unanswered questions. "Brahms," you break the silence after a while, clearing your throat. You are still afraid to say the wrong thing and anger him. As it seems, he has a sure place for dead bodies. He says nothing but watches you, waiting. "You were here the… whole time?" He nods. "And the… doll? It is just a toy, isn't it?" He nods again. The thought of him watching you without your knowledge sends unease down your spine. He was there the whole time, and you did know nothing about it. "Your parents," you continue. The words roll down your tongue slowly and carefully. "They wanted to protect you." You heard about him killing a little girl. Brahms nods, putting down the mug onto the wooden surface. It's empty. You have not enough courage to ask him why he did what he did. "You…" Your throat tightens. "You killed those men so easily." He reminded you of a feral beast, taking down those men easily and quickly. Even when they begged, Brahms didn't have mercy in his heart to throw them out and let them run away. "They hurt you," he says. His gaze falls on your neck, watching the dark bruise already forming on your soft skin. It makes him angry. "You came out to protect me?" He looks into your eyes again as he nods. "Will you hurt me?" He thinks for a long, horrible second and shakes his head. The dark curls on the top of his head frame the porcelain mask on his face. "The mask," you continue. "You can take it off." His muscles tense, and he shakes his head again. "Okay," you nod, looking at the clock on the wall. "It's late Brahms. You should take a shower and go to sleep." "No," he replies, and his voice is childlike and high again. You frown at his answer. "Do you want to go to sleep like this?" You ask him. He is dirty and bloody and sweaty. He shakes his head. "Then go and shower. You will sleep better." "No." "Brahms," you sigh. "It's late, and I'm tired. Please, just do as I say." After watching over the doll for weeks, you fall into your caretaker role automatically. "Will you be there?" "While you shower?" He nods. "If you want me there." You have to force your face not to grimace. "Will you bathe me?" 'No' is your first reaction, but you keep it yourself. He is so calm now. You don't want to do anything that can disturb it. "If you want to." He nods again, standing up. "Then go and get some clothes and meet me in your room, okay?" You can see he wants to argue for a second but decides against it at the end. He must be tired, too.

While you wait for Brahms in his room, your eyes are glued to the doll in the middle of the bed. He stares back at you. The dim lights reflect in his glass eyes. You are almost angry at it. There were moments during your time here when you foolishly thought taking care of a toy wasn't the biggest waste of your time.

A thought gets stuck in your head, and you frown. Your eyes are still on the doll when you hear the real Brahms's arrival. "Brahms," you say his name. He stops, watching your back until you turn to look at him. He holds his clean clothes against his chest. "Your parent. They won't come back." Your question sounds like a statement, but the man nods anyway.

You need several deep breaths to calm yourself. Upsetting Brahms won't lead you anywhere good.

"Come," you break the silence after a while. Your voice is surprisingly steady. "The sooner you get cleaned, the sooner we can go to sleep."

In the small space of the bathroom, Brahms seems even bigger. He towers over you easily, watching you put his clean clothes on the toilet through his mask. His heart is wild in his chest. He imagined you this close to him so many times before. Of course, he acted on his desires several times, but now you are awake. You know about him. And you will stay. "Take off your clothes, Brahms," you tell him, trying to look everywhere else but him as he slowly does as you say. "You don't like me?" His voice is a mix of his real and childlike pitch. You gulp. "Of course, I like you, Brahms." "Then why don't you look at me?" He is confused. You don't like how he looks like? Maybe you would prefer Malcolm instead of him? The thought angers him. That man is weak and incapable of protecting you. You force yourself to look at him. "I just thought you would feel uncomfortable," you lie. Oh. The man calms down within a second. How nice of you. "Now go," you tell him, pointing at the already running water. For a moment, you think he will obey again, but at the last second, he grabs your wrist, trying to pull you with himself. "Brahms!" You gasp. "What are you doing?" "You are dirty, too." "I will take a shower after you go to sleep." "No." "Brahms!" You don't stand a chance against his strength. The sleeve of your shirt is already wet. "Get in with me!" The anger is clear and powerful in his voice. Blood freezes in your veins at his sudden aggression. "Okay! Okay!" You gasp, afraid. With a quick step, you are under the water, too, letting your clothes get soaked and stick to your body.

Being so close to him, you don't have any other option but to stare at his bare upper body. His skin is several shades darker, with dried blood and dirt on it. His chest is covered in dark hair that barely hides his hard muscles. How can he be so fit while living inside the walls?

"No," he breaks the silence when you reach out for the sponge. "I don't want that." After his last outburst, you decide to let it go. Pouring some soap in your palm, you smear it all over his chest. Your lungs burn for air as you stare into nothing, trying not to think about what you are doing right now. You can feel his muscles quiver and move under your touch. "Am I a good boy?" Brahms asks, making you look up at him in surprise. "Yes," you reply. "You are a good boy." "I protected you." "You did, Brahms." "And good boys get rewards, right?" You gulp. "I guess you are right." "Then take off your clothes." Fuck. "I will take off my clothes if you wash your hair. I can't reach it." The man thinks about it for a second, then nods. By the time you reach for your shirt, he is already washing his hair.

Brahms's heart thuds in his chest as he watches you get rid of your clothes. Soon, you are bare and soft in front of him. Your hair is soaked, and small drops of water run over your skin, caressing the parts he wants to touch, too. His large palms almost burn with need, and his fingers twitch with need. "Am I still a good boy?" He asks, staring down at you. He doesn't even try to hide the fact that he is mesmerized by your breasts. Your nipples are hard peaks almost grazing his chest. "Yes." Your reply is barely louder than a whisper. "Then I can wash you too." It's more of a statement. "Brahms, I don't think it-" Your words end in a startled gasp as he tugs you closer without your permission. His hands are large on your back. His erection is pressed between your bodies. The friction makes him grunt. He caresses your skin, starting on your back and slowly but surely slipping to your front. His thumb flicks over your nipples, playing and teasing them. "Brahms!" You want to sound stern, but your voice trembles at the pleasurable feeling that goes straight between your legs. When he tugs on one of your nipples, your back arches on its own. He knows your body better than you think, and his little secret pulls a naughty smirk on his lips. "Y/N," he says your name, almost whining. "You said I am a good boy." "You are," you tell him. "But you shouldn't-" Your moan is loud and clear in the small room. His long fingers slip between your legs even when you try to close your thighs. "Let me get my reward," he says, on the edge of demanding. "I am a good boy, Y/N. I protected you from those men." "You did," you cry out, feeling him on your most intimate part. His fingertips graze over your slit, opening you up to caress you some more. He isn't sure what he is doing, but it doesn't stop your body from reacting. You feel yourself getting wetter and wetter. His breathing is heavy next to your ear, and his hips rock against your stomach. He grinds his cock to your skin for some friction and whines every now and again. "Teach me, Y/N," he says. "Tell me what to do to be your good boy." If he is a good boy, you won't leave him. You won't even try it. "M-my clit," you tell him, reaching down for his hand to lead him to the small buddle of nerves. "Rub it, Brahms. Here!" He does as you say, watching your face to see what feels good and what isn't. The man draws small circles on your clit while his fingers get soaked in your juices. He can feel the familiar pull on his balls as he continues to grind against your body. Your soft stomach feels like heaven on his aching cock. Your hands snap up to his shoulders, grabbing onto the man to keep your balance. Your legs shake, and your thighs open for his curious fingers. He feels proud when he notices it. "Call me a good boy," he pants demandingly. "Tell me I'm your good boy, and you won't leave me." His fingers on you move faster, rubbing and teasing. "You are my good boy, Brahms," you tell him, gasping and moaning. Hot coil burns in your stomach as you feel your orgasm approaching. "So good!"

You almost fall against the tiles when Brahms squats down in front of you. Your nails scratch over the wall to find your balance. For long seconds, you forget how to breathe as you stare down at the man's curly, wet locks in front of you. You can feel the cold of his mask on your thigh as he pushes it out of the way. "Brahms!" Hearing his name falling out of your lips in a shocked cry makes his cock jerk and leak even more pre-cum.

The scent of your arousal is thick and heavy in his nostrils. Saliva gathers in his mouth as he takes several deep breaths to burn your smell in his memory. When one of your hands finds his hair in a strong pull, he doesn't waste any more time. He leans closer and closes his lips around the small bud he teased a few minutes ago. The vibration of his moan strikes over your body. Your taste floods his mouth, and he can't help but crave more. He devours your pussy like his life depends on it. His tongue flicks over your clit, and his cheeks hollow when he starts to suck on it. "Fuck!" You scream, letting your head fall backward. "Brahms!" Your hips grind down on his face with fastened pace as you chase your release. His muffled whines and moans echo in the small bathroom, mixing with your cries until both of you reach your highs and fall over the edge. His cum lands on the ground until the still running water washes it down the drain while your pussy gets cleaned by his tongue. Your muscles twitch and jerk under every swipe on your sensitive center. "Good boy, Brahms," you gasp for air. "You are my good boy."

#brahms heelsire x reader #brahms heelshire imagine #brahms heelshire smut #the boy x reader #the boy imagine #kinktober 2023 #slasher fucker

1K notes · View notes

kamaluhkhan · 1 month

Text

BAD REPUTATION

PRIDE — part iii of we'll write sins not tragedies

pairing: luke castellan x nemesis! reader (afab) word count: 275 summary: luke will do just about anything to keep his title as truth or dare champion. warnings: nothing other than young adult shenanigans (drinking, suggestive dialogue, impulsive decisions etc. etc.) author's note: i had this idea floating around in my brain this past week and it ended up being MUCH shorter than i expected?? anyways, the next part is probably going to be much longer and angstier (and smuttier) so.....hope u enjoy this in the meantime x

♪ "bad reputation" by joan jett & the blackhearts

when the game starts — after curfew, of course, with some contraband alcohol — stakes are relatively low.

stealing a bottle of vintage wine from mr. d's cellar. choosing who to fuck, marry, or kill between hercules, achilles, and theseus. revealing that malcolm pace was the best kiss ever had.

"other than you," luke specifies when you mumble something about the son of athena stealing your thunder. he pulls you into his lap and wraps an arm around your waist for good measure.

a few truths and several dares later, is when things start to get interesting.

"no way in tartarus am i doing that."

"i think it's kinda romantic," silena swoons, batting her eyelashes.

clarisse groans. "lena, i don't care what it is, it's stupid to get a tattoo on a dare."

"or, you're just too much of a coward to go through with it."

"ha! well, if you're such a daredevil, castellan, then why don't you do it? biting's more your couple style, anyways."

and that's how you find yourself in some dingy tattoo parlor, about to sink your teeth into your boyfriend's flesh. your friends are all waiting outside the room, buzzing to see the results of this latest challenge, as the tattoo artist prepares their station.

"you sure about this, tiger?"

"of course." luke smirks. "i've got a reputation to uphold."

the next day, luke, reigning champ of truth or dare, rolls up the sleeve of his camp half-blood tshirt, just to show off the bitemark on his bicep. your bitemark, engraved on his skin forever.

some campers whisper about how badass and sexy luke's new tattoo looks.

you can't help but agree.

#luke castellan #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan imagine #luke castellan pjo #luke castellan x you #luke castellan x nemesis!reader #luke castellan x fem!reader #saf writes

230 notes · View notes

small-sinclair · 1 year

Text

Breaking Walls

Vampire!Brahms Heelshire x preg.fem!reader

welcomed reader: @hao-ming-8

Tw: biting, blood, killing/murder, bone breaking, angry Brahms, reader being used as a shield, gun, proofread twice but might have grammar mistakes

You woke up to the sound of the backdoor glass shattering.

Your head jerked up from the pillows, sleep still in your eyes. You didn't want to move because Brahms had you in a cuddle, his face pressed in your stomach, his wild brown curls covering his burn, and he looked so beautiful in your arms. At first, you thought it was nothing but part of a dream, but you heard shoes crunching over broken glass.

You placed a kiss in Brahms's hair before getting up. Maybe it's nothing, but it doesn't hurt to look, right? Maybe Malcolm forgot his keys again? No, he forgets a lot of things but not the keys. Also, it's the middle of the night! He's at home with his two dogs. He can't be here at this hour.

If your mind is playing tricks on you, however, it's worth the trip; you needed a glass of water anyways. Yeah, you can get water from the bathroom sink, but the water didn't taste right? Ever since you got pregnant, you would only drink water from the kitchen sink and nowhere else. If you tired to drink from the bathroom sinks, you would throw-up. Two months in and you're still learning new things. You're tired and sleepy, but water and a mysterious noises called you.

You put on Brahms's jacket and slipped on your bunny slippers, still getting the sleep out of your eyes. You really hoped it was mice breaking something or some very angry racoon throwing rocks like last week. Brahms fought the little guy and killed it with his teeth, his fangs ripping it apart like a dog on a chew toy. You held a funeral for the little guy and had Malcolm get a racoon statue as a grave stone marker. You had Brahms read aloud a written apology to the dead racoon before you lowered the critter into the earth.

R.I.P. Ted the Racoon, who's buried in the backyard, you thought as you sneaked down the steps. Maybe Ted's family has come for revenge. You couldn't help but give a silly smile at the thought of Brahms fighting another racoon. He's so hot cute when his fangs are out. His eyes would shine brighter and his smile looked so breath taking. What a king, my man. He's the Racoon Slayer.

When you got closer to the backdoor, you froze.

Standing by the good china, a taller, stronger man had his back turned as he hurriedly took the good silver from the drawer. Standing next to him, a smaller man in a ski mask held the bag.

Out of reaction, you turned on the lights, making the men freeze.

"What in the hell do you think you're doing?" You snapped confused, sleep finally starting to leave. When you saw the handgun in the back pocket of the smaller man, your eyes grew wide. You did not think this through. "Oh... shit."

The smaller one was the first to jump to run after you as soon as you started towards the staircase again. "Brahms! Brahms, help--!"

His hand covered your mouth as he pulled you backwards, the taller man starting to hurry to get things packed. "Come on, Dylan! We got enough!"

"The bitch screamed for help!" The smaller one shouted. "There's another here!"

The taller man turned, his eyes glowing from under the ski mask. "Then let's get out of here! We got enough silver-!"

Within the walls, the sound of wood breaking and paint chipping echoed. The lights above you flickered and broke, it sounded like a freight train inside the walls. You struggled to get out of his grasp, but he squeezed harder around your skin. If he leaves bruises on you, all type of mercy will go out the window. Your eyes darted around the room as the smaller man took out his gun, taking it off safety.

Suddenly, silence.

You closed your eyes and started to cry silently, a whimper escaping from the back of your throat.

And that's all Brahms needs to hear.

From the right side of the taller man, Brahms burst through the wall roughly, taking down the taller man. The man didn't have time to react as Brahms took a piece of wood and stabbed him in his lower chest, burying it in deep. Brahms threw him to the side, his back snapping as soon as it hit the broken door, and sunk to the floor.

When his eyes flashed to you, his soft puppy eyes turned to a blood red, maskless. He hissed at the man, his fangs bared and bright, his body tense with danger and murder. He looked at you then at the man, hate burning his lungs. How dare he have a gun against your skin. Your his. You're not supposed to feel fear while you're in his house, your home. He promised you that since he married you in the spring.

And the baby--

The gun pressed against your throat as the shorter man said, "Move and she dies, I swear--!"

He didn't finish that statement. In a blink, he was thrown back into the wall, his back going through it. Brahms pushed you away, and you fell on back and scurried away as Brahms entered the wall.

Close your eyes and count to 100, y/n. This is going to be ugly.

The man looked up at horror of Brahms and tried to shot, but Brahms broke his hand. "How dare you," he hissed through his teeth. "How dare you come into my house," his grip tighten, "try to steal my wife away from me," his grip tightened until his bones stated to shatter all over again. The man screamed but Brahms didn't let up. "You threatened her, my darling, with a gun! My y/n with a gun! My child, that she carries, with a bullet!" Brahms twisted his arm back violently, snapping his shoulder in two.

"Please," the man whimpers pathetically. "Mercy--"

"Fuck your mercy," his accent was heavy. "Fuck your begs. It left as soon as you thought it was a good idea," he yanked the man to his feet until he was dangling in the air, "to put my wife and child in harms way!" The more he thought about you almost getting hurt, the more he hated the men. The more he hated the fact that they were in his house. Near you. Touching and bruising you. Scaring you. He hated them. He ate himself. He loves you. "Never again," he growled, his fangs growing longer and sharper. "Never. Again."

With a terrible noise leaving the attacker, the sound of the man's neck being torn from his body made you want to throw-up.

You slowly sat up as you watched Brahms come out of the broken wall, his mouth covered in rich blood from his kill, chest heaving heavily. His eyes scanned the room and saw the other man, who laid across from you, taking shallow breaths. You looked at your husband then back at the man. He didn't do anything wrong to you; he wanted to leave and call it a night! Truth to be told, you felt bad for him. He was just looking for a score, not to be killed by a ragging vampire husband. You looked between him and Brahms as you watched him breath heavily.

"Let me take care of him, doll," Brahms said in his real voice, deep and low, the corner of his lip twitching in anger. "You'll never see him again-"

"Brahms, wait," you were shaky as you stood between him and the dying man. Your hands went up and cupped his cheeks. "Honey, he's almost dead. He didn't hurt me or wanted to harm me; he wanted to leave."

"He came into our house, y/n," Brahms's voice was heavy in anger as he looked at the man gasping. "I can take care of the rat."

"Then make it fast?" You asked. "I don't want him to suffer more than he already has, okay?" You thumbed away some of the blood on the corner of his mouth. "He's done nothing wrong towards me." His eyes fell back on you, and his soft brown and blue eyes returned. He leaned into your hands and took deep breaths, but your hands left him, lowering them to your side.

He looked at you confused as you were careful to step away and over the broken glass. You crouched next to the dying man and held his hand. Your grandmother said that it's bad to die alone, and it's the worst feeling in the world. You frowned as you listened to his broken apologies, and you offered a sad smile.

"Thank you for not hurting me," you whispered. "I'm sorry that it has to be this way."

You felt Brahms standing over you, and you looked up, letting him know that you were ready, that it was okay for him to do the kill. You know it's in his nature, but he always made sure you're not in the room. He helps you stand and ushered you out of the room to the front hallway.

He kisses your hands, whispering in his voice, "Be right back, y/n."

"Please, Brahms," you said again, taking his hand. "Please be good? Make it fast?" He doesn't answer you, but he squeezed your hand and left you alone.

You stand and wait alone in the dark. You held your stomach as you waited, nervous and scared. The moments later, the light turned off and Brahms emerged from the darkness. He lowered his head on your shoulder and left a blood stain kiss on your neck, his fangs brushing your skin.

Your hands raked through his curls as you leaned into his chest, closing your eyes, allowing yourself to cry again.

"Never again," Brahms murmurs in his childish voice. "Never face scary noises by yourself again." His hand grip your arms gently before scooping you up and carried you back to bed.

You leaned into his chest a he carried you up the steps. "Did he suffer?"

"No," he answers childishly. "I was good. I listened. I promise." You looked up at him and touched his scared face. He leaned into it and kissed your palm. "Brahms was good."

You couldn't help but smile as you lean against him. "Good boy," you whispered, tears slowing down. "Good boy, Brahms."

He takes you back into the bedroom and lays you down. He leaves and washes up in the bathroom. When he comes back, he wasn't wearing a shirt as he came back into bed. He kisses your lips twice, one to say 'I love you' and one for 'goodnight', and wrapped his arms around your side, burying his face to be close to his child once more. Your hands went through his curls, again, then closed your eyes. After a few shaky breaths, you were back to sleep.

#brahms x you #brahms heelshire x reader #brahms heelsire x reader #brahms heelshire #brahms the boy #brahms the doll #the boy #the boy 2016 #vampire!brahms heelshire #vampire!brahms #slasher fic #slasher fanfic #slasher #the boy fanfiction #the boy fanfic #slasher fanfiction #brahms heelshire fanfis #brahms heelshire x you #brahms heelshire x y/n

526 notes · View notes

makerinthemaking · 6 months

Text

neil gaiman is a fucking zionist.

"b-but neil gaiman simply said both israel AND palestine have a right to exist!! that doesn't make him a zioni--" yes the fuck it does u privileged ignorant fucks. i shouldn't have to fuckin say this but y'all will say anything for the sake of defending the brits ig? even throwing those being mass genocided rn under the bus?

i used to admire the guy 'til i found out what he's believed, the genocidal state he supports the existence of, & continues to stand by what he said.

israel DOESN'T have a right exist.

not as it is, not as it's been & will always be. a genocidal state built on stolen land. its very citizens have shaped into a culture of discrimination, see the shit they post about palestinians. see questionnaires & statistics. segregation laws many of them gladly endorse. this ain't just the politicians (who have been loud in their prospects of ethnic extermination to allow for more land stealing) nor is it abt jews, abt neil's or anyone's jewish background. plenty jews speaking up against this bullshit, & already there were jewish ppl living in palestine before colonization (brought by an illegitimate act of imposed imperialism & not one palestinian representative in sight. the UK must also be held accountable but they won't be). dare y'all to tell me it shouldn't be the goal to give the land & the power back to its indigenous colonized peoples, regardless of the oppressing settlers already being... settled. it ain't the native peoples' problem to figure out, esp when so many of the colonizing settlers will support the shit thrown at palestinians. there's maybe like 1000 palestinians losses for very israeli casualty. US cops r trained by Israel, not to mention Israel equips them w shit to k1ll minorities in the US. Palestinians stand by BLM & gave advice on how to dodge gas & bullets during protests. they stood by Malcolm X & Black Panthers. BIPOC oppression & fight has always aligned w Palestinians'. israel freely enjoys basics & luxuries & will fuss abt the silliest shit like not getting enough diet flour at the moment, while publicly segregating & making racist mock of palestinians for literally not having access to basic shit like water & shelter & for getting their population violently cleansed & decimated while in an open-air prison. they're not even allowed to try & leave without risk of getting killed, & they're bombed even where Israel directs them it's safe to go (like South Gaza!) but why should they leave? it's THEIR land. would be successful cultural genocide. & now Israel declines offers to recover Israeli hostages just bc they don't wanna return infant Palestinian hostages, & instead Israel bombs places where ISRAELI hostages may be kept. even target-bomb hospitals, houses. freed Israeli hostages come out saying how appalled they are at how Israel failed them & keeps failing them. Israel's also been stealing & jailing/target killing palestinian children for ages. this mass killing's been going on for decades, yet Palestine is demonized by media when they try defend themselves. ain't no matter of "two sides" & "neutrality" when one side is oppressed & the other the oppressor. hamas is israel's oppression fault (& their politics actually see them as a convenience). actual palestinians have stated again & again they don't just want the genocide to end, they also want their stolen land back & the genocidal invasor state to be dismantled. which is what's right. the state of israel often has to delete its own posts cuz they're always found to be fabricated, falsified shit against palestinians, now western jewish AND christian celebrities post abt how "scared" they are, from the safety of their mansions & limos. it was already illegal to wear traditional muslim attire in anti-muslim countries such as france, now it's illegal to even peacefully protest for palestine & if u do ur thrown in jail as a terrorist or deported. these countries publicly support israel. israel has the army the means & the world's support, palestine's been in need of support & neilman ain't helping. should just shut his goddmn mouth. ain't he the one getting genocided this day. i dare that moron neilman to come at me i'll fucking have him, he's just like any other people who won't let themselves be educated anyway. not by us, much less by the oppressed people of palestine, the ones actually getting the shitty end of this situation. im so done. bland fuckin spineless "liberals". so quick to defend the british. stop fucking defending rich public figures online & do something for the persecuted ppl actually getting killed rn.

they're never on equal footing when it's 15 goliaths against 1 david.

no, israel shouldn't fucking exist & neil gaiman is a fucking zionist for even saying it should. not sorry i said this - palestinians r getting worse than rudely worded posts.

not a war. GENOCIDE.

#i dare a bitch to come at me. he knows well how to get his fans to pile on people anyway #Palestine #Israel #free palestine #israel palestine conflict #neil gaiman #neilman #Zionism #settler colonialism #islamophobia #ethnic cleansing #genocide #anti zionisim #Hamas #terrorism

240 notes · View notes

vikkirosko · 7 months

Text

🔥Brahms Heelshire x Reader headcanons Childhood friend 📋

You and Brahms were children when your parents brought you to meet him. Your parents got along, so they hoped that you could get along too. At first he didn't want to communicate with you, but at some point he realized that he was bored without you and decided that you would be his friend. He was jealous of the fact that others communicated with you, especially the girl who came to play with you in his house. However, your communication stopped when there was a fire in the mansion and you were sure that your friend had died

You kept coming at the request of your parents. They knew how hard it was for Brahms' parents after the loss of their son, and when they had a doll, you came and at their request communicated with the doll as if it was their son. As a child, it didn't seem like a problem to you, even though you were sad, but when you got older, you started coming there to work. You were cleaning, repairing and gardening, helping them. Every day you came to their house and every day you devoted a couple of hours of your time to communicating with the doll. You understood that it was pointless, but it calmed his parents, and that was enough for you. You didn't realize that Brahms was watching you every time you entered the house

With age, his attitude towards you has changed. He wanted you to always be there for him and his parents knew about it. They tried to find you as much work as possible, and when Greta appeared in the house, they offered you to stay in one of the guest rooms while they were gone. You assumed that they didn't really trust Greta, so you agreed, but in fact the reason for their request was Brahms. He didn't want to let you go and now you had a reason to be there. Greta was talking to you and Brahms didn't like it, but he saw that you didn't show much interest in her. He didn't know that when you were in the garden Greta asked you about what kind of child Brahms was and what really happened

You knew that some people thought your childhood friend was strange, you knew that someone suspected him of murder, but it was hard for you to believe it, especially now that he was dead. However, something happened that you did not expect. Greta's ex-boyfriend showed up at the house and tried to force her to leave. You and Malcolm tried to stop him, but he hit you hard and broke the doll. At that moment, there was a deafening silence. Because of the bruised head, you could not clearly see what was happening and everything was floating in front of your eyes. However, you were able to make out another human figure who literally crawled out of a hole in the wall, which was previously covered by a mirror. You saw him kill Cole, and then he wanted to attack Malcolm, but he turned his attention to you when you softly, hesitantly, said the name of his childhood friend

Greta and Malcolm hurried away, but Brahms didn't let them take you away. He carefully began to examine your bruise, as if he hadn't just killed a man. You weren't sure if you were really seeing him, or if it was an illusion caused by the blow. Brahms didn't care if the others left, but he couldn't let you leave. There was no turning back for you anymore, not now that he finally stopped hiding

#Slashers #Slashers x Reader #Slashers headcanons #Brahms Heelshire #Brahms Heelshire x Reader #The Boy

161 notes · View notes

vixenpen · 2 months

Text

Hobie Brown loves black women (duh) but also (head canons)

because daddy is my latest obsession 🤭

Damn, I leave these tumblr streets for a year and yall out here wildin. It’s come to my attention that yall have the unmitigated gall, the glittering nerve to argue with black women about whether or not Hobie Brown likes black girls. Excuse me???? Does the black punk radical revolutionary from the SEVENTIES!!!! (Cuz yall keep forgetting he lives in 1970s London) like black women?!?!?!

Honey not only does he LOOOVE black women. He loves BLACK women. What do I mean when I say that?

Hobie loves soul sistas with sky high Afros, TWAs, shaved heads, close cut fades

The girls that can quote Marcus Garvey, Malcolm X, bell hooks, and WEB Du Bois with equal conviction and knowledge

I’m talking fist to the sky, power to the people, say it loud I’m black and I’m proud, type tease

I’m talking they wearing all black, leather jackets with their black panther pins stuck to the lapel (and if you think I’m talking about the hero you ain’t black enough for this conversation)

I’m talking the black ladies with the barets that call all black men “my brotha” and all black women “my sistah”

The black women that keep that thang on em and ain’t ever gotta get ready

Hobie loves the loc’ed black girls and the turban wearing sisters

The girls who keep Maya Angelou, James Baldwin, or Langston Hughes on deck usually tucked into their woven knapsacks/leather messenger bags

The sage and incense burning girlies who cleanse their space and say a little prayer of protection on your journey

The orisha worshipping black girlies with alters in their windows and tarot cards on their bookshelf

The girlies that can guess your star sign based on your jaw line.

The girls that smell like cocoa butter with paint on their skirts

Hobie likes his fellow black fem punks with their spiked jewelry and shaved heads

The girlies pushing, shoving, and rioting during the mosh pits

The black girlies with the braid/Mohawk combos.

The girls stomping through the club in demonias with their piercings and black leather accessories

The girls with the drawn on angry eyebrows yet the kindest, gentlest smiles

The girls who prowl the record stores and flip off the shop owner that keeps following them.

The black girlies in the band who are front row and center wailing like Betty Davis and dancing like Tina Turner, a mic in hand or a guitar over her shoulder

Hobie loves the disco divas

The girlies in their sparkly bell bottoms killing it in the discos on Saturday nights

The girlies who think disco will never die

The funky divas and dance floor queens

The girls that audition for soul train every season and win.

The girls with the best record collection especially when it comes to party hits and speaking of parties

He loves the girls who are the first on the dance floor and the last to leave. The lives of the party and the queens of the kick backs

Hobie loves his pothead black girls that always have the good gas

His Mary Jane muses who are always a chill vibe and a good time

The black girls who always have snacks and gum on em cuz they’re always hungry and high.

With their red eyes and quick smiles.

He loves the black girls with a little dime bag and something “a little bit stronger if you need it”

And he loves his black girls black mixed with nothing but black. Two black parents, four black grandparents, the darker the berry the sweeter the juice. Yes he loves dark chocolate girls BUT he loves his black girls of all hues

Albino

Butter scotch

Mahogany

Blue-black

Hobie loves BLACK women

Yall please stop forgetting this man lived during the 70s and there is a very particular type of black woman that was around during the 70s

#hobie brown #atsv hobie #hobie x black!reader #hobart brown #Hobie brown #across the spiderverse #atsv #headcanons

105 notes · View notes

the-garbanzo-annex-jr · 4 months

Text

by Coleman Hughes

As with every society on Earth, there is racism in Israel. But the truth is that if you’re looking for the closest analogue to the racist propaganda experienced by blacks in European-offshoot societies, you will find it not on the Israeli side but on the Palestinian side. Consider the ghoulish, antisemitic TV programs that indoctrinate Palestinian children. There is no Israeli equivalent.

There is yet another inconvenient fact for those who want to reduce the Israeli-Arab conflict to a competition between European settlers and people of color: the majority of Israeli Jews are not European. They are Mizrahi Jews—hailing from the Middle East and North Africa. What’s more, it is not the European Jews but the Mizrahi Jews—who are difficult to visually distinguish from Palestinians—that form most of the voting base of the right-wing parties that Israel’s critics consider to be the truly racist ones.

When ideologues co-opt the African American freedom struggle and compare it to the Palestinian national movement, they do black Americans a grave disservice. Black Americans (aside from a fringe) did not seek to dominate and destroy white society, as Martin Luther King Jr. emphasized frequently in his speeches. African Americans pursued equality before the law and better economic circumstances. In black history, you can find the occasional Nat Turner, the slave who led a rebellion and advocated killing all whites. But compared to the leaders of the struggle—giants like Frederick Douglass and Martin Luther King—radicals like Turner amount to a footnote in the black American struggle for equality.

Even early Malcolm X, the most prominent mouthpiece for black radicalism, was not interested in a violent takeover whereby blacks would run all of America and render whites second-class citizens. When he expressed black nationalism as more than a metaphor, he made clear that he was interested in a partitioning of black and white states inside America or a black ethnostate somewhere outside of America entirely.

Palestinian leaders, by contrast, seek dominion over all the land existing between the Jordan River and the Mediterranean Sea. Some, like Hamas, have even more radical ambitions: a global Islamic caliphate. Palestinian leaders have rejected every partition offer they have ever received: the Peel Commission in 1937, the UN partition of 1947, the offers made at Camp David as well as the Clinton Parameters in 2000, and Olmert’s proposal in 2008. In the Palestinian national movement, the common denominator has been the rejection of a Jewish state of any size and scope, as well as the unyielding demand for nothing less than a Palestinian Arab state to subsume Israel: “from the river to the sea,” as the chant goes.

#palestinians #black americans #zionism #israel #israel hamas war #hamas #gaza

69 notes · View notes

nitrateglow · 4 months

Text

Favorite films discovered in 2023

2023 kind of sucked, but it was a fruitful year for me as a movie geek. I finally got around to seeing films that have been on my TBW pile for years now. I also gave myself a challenge that I actually completed: watch at least one film from every year between 1900 and 2023.

Anyway, I'll stop beating around the bush. Here are my top 20 favorite film discoveries in 2023. (The order is very, very loose from 5 on down. I genuinely had a hard time narrowing the list down to 20, let alone ranking everything.)

When a Woman Ascends the Stairs (dir. Mikio Naruse, 1960)

This well-regarded drama follows Keiko, a bar hostess who's just turned 30 years old. She has limited options as an unmarried woman in postwar Japan. Considered "old," she has to marry soon or scrape enough money to buy her own bar. With its jazzy score and first-person narration, When a Woman Ascends the Stairs has a noirish vibe but it certainly isn't noir at all. Though the film is tragic, what moved me so much was Keiko's character. She has a tough lot and her story is ultimately tragic, yet she is determined to keep going, even if life won't give her a break.

The Boy and the Heron (dir. Hayao Miyazaki, 2023)

Miyazaki's current "last film" is certainly his most abstract and puzzling. I imagine it'll be one of his more divisive titles in the years to come, but count me among its fans. While being "in the know" regarding the current state of Studio Ghibli and Miyazaki's 60+ year-long career in animation allows one to better appreciate the many allusions and themes within the film, it stands just fine on its own as a surrealistic adventure about grief and the power of art. Also, damn, I LOVE hand-drawn animation so much.

Black Cat (dir. Kaneto Shindo, 1968)

Kaneto Shindo's Black Cat is yet another confirmation of my feeling that horror pairs best with humor or heartbreak. While there are some morbidly funny moments, Black Cat is largely a devastating supernatural horror story about a young samurai who encounters two mysterious women in the woods, not realizing they are the ghosts of his murdered wife and mother. Even worse, they've sworn to kill any and all samurai they encounter, since their deaths were the result of raping, pillaging samurai-- but they remain human enough to desire an exception. I was creeped out thoroughly by the chilly atmosphere and imagery of this film. I liked it even better than Shindo's Onibaba and that was one of my favorites from 2022!

Malcolm X (dir. Spike Lee, 1992)

I usually dislike big movie biopics for being stuffy and formulaic. Malcolm X avoids both of these issues. Directed to the hilt by Spike Lee, this film is passionate and compelling, about as far from a stuffy Oscarbait biopic as you could imagine. Also, Denzel Washington is AMAZING in the titular role. Like, we're talking one of the best performances I have ever seen because not only is Washington convincing as Malcolm X, he also perfectly portrays his arc from zoot-suited young criminal to uncompromising activist leader. I was absolutely mesmerized the entire time-- it's a long movie that never feels its length and I'll definitely be revisiting it in the future.

The Kiss Before the Mirror (dir. James Whale, 1933)

James Whale’s horror movies are listed among the finest 1930s cinema had to offer, but his other works remain woefully overlooked. The Kiss Before the Mirror is a strange marital drama set in a dreamlike interwar Vienna. A lawyer defending a murderer who shot down his cheating wife comes to discover his own wife in the midst of a casual affair. Will this discovery lead to another killing? Despite the lurid plot elements, Kiss is closer to Kubrick’s introspective Eyes Wide Shut than a typical 1930s melodrama. Both husband and wife are complex characters struggling with destroyed illusions, making the story a hell of a lot more complex than you'd expect.

Five Miles to Midnight (dir. Anatole Litvak, 1962)

I am so glad I ignored the meh reviews on this one because I would have missed out on one of the best thrillers I've seen in years. Sophia Loren is a woman desperate to shake off her narcissistic, abusive husband played by Tony Perkins. When Perkins is wrongly believed dead in a plane crash, he hides out in Loren's apartment so they can collect the life insurance money, split the funds, then part amicably. This being a Hitchcock-style thriller, it doesn't work out that way. What sells the film is the psychological cat-and-mouse game between Loren and Perkins's miserable, mismatched married couple, and a noirish sense of doom lends a great deal of atmosphere.

Shoes (dir. Lois Weber, 1916)

Shoes is the best Lois Weber film I have yet seen and it still packs a wallop a century-plus since its initial release. Mary MacLaren plays a young woman single-handedly supporting her family on a five dollar a week salary. She wears shoes that are falling apart but can never seem to save enough for a new pair-- that is, until an unsavory way of getting the cash presents itself, much to her horror and temptation. This is a heartbreaking little film that showcases a lot of what I love about 1910s American cinema. There's less glamor in the settings and nothing at all genteel or cleaned up about the poverty on display. MacLaren is wonderful in the lead too, her performance a quietly compelling portrait of quiet desperation.

Jeopardy (dir. John Sturges, 1953)

Barbara Stanwyck was in such a wealth of films that I can forgive myself for not realizing this one even existed. After seeing it, it's easily in my top five favorite films of hers. On the surface, the plot sounds like fodder for sleazy sex fantasy: a housewife on vacation is kidnapped by a hot escaped convict. She's racing against time to save her husband from drowning after the tide comes in at the beach where he's trapped; the convict has a very specific price for any aid he's willing to offer. Stanwyck's characterization complicates the situation and the direction amps the tension to a breaking point. Great, great stuff!

Girlfriends (dir. Claudia Weill, 1978)

This film came across my path in a weirdly personal way. One of my sisters got engaged this year. We've been close all of our lives and shared an apartment for years, so this is going to be a big change for both of us. Girlfriends is about a young woman whose best friend is getting married, meaning she'll be on her own for the first time. In addition to making this adjustment, she's a photographer currently hired for weddings and bar mitzvahs, but dreaming of entering the larger world of art galleries. I guess you could say it's a 70s version of a quarter-life crisis film (Noah Baumbach's Frances Ha takes A LOT from it). The performances and direction are exceptional, having that unglamorous, lived-in vibe I love about the films of this period. It also just happened to come into my life at the most resonant time, so there's that.

Ivan the Terrible, Parts One and Two (dir. Sergei Eisenstein, 1945 and 1958)

As a person who hates the idea that realism is the only valid form for cinematic drama, Eisenstein's hyper-stylized Ivan the Terrible movies are a joy. The compositions are like something out of a painting, the acting is operatic, the writing mythic and sweeping. The dance number in Part II is one of my favorite scenes in any movie ever. Best of all, the films rise above their propagandist origins, becoming a fascinating study of institutional power set against individual charisma.

The Red Queen Kills Seven Times (dir. Emilio Miraglia, 1972)

I've been getting more into giallo lately and The Red Queen Kills Seven Times is among the more memorable titles. You have the fashion world setting, a disguised murderer running around in a red cloak, over the top kills, a villainous junkie who looks like Bucky Barnes, a spooky castle with death traps, the works. It's a movie where I don't really care too much about the plot. It's the off-kilter, sinister atmosphere that draws me in, as with most giallo movies.

Little Miss Sunshine (dir. Jonathan Dayton and Valerie Faris, 2006)

It took Alan Arkin dying for me to finally get around to seeing this much beloved 2000s gem. I expected to only be interested in Arkin as the drug-addled, foul-mouthed grandpa, but the entire movie is so warm-hearted and hilarious that I fell in love with it whole hog. The characters are all quirky without being Quriky (tm), if you know what I mean. And I love the final message about just living your life and not worrying about whether or not you're "successful" in the eyes of society. An old theme to be sure, but done so, so well here. (Also, the mercilessly satirical jab at child beauty pageants is pure gold.)

Pom Poko (dir. Isao Takahata, 1994)

I feel like a lot of western anime fans only see Pom Poko as "lol that movie where the tanuki have comically oversized testicles." And yeah, that is indeed something in this movie but there's so much more. It's one of the boldest films I've ever seen, an "animated documentary" (to use Takahata's words) about a village of tanuki waging war against humankind's encroachment upon the natural world. It's such a genre grab-bag, critic Daniel Thomas' description fits it best: "The story weaves through slapstick comedy, social commentary, satire, surrealism, and tragedy. It changes moods much the way the tanuki change form, bending and molding into a new shape, and relentlessly moving forward." I still think Only Yesterday is Takahata's best film, but Pom Poko is strong competition and yet another film I can see myself rewatching many times to come.

Bullet Train (dir. David Leitch, 2022)

I still kick myself for not seeing this in the theater when it came out. Bullet Train is a wonderful lark of an action film. On first watch, I recall thinking it was like a live-action anime shot in a very Tarantino-esque style. I've seen it a few times now and I enjoy the hell out of it every time. And if you don't like it, well, you just might be a Diesel.

That Cold Day in the Park (dir. Robert Altman, 1969)

Another film with a so-so reputation that I really enjoyed. Sandy Dennis (who's gradually becoming one of my favorites with every performance I see from her) plays a virginal rich woman who takes in a handsome young guy one cold day. Her initial kindness quickly curdles into erotic obsession and her house guest has his own secrets. It's an early Robert Altman film and not his most polished work, but that makes it all the more fascinating to me. It's a creepy psychological thriller with a haunting ending, as well as an interesting time capsule of the late 1960s.

Faster, Pussycat! Kill! Kill! (dir. Russ Meyer, 1965)

Where has this movie been all my life?? It's a bizarre campfest about three criminally minded go-go dancers who romp across the California desert, strewing all kinds of havoc in their wake. It's such a strange movie that I don't know how to describe it properly: it's got a New Wave sensibility to it all the while indulging in exploitation B-movie nonsense. Definitely a fun film to watch with a group.

Jeanne Dielman, 23, quai du commerce, 1080 Bruxelles (dir. Chantal Akermann, 1975)

I finally bit the bullet to watch this one after it topped the 2022 Sight & Sound list. Do I think it's the greatest film of all time? No, but I don't like singling out any work of art for such a designation. Putting aside all the drama that ensued when this was granted GOAT status, Jeanne Dielman is a striking film. It's definitely not something you just throw on casually-- you need to set aside the time to watch it and be in the right headspace. My initial mild interest morphed into a sense of anxious dread as the film ground along its three hour runtime, its protagonist struggling to retain her total sense of self-possession and control as she's thrown off her groove by unexpected events.

The Wicked Lady (dir. Leslie Arliss, 1945)

This is not high art by any means. It's melodrama with a capital M, laying the cheese on thick. Margaret Lockwood plays a devious, scheming femme fatale in 18th century England who's a gold-digging noblewoman by day and a highwaywoman cavorting with bad boy James Mason by night. This is easily the most entertaining of the Gainsborough melodramas I've yet seen, dripping with soap opera antics, sumptuous costumes, and camp-a-plenty.

War and Peace (dir. Sergei Bondarchuk, 1966-1967)

There is no substitute for reading Tolstoy's massive novel, but this 1966 Soviet version is definitely a fine work in its own right. Filmed in three parts, it's about nine hours long and it does a good job capturing the interior lives of the characters in the source material. Everything about it is just breathtaking: the costumes, the sets, the massive numbers of extras during those battle scenes. It's the kind of intellectually and emotionally stirring epic that makes all those hours fly by.

The Sweet Smell of Success (dir. Alexander Mackendrick, 1957)

I often chafe when people act as though all 1950s American cinema were Leave it to Beaver wholesomeness and buttoned up repression. Some of the nastiest Hollywood movies I've ever seen came out of the 1950s and The Sweet Smell of Success is prime among them. Among the best of the late classic noir period, it follows Burt Lancaster as a popular but monstrous newspaper columnist who uses his power to control the lives of everyone around him, particularly his sister, to whom he has a borderline perverse attachment. The dialogue is as sharp ("You're dead, son. Get yourself buried." "I'd hate to take a bite out of you. You're a cookie full of arsenic.") and the cynicism as thick as the best of Billy Wilder. If you love noir, you can't miss out on this one.

What were your favorite film discoveries of 2023?

32 notes · View notes

ptseti · 2 months

Text

MALCOLM X: WE’RE IN A POLICE STATE

Today marks 59 years since Malcolm X was assassinated. But about 62 years ago, the human-rights defender delivered this fiery speech that remains relevant.

Africans in the United States live in a police state intent on criminalising us for our very existence. We are routinely shot and maimed, and then blamed for our own deaths. While our loved ones pray that the innocent victims of grotesque violence rest in peace, the media ensures we do not. After our people are brutally killed, character assassinations begin.

Meanwhile, Hollywood and the US music industry work hard to propagate violent images of Africans, both in the US and worldwide. Many rappers have come forward to talk about how the multibillion-dollar music industry offers better contracts to artists who use violent lyrics. This is then used to depict our culture as inherently violent, which justifies over-policing and mass incarceration.

24 notes · View notes

frida-kahl-of-the-rocky-horror · 5 months

Text

Antisemitism is evil

Genocide against the Palestinians is evil

If you disagree with either of these, please leave my page

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Further Reading:

Yes it’s a Genocide

TL;DR: there are many classifications of genocide, and one of such classifications is ethnic cleansing. Israeli military and government forces claim they are doing a Nakba 2. The first Nakba is the definition of ethnic cleansing, by UN definitions, which is a form of genocide. Israel has admitted that they are committing genocide.

No criticizing Israel is not antisemitic

TL;DR: if criticism of Israel or being pro Palestinian equates being antisemitic, then here is a list of raging antisemites (direct quotes included): Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., Mahatma Gandhi, Malcolm X, Fred Hampton, Nelson Mandela, Albert Einstein (is Jewish), Stephen Hawking, Frida Kahlo (is Jewish), Noam Chomsky (is Jewish), DJ KHALED, Muhammad Ali, Jimmy Carter, Ben and Jerry (the ice cream people), Bernie Sanders (is Jewish), and Susan Sarandon.

Why Israel hates Palestinians (and why it’s unjustified)

TL;DR: Early post Zionist radical philosophy was to get back at the Germans and kill 6 million Germans senselessly for their systemic murder of Jews. This was rejected by Israel, but this thought process and reaction to historic European antisemitism was channelled into mistreatment of Palestinians. Europe is to blame yet Palestinians are the ones suffering,

I am very well read

TL;DR: Someone called be a slur and told me to pick up a book, I responded with a list of books which I read, a good chunk of which are from pro Israel Zionists and anti Israel Jewish and Palestinian academics

Antisemitism Post #1

TL;DR: a critique of white leftists who thing all Jewish people must categorize themselves as “good Jew” or “bad Jew”. Ethnonationalism like Zionism is dangerous but so is bigotry such as antisemitism. I also use my personal story of hating Belgians.

Antisemitism Post #2

TL;DR: if you replace “Israeli” with any other ethnicity or nationality and it’s bigoted, then your statement is antisemitic. If your statement isn’t bigoted and a rightful criticism of government or military positions and actions, it’s not antisemitic. It’s not antisemitic to criticize a genocide.

Patriotism vs Nationalism vs Jingoism

TL;DR: A Patriot loves their country, she celebrates when it does right and criticizes it when it does wrong. A Nationalist loves their country, she celebrates it when it does right and ignores when it does wrong. A Jingoist loves their country (or at least a specific version of it), celebrates when it is right and when it is wrong, because their country is unable to do wrong in their eyes. Everything can be justified.

Antisemitism Post #3

TL;DR: the Jews don’t control Hollywood.

Rebutting the “It’s Complicated” Claim

TL;DR: it’s not complicated, it’s apartheid

Antisemitism Post #4

TL;DR: Israel is Antisemitic, non Ashkenazi Jews frequently face discrimination, especially in Netanyahu’s Israel, but it’s always been this way with Yiddish language bans, forced sterilization of Ethiopian Jews, and European supremacy in all corners of government

Extremism is Sometimes Justified

TL;DR: one person’s terrorist is another person’s freedom fighter, and if you claim all extremism is bad, you support European colonial control of Africa, Haiti, the USA, and so many other evil regimes.

Yes Israel is a Colonial Project

TL;DR: Direct sources from the founders of Zionism calling the creation of Israel a colonial project and referring to Palestinians as the indigenous peoples who are in the way

Continued:

In a few months more journalists have died in Gaza than in WW2.

Gaza: Israeli company plans luxury beach side Apartment on the ruins of Gaza

A Message from a Palestinian Friend

People who are not Israeli or Palestinian are allowed to engage in discourse on this issue, especially Americans

Goat Jewish Boi Slays

The Post that Blew Up

Debunking idiotic Israeli arguments

Where’d you Come From, Where’d you Go

USA is the most diverse country on earth

Direct quote from an Israeli cabinet minister calling this conflict a war on Gaza not a war on Hamas (what happened to the plot??)

I love Jewish men who love humanity

Israel doesn’t care about peace

39 notes · View notes

bluesadansey · 1 month

Note

I had been trying to figure out where some of my issues with Emma's characterization post LM came from you are absolutely right, it definitely feels like CC stopped focusing in Emma's gray morality to focus on Julian's

In theory I think the idea of their arc being Emma starting off the more ruthless and revenge driven character then easing up on that mindset as things unfold with Malcolm (I really like that little moment where she tells Julian about how her conceptions have changed since killing Malcolm didn’t give her closure, but we should have seen more of her introspection on this after it happened before bringing it back up in QoAAD) vs Julian being more of a wolf in sheep’s clothing whose manipulation and ruthlessness becomes more apparent over time, until eventually Emma is willing to do something morally gray (break the parabatai bonds) that in this set of circumstances Julian will not do, is compelling to me but the execution on Emma’s side falls short after LM because there’s not consistent enough exploration of her changing attitudes towards glorified vengeance and violence, more of an occasional check in. Part of this has to do with pacing/structure and although I love TDA and find the ensemble probably the most compelling overall of tsc series it is overstuffed with how many povs their are as much as tlh is. But also Julian clearly took priority to her at some point and his arc is more the focal point of books 2 & 3 despite all the povs, maybe if that was only the case for LoS it could work because then LM is more Emma focused LoS is more Jules focused but even though QoAAD is pretty all over the place Julian’s emotionless + grieving arc feels like it’s at the heart of the book, and I like that arc I mentioned I related to quite a few of the grief manifests as repressed/controlled emotion aspects so subjectively that clicks for me, but it does put Emma in the role of having to be more of a tether morally for most of the book and then there’s not enough of a transition between that and the moment where she goes to break the bonds. So yeah it’s partially cc prioritizing exploration of the male mc’s gray morality as the series goes on and being less interested in the female leads corresponding gray morality (and I know I would be far meaner about this if I didn’t like Julian as much as I clearly do) partly just other pacing and point of view distribution issues towards the back half of TDA that lead to this. Is how I see it. I do also think there’s something to critique about how while I adore blackstairs and enjoy that they flip some gender roles typical of cc’s earlier books couples, if when gender inverting the bad-boy-with-a-heart-of-gold x good-girl-going-bad trope the male version of the good girl with a dark heart thing gets to have a more centralized arc that is allowed to go further gray morality wise than female chars you’ve written in that vein (I would say that both Clary and Lucie count as this, Lucie in particular has a lot of parallels to Jules imo which is fun family tree wise ) and have the more centralized arc whereas while I do think Emma is a much better written character than Jace who she was clearly originally conceived as the female version of, she doesn’t have the centralized status Jace does narratively.

I do think both modern TSC arcs end up prioritizing Jace / Julian over Clary / Emma in terms of who’s character and dynamics the series eventually revolves around most (although again TDA being so ensemble changes this a little). I’m meaner about it with tmi because I don’t like Jace and Clace doesn’t work for me as a ship, and more just passively critical about it with tda because I do love Julian and Blackstairs really works for me as a ship, so I’m definitely a bit of a hypocrite there but I’ll still critique what’s relevant. I think both historical arcs do better with this I’ve spoken before about how Tessa is my Favorite tsc char as well as protag, and I think her arc and narrative is really really good and that she is central, maybe tied with Will towards the end but definitely her narrative isn’t given less importance than the guys and I’ve disagreed with takes on that to the contrary. Cordelia is an interesting case because again, the overstuffed nature of the cast means she often does not feel like the protagonist in her own story and I found that aspect worse in tlh than for Emma in tda. However I actually really don’t agree with takes that Cordelia’s story went badly because she was turned into ‘just a love interest/got lost in her romance plot’ because imo James is way less of a character in his own right than she is even in the last book where he has more agency than he did with the gracelet. Her emotions and struggles drive the plot of their romance much more than his do, and outside of it she does get to be a more proactive character in the Lilith paladin plot, dealing with her familial relationships etc. So while I did often feel like I would rather tlh focus on Cordelia herself more that really had nothing to do with James who I think was just not a priority for cc a lot of the time. Perhaps there is something to the cursed plots Will / James start out with and that device creating a need for cc to lean on the female protagonist’s characterization more (but also I’ve only read TLH once so maybe my opinion would change if I revisited I do want to say I don’t think I am a TLH or TMI expert).

#this got long and kind of off topic #asks #chaosandtwo #tda #tsc #tid #tlh #tmi #s speaks #my meta #kind of #emma carstairs #mutuals

17 notes · View notes

workingclasshistory · 1 year

Photo

On this day, 4 February 1913, legendary civil activist Rosa Parks was born. While many histories of her life depict her as a "quiet" woman who refused to give up her seat on a segregated bus to a white passenger because she was "tired", Parks was a lifelong, committed militant in the struggle for a better world. As a 6-year-old, she would sit with her grandfather who had armed himself with a shotgun to protect their family home from the KKK. Later on in her youth she armed herself with a brick to confront a white bully, and she described Malcolm X as her personal hero. Most famous for triggering the Montgomery bus boycott, she was involved in too many campaigns to mention, like supporting Joan Little, a Black woman who killed a white prison guard who sexually assaulted her, supporting women's reproductive freedom and taking part in the Black power movement in Detroit alongside the League of Revolutionary Black Workers (LRBW) and others. As Parks herself once said: “Freedom fighters never retire". And she never did, until her death in 2005. Our podcast episodes 61-62 are about the LRBW: https://workingclasshistory.com/2018/08/28/e12-the-league-of-revolutionary-black-workers-in-detroit/ https://www.facebook.com/workingclasshistory/photos/a.1819457841572691/2202219466629858/?type=3

237 notes · View notes

boricuacherry-blog · 13 days

Text

It is always the same. It happens to women as different as Nicole Simpson, Lorena Bobbitt - and me. There is terror, yes, and physical pain. There is desperation and despair. One blames oneself, forgives him. One judges oneself harshly for not loving him enough. "It's your fault," he shouts as he is battering in the door, or slamming your head against the floor. And before you pass out, you say yes. You run, but no one will hide you or stand up for you. You will hide behind bushes, trashcans, in alleys, away from the decent people who aren't helping you. It is, after all, your fault..

He hurts you more: more than last time and more than you ever thought possible; certainly more than any reasonable person would ever believe - should you be foolish enough to tell. And, eventually, you surrender to him, apologize, beg him to forgive you for hurting him or provoking him or insulting him or being careless with something of his - his laundry, his car, his meal.

The shame of this physical capitulation, often sexual, and the betrayal of your self-respect will never leave you, and the violence becomes contextual, the element in which you try to survive. You will try to run away, plan an escape. If he finds out, or finds you, he will hurt you more.

If you can't find shelter or have no work, you will go back and ask him to let you in. If you work, he will find you. He may ask for you back and make promises of repentance. But if you do stay away, he will strike out of nowhere, still beat you, still vandalize your home and stalk you.

When I was being beaten by a shrewd and dangerous man twenty-five years ago, I know I was buried alive in a silence that was unbreachable and unbearable, so I can only imagine how Nicole felt.

Nicole called a battered-women's shelter five days before her death. Evidence of the attacks on her by Simpson that were witnessed in public will be allowed at trial. But most of what a batterer does is in private. The worst beatings, the sustained acts of sadism, have no witnesses.

As Malcolm X used to say, "by any means necessary" - a principle women, all women, had better learn. A woman has a right to her own bed, a home she can't be thrown out of, and for her body not to be ransacked and broken into. She has a right to expect her family and friends to stop the batterer - by law or force - before she's dead. She has a constitutional right to a gun and a legal right to kill if she believes she's going to be killed. And a batterer's repeated assaults should lawfully be taken as intent to kill. Everybody's against wife abuse, but who's prepared to stop it?

-Andrea Dworkin

#andrea dworkin #nicole simpson #nicole brown #oj simpson #domestic violence

12 notes · View notes

agaypanic · 10 months

Note

can you do a reese imagine based off where he joins the army

Waiting For You (Reese Wilkerson X Reader)

Masterlist

Request Something!

Summary: You were so happy for the Wilkerson family when Malcolm found a way to prove his father’s innocence. Now you can put your complete focus and worry on your best friend Reese, who for all you know is dead.

***

You wanted to kill Malcolm when you found out about what he did. How could he be so selfish? So stupid? Because of him, Reese had run off to join the army under a false name and was probably dead. And there was nothing you could do about it. You were stuck at the Wilkerson’s, trying to help your best friend’s brothers keep the family together while they fell into ruin and insanity.

Well, more than they usually did.

Hal was being investigated by the FBI for something he was framed for; you didn’t really know the details. All you knew was that it led to Lois having some kind of mental break, and soon enough, the house was filled with pigs made out of milk jugs. Reese’s older brother Francis and his wife Piama had come up to help, and you had nothing going on, so you stayed with them to help keep the house in order.

With the rain came sunshine. Malcolm was able to prove his father’s innocence. Again, you didn’t know the details; you were just glad it happened. Lois became herself again, thank God, and was now determined to find her missing son.

So now, you waited. You still stayed with the Wilkersons; surprised your parents allowed it. They probably knew how distraught you were over Reese. You’d sleep in his bed, his scent giving you the hope that you’d wake up the next morning and he’d be there. But every morning, you’d be disappointed by the lack of him, and every day Reese’s scent would fade.

His being gone, and possibly dead, made you think about him more than you ever did. Reese’s absence made you realize just how big of a part he played in your life, and how much you missed and loved that part.

“Guys, this might be your most disgusting idea ever.” You grimaced as you sat on the edge of a building, looking over a local art fair. Malcolm and Dewey had dragged you along to help them with their latest scheme. They wanted to honor Reese (you hated the wording, it made it sound like he was definitely dead) in a way that would reflect the way he lived his life. “Do you keep these in like a storage locker or something?”

Dropping Jamie’s diapers on unsuspecting people was certainly a way to honor Reese and how he lives, but that didn’t make it less disgusting.

“Come on, Y/n, get into the spirit.” Malcolm gestured for you to take one of the bombs in the bucket, but you refused. Realizing you wouldn’t budge, he threw a remote at you. “Fine, then you can drop them.” You groaned, wishing you could sulk in peace.

“Y/n, it’s what he would’ve wanted,” Dewey said, attaching a diaper to a balloon and letting it float away.

“Stop talking about him like he’s gone.” You scolded, pressing the button in anger. Below, people shouted in surprise and disgust. “He’s not gone. He… He just can’t be.” The boys muttered apologies.

Soon you three got into a rhythm of sending off balloons and letting them drop, reminiscing on past things that Reese had pulled. It made you sadder talking about him in such a way. But thinking back on past memories brought a laugh out of you occasionally.

“As disgusting as this is, he would’ve loved this.” You said, pressing the button once again. Reese would’ve especially loved the screams.

“Yeah. I wish he was here to see this.” Malcolm said, staring off.

“Me too.” A voice cried out, one that you hadn’t heard today. In fact, you hadn’t heard that voice in weeks. The three of you whipped your heads around to look at Reese, standing just feet away from you.

“Reese!” His brothers yelled, abandoning their places on the edge to tackle him. He hugged them back, and they all exchanged words of love. It was a rare sight; usually they were at each other’s throats. You would’ve taken a picture for blackmail if you weren’t in such shock that your best friend, that had been missing for weeks, was right in front of you.

“Y/n, get over here.” Reese beckoned out to you, and his brothers separated from him for you to take their place. You had felt like you were stuck in your place, too shocked by Reese’s presence. But you broke out of the shock and ran to him.

You almost knocked him over but he stood his ground, wrapping his arms around you to steady you. Your grip almost crushed him out of both love and anger.

“You’re so stupid.” You said to him, forehead against his shoulder. He just laughed. “If a girl breaks your heart, you don’t join the army. You wallow in your feelings like everyone else.”

“I get it,” Reese said, stroking your hair. He hated that his brothers were seeing him like this, but he hated more that you were pissed at him.

“I was really worried.” You said meekly, gripping the back of his shirt. He just hugged you tighter. “I really missed you.”

“I missed you too.”

#reese wilkerson x reader #malcolm in the middle x reader #malcolm in the middle #agaypanic #reese wilkerson

60 notes · View notes