#Woke Language

[gurutrends]

Woke language: What it means and why it is causing controversy

Large businessmen like Ricardo Salinas Pliego have asked their staff to refrain from using the “Woke Language” because it has become so popular in recent hours. As a result, Internet users have expressed interest in learning the definition and history of this term on social media. Even though this word’s translation is straightforward: “Woke.” However, the concept is more nuanced than that, and…

[thearbourist]

Dictionary Erasing Females from the Language.

Post modern and critical theories rely on the misuse of words to mystify people. The downstream effects of this bullshittery are apparent as even the Merriam Webster dictionary is now having difficulty defining what a woman is. Always define your terms when you arguing with the woke – it is 9/10ths of their game. Demonstrate the linguistic tomfoolery and you might have a chance at a productive…

[odinsblog]

[jlbilu]

Diez pequeños afroamericanos cis

La reedición de las obras de Agatha Christie sometidas a una censura woke y superincluyente está dando que hablar. Hay que recordar que Agatha Christie ya fue sometida a censura con aquel Diez negritos, que en el original era Diez negritos. En Estados Unidos se cambió el título de la primera edición por el de And Then There Were None para no herir la sensibilidad de la población afroamericana. Mondadori también optó en un principio por titularlo …and Then There Were None, pero no les gustó el título, así que en 1977 optaron por Los indios, considerados con razón o sin ella menos hipersensibles que los africanos. Ya está trabajando un comité de ética para revisar y corregir Mein Kampf purgándolo de todas las alusiones racistas, la nueva edición se titulará Mein Garten y se centrará en el amor a las flores y la jardinería.

Traducción realizada con la versión gratuita del traductor www.DeepL.com/Translator

Dieci piccoli afro-americani cis

Fa discutere la riedizione dei lavori di Agatha Christie sottoposti alla censura del pensiero woke e superinclusivo. Da ricordare che Agatha Christie fu già fatta oggetto di censura con quel Dieci Piccoli Indiani che nell'originale erano Dieci Piccoli Negri (Ten Little Niggers). Negli Stati Uniti il titolo fu cambiato fin dalla prima edizione in And Then There Were None per non urtare la sensibilità della popolazione afro-americana. Anche la Mondadori scelse in un primo momento di intitolarlo ...e poi non rimase nessuno, ma il titolo non piacque, per cui nel 1977 si optò per gli indiani, ritenuti a torto o a ragione meno ipersensibili degli africani. Già al lavoro un comitato etico per rivedere e correggere il Mein Kampf ripulendolo da ogni allusione razzista, la nuova edizione si intitolerà Mein Garten e verterà sull'amore per i fiori e per il giardinaggio.

[that-vampire-loser]

Headcanon that Neil is touching Andrew at any opportunity (with permission, of course)

Sitting in Andrew’s lap at Eden’s

A hand on Andrew’s thigh underneath the table at sweeties

Laying his head on Andrew’s shoulder during bus rides

Sitting on opposite sides of their couch with their feet tangled together

Sitting between Andrew’s legs on the floor during movie nights with the upperclassmen with his head resting on Andrew’s thigh

Sitting with his legs sprawled over Andrew’s when they’re in the Fox lounge

Holding hands on the center console of the car

Or having Andrew rest his hand on Neil’s thigh when they’re in the car

Laying his head in Andrew’s lap at any time since he knows Andrew likes playing with his hair

Laying his head on Andrew’s chest when they’re sleeping

Having Andrew sleeping practically on top of him on the couch

Holding his hand whenever he can

Basically Andreil just being in love, and neither of them are afraid to show it

[ibouchouchou]

PEAK NERDISM (and brotherism 💗)

[microwave-core]

my god i don't think i have ever seen a ratio this terrible. i am so proud of this community

[pwurrz]

i see a lot of people* who advocate for trans unity are just using a different term to hide their transmisogyny.

it’s not ‘trans unity’ if you can’t acknowledge that trans men aren’t the center of the universe and that trans women and their issues matter just as much.

it’s not ‘trans unity’ if you believe that trans women should kiss the feet of trans men and beg for their forgiveness for their alleged ‘misandry’ while completely ignoring the very real and very dangerous transmisogyny present in the trans and outer lgb community.

it’s not ‘trans unity’ if your idea for fixing the rift in the trans community is for trans women to shut the fuck up and do all the work.

it’s not ‘trans unity’ if you can’t even allow trans women to talk about the harm terfs do to them specifically without barging in and silencing them because “terfs are mean to us too so-!”. that’s not the point. trans women talking about their oppression isn’t hurting you, and it’s definitely not an invitation to fight them about it because you want to turn it into an argument about who has it worse.

it’s not ‘trans unity’ if your idea of trans unity is to have a community where trans women are just submissive and obedient, silent about the mistreatment they face either because they were silenced or because they never had a voice in the first place. you are already a part of that community. you already surround yourself with likeminded people who believe the same transmisogynistic things that you do. you don’t need to push a false idea of unity among trans people, it’s very clear what you believe in already, and we don’t need the entire trans community behaving like this.

[deadchannelradio]

my fanfiction abortion morgue is gaining another jayroy victim that is not long enough to clean up for ao3. this was going to be a very long and meandering noodle about in the river that is jason's mental health and trauma and relationships of all types and healing and the asexual/aromantic spectrum (not that that's the verbage jason would use or language hes even aware of) and low sex drives all that beautiful muck and mire but i have not put a single word on it in well over a year now. so i'm letting her go. be free little fish.

-

They’re better now, anyways, better than they ever were before. Jason had a crisis a few months back, stopping himself from reaching reflexively for his phone to give Dick a call about- nothing important. And then he had realized that he had reflexively gone to call Dick about nothing important, and had gone and stared out the window for 15 minutes, trying to work himself into a different, less horrifying conclusion than the one gathering in his brain like an avalanche. Roy had come home in the middle of it, taken one look at his face and dropped his bag on the floor with a thunk.

“Holy shit,” he said. “Who died?”

“I like him,” Jason said, somewhere between incredulous and horrified. “That cunt, that motherfucker- he made me actually like him-,”

“Who?”

“Dick!” Jason had shouted. “That piece of shit, I want to spend time with him, hours out of my actual human life that I can’t get back-,”

Roy had proceeded to laugh in his face for a solid ten minutes, positively gleeful about Jason’s horrible emotional crisis. “He does that to you, man,” he said once they’d settled in, still chuckling as he cracked open a can of soda, posted up on their couch with Ethiopian takeout in his lap. “One minute you’re sitting there thinking oh my god, this guy, he’s so loud and annoying-,”

“And he never fuckin’ stops moving,” Jason groaned from his spot laying on the floor below him. “His body or his mouth. And he chews loud, he’s obnoxious on purpose, and he’s a model and dated Kory but half the time he dresses like something a goodwill dumpster threw up-,”

“Have you seen his new shoes?” Roy asked. “I dress like dogshit, man, but those things-,”

“Wally got them for him,” Jason said, and then immediately slapped his hands over his face, horrified that he knew that. Roy laughed again. “He’s constantly in your fuckin’ business! Constantly! Last time I saw him he knew the social security numbers of the baristas in the coffee shop I’d been going to-,”

“He gets enabled,” Roy muttered, shoveling injera into his mouth.

“He gets enabled!” Jason said. “Everyone enables him! I enable him! And god, his fucking- puns, man, his quips, we’re all guilty of it but this is a fight, not comedy hour, and even if it was you’d get booed off the stage-,”

“He texted me what he said to Mr. Freeze two weeks ago and I wanted to eat my phone,” Roy said. “It’s amazing no villains kill themselves after he hands their asses to them, I would be humiliated.”

“He sucks!” Jason snapped. 

“He sucks,” Roy agreed. “And then you look around one day at your life-,”

“And you go oh shit, I think this motherfucker’s alright!” Jason mimed hitting himself in the face with Roy’s abandoned house slipper. “Fuck! What’s fucking wrong with me?”

Roy laughed at him, again. “Dick Grayson Derangement Syndrome gets us all in the end,” he said. Jason curled a hand around his bare ankle, and Roy looked down to smile at him, the smallest touch making his whole face bloom open like a rose. Jason had to look away from it, wanting to say: stop. No. You know I’m not enough. You know I’m not like you. You know I can’t give you enough.

He’s been wanting to say that a lot, these days. Toss Roy off the sinking ship with a lifeboat before he has to wake up one day, years on, and realize he’s wasted years with Jason, who can’t love that loud.

He wanted to call Dick about it, which was another horrible realization. Hi big bird, I’m having boy problems. Dick would probably tell him that it means more that Jason has to try, that wanting to try for it is selfless, makes it more significant, which is the kind of thinking that lands a motherfucker in bed with Barbara Gordon, who is enough like Jason to warrant a comparison, but not enough to call her and ask what he should do. Babs loves like the Bolton Strid, and sometimes Jason isn’t sure he loves at all. Not like that.

Jason isn’t nearly as selfless as Dick is convinced he is, not deep down. Because he doesn’t want to let Roy go at all.

It’s late, well into the witching hours, and they’re laying in bed in what was formerly Roy’s bedroom but now holds them both, blinds cracked to let the streetlights through. Jason doesn’t like the dark. Roy’s threatening to buy an eyemask. Jason thinks it’s stupid to blind yourself to potential attackers. Neither of them have brought up going back to sleeping separately. Roy’s nose is pressed between Jason’s shoulder blades, breath humid through his shirt. Not asleep yet, but close. Jason’s books are proliferating on Roy’s shelves, his boxers in Roy’s laundry basket, garrotte wires coiled next to bow strings on the desk that has framed photos, past-Jason’s mouth a little white slash in the bar of orange streetlamp.

Something is clawing at the inside of Jason’s chest, scrabbling like a wild little animal. Trying to dig its way through his spine, into Roy. It hurts.

He shifts, turns over, pushes Roy over onto his back and rolls on top of him, propped up on his elbows to look down at him. Roy grunts, half-awake and confused, but takes his weight. He blinks blearily up at Jason, a crease between his eyebrows- Jason must look intense right now. “Jaybird?” he starts, quiet.

Jason knows this feeling- as all-consuming as it is- is fleeting. It’ll be gone in the morning, and he’ll forget it was ever here. He won’t be able to recall its bite until it comes back around again, like Halley’s comet. He should say something now, while he has it. While he feels it. So Roy can know it’s real. He just doesn’t know how to describe it.

“Jase,” Roy says, sounding more concerned, “Jason, what’s-,”

“Something in here,” Jason interrupts, putting a hand on his own chest, a thudding sound of muscle on muscle, “Wants to eat you.��� God, he feels dumb. He’s not good at this, he sounds so much better in his head. His words come out of his mouth sour and curdled and stupid, there’s a reason he doesn’t try to talk about this shit-

Roy lights up, slow at first, then all at once, his face creasing up in his smile like old paper, following familiar folds. Jason feels his toes curl next to his calves, his feet pointing and flexing in excitement. Jason wishes he could make himself smile back, anything other than the dead-eyed concentration he knows he’s wearing right now, but the weight in his ribs is too real and too wild for that- if his teeth come out this might get literal. He wants to crack open Roy’s sternum with his bare hands, climb in like a contortionist and slam it shut behind him.

“Really?” Roy asks, small and soft and giddy. Jason nods, serious. Roy’s teeth dig into his bottom lip, smiling so wide his nose is wrinkling up, little inky lines in the artificial twilight. “Cool,” he says. 

Jason’s hands spasm in the sheets next to Roy’s head. “Roy,” he starts, “Can I-,” stops. Doesn’t know what he wants. Maybe just to look at him until the sun comes up, just to watch the light turn his freckles from a smear in the dim to pinprick-sized marigolds. Maybe to go to sleep on him like this, the thunder of his heart under Jason’s cheek. Maybe he wants everything. Maybe he wants to be the greediest son of a bitch in Gotham. 

“You can do anything,” Roy promises, and the sincerity in his voice makes the thing chewing on Jason’s lungs shake. “Anything you want. I’ll let you do everything.”

Jason drops his head against Roy’s chest with a grunt like he’s just been punched, unable to choke it back. He pushes himself up- Roy makes a quiet, sad noise, grabbing for him- and fumbles the bedside lamp on. He wants to see everything. Roy’s pupils are huge, even in the light he’s flinching from, irises that strange half-color, too dark for blue or green and too flat for hazel and too light to be brown. His cowlick’s sending his hair in every direction at the left temple, and he’s still smiling at Jason, like he can’t help it. Jason doesn’t know what to do, now that he’s here. A restaurant with an infinite menu. What he wants is strange, probably. Not how normal people want things, not what they want. Jason is off-putting, sometimes on purpose, frequently not, and he doesn’t know how this will come across. But Roy said he could have anything. Whatever he wanted. Giving up all of himself, for nothing. For free. 

Jason should take it. Roy will stop him, if he needs it. He puts his mouth on the cowlick, not a kiss, tucks his nose into Roy’s hair and breathes in deep. The nothing-smell of hair that’s not clean but not dirty. Roy’s hands are pressing into his lats, his legs spreading and crossing behind Jason’s thighs, holding him there. Jason curls both his hands around Roy’s skull, presses gently, cradling his head- all of Roy is in there, somehow, and he needs to be careful with it. His skull feels too small to hold something so important, too fragile. 

Jason drags his thumbs over his eyebrows, presses a thumbnail into the scar bisecting the left one- string snap, Roy told him, nearly took that eye out. Roy’s looking up at him still, and they’re close enough that Jason could count his eyelashes, if he wanted. He runs his fingers over Roy’s ears, feeling the cartilage, gently pinches the flesh of his earlobe, over the hole where he used to have gauges. He moves down to Roy’s neck, puts his hands around his throat, doesn’t squeeze. He feels it when Roy’s breath hitches. Roy shuts his eyes, swallows, his Adam's apple moving under Jason’s palms. 

Jason bites him where his neck meets his shoulder, hard. He thinks about being normal, trying to make it a hickey- but Roy jerks hard beneath him with a strangled noise and that thing in Jason’s chest makes him hold that position until Roy stops moving, until the bolt of his jaw aches. He lets go, spit shining around the deep purple indents in Roy’s skin. Roy lets out a shaking breath, eyes still shut.

Roy already knows he’s an inscrutable freak, Jason decides. He’s going to do everything he’s ever looked at Roy and thought about doing, everything he thought might be weird that he’s ever refrained from. Roy won’t run.

If he does, well. Jason will chase him. Roy is the one who said he was locking Jason down, said nobody in or out. He can’t get too mad if Jason takes him up on it.

He presses his nose near Roy’s armpit. The sharp, live smell of his sweat in Jason’s lungs, muted by whatever axe deodorant he uses that always makes Jason think of a cold wet morning. He rubs his mouth over Roy’s deltoid, teeth dragging. Jason pushes up and kneels with his thighs on either side of Roy’s torso, picks up an arm, runs his hands over Roy’s bicep, digs his thumbs into his elbow. Puts Roy’s thumb in his mouth, tastes skin and salt, bites the draw calluses on his fingers, gentle. Does the other arm too, to keep it even. Roy’s breathing slow and even, looking at Jason again as he shoves his mouth into Roy’s wrist until he can feel the pulse against his lower lip. Roy’s trying to caress his face with that hand, can’t quite manage more than a brush of his fingertips against Jason’s ear. 

Jason knows what he should say here. What he hasn’t been saying, because he knows it’s not the same as how Roy will say it, thinking that it will somehow be a lie because the meaning’s different. But it’s words, which are only stories. There is nothing in a story that is a lie, and no analysis that is wrong, with supporting evidence. Which Jason has, which Jason has always had. Roy at his right shoulder. Never wanting anyone else at his back. Saying to Dick: if there wasn’t Roy, there wouldn’t be anybody. The way they keep finding each other at the lowest of lows, facedown in bottles or looking down barrels of guns to see if they can spot the bullet. Standing there feeling stupid in the holes they’ve dug, pickaxes in hand, before turning and finding the other, just as deep as they are. Saying: gimme a boost and I’ll give you a hand.

Even if he doesn’t mean it in the same way, he means it. I want you, I want you, I want you. The inflection changes the meaning, but only by the barest degrees. 

“I love you,” Jason says, and he’s not lying, because he means them, even if it’s not always how he thinks he should.

[lazlolullaby]

Terry McGinnis: Talk! What did you do to the cookie recipe! I got the chocolate chip walnut down but the other one is killing me!

Alfred Pennyworth, undisturbed: I don't know what you mean. It's all written down.

Terry: yes, in metric, and the eggs were weighed to the miligram for some reason! I chilled the dough, rolled them, chilled again to stop spread. I accounted for the Manor's colder ovens too!

Alfred: ...you said tea cookies, yes? Shortbread sandwiches with strawberry preserves?

Terry: yes. Bruce still talks about them. He can't make them either.

Alfred: Well. Even Master Bruce never quite understood the precision of proper British baked goods. Come along.

*opens up a pantry. Hands Terry a package of Jammy Dodgers*

Alfred: I suppose you will have to do legwork into an international market and research if any brands survived or changed their recipes for the next fifty years.

Terry: I'm going to go back to the future, resurrect you, then kill you.

[gurutrends]

What is woke language? What does it mean and where did it originate?

The meaning of the word woke is ‘I woke up’ and in recent decades it has been associated with different movements against social injustice, but today many fear its impact. One of the most famous cases is that of billionaire Elon Musk , who in an interview claimed that his transgender daughter was killed by the woke virus: ” I was tricked into signing paperwork for one of my older children .” This…

[lazymonth]

They don’t give him a voice so I need to draw this

[bikerbutchbait]

i may be that one friend that’s too woke, but i think everyone who can should take time to help those in need. whenever i see someone struggling i always ask “you need some help?” you never know how much you can brighten someone’s day. and i’m not talking out of my ass. i’ve helped a blind man cross the street, a disabled older man catch the bus with his bags, and even when i barely had anything extra i gave it to a man who just needed something to eat. it’s times like these that we need compassion MORE THAN EVER. need to use my phone to make a call? HELL YEAH! need bus fare? HELL YEAH. need extra hands to put those groceries away? I MAY BE SMALL BUT I AM MIGHTY!

[cynicallyneutral]

sploonsuke

[coochiekrab]

Having a phobia of French language is not that Life Intrusive as someone who lives 2576478585 miles away from any Location that has any French influence whatsoever but the only truly annoying thing is the fact that i can’t listen to stromae anymore. I fucking loved stromae. There are a handful of French songs i can comfortably listen to and even enjoy mostly by francoise hardy or france gall (wow both France derivative names. Ironic) but for some reason stromae can’t pass the censors in my brain that turns the fight or fight response into overdrive

[krisdrawshazbinhotel]

Alastor, got a fish-TV man :D

(I know that i draw them holding each other often lately, but hear me out- This one is based on my dream that i had-

Yes, i know i am obsessed with them enough to have a dreams about them XD

Anyway in that dream Vox is merman and get caught by hunters/ fishermans. Alastor, son of captain of the crew, become friend with Vox and decide to help him back to sea. As far as i remember Mimzy was there too, she took care of the rest of crew, so Al, could get Vox easily out and there was also Rosie who helped Alastor to get Vox out of fish tank and also there was Alastor's mother who wanted help too, so she took care of her husband.)

Vox and Alastor from Hazbin Hotel

Art by Me ( Kris_Draws)