#fuck the entire west

[disco-cola]

im german and really mad and disgusted about germanys extreme pro-israel (turned pro-genocide) stance but what some of you might not know is that this is actually something thats not always been this way. when germany was divided into east and west and the GDR/east germany was its own entity after 1949 (stayed a soviet satellite state though in contrast to the western part of germany which was under control of the usa/britain/france aka the kings of colonialism), the government of east germany actually described itself as "anti-zionist" because the GDR considered itself an "antifascist state" and viewed israel as a "fascist state" (so no, the politics there have not only just been racist and discriminating under netanjahu, its been a problem since its inception) that would have to be fought (never officially though). east germany existed as its own country between 1949-1990 and never recognized israel, however did recognize palestine and was an ally of the PLO, actively arming them to "fight" against the occupation and oppression. it was only when the wall came down and germany was re-unified as one country in 1990 and the rest of the eastern bloc fell apart in 1991 shortly after and the capitalistic west took over control and influence that the stance of germany as one shifted, and palestine is not recognized anymore ever since. i wrote a few days ago that there used to be the official UN-resolution 3379, declaring zionism as a form of racism and racial discrimination. it was voted for through a big majority in 1975, the countries who actively voted against it were mostly located in north america and the european west plus australia (dont forget about australias history though, it explains this), whereas most of the rest of the eastern and southern part of the globe actively voted for it. you have to understand that in the entire soviet union and its satellite states (like east germany) anti-zionism was widely spread because zionism as a political ideology in real life practice went so much against communist values that they considered israel fascist and imperialistic, also due to its connection with the united states in particular. so just after the ussr and its satellite states fell apart, literally in december 1991 the same month the ussr officially ceased to be, the usa under (first) bush republican presidency came forward to pressure the UN to revoke resolution 3379. the statement by bush literally reads like gaslighting, completely twisting and re-making what zionism means in practice, and especially what it meant and continues to mean in reality for palestinians until this day, in fact he never adressed them at all. it was only then that a lot of countries did a complete 180 (minus most arabic countries) and after 16 years the resolution was revoked. not even 3 full years later, in 1994, israel began building a bigger barrier around gaza which then turned into the whole ass barb-wired-super-surveillance wall we still see today. so yeah. dont tell me all this is not connected to western imperialism and capitalism. like most evil in the world, that is its entire basis.

[deadsetobsessions]

Pt. 3

Again, the timing is icky but pretty much everything about it is icky.

——

Bruce wondered when Talia al Ghul would stop upheaving his life.

He loves Damian, but one surprise child was a lot, considering the cult deprogramming they’d had to do.

A second, older, surprise child? That was a bit overkill.

At least this time, the conception was consensual.

Bruce cradled his head in his hands, still-gloved fingers gripping onto sweat-soaked hair. The glow of the bat computer shone on his lone figure, sat huddled before endless screens of investigations and the unraveling threads of Bruce’s sanity.

How was he to cope with the knowledge that a child- his child, like Dick and Damian and Tim and Jason and- suffered so at the man he thought he had beaten so soundly?

It was his fault, Bruce thought, that Ra’s al Ghul tortured his… Bruce’s… daughter so brutally. It was no doubt, a way to assuage his anger at Bruce’s denial of being his heir.

His mistakes always came back to haunt him, but it never laid its furious eyes and hands on his own person. No, when Bruce made mistakes, his loved ones paid for it.

He tried his best, pushed harder as Batman, in penance. But this… his unknown daughter, trapped in the shadows of the league where it is cold and cruel and brutally painful…

How could he repent for the sin of letting his daughter suffer and chained at the hands of Ra’s al Ghul? How could he show her that the shadows could be kind? That he would rather break his own spine and get lost in the time stream again before he could even fathom hurting her? He found himself stuck in the same loop of thoughts that plagued him when Damian first came into his orbit.

The screens turned black, and Oracle’s call sign flashed onto the dark pixels.

“Oracle. I hadn’t finished looking at the cases.”

“Go to sleep, Bruce.”

“No, there is still work to be-” his voice, dipping into the growl, died a quick death when Barbara cut him off.

“Your daughter is coming tomorrow. So, unless you want to look like a disheveled grease racoon when you meet her, go shower and get some actual sleep.”

Bruce paused, feeling oddly offended. His eye bags weren’t that bad.

Bruce caught sight of his reflection in one of the blacked out monitors.

…Nevermind.

He sighed. “…Thank you, Barbara.”

“Anytime, Bruce. I’m always here to kick your ass into gear.”

Bruce huffed, but obligingly got up to change and shower. Alfred silently appeared at the elevators, polished shoes tapping against the stone floor as he raised an imperious eyebrow at Bruce.

“I see Miss Barbara has managed to persuade you to retire at an hour common to regular man, Master Bruce.”

“Ah, yes, she… did.” Bruce felt the urge to apologize, because if Alfred’s up because of him, it’ll wear down harsher on the older man’s health. If there was one thing he took seriously, it would be the health of his loved ones. “Sorry, Alfred. I’ll head up to bed soon.”

“See to it that you do, Master Bruce. I will warm dinner that you had missed by many hours and bring it to your room.”

Bruce lingered as the butler turned around and began making his way back to the main house.

Alfred paused and turned around once more. “If I may offer you some advice?”

“Please. Always.”

Alfred sniffed delicately, most definitely thinking of the times Bruce decided not to take his very well reasoned and seasoned advice. “You have done well with Young Master Damian.”

“Most of that was Dick,” Bruce interrupted, man enough to admit that he wasn’t a present or a particularly good father figure before his jaunt through time and space. Alfred shot him a chiding look, reprimanding him for interrupting. Bruce rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.

“Perhaps, but you have put in effort towards all of your children in a way that I have yet to see since Master Jason had… gone.”

“I’ll never make that period of time up to Tim.” Bruce whispered. Another thing he was guilty of. Tim still avoided some spaces in the manor, even when Bruce had-

“That is because you sit here, wallowing in your guilt,” Alfred returned. He added a belated “Master Bruce,” and it sounded like ‘you utter buffoon.’

“But…”

“You must take the first step, Master Bruce.”

“What if she hates me? What if I’m not ready- what if I can’t help her?”

“You will try. She deserves that, at the very least. You must try. Even if you are not ready for the day, Master Bruce, it can not always be night.”

“… You’re right.” Bruce straightened his shoulders. Time doesn’t wait. He, of all people, knew that.

“You will find that I am hardly ever wrong.” Alfred primly rested his hands atop each other.

“Thank you, Alfred.”

“Of course. It was also meant literally, Master Bruce, for the sun shall try its best to peek out of Gotham’s smog in approximately three hours and fourteen minutes.”

“I’m going, I’m going,” Bruce grouched.

——

Her mother gave her a slow, cautious hug, akin to approaching a wild animal.

She huffed, and pulled her mother into a crushing hug. She allowed herself, for the first time in a long time, to linger and cling onto her mother’s shirt. Another tendency that Ra’s had thought he’d beaten out of her.

“Be careful,” the reincarnation whispered.

“You as well, my beloved daughter.”

‘You do not have to remind me that I am beloved, mother. I know.’

Talia al Ghul tucked a strand of the reincarnation’s curled hair behind her ear. “No, I do not believe that you do. But that is… my own fault. I will tell you and remind you that you are beloved to me as long as I can. I have two decades of it to make up to you, habibti.”

The flight attendant- a League operative- returned from placing her bags onto the private plane.

——

A sleek car made its way up Wayne Manor’s winding driveway. She’d declined the offer to pick her up from the airport. She had wanted a vehicle of her own, and some time before she met every one else. No doubt, knowing what she knew of her brother and Bruce Wayne, not to mention the little photographer, they were most likely tracing her path to Wayne manor obsessively.

She tapped her nails on the wheel as she drove towards her brother. Brothers. And… Bruce Wayne. On one hand, she’s kept them safe. On the other, she’d sacrificed years of getting to know them. It was odd, to feel this intensely awkward and nervous after years of intense hatred or apathy sprinkled by the the occasional love and fondness for Damian and her mother.

“Hmmm.” She hummed, slight smile spreading a bit more as the sound came out without pain. Two weeks, and the novelty of freedom had not worn off. She thinks that it would never wear off. She cherished it.

The gate had opened without needing a code, so they most definitely knew she was here. It’s a good thing she had prepared gifts in advance. Dodging Gothamites as they drove and jaywalked had been a rather unforeseen ordeal that she was not looking forward to repeating.

She rolled to a smooth stop at the front doors, giving the intricately carved oak doors a passing glance. She huffed a laugh as she saw Damian, flanked by Bruce Wayne and Alfred Pennyworth, staring proudly outside at the front door. They’re anticipatory of her arrival. Warmth spread through her heart, and for the first time in a long while, it wasn’t the heat of rage.

She opened the doors with a quiet click and hiss, stepping out onto the heated paved driveway, and closed the door. At the steps, the two older men had frozen but Damian had come walking quickly towards her.

“Damian,” she whispered as he came near her, suffusing as much fondness as she could into his name. Her little brother all but sprinted towards her, screeching to a stop in front of her with excited eyes.

“Welcome to Wayne Manor, ukhti.” He said formally. Her eyes softened and she pulled him into a hug.

(yā waṭawāṭī alṣṣḡīr is the phonetic spelling.) ("وطواطي الصغير" is the actual spelling. I think.)

“I have missed you, ya wat-wat alssgirr,” she whispered. The familiar endearment, “my little bat,” rung warmly like a warm crease ruffling his hair. The silks of her clothes and the ever present warm sand and candle scent wrapped around him like a hug… like the hug she was currently giving him.

(Her clothes were in blues and silvers. It suited her, she who had been forced in green and golds and cuts of black.)

“I still can not believe you all but told me who father was and I still could not figure it out until mother told me.”

She pulled back. ‘Damian, you were five.’

“I have little doubt you were smarter at my age, ukhti, so do not lie to me.” Damian grumbled. Nevertheless, he stepped back.

‘No, you were smarter.’

And to her, he was. It’s not like Damian had the edge she did, and he wasn’t the one trapped for twenty something years. She had foolishly thought that Ra’s wouldn’t dare to harm her too much, seeing as she was his blood, but Damian knew from day 1. She made sure he did. If she was half as smart as Damian, she would have bent her knee and obeyed, no matter how she felt about killing. She would have taken warning Ra’s issued and soaked in the poisonous praise to bide her time to escape. She could not- she did not- do what Damian found effortless, and paid the price for it.

“Unlikely,” Damian said, turning around fully, but she could see the tips of her brother’s ears burning. Ah, perhaps she had been to stingy with compliments if he was shy hearing a mild one, sincere as it might have been. “This is Alfred Pennyworth. He is the butler, and an integral part of the family.”

Damian glanced at her, taking in her suddenly impassive face, and nods. Good. His attitude towards Pennyworth when he first arrived was… mildly shameful. His ukhti was smart enough to know that and therefore he won the argument.

On her part, the reincarnation followed along like she hadn’t mildly stalked this family for decades. It was nice to see excitement rearing on her brother’s face. It was rare in the league and Gotham’s gloom had ironically cheered him up far more than the suns of desserts ever did. She nodded at Alfred Pennyworth, who had admirably recovered from his earlier shock.

“And this is… Bruce Wayne. Our father.”

She tucked a strand of curled hair back, impassive blue eyes meeting her… father’s.

She offered him a short nod.

——

“My word,” Alfred Pennyworth muttered as his charge’s (his son’s) daughter step out of the car. Her steps were silent, graceful, and lighter than a gazelle.

The way she moved, even as she hugged young master Damian, whispered of leashed lethality and treacherous waters. She moved like if grace had a form and Alfred was willing to bet his entire career that not an iota of air got close to her without her knowledge of it, and it reminded the aging man of the young Miss Cassandra. He knew then, that she could have pretended to be unassuming and that he would have had a hard time equating her with danger. That she showed them her potential for death was a sign of trust.

But it was not the way she claimed death as her own name that caught the former spy’s attention.

No.

It was her blue eyes and the way they ever so slightly crinkled fondly as she laid eyes upon her younger brother. It was the way her hair, curled in a nostalgic style, that curtained her face as she spoke to the young Wayne heir, though he could not hear her voice. It was the way that she tucked Damian against her side, protective but encouraging.

It was the way that she, despite Talia al Ghul’s features, resembled his dearest friend, Martha Wayne, in her every movement.

Alfred Pennyworth felt like he was decades younger, standing before Martha as she fondly tucked Bruce against her side and successfully needled Thomas into going to see Bruce’s favorite movie.

It felt like he had his best friend once more, just a little.

From the way Master Bruce stared, it seemed as though he thought the same.

Alfred straightened when young master Damian introduced him. He was the Wayne Family Butler. And she was definitely a Wayne.

Master Bruce stood there like a lout as his daughter greeted him. Alfred shot him a scathing look- he had taught Master Bruce much better manners than to gape, the nerve!- before smoothly directing the attention away. His hands moved as he spoke.

“Welcome to Wayne Manor, Miss-”

She made a sharp motion to cut him off and signed something. Alfred might be a tad rusty in Arabic sign language (like he and the rest of the family hadn’t spent the last two weeks frantically memorizing and brushing up on their sign language) but he knew a name sign when he saw one.

“al Ghul.” Damian recognized. He did not use regular Arabic Sign Language with her often, vastly preferring their own established sign, but that did not mean he slacked. “You may call her al-Ghul.”

‘Or nothing at all,’ Damian’s sister signed. She looked at him like she was waiting. A test, Alfred realized.

Alfred pushed the slight twinge of disheartening disappointment away. He had wanted to call her Miss Wayne, to perhaps indulge in a bit of nostalgia for a while longer. But he shan’t do it at the expense of his charge.

“Miss al Ghul,” he continued, not missing a beat, imitating the name sign with pin point accuracy. She lifted her chin. Alfred sighed in relief. He passed. And now, perhaps he should revive Ra’s al Ghul and have a nice, entirely civil conversation about Miss al Ghul’s expectation that her wishes would go ignored.

Alfred will bring his shotguns and most likely would abandon pretenses as soon as that old goat got into his crosshairs. Old as he might be, he was still a very good shot, and civility was reserved for those with honor.

“Please head inside. I am sure young master Damian would love to guide you on a tour,” Alfred continued like he didn’t think of violent second deaths for Ra’s al Ghul. “Perhaps Master Bruce will join you, if you are amendable, once he has managed to stop imitating the rather life like form of a smooth brained sloth.”

Alfred congratulated himself on the small crinkle of humor that graced Miss al Ghul’s otherwise expressionless face. Well, expressionless to those that did not know where to look. Fortunately, Alfred and the rest of the family were used to stoic caveman micro expressions, courtesy of Bruce, and therefore it would not be much of a problem.

“I will bring your bags up to your room.”

She scrutinized him and then dipped her head.

‘Be careful. There are dangerous things in there.’

“I assure you the utmost privacy in regards to your belongings,” Alfred said.

“Pennyworth will not peruse your belongings, ukhti. He has more honor and respect than that.”

Alfred would like to interrogate Talia al Ghul to see who he must introduce some lead to, that clearly disrespected Miss al Ghul’s privacy like so. But for now, he will bask in the warmth of young master Damian’s implicit trust.

Miss al Ghul nodded. She opened the trunk of the car- the interior of which Alfred could now perceive to be entirely customized and of extremely quality material. She handed the keys and gave him access to her luggage. Then, placing her hand at young master Damian’s shoulder, followed the young master into the halls where she ought to have been raised. Or, at the very least, ought to have taken a step in at least once before today.

Master Bruce lingered at the doorway, torn between following the siblings and helping Alfred with the luggage (read: running away.)

“The daylight is wasting, Master Bruce.”

Master Bruce skittered in behind them like a newborn colt, wobbling and anxious.

Well, it’s time for Alfred to do his job. There was only a single duffle bag.

Hm. He’ll have to tell Master Bruce to take her out for necessities. He hardly doubted that a single bag could last her very long. And Alfred Pennyworth was hellbent on convincing his granddaughter to stay, may the gods have mercy on whichever poor soul that tried to convince her otherwise for he won’t.

——

She followed Damian as he led her deeper within the walls of a home she knew by heart from afar. She was like the little photographer in that way. Bruce Wayne trailed behind them like a particularly awkward ghoul, and she found it amusing to equate this turtle necked man was the illustrious Dark Knight. How dangerous.

“This is the first parlor. It is for guests of the… regular persuasion.”

Ah, for the civilians. She nodded.

“Ah, the silverware was selected by Alfred.” Bruce interjected, gesturing to the display silverware by the door. Their cabinets were intricate without taking away from the paintings upon the delicate ceramic.

She looked at him, wondering why he was following before giving up and nodding. It was his house.

(Bruce, for his part, felt like his daughter had laid judgement upon him… and found him lacking.)

‘It is… adequate.’ She sighed to Damian. Damian tutted.

“It’s fine to say quaint, sister. It could hardly compare to the palace.”

Bruce jolted, plans for converting the manor into a palace already in the making.

No, he couldn’t. Alfred would murder him with his favorite dish.

‘I like it, even if it is smaller.’

“….you do?”

‘You are happy here. It is warm to you. I like it.’ She repeated.

Damian latched onto her sleeve. “I- I shall show you my art. And then introduce you to the rest of the bumbling fools we have for brothers-”

She tilted her head. Bruce paused as well when Damian’s words cut off.

“If… you want them as brothers. It would be… helpful, to integrate.”

She waited.

“But… I am the first. Your blood. And-”

‘I will make room in my heart for them, if you wish it. I already know some of them.’ She allowed a small smile to show. ‘But that does not mean you will ever lose your place, little bat.’

Damian felt extremely thankful that father had not managed to pick up their version of sign language yet.

“Well… as long as you’re aware.” He marched further into the manor. She followed, once more, a look of fond indulgence gleaming in her eyes.

——

She stood in front of a painting her younger brother had done.

‘I made it two weeks ago,’ he’d told her, fingers curled into her palm.

It was green. She hated green. And gold. And ominous. Rage. Harsh, bold strokes and spots where the texture of the canvas were either globbed over or painfully showing through.

Her hands traced the single stroke of blue amidst the turbulence of green.

She tucked Damian against her side and realized that perhaps he understood after all, what it felt like. Perhaps not all of it, but enough.

——

“Here is your room, ukhti.” Damian stood watch as his sister scanned the room. She quickly removed three listening devices as Damian sighed.

‘You’ve gotten better.’ She crossed the room and plucked the listening bug from its place on the door frame.

“Clearly not good enough.” Damian huffed. “But I have beaten your knife game record. What do you think of the room?”

His sister rolled her eyes and handed him a blade she pulled from somewhere on her person.

An implicit challenge.

“No cutting your fingers off, please.” Father interceded.

“Begone, father. We are doing sibling bonding, something I remember you insisting that I participate in.”

Damian shut the door on his stupefied face, matching his sister’s sharp smirk as he splayed his hand on the dresser and raised the blade.

——

Alfred walked in with a covered plate and paused at the sight of the dresser.

Then, he looked on as Damian sat at the desk, rapidly signing to his sister in their own version of the language as said sister pulled out an entire wardrobe and a half to fill in the walk-in closet.

Alfred made a note to study some more magic.

“Miss al-Ghul. I bring you a snack that young master Damian made and to inform you that the others will be arrive en masse, within an hour.” Alfred paused. “Might I interest you in a mat before the two of you decide to… take a gander at furniture redecoration in the future?”

“Of course, Pennyworth. Apologies.”

“I’ll try to make sure they won’t overwhelm you. They can be a lot, at once.” Bruce said from the doorway. Miss al Ghul glanced at him and dipped her head in thanks. Her eyes wandered right back to the dessert.

Alfred made another note.

‘You made this for me?’ She asked, switching to standard.

Damian grumbled. “Do not eat it. I could not get the spice quite right, no matter how many variations…”

‘I am sure it will be good.’ She took the plate from Alfred’s hand and uncovered it.

They all had the fortune of witnessing a true, genuine wide eyed smile from a stoic face.

Alfred inhaled sharply. He had thought Master Bruce and young master Damian had inherited Thomas’ dimples. But she had inherited his entire smile.

‘Bstilla!’ She turned to Damian. ‘My favorite! You made this?’

“I know that. I am not incompetent as to not notice when you snuck three of them from the palace kitchens. You must give me the recipe from the cooks. I could not get it to taste like the spices they used. I even imported spices!”

Miss al-Ghul, like she had forgotten he and Master Bruce were there, stabbed a fork into the pie and put it into her mouth.

“Ukhti! Don’t- do not eat that! Spit it out! The pastry is too thick and-”

She held up her hand. ‘It’s good. I know what it is missing.’

She strode to her magic bag and pulled out a bottle.

She sprinkled flakes on top and offered a forkful of b’stilla to the young master who, shockingly, did not insist on his own utensil.

His expression lightened. “This is it. What is it? You know of the chefs’ methods?”

She sprinkled the mysterious spice on the food. ‘You’ve never eaten anything the chefs have made. I made your food by hand to prevent assassinations and inoculate you against toxins. Also, this is poison.’

Alfred stiffened.

“It’s what?!” Bruce spoke up, rushing into the room, finally to try and look Damian over.

‘It is fine. He has been immune since he was three.’

Miss al Ghul placed a piece of poisoned b’stilla in her mouth and ate. Young master Damian batted his father off, saying that poison inoculation was hardly a surprise. What was a surprise, though, was something else.

“That is- you- you’re the one who made my meals?” Young Master Damian demanded, looking guilty. “But- I- why did you not tell me? I made all of those demands in the middle of the night- what about the time I sent back the knafe fifteen times?”

She nodded.

“Why would you- why did you not tell me?”

‘You knew what grandfather thought of women. And besides, it was the only time I was allowed sweets. He did not want me to ruin my figure as it would lower my marketability.’

Alfred itched for his gun.

“You are not a commodity,” Master Bruce stated, intense as he tended to be. Miss al Ghul blinked at him.

‘… I am aware. But… thank you.’

“Ah. Yes. Of course.” And there went the emotionally intelligent Master Bruce. May he rest in peace until the next time he decides to make an appearance.

“I believe today is a chocolate chip cookie day, do you not, young master Damian?”

“Yes, Pennyworth, I believe it is.”

‘I have never tried it before.’

“You will love it. Pennyworth’s cookies are the best in the world, as is expected.”

Alfred watched as young master Damian tugged his sister out and marveled. The sides of his grandson they rarely get to see was so easily pulled out by his older sister.

——

Y’all I wanted to write her meeting the siblings but Alfred came out of no where and went haha nope feel the angst of a man who lost his best friend and had to raise her vigilante child.

Alfred, seeing Bruce put on the bat cowl for the first time: martha, why have you forsaken me

——

Me: what would baby assassins play as a binding game?

Me, remembering my past as a kid: I Spy, but with trackers and bugs. oh wait… THE KNIFE GOES CHOP CHOP CHOP

——

Also, I think B’stilla was food meant only for royalty and was probably rooted in slavery, so I thought it would be a meaningful nod to her position of privilege and how she are like a king but was treated as a… bed warmer and a slave. Yeah. If anyone knowledgeable on food history wants to school me on b’stilla, feel free to do so. I did like, a cursory research at best.

[royaltea000]

You know you’re gone when you start playing dress up doll with a character :/

[heshemejoshi]

how girls look at you wwhen they cause havoc in heaven

[modernmutiny]

the west wing has such a talent for drawing you into some drama so completely that every actual tragic dramatic event takes you entirely by surprise. For example, I'm rewatching S2 and they're all concerned with reelection and the MS scandal and Abbeys medical career etc etc

And then Mrs Landingham says she just bought a new car. And now I'm fucking crying.

[blackbatcass]

actually the funniest flash character in history is mason trollbridge. he was just some bland carpenter dude. he was wally’s old man best friend. they moved across country together. wally LIVED with him. he had a supervillain son that was never followed up on. he was in almost every issue. then waid took over and he disappeared without a trace and was never heard from again

[arcane-strangeness]

whats your is one thing that you feel strongly about a fandom/media you like that no one else gets?

Aloy, from the Horizon video game series (Zero Dawn, Forbidden West) is a rat, in the way that she's constantly weaseling her way into spaces she isn't supposed to be in and causing problems on purpose. whether that's clambering around the vents in the GAIA base, climbing absurdly high buildings with zero regard for safety (much to Alva's concern, in the Leviathan quest), or brute forcing her way through social interactions (so many questions, she needs to know everything always all of the time), the outcast lifestyle definitely had a lasting impact on her lmao

she is not the voice of reason among her friends, she is the voice of "i'll do it till it's done even if it kills me" much to the concern of EVERYONE around her. someone make this girl take a break because giving her one is not gonna be enough for her to take it. she fought what was essentially a god to her, fell 30-50 feet into water below, swam a decent ways away while being shot at by essentially alien laser guns, was sucked underwater by a current, bashed into several things, thrown off a cliff face in a waterfall, bashed around some more, knocked unconscious, and still tried to get up walk around and keep going a day after the fact. the only reason she seems like a somewhat rational person is because everyone else on the goddamn planet has lost their minds. i love her <3

[antidotefortheawkward-art]

Thinking about that Zhihu AU where Tang Seng's disciples were Erlang Shen, Sun Wukong, and Bull Demon King instead.....

[ID: 1. An illustration of Erlang Shen, Sun Wukong, and Bull Demon King from the waist-up. Erlang Shen is wearing a weimao and a purple yuanlingpao archer-style with the left lapel flipped out. His two inner robe layers are checkered blue and purple-ish off-white. He has a snow leopard pelt at his waist. Sun Wukong is in his typical pilgrimage outfit, chewing on a piece of willow with his arms crossed. Bull Demon King has his arm around SWK's shoulder, leaning against him. He has a leopard pelt across his chest and a dark red scarf around his shoulders, with a red banbi and off-white inner robe. His other hand is on his mixed-iron rod, which is placed on his shoulder. 2. A translated screenshot from the aforementioned Zhihu thread. It reads "西天路走的太顺利畅，我反而无聊 This path to the Western Heaven is too smooth. I'm actually bored." End ID]

[aromantic-diaries]

a ton of aromantic heterosexual cis men, at least in uni, are awful. two of them were my friends. i trusted them, we bonded over them saying they were both straight aroallos and I was a bisexual oriented aroace and we got along so well. then one of them added me on accident (or maybe "on accident") to a group chat where they were like a group of like the european equivalent of frat guys and they were making fun of my identity and talking about my 'tight pussy' (cause I'm a virgin, I guess). i scrolled up and one of them was on grinder hooking up with pre-transition trans men because they're "easy" and apparently can be easily convinced to not use a condom. he didn't see any of them as men, just as tomboy-ish looking girls. he was also sending screenshots of some of the cis or cis-passing guys and calling them slurs.

I don't want these people in the queer community, i got them to join our gsa and they were talking shit about that too. i dont know what their goal with me was, clearly they were just mocking me and the queer community. maybe eventually they wanted to try to have sex with me or something, idk. but after that experience i genuinely do not trust cishet aroallo men.... its like saying that polish people should be allowed into spaces for "ethnic minorities" as theyre called here. like they might be a little oppressed. but also theyre all so racist and theyd make the space much worse for the more oppressed people who are strongly affected (like african immigrants) and can't just change their surnames to escape xenophobia.

Alright, before I even say anything I need to specify that I am not trying to invalidate your experience or go "not all men" on you, and I'm not defending these men.

What I do need to say is that any category of people will have shitty people without exception. These guys you talked about are shitty people without a doubt. But using polish people being racist as an example kind of falls flat because while that is true a lot of the time, it doesn't mean that their problems don't deserve to be fixed just cause a lot of these individuals are bad. I don't know the people you've talked about so I can't jump to any conclusions about them but listen. They weren't like that because they were cishet men who were aromantic, they were like that because they were shitty people, labels aside. And I'm sorry but queerness, or any minority status is not an indicator of morality. A lot of queer people fucking suck. A lot of them are terrible people. Someone can be a minority and still have their own -isms and -phobias against other minorities and that does not fucking mean they no longer deserve to live in a more progressive world or have any type of sympathy for their struggles. And yeah the polish people thing is uh... Yikes, I would have kept that to myself if I were you

[storywestistrash]

i am actually so tired of the way westerners treat eastern europeans

[aeolianblues]

good god girl, maybe some of us are not vegan because we eat chicken like once in three months?? Would reduction not be a more productive goal of vegan activism than outright banning? Like if your arguments are that animals are being eaten, then you’re being unrealistic about the entire actual concept of the food chain. Humans are omnivores, you do not need to change that to achieve your goals.

A vegan lifestyle is also entirely the product of your geographical location. If you live somewhere that shit does not grow, what are you going to do?? I just think about the difference between food options in India and Canada, for example. India: between the tropics (tropics and equator even, in fact). All-year-round sun, there’s pretty much always stuff growing. Different kinds of land will mean you can grow everything from staples like rice and wheat to vegetables, fruits and plantation crops. It’s reflected in the cuisines: Indian food has a much, much wider offering of vegetarian food, and many more Indians have restricted diets that more or less overlap with vegetarianism. Because crops grows. Locally.

Canada. Harvest in the fall, from November to March, your fields are practically unusable. Compare the prices of fresh produce in (and now I’m being generous to give you a highly populated, non-remote province here for an example) Ontario. Ontario has farms where in the fall you get fresh autumn vegetables and fruits. You’ll also get them in larger quantities. It is way cheaper, fresher and also uses less energy and fuel to transport the vegetables like 50 km from farm to market.

Come the winter and nothing grows. If you look at most vegetables you’ll find on store shelves in December or February, and most of it is either imported from warmer regions of the US (often the case for chains that are in both countries) or from South American countries (sometimes SA -> USA -> Canada). The importing has to go through cross-country customs, had to be driven for days, is less fresh or rich in nutrients by the time you get it, and is more expensive. Of course. And we all come out of it poorer. Is it any wonder why people will eat meat? We’re even talking here about a place like Ontario, very well connected on North American trade routes. Can you justify someone in Yukon deciding to eat meat over a $17/lb. green veg? Be for fucking real…

There simply cannot be a blanket-global solution to animal products. You’ve got to work with what your geography has to offer. It’s the same thing we say when we say that avocados have an environmental cost when you expect them to be available year-round in places they don’t grow. We encourage people to go for more local produce there, and I think the same should go for all parts of your diet too. If your animals are local, then their footprint is lower than importing kiwis from New Zealand to the US. I don’t see how that’s hard to understand.

[givemewallywestorgivemedeath]

John Fox is such an interesting character because he and Wally are direct parallels to Eobard and Barry. Yet the fact that John never became a Reverse Flash, and instead carried on the Flash legacy, speaks to Wally’s compassionate and begrudgingly forgiving nature.

So first the parallels.

John Fox was born in the far off future where he grew up idolizing the Flash. The Flash was his hero, his savior. When Fox's city was being threatened Fox decided that only the Flash could save them and time travelled to get help from a Flash. John wasn't able to get help but he did acquire superspeed himself after time traveling. John donned the name ‘The Flash’ and created a Flash suit out of Flash suits he stole from the Flash museum. John Fox managed to save the future version of Central City and he got his first taste of being a hero.

Already the parallels to Eobard are obvious. The Flash obsession, the time travel, trying to be the Flash, ect. The only notable difference thus far is that Eobard had to invent crime to ‘fight’ when he was attempting to be the Flash and John had a legit crisis to combat. This legitimate need for a Flash combined with John’s willingness to step up would make him more of a Wally parallel than an Eobard parallel but unfortunately for him it didn’t last long. Due to future technology Fox became redundant. There was no need for a Flash and he was restricted to permanent guard duty at the Flash museum.

Taking away the need for a Flash made him desperate to go back in time and be a hero again. When an amnesic Wally West arrived in his century Fox saw his chance. He, following in Eobard’s footsteps, replaced Wally as the Flash. John went so far as to fall in love with Linda and strain her lightning rod connection with Wally, which trapped him in the speedforce. This was known information to John Fox. He was aware that Linda’s hope and love was Wally’s only chance at returning. What John did was akin to attempted murder. John wanted Wally's life. He lived in his house, donned his name and uniform, did his job and stole his girlfriend. He killed Wally for it. It’s really not hard to connect this behavior to Eobard who has tried to replace Barry multiple times in the past.

Fox is also not a great Flash. He’s skittish. Unsure and nervous. He’s playing the part of a hero rather than actually being one. Whereas Eobard was too aggressive as the Flash, John was too timid. Both, ultimately, were poor imitations of the originals.

This is where the similarities stop. While Barry reacted to Eobard with righteous fury, Wally reacted with anger, some sarcasm and then basically said ‘goddammit John you are helping me fix this mess or we are going to die trying’. When faced with a man who attempted to kill him and take over his life, Wally could only punch the man and be mildly snippy with him. Wally didn't want Fox to be an enemy. Wally saw potential in him. Wally saw the good man and hero Fox could be.

So Wally walked John through being a hero. He made Fox fix his mistakes, taught Fox how to save the day and by the end of it Wally ended up forgiving him. He gave John his stamp of approval, called him a Flash and sent him on his way.

This was a play by play on how to create a Reverse Flash. This was the recipe. John, by all means, should have been a villain. But Wally isn’t Barry. They are different people and they react in different ways. Wally is driven by the need to see the inherent good in people. He will always give people a second chance and, because of that, against all odds, Wally walked out of there with John Fox as a trusted friend and a Flash in his own right.

[orbmanson7]

Not sure why I drew this, just take it

[hairtusk]

are teachers outside the north west of england NOT doing this ?? i thought this was normal ??

[black-star-kunzite]

I feel like some of the Annette takes fall into a really weird place where the people critiquing the character’s attitude and choices can’t resonate with the feelings her story evokes and subsequently can’t really understand her actions. While critiquing something doesn’t require that you entirely relate to a character I still think you have to at least know to some degree how an event like fuckin slavery and continued oppression can make a character rash, abrasive, and very no nonsense when it comes to other characters who’ve had the luxury of time and a much greater degree of freedom.

Also it’s only season one (a season which felt pretty rushed) and the other characters from the other castlevania got 3 seasons to develop.

[theprodigypenguin]

I bought a keffiyah a few weeks back, as I'm sure a lot of people did, and I wore it today because when I woke up it was absolutely pouring. It is so warm, so comfortable, probably better than any scarf or shawl I've ever owned before. Better quality for sure.

And now I can't stop thinking about how something made by kind Palestinian hands is keeping me warm and giving me incredible comfort and security while those same gentle hands are digging the corpses of family and friends out of rubble.

And I'm dizzy and sick to my stomach from anger and shame and love all at once.

I am so lucky, so privileged to be where I am, even if this country is my greatest shame. What an honor it is to have a voice I can use to speak up against injustice. My heart bleeds for Palestine and will continue to bleed until everyone is free from the river to the sea.