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podiumackles · 1 month ago

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the moments that stay (they turn out all wrong)

In which the man she could never forget suddenly turns up at her cell, but he has no remembrance of the woman in front of him. And the moments that stayed with her for decades, turn out to be her memories only.

series masterlist

CHAPTER 6

A/N: hey so did you guys know I find writing dialogue infuriating?? English isn't my first language!! apologies in advance.

Outlines: After being his sidekick in Payback for years, you-better known as your supename Fury-ended up on the same end of Soldier Boy's violence as every other person. What you didn't realise, however, was that your old team had set you both up for betrayal, right when you thought you were helping them in getting him. After decades of being stuck in Vought's testing lab, you heard Soldier Boy got out. But the man who appeared in front of your cell wasn't the man you knew.

Warnings: swearing, weed, smoking, slight mention of manipulation, and possibly wrong storytelling in lines of the canon events. I'm not that good at remembering, guys. and the boys was just kinda complicated. forgive me.

Present

The flight to America was long. After leaving the van, Butcher had led the group, including you, towards a private plane. How he had gotten that in his possession, you didn’t dare ask.

"Russia."He had told you when he was asked where the hell you were. All this time, you had thought you were in your own country—the one you were raised in, trained in.

Manipulated in. Shaped in. Lied in.

You hadn’t dared to sleep on the plane. Your eyes were too focused on the people around you, and they, in return, didn’t take their eyes off of you either. It was an endless cycle of silent distrust, like a coiled snake ready to strike at the faintest flicker of weakness.

Butcher, with that permanent sneer etched onto his face, seemed oddly at ease, lounging in one of the leather seats as though this were all routine. The others, however, shifted uneasily, side-glancing at you and occasionally muttering in voices too low to catch. They knew things about you, things you hadn’t been allowed to know about yourself. Secrets planted in you, roots twisting through your memory, leaving a tangled mess you were just beginning to understand.

When the wheels had touched down, the silence between you and the others was heavier than ever. One by one, they had risen, adjusted their coats, hid weapons or stashed them, preparing for…something. You weren’t sure what. Butcher glanced back at you as the group headed for the exit.

"Stick close," he growled, his tone hinting at the consequences if you didn’t. You rose to follow, but a thought tugged at you—the same one that had haunted you for weeks now. Why am I here? You had been trained to follow orders, to be useful. To be a fucking soldier. But now, without a team of your own, without a clear purpose, with complete strangers and a man who didn’t remember you, you felt like a weapon without a target.

As you stepped into the next van, a white one this time, the biting chill of Russia was replaced by the dry, metallic heat of the American air. And the drive was, once again, long, through silent stretches of deserted roads, a landscape that grew more barren and industrial as the minutes ticked by. A landscape way too modern for your liking.

Eventually, you pulled into a shadowy parking lot, a motel shining in its glory on the other side of it. The motel loomed in the dark like a fortress of faded neon, its sign shining so brightly, that it cast a sickly glow on the empty lot in the burning daylight. Butcher muttered something to the driver, then turned to you and the rest of the group with a thin, humourless smile.

"Home sweet home," he sneered. "Get comfortable."

He climbed out, his boots crunching on the gravel as he motioned for everyone to follow. You felt a strange disorientation, a sense that you were stumbling into a world half-hidden, a world that you weren’t quite part of yet.

Butcher led you all through a side door into a bright hallway, the air thick with the scent of stale cigarettes and bleach. The walls were a sickly yellow, way too bright for your eyes. You heard voices somewhere down the hall, muttered and low, a constant hum that seemed to blend into the buzz of blinding lights overhead.

One of Butcher's associates—the scrawny man who you had learnt to be named Hughie—looked back at you, sizing you up, as if he was trying to decide if it would be a good idea to make conversation with you. He didn’t say anything, but his mouth opened regularly, just to be closed again immediately after.

Who names a kid Hughie, anyway?

Finally, Butcher stopped outside a door, fishing a key from his pocket. "This is where we’re holed up for the night." he grunted, throwing the door open. It was a room with multiple doors, making it almost feel like a five-bedroom apartment. You glanced towards the back of the room, where a cabinet held a single device- which almost looked like.. a TV?

The carpet looked soft, patterned with designs you couldn't quite place, and the smell was almost too good to believe. This whole damn situation was too good to believe. Nobody just gets you out of a facility with that much trouble.

Soldier Boy immediately left the main area, opening the furthest door before slamming it shut with such force that you almost flinched.

You were left with the rest of the group, the man whose accent you couldn't quite place dropping onto the couch before lighting what seemed to be a blunt. You frowned upon seeing his actions.

“Is that-“ you started, but the man cut you off almost immediately.

“Want one?”

That shit was illegal, last time you checked. How did he just light up one so casually?

“But, isn’t weed-“Once again, you were cut off before you could finish your sentence.

“Hasn't been illegal for a long time, love,” It was Butcher who had cut you off this time, a teasing smile edged onto his lips. “At least I hope it isn't. Frenchie can’t keep his hands off of the damn shit.”

Frenchie. Ah. Because he was fucking French?

A girl sat down next to him, and it was then you realised she hadn't uttered a single word all this time. But quite honestly, you didn't care. You didn't want to speak to anyone here anyway.

“Give me that.” You muttered as you reached towards the joint hanging from Frenchie’s lips, snatching it from his loose grip and inhaling the sweet drug yourself while taking place on the chair in the corner of the room.

Damn, did that feel fucking good.

“Great. Another junkie. You know how to pick them, Butcher.” The broad, dark-skinned man looked you over, a look of distrust in his eyes, with something you’d say looked like hatred.

Full-on hatred.

He left soon after the words had left his mouth, aiming for the room the furthest away from where Ben had just entered.

“Forgive MM. He’s a li’l tense.” The words left Butcher's mouth like they were rehearsed, almost like he’d had to say them many, many fucking times before.

You looked a Hughie, who had a glint of wonder shining in his eyes. And you decided you could no longer take his silent admiration.

“Just speak up, you're going to get your brain cooked if you think about it any fucking longer.”

Hughie’s face flushed, and he gave a nervous half-laugh. "Right, yeah, sorry. I was just—uh, thinking you might, you know… need anything?"

You raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Do I look like I need help?"

He shrank back slightly, rubbing his neck. "Well… no. But you do look, uh, tense."

The edge of his voice grated on you, but you found yourself holding back the sharp reply that sprang to mind. Hughie’s wide-eyed sincerity was almost… disarming. Not quite annoying, but close enough to be irritating. You took another drag from the joint, exhaling the smoke in a slow, curling stream that made him squirm under your gaze.

"Maybe I am," you replied finally, as the burn of the weed started to settle in, softening the sharp edges of the moment.

Butcher, sensing the tension as easily as a shark senses blood, chuckled as he slumped onto the couch on the other side of Frenchie, his arm sprawled across the back. "Best to relax, eh? Ain't no reason to trust us just yet, but might as well get comfy." He shot you a pointed look. "Wouldn't want you lashing out at us, soldier."

You stiffened slightly at that. Soldier. The word felt heavy, loaded with every fragment of an identity you’d been handed, and then dragged through hell with. But right now, you felt as if the word was used against you.

A form of manipulation you recognised all too well.

You glanced around the room, sizing each of them up—their guarded expressions, eyes flickering between caution and something sharper. Like you, they weren’t here by choice; they were pulled into the world of someone else’s agenda, their every move shadowed by doubt.

Butcher turned away, seeming to lose interest as he gestured toward Frenchie. "Frenchie, Kimiko, see if you can find us some real food. Nothing from the motel vending machine."

Frenchie and the girl gave a lazy salute, him mumbling something in French as he rose, giving you a quick nod as he passed, a spark of mischief glinting in his eyes. You got the feeling he could read you better than most, maybe even better than Butcher, but he wasn’t about to pry. They sauntered out of the room, leaving you and the others in a strangely awkward silence.

Hughie broke it, clearing his throat. "So, um…what’s your story, anyway?"

You shot him a cold look. "What’s it to you?"

He raised his hands in defence. "Nothing, just…you don’t exactly look like the type who follows Butcher around willingly."

"Right," MM added, stepping back into the room. His stare was unyielding as he glanced from you to Butcher, his shoulders tense with barely contained frustration. "Another question I’ve got too. Why’d we pick up this one, Butcher? First Soldier Boy, now Fury?"

Butcher’s smirk widened, almost enjoying the tension. "Easy, MM. Trust me, she’s gonna be useful. This one’s got a… particular knowledge."

You scoffed, crossing your arms. "So, what is it you expect me to do, exactly?"

Butcher leaned forward, that dangerous glint in his eye intensifying. "We asked your li’l friend from the past to help us with a problem. He, however, has proven unuseful at the first opportunity to fix it. Along with us, we’d like you to take down a supe named Homelander, together with Vought. Some big fish need taking care of, and you’ve got a rep that says you’re more than capable. Or, am I wrong?"

It was a baited question, but you didn’t flinch. "You tell me. You seem to know a lot about what I can do."

"Only what I’ve heard." Butcher’s tone was amused, but his gaze was sharp, unwavering. "But I figure you’ve been in the dark about most of it. They’ve kept you chained up in that facility for so long, all locked up with nothing to lose but your mind. Well, here’s your chance to earn back a bit of that freedom."

You tensed at the thought. Freedom was something you’d nearly forgotten the taste of, something that had felt like a distant memory until you were thrust into this strange company of misfits. Now it was dangled in front of you like a carrot on a stick, but you knew Butcher well enough to know it wouldn’t come without a cost.

You had fucking expected this anyway.

Fucking manipulation all over.

"So what, you want me to play attack dog for you lot?"

Butcher snorted, glancing around the room. "Attack dog, cannon fodder, hell, maybe even an ally. You’re here because you’re dangerous. I figure you’ll either find a use for that, or you’ll find yourself out on your ass. Your call."

The threat was as clear as the invitation. It hung in the air, thick and potent, as you studied each of their faces again. They were all different in their ways—MM with his sceptical eyes, Frenchie with his enigmatic grin, Hughie with his fidgeting nervousness, and Butcher with that smirk that told you he never played fair.

A sliver of something—maybe adrenaline, maybe the weed—flickered in you as you took in the group around you. For the first time in a long time, you felt the urge to fight, not for anyone else’s agenda, but for your own survival, your own questions. Maybe Butcher was right. You’d play his game. For now.

"Fine," you muttered, leaning back into the couch, your posture finally relaxing a bit as you held Butcher’s gaze, unblinking. "Who’s this Homelander, anyway?"

Butcher looked at Hughie before the younger boy walked over to you with a device you couldn’t quite place. He held it up, almost like a picture frame, but the unexpected light coming from the device burnt into your eyes.

“What the fuck is that?” You muttered in disbelief.

“A real son of a bitch, isn't he?” Butcher let out a low chuckle from afar.

“No, the fucking picture frame.”

“My phone?” Hughie spoke up carefully, as if afraid of letting off a bomb when he responded.

“That is no fucking phone.”

“21st century, uh, we got them like this nowadays.”

You would grow to hate his irritating stutter of responses. You already knew that.

Hughie held up his phone once more, and instead of trying to comment on it even further, you took the device from him with foreign precision, as if scared to hold something so far from your mental pictures of life.

As you looked at the image that was shown on the screen, you frowned once more upon looking at the man named Homelander. It was a strange feeling that went through you, almost familiar. You glanced at his facial features, slightly recognising the way his nose hung over his lips and the way his eyebrows framed his eyes almost the same as-

“Who’s he?” you asked before you could dwell on it further, and handed the phone back to Hughie.

“He’s the new Soldier boy.” Butcher answered.

“Great. Another fucking asshole leading a shit team of supes, then.” You muttered, taking another drag from the joint still smoking between your fingers.

Butcher’s grin widened as he watched you process the information. “You catch on quick, love. Homelander’s a bit more than an asshole, though. This one’s got the power of a god and the mind of a tantrum-throwing child. You think Soldier Boy was bad?” He chuckled darkly. “This one’s got a streak of crazy you wouldn’t believe.”

“Doubt that.”

Hughie, still looking slightly wary of you, chipped in. “He’s, uh… not just strong. Homelander’s got all of Vought backing him. They protect him, market him, and turn him into the perfect hero for the public. All the while, he’s probably the most dangerous person alive.”

You rolled your eyes, feeling the familiar irritation bubble up. You’d been a weapon for someone else’s whims before, a pawn in a game you hadn’t even known how to win in the end. And now, here they were, trying to sell you on another mission with vague promises of freedom. Still, something about the threat of this “Homelander” stuck with you. Maybe it was the hollow rage Butcher seemed to carry in his words, or the way MM’s shoulders tensed just at the mention of the supe’s name.

But you couldn't shake the feeling about Homelander building in your chest, the confusion making its way to your mind.

Butcher leaned forward, his voice dropping to a low growl. “This ain’t about heroics, love. We’re not out to save the world. We’re out to make sure this bastard doesn’t burn it down just because he feels like it.”

You scoffed, taking another drag of the joint before you exhaled, watching the smoke drift toward the sickly yellow ceiling. “And you think I’m going to be your secret weapon?”

Butcher shrugged, unbothered by your doubt. “We know what you can do. And frankly, I don’t think Vought or Homelander would expect it. They don’t know you’re in the game now, and that’s a hell of an advantage.”

For the first time, you let the thought settle. A weapon Vought didn’t know they’d lost. You hadn’t had a chance to choose your side before, but if you were honest, the thought of putting someone like Homelander down had a certain appeal. A weapon they’d shaped, was now in the hands of the one group that seemed hell-bent on destroying them. There was something poetic about that.

You looked over at the people still present in the room, the strange, broken people you’d been thrown in with. Hughie, nervous but oddly steadfast. MM, controlled anger simmering beneath a calm exterior. And Butcher, the man who looked like he’d die laughing at the end of the world.

You exhaled slowly, letting the thought take root while glancing back at the ceiling.

“All right, then.” You grinned, feeling the old fire flicker to life. “When do we start?”

A/N: as always, feedback is appreciated! let me know if you want to be added to the taglist.

thanks for reading! <3

taglist: @demodemo909 @deangirl96 @mostlymarvelgirl @n-o-p-e-never @daisydark @mxltifxnd0m @lamentationsofalonelypotato @junyjunyjunyper @yvonneeeee

#soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x you #jensen ackles #soldier boy #soldier boy x female reader #jensen ackles soldier boy #soldier boy/ben #the boys amazon #the boys fanfic #soldier boy x y/n #soldier boy fic #soldier boy fanfiction #jensen ackles x reader #jensen ackles x you #soldier boy smut #the boys #the boys tv

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lightofraye · 1 month ago

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Deaf History

I mentioned in an earlier post that I am a part of the deaf community. Being labeled CODA (child of deaf adult(s)) is what a person like myself is called. I am hearing, I can hear, but both of my parents, two of my three brothers, and vast majority of my maternal relatives are deaf. I grew up in that community, I grew up feeling more at home in that community than I ever did in the hearing community.

There's a whole culture to being deaf. There's the language, reading body language to convey tone, there's a whole thing about being deaf that goes beyond just knowing Sign Language. This is why when learning Sign Language, being immersed in it is the best way to learn. (But then, this is true of any and all languages.)

In so many ways, ASL (American Sign Language) is my first language. I learned how to sign first before I learned how to speak with my voice. I frequently found myself wishing I could go to the deaf school instead of the public school because I was more comfortable around deaf people than I was hearing people. (And no, I would not have been allowed to attend deaf school; it's restricted for deaf students only.)

I grew up accustomed to watching television, movies, etc, with captioning or subtitles. In fact, it's weird for me to watch them without. My mother didn't believe me at first until she asked an interpreter who was also CODA. The interpreter said it was the same for her.

My parents met at Gallaudet, the country's first, and so far, only deaf university. In fact, it's the first in the world. The history of Gallaudet, of American Sign Language, was all because of one man.

Thomas Hopkins Gallaudet's life was forever changed because of a deaf little girl named Alice.

Alice wasn't playing with other children and that drew his attention. Concerned as to why, Thomas found out that Alice was deaf and could not communicate at all. Determined to teach her, Thomas taught Alice what different objects were called by writing their names and drawing pictures of them with a stick in the dirt. Alice's father was impressed and hired Gallaudet to continue teaching Alice through the summer.

Alice's father, along with several businessmen and clergy, asked Gallaudet to travel to Europe to study methods for teaching deaf students. There was a family in Scotland that they wanted to work with, but that family refused for whatever reason. Plus, Gallaudet found their preference for oral communication extremely limited and did not produce desirable results.

While in Great Britain, Gallaudet met Abbé Sicard, head of the Institution Nationale des Sourds-Muets à Paris, and two of its deaf faculty members, Laurent Clerc and Jean Massieu. Gallaudet was invited to Paris to study the school's method of teaching the deaf using manual communication. Gallaudet studied the teaching methodology under Sicard, learning sign language from Massieu and Clerc.

Gallaudet sailed back to America with Clerc. The two men toured the New England region and raised funds for a deaf school in Hartford, Connecticut. It later became known as the American School for the Deaf in 1817. Alice was one of the first seven students.

One of Gallaudet's children, his youngest, founded the first college for the deaf, in 1864.

It is due to Gallaudet that American Sign Language even exists. Despite many an indigenous tribe having their own form of sign language, none ever became the official form of sign language for the United States.

Almost each country have their own form of sign language. No, it is not the same, and language barriers exists for deaf people as well. There was even an invention of an International Sign Language that was used during the Deaf Olympics to help bridge communication issues.

I love sign language. It is the third most widely used language in the United States. First is English, second is Spanish, and third is Sign Language. No, deaf people are not dumb (I honestly hated that old saying and am happy to see it finally phasing out). They can read, write, live independently, work, drive, you name it--there are solutions to each of their problems. Accessible solutions.

Having visible celebrities such as Shoshannah Stern, Marlee Matlin, and so forth help bring attention to such existence. Switched At Birth, a television show, also spotlighted deaf characters. Recently, a movie called CODA, helped spotlight--and it won an award, too.

I continue to be proud of my heritage. I hope to continue to teach my son how to sign--and taught him the most important one.

The one that says "I love you".

#gallaudet #gallaudet university #CODA #American Sign Language #ASL #deaf history #American Deaf History

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mozzzz05 · 19 days ago

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Would just like to vent because it’s something I’ve seen more of recently.

But talking about the English colonisation of Wales is important, in the UK anyway. And I’m fed up of it being put down or eye rolled or ridiculed.

Does the colonisation of our country absolve us of guilt in the colonisation of basically the rest of the world? No. Obviously not, dipshit. But why can’t I bring the conversation up without being told that I’m just trying to make excuses? Is it important within this conversation? Yes. But it’s not the aspect of the conversation I’m focusing on.

I’m not trying to play the oppression card here, that would be ridiculous. When I talk about Wales being colonised I’m not saying I, a white Welsh person am oppressed because of that fact. Even so far as English xenophobia (towards Welsh people) (which does exist… somehow… they’re complete hypocrites) that’s not what I’m getting at.

What I am getting at is that within the UK, to discuss Welsh politics, Welsh independence, the Welsh language is quite often to be ridiculed. The amount of jokes I have had thrown in my face because we have Welsh on our road signs or because we’re taught Welsh in school “but no one speaks it!”

There’s a reason for that. The English beat it out of us for generations, in 1967 we had the Welsh Language Act which was literally the first step that allowed us to use Welsh in legal proceedings. And I feel guilt and shame that I can’t speak Welsh. I feel as though I’m not Welsh enough because of it. That’s not my fault though, is it?

Bring any of this up to an English person (generally) and they put you down for it, it’s ridiculous, I’m an idiot, Welsh is just a scramble of consonants anyway, Wales would go down the drain without the union, sheep shagger, shithole etc etc

The odd thing is see. I’ve been told so many times that Wales is a leech, we take take take from England and give next to nothing back, we’ve no right to complain, forget Aberfan, forget Capel Celyn, ignore the current controversy around HS2 - we leech off England and we should be damn grateful that they have allowed us to be in the mere presence of this Union.

And yet it’s always these people who are staunchly against Welsh independence. Turns out we can keep leeching. If we just shut up about the way that England - Westminster - continues to mistreat us as a country.

And boy if you dare to call it Cymru, well you might as well have shit down their throats. Never mind the fact that the name Wales is an English given name meaning “foreigner” or “stranger” lest we be at home in our own damn country.

Regardless of your stance on the union and Welsh independence, England continues to mistreat us as a country and then gaslight us into believing we should be grovelling on our hands and knees thanking them - the amount of people I’ve seen be genuinely, purely nasty about it too is astonishing.

But then there’s Americans too who clearly don’t know shit about what they’re talking about who butt in telling me and other Welsh people that our politics, culture, language is now irrelevant and that we need to shut up because we contributed to colonialism. Babe I know, it’s awful but again, I’m not excusing it. At all. But where do you think England starting colonising first.

Anyway, I know theirs worst things in the world but I needed to complain

#whilst we’re on the topic #the number of marauders heacanons of fanfictions that say Remus is from wales #when every other character names a city/ county is so tiring #there’s different Welsh accents #strength in accents depends where your from #he’s not going to have a ‘lilt’ if he’s from the fucking Rhondda #also there’s different vocabulary in the Welsh down south and the Welsh up north #if your writing I’m not expecting fucking literature but a bit of research wouldn’t go amiss #wales #welsh politics #uk politics #british politics #hs2 #hs2 wales #capel celyn #aberfan #sorry for the rant #rant post

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jamerasjournal · 9 months ago

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Black people speak two languages. Job interview and AAVE. Question: When I fill out a job application can I still check the box that says bilingual. Does my ability to code switch depending on the setting that I’m in count as a job skill? I am always subconsciously turning down my blackness in an effort to make other people more comfortable. Beyoncé once said, “Got all this money but you’ll never take the country out me.” I felt that. I started kindergarten already knowing how to read and write. And no matter how many times my mama made me practice Hooked on Phonics, my first language will always be Ebonics. Spell Mississippi. M-I crooked letter, crooked letter- I- crooked letter, crooked letter- I- humpback, humpback- I. Okay, but spell it for real this time. M-I crooked letter, crooked letter- I- crooked letter, crooked letter- I- humpback, humpback- I. Did I stutter? I bet my great-great-great-granddaddy had an accent so thick that one sentence sounded like one word. And what’s in that word? Levels upon levels of trauma that you couldn’t even begin to fathom. It’s a slave spiritual sung over plantation fields, the last two letters spun into the cotton in your t-shirt. An apostrophe added cuz If you say one more syllable, you just might get whipped, boy. It’s living in a world where you can’t read the words. Mispronouncing words you don’t even know how to spell. While the rest of the world looks at you like you ain’t got no sense. But tonight, I’m gon’ talk how I wanna talk, cuz that slang is in my bones. And if you don’t like it you can get up out my face. Period. And I don’t wanna hear a nan ‘notha word about me talking “ghetto” when I stand before you with a last name my ancestors wouldn’t even begin to know how to say. And every time I sign my name I’m paying homage to the white family that used to own mine. Our language is one of the only things that can never be taken from me. It’s embedded into generations from long before my time. It’s okay that you don’t understand it, I’m not allowed to speak it to you anyway. Lest you call me uneducated, illiterate, or unprofessional. I must censor myself, brush it under the tongue. That is until you make me angry. Then everybody and they momma gon’ know you got the wrong one. Try me if you want to. I was raised on, “Do I look like Boo Boo the fool?” and “Stop crying ‘fore I give you something to cry about.” And that’s word to my momma. What’s in a word? I see your eyes widen when the African American Vernacular comes bursting out. So foreign to you it sound like a Voodoo spell. Yeah, this how I really be wanting to talk. Fix ya face. I cannot be Afrocentric and Eurocentric at the same time. I do not have the Freedom of Speech if the way I speak determines my intellectual capabilities. I must always accommodate a society that refuses to accommodate me. But you knows what? I’ve gotten real good at talking “white.” But every once in a while, if you listen- I mean real, real good. You can still hear that one crooked letter. The black cracking through like a toothless grin. Yeah. That’s my great granddaddy saying, “Say it with your chest girl.” So if you hear me talking loud it’s cuz I’m finna say something real important. And when I speak, you better listen.

-jamera naquai, CROOKED LETTER

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fatehbaz · 2 years ago

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The archipelago of uplifted coral that is my mother’s homeland surfaced during the earth’s ancient cycles of glaciation. The early people came in sakmans, carried by wind and seas, guided by stars and clouds and bioluminescence, the fragrance of flowers, the flight paths of birds. Settlers lived and fished and farmed in this part of Oceania for thousands of years, but the naming history issues forth at the moment of subjugation. Islas de los Ladrones -- the Islands of Thieves -- they were called by the first Europeans who came. Then Islas de las Velas, the Islands of the Lateen Sails. Then the Mariana Islands, in honor of Spain’s queen regent. Before it was Guam, Guåhan was known, under Japanese rule, as Omiya Jima, the Great Shrine Island. [...] Elsewhere, settlements recall the body of the creation god Puntan: Tiyan, his flat stomach. Hagåtña, his blood. Toto, his resting back. Mongmong, his beating heart. [...]

These small islands have grown crowded with denotations, I try to tell a friend, except it comes out as detonations. [...]

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I am reading from a passage on CHamoru history and culture. Kåntan Chamorita is an ancestral form of call-and-response, a spontaneous sung dialogue. [...] Thumbing the texts, I brandish our histories: the brutality of Japanese rule; the architectural colonization that drove the CHamoru from los antiguos, their dwelling places in latte houses; the violation of natural resources brought about by American occupation.

She [mother] tsks, waves impatiently. Hekkua’. An expression that means at once “I don’t know” and “Forget it.” [...]

In 1917, the U.S. Navy banned the CHamoru language in the Mariana Islands. A few years later, by order of U.S. naval captain Adelbert Althouse, all CHamoru dictionaries were burned. The language was said to represent a cognitive deficiency. The adoption of English would ensure, among other things, mental well-being.

The ban has since been lifted, but my mother hid her language for so long, it’s become hard to find.

What is the word for sky? I ask her.

She shakes her head. Nothing word for sky. Only heaven: långet. [...]

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And so did we sail out. For more than ten years [...]. We moved into other countries where other languages had been suppressed and where other people had been made invisible. There were signs [...]. In New Zealand, where I went to kindergarten, Ma¯ori children were beaten for speaking te reo in schools. Bislama was prohibited in Vanuatu, but I only remember the quietness of the bay, the great banyan trees, the malaria pills. In New Caledonia, where I went to elementary school, the Kanak languages were banned from the education system from 1863 until 1984. Gendarmes in Nouméa stood on street corners with machine guns slung across their chests. [...]

My mother is telling us something exciting. She trips happily over the words, her face laughing. [...] My mother did not want me speaking like her. She wanted me to be better than that, which is to say better than her. [...]

Kao piniten hao? -- Have you been hurt?

Hunggan. Mayulang, yu’ -- Yes. I’m breaking.

My mother corrects me: mayulang only applies to a thing that’s broken, not a person. You can be hurt, she tells me, but not broken. [...]

---

The etymology of translation refers to the removal of a saint’s body to a new location, to bearing bones and words, both sacred, across. As if anything can be moved whole [...].

We never heard the end of my mother’s stories. [...] These days, she is happy to let most of her sentences go unfinished. [...]

She raises her eyebrows, juts her chin.

I tell her, You’re a book of lost endings.

Which one? she asks.

---

It’s too small here, I said. It’s boring, hot. It’s too small. [...] We spent two years sleeping on my auntie’s living room floor. Unrolling futons and lying under the weeping air conditioning unit and peeling paint. We ate Spam and rice with ketchup. [...]

Lately, I have been confusing the CHamoru word for flight, malagu, with the word for flee, falagu. [...]

I dream now of the islands and wake with my head barely above water, my mouth filling with salt. [...]

Mamaolek ha’? -- Are you doing okay?

Maolek. I’m doing okay.

---

Text by: Hannah Dela Cruz Abrams. “Moving the Saints: Passages from a deconstructed homeland.” Orion Magazine. Spring 2023. [Some paragraph breaks and contractions added by me.]

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weirdestbooks · 11 days ago

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Wrong Reflection Chapter 12

What's Truly Trusted (Wattpad | Ao3)

Table of Contents | Prev | Next

With no solution to be found as quickly as Alfred would have liked, Alfred, Matthew, and Sam headed back to Alfred’s place to give the British Isles some space. There was also the issue of Alfred’s government being very eager for Alfred to get back and do his work, and with the World Meeting the day before, Alfred was practically ordered back into his country.

Sam had said he was okay with it, and Arthur and his brothers agreed to keep working towards finding a solution, but Alfred was still stressed about it all.

When they had arrived back in their country, Alfred watched as Sam visibly relaxed, a tenseness that Alfred had never noticed before fading. Sam must have been grateful to be back on American soil. Or he didn’t like being on planes and was just glad to be on solid ground.

Alfred had decided to take Matthew and Sam back to his house in Virginia, deciding that it might help Sam to relax if he wasn’t cooped up in a city. Alfred wasn’t great at reading the room, but you would have to be blind not to notice how stressed Sam was getting.

When they arrived and Alfred got Sam situated in a room, Alfred went down to the kitchen to see if there was anything to eat. Predictably, there wasn’t, and Alfred sighed as he prepared to go out to the grocery store to buy things.

“Where you heading?” he heard Sam ask from behind him.

“The grocery store. Need to stock the house with food. You interested in coming with me?” Alfred asked. Sam shrugged, walking into the kitchen.

“Sure,” he said, “I need something to do to prevent my mind from wandering.”

He didn’t specify what his mind kept wandering to, but Alfred thought he knew. It was the same thing they had both been stressed out about for the past month.

“Great,” Alfred said, his voice cheery, “Want to grab anything before we go?”

“Nah, we’re fine,” Sam said, a small smile making its way across his lips. Alfred nodded, grabbing his keys off the table before walking out to the car, Sam following.

“So, what did you think of the others?” Alfred asked, thinking back to the world meeting. While not as disastrous as others, the things that Sam revealed about his world…they were very different. Alfred had been trying not to think about some of those differences.

It was the quickest they had ever ended a meeting, and there were very clearly no plans to have anything anytime soon. Alfred had texted Gilbert a few times, asking if he was okay. Gilbert insisted he was, but Alfred didn’t really believe it.

He hoped Gilbert would be okay.

“Strange, but no stranger than mine, I suppose,” Sam said. He didn’t bring up his Prussia or Gilbert. Alfred was glad. He didn’t want to think about that more than he needed to.

“Meaning?” Alfred asked, entering the car and starting it up as Sam followed him inside.

“They’re old,” Sam said with a wry smile. “I’m used to being on the older scale in my world. Strange to think here I would have been on the younger end of things.”

“I guess that explains the difference in our physical ages,” Alfred pointed out. Sam laughed.

“It does,” he said before his eyes started to grow distant. Recognizing the signs of Sam beginning to dissociate (as he often did), Alfred stopped talking and began to focus on driving, keeping an eye on Sam’s distant face as he did so.

After a few minutes of driving, Sam began blinking again, coming back to himself.

“Hey, Sam. You good?” Alfred asked. He didn’t think that Sam had started to dissociate because of a trigger, but it was better to check in regardless.

“Yeah…fine,” Sam said, his voice having taken on a newer tone. Alfred frowned.

“Am I talking to Sam?” he asked hesitantly. He didn’t want to offend anyone, but…it didn’t really sound like Sam, and a quick look in their direction revealed that the body language was different.

“No. You aren’t,” the person answered.

“Have we met before?” Alfred asked, praying that he wasn’t fucking things up.

“We haven’t. My name is Lydia, she/her. It’s nice to meet you, Alfred,” Lydia said, smiling.

Oh. It was a girl. Alfred didn’t know how to respond, too afraid he would put his foot in his mouth, too afraid that he would ask the wrong thing and accidentally offend her.

“Nice to meet you, too. Is…is Sam okay?” Alfred asked, glad he didn’t put his foot in his mouth and asked a reasonable question.

“Oh, they’re fine. They were just a bit eager to interrogate you about some of your landspirits, but James thought that it wasn’t best to do that in public since you keep yourself secrets. Since Sam doesn’t think he’ll stop himself from asking questions, I have volunteered to front. Plus, after Sam, I’m the best cook, so he trusts me to pick the ingredients for meals we both like to make,” Lydia said, somehow making Sam’s voice sound soft and light.

“Thanks,” Alfred said, pulling into the parking lot, “So, you and Sam like to cook?”

Lydia laughed, “Oh, I do. Sam learned more out of necessity, but it helps calm him down, although he refuses to experiment while cooking like I do. Sam’s true hobby is pottery. It helps ground him and helps when he starts to dissociate.”

“Pottery?” Alfred asked surprise in his voice. Out of all the hobbies he expected from his counterpart, pottery was not one of them.

“Since…oh, before I was around, he was interested in it, but it was really Reconstruction when he started to truly become a potter,” Lydia explained.

“Before you were around?” Alfred asked, confusion in his voice as he caught the peculiar way Lydia had worded that.

“The civil war put a lot of stress on the system. I was one of the alters that came out of that. Please, don’t ask more about it. It’s…it was a hard time for us all,” Lydia said. Alfred nodded, pushing aside his own memories of his civil war.

“Trust me, Lydia, I know that well. Glad to have met you. Since you have more of an idea of what to get than me, would you like to take point?” Alfred asked, changing the topic and gesturing to the store. Lydia smiled.

“I would love to,” she said before leaving the car, Alfred following. “You’re a good man, Alfred. Sam likes you a lot. He…cares, and he might show that in weird ways, but don’t let him pull anything on you because of that.”

“What does that mean?” Alfred asked, concerned.

“Sam has hurt others, accidentally, of course, in an attempt to…prove, I guess? Demonstrate, at the least. Demonstrate that he loves them and wants them to be okay. However, he has become more… self-destructive with that in recent years. Just…don’t let him lie to you when he’s not doing okay. He needs to learn that people outside of us can help him,” Lydia said.

Alfred frowned at that, worried over what made Lydia worry over that, but nodded.

“I’ll try my best.” Lydia smiled.

“That’s all I ask.”

#countryhumans #countryhumans america #wrong reflection by weird #alfred f jones #hetalia america #hetalia

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sorenphelps · 9 months ago

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I need to know more about Hungary! 8, 14, 22, 26, and 29 please ❤️

Hi there! Here we go, it took way longer to answer than expected...

8. do you get confused with other nationalities? if so, which ones and by whom?

It's a tricky question on my end, because I am partly Vietnamese on my father's side, so I'm usually not assumed to be Hungarian at all (even tho that as I'm getting older I'm looking more and more Caucasian). I'm assumed to be Chinese, because Asian=Chinese in most people's minds here. (It's actually a pet peeve of mine, but that's another question.) I think Hungarians in general get confused with Slavic/Balkan people? Maybe Germans? Idk, when abroad they often think my mother is either Russian or French, while my bf is thought to be Austrian (which is fair enough, because his ancestors are from Austria/Germany).

14. do you enjoy your country’s cinema and/or TV?

Already answered here.

22. what makes you proud about your country? what makes you ashamed?

Proud: We are ridiculously good at some sports, we are I think the 14th in most Olympic Games medals per capita list at the moment. We also have a lot of Nobel prize winners (we are the 13th I think?), and generally a lot of cool things were invented by Hungarians (e.g. Rubik cube, matches, ballpoint pens, Vitamin C, the basis of computers, the basis of Microsoft Word and Excel, etc.). I also think our language is badass, it's in the top10 hardest languages to learn. I also really like how diverse our gastronomy can be, and the so called ruin pubs are good stuff.

Ashamed: Politics... And the general attitude of people, I mean when I can see a sign printed out in Hungarian in hotel cafeterias abroad, saying "Please do not steal!", I feel like denying where I'm from.

26. does your nationality get portrayed in Hollywood/American media? what do you think about the portrayal?

Hungary is mostly non-existent is Hollywood, but since a lot of American movies/TV shows are actually produced in Hungary, recently we are mentioned by name more (see the Black Widow movie for example). Sometimes our language is used as like an evil devil "language", or we are just vaguely referred as "East European" or "Post Communist" or part of the Balkan. We are depicted as uncultured poor people and/or criminals. Not the most flattering portrayal, however there is some truth in all.🤷🏻‍♀️

29. does your region/city have a beef with another place in your country?

Oh boy, it's easier to list the ones we don't hate. XD We have a mutual friendship with Poland, but that's about it? Hungarians hate everyone (including themselves). We were very, lets say, unlucky with our history, so we are a country who is surrounded by itself population-wise. Therefore we hate every neighboring country (I think maybe Romania the most?). We are historically super bad at picking sides (I mean we always were on the eventually losing side of every big conflict), so it's no wonder that nowdays we try to be good with Russia, China, Turkey, Trump's USA... As I said, politics are bad here.

#lau gets personal #ask game #fun facts about hungary

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ignemia · 9 months ago

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Ok let me just very quickly get mad about dialects or variations of Sign Languages

EVERY FUCKING COUNTRY HAS THEIR OWN SIGNLANGUAGE VARIANT THAT IS NOT MUTUALLY INTELLIGIBLE.

Fucks sake.

Deaf and mute people learn their language use it, are happy tgen they travel across the state of country they live at and notice oh some words differ a bit and adjust for the region they are at. Now their brain is full of semi-useful information.

Suddenly they go for a solo visit to a different country (let's say an american goes to europe). They assume ASL is going to be understood because all of their friends online have told them how people in europe speak good english.

Well now they get a huge fuck you because they landed in Paris got stopped by police and neither can understand one another. Pull out a notebook and try to communicate by writing. SURPRISE. French people are very proud and do not mandatorily learn english so this police officer is confused wtf is this tourist doing. So they bring them to the police station scaring the fuck out of this poor mute / deaf person because they thing they did or signed something wrong.

Now let's assume they did not come for a round trip they are moving to France. Well now they have to go to the doctors office. Doctors are often trained in sign language or at least have a translator at hand. Guess what. Either situation they do not understand because they know french SL while the subjdct of this theoretical knows only ASL.

So the sign language that was fucking aupposed to make communication for deaf / mute people easier becomes a fucking pain in any case you do not have a hearing person or person capable of speech with you when traveling.

CAN WE FUCKING UNIFY SIGN LANGUAGE ACROSS THE FUCKING WORLD?

Sign language is not even mostly based on words rather than concepts from what I understand from my very limited research into it. So no need for Czech sign for "thank you" to be based on 3 syllables in "Děkuji"... I don't know what the ASL sign is but if you throw a fucking finger heart I will understand no matter what type of SL.you are using.

This makes me so fucking mad.

Please now all the linguists here and all the parties involved in this get mad at me in the comments I wanna hear your justification for making life harder for deaf and mute people.

PS: I have been googling SL because I am considering cutting my tongue out due to crippling voice anxiety. I am not deaf nor mute.

#sign language #rambles #venting #angry #languages #linguistics #dystopian society

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ae-azile · 10 months ago

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Going to try and get chapter 18 of Progression out by tomorrow. Writing was slow this week and I only have 6k of what will probably be at least a 10k chapter.

I work with Deaf + other diagnoses clients, most of whom have some level of language deprivation as a main setback/trigger/trauma, and several who have behaviors stemming from abuse, neglect, unstable home lives/family units, adoption and the complexities that come with it, etc. It's been a ROUGH week. I have been working with the Deaf community for six years now. While I am almost fluent in ASL, it can be even more draining to debrief in a second language about extremely aggressive behaviors and big feelings with clients who did not have access to an understandable language during their early years.

That's probably why I give Namphueng previous knowledge of sign language in the stories I feature her in. People don't understand how hurtful language deprivation is psychologically and developmentally. There are parents who clearly love their Deaf children, but make very little effort to learn sign. They get upset and frustrated when aggressive behaviors develop, but aggression is a form of communication. Not a healthy form, but sometimes that is all there is when you feel unheard.

And I guess that's why I always make sure Namphueng (who is not deaf, but has had her oral speech impacted by trauma and who knows what else) is surrounded by people willing to learn sign, along with one or more proficient signers. The trauma that develops from people excluding you from conversations by not making them accessible, refusing to learn a language you both can understand, etc is more immense than people realize. Unfortunately, the way I approach it in this fic reflects only a small minority of families.

Anyway, that was my strange hybrid fanfic/real life update. Maybe it will provide some insight on why I approach Namphueng's situation the way I do, or at least why my update might be a little late. Or maybe it will encourage people to learn sign language!

Fun fact = an American signer and a Thai signer having a voice off conversation would understand each other a lot better than an American signer and a British signer. Sign Languages across the world vary greatly, but some countries on opposite parts of the world can match more closely than countries that primarily use the same spoken language. This often boils down to which signed languages develop first, and who influences who (French sign and grammar, Martha's Vineyard signs, and various signs from different villages primarily influenced ASL, modern Thai Sign has been influenced by their older indigenous sign and ASL, and other countries may borrow from British Sign or from other areas of the world). So while learning sign language is beneficial, learning about Deaf culture on a local and international level is neat too. I suggest people check out classes, local groups/meet-ups, and research online resources if you have any interest at all. It can be more useful than you realize. 🙂

#personal update #fanfic update #progression update #namphueng #this post was just supposed to be about my fic but I thought i should tell everyone why it is running late again #turned into warning of the dangers of language deprivation and telling you all to learn sign language if possible

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moonshine999 · 1 year ago

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The Crows as Taylor Swift albums (pt.2)

because I’m awake, slowly losing sanity, and have nothing better to do <3

Nina Zenik : Lover

💋 “I know that I'm a handful, baby, uh // I know I never think before I jump” - ME!

💋 “I'm so sick of running as fast as I can // Wondering if I'd get there quicker // If I was a man” - The Man

💋”Hey, it's all me, in my head // I'm the one who burned us down // But it's not what I meant // I'm sorry that I hurt you” - Afterglow

💋 “Tell me that you're still mine // Tell me that we'll be just fine //Even when I lose my mind” - Afterglow

💋 “Killing me slow, out the window // I'm always waiting for you to be waiting below // Devils roll the dice, angels roll their eyes // What doesn't kill me makes me want you more” - Cruel Summer

💋”And I screamed for whatever it's worth // “I love you" ain't that the worst thing you ever heard” - Cruel Summer

💋”But we might just get away with it // Religion's in your lips // Even if it's a false god // We'd still worship // We might just get away with it // The altar is my hips // Even if it's a false god // We'd still worship this love” - False God

💋”They say home is where the heart is // But that's not where mine lives” - London Boy

💋”Lyrical smile, indigo eyes, hand on my thigh // We can follow the sparks, I'Il drive” - I Think He Knows

💋 “My team is losing, battered and bruising // I see the high fives between the bad guys // Leave with my head hung, you are the only one // Who seems to care” - Ms. Americana and the Heartbreak Prince

💋”Maybe you ran with the wolves and refused to settle down // Maybe I've stormed out of every single room in this town” - Daylight

💋”But if the story's over // Why am I still writing pages?” - Death By A Thousand Cuts

💋 “Our country, guess it was a lawless land // Quiet my fears with the touch of your hand // Paper cut stings from our paper thin plans”- Death By A Thousand Cuts

💋 “All the king's horses, all the king's men // Couldn't put me together again // Cause all of my enemies started out friends // Help me hold onto you” - The Archer

💋”Cat and mouse for a month or two or three // Now I wake up in the night and watch you breathe” - Paper Rings

Matthias Helvar : Folklore

🪞 “You're not my homeland anymore // So what am I defending now? // You were my town // Now I'm in exile, seein' you out I think I've seen this film before” - exile

🪞 “ And they said // "There goes the last great American dynasty" //“Who knows if she never showed up, what could've been" “ - the last great American dynasty

🪞 “‘Cause you weren't mine to lose // You weren't mine to lose, no”- august

🪞 “With you, serve // With you, I fall down, down // Watch you breathe in // Watch you breathing out, out” - epiphany

🪞 “Only 20 minutes to Sleep // But you dream of some epiphany // Just one single glimpse of relief // To make some sense of what you've seen” - epiphany

🪞 “Keep your helmet, keep your life, son // Just a flesh wound, // here's your rifle “ - epiphany

🪞 “You drew stars around my scars // But now I'm bleedin'” - cardigan

🪞 “But I knew you'd linger like a tattoo kiss // I knew you'd haunt all of my what-ifs // The smell of smoke would hang around this long // ‘Cause I knew everything when I was young // I knew I'd curse you for the longest time” - cardigan

🪞 “Time, curious time // Gave me no compasses, gave me no signs // Were there clues I didn't see? // And isn't it just so pretty to think // All along there was some // Invisible string // Tying you to me?” - invisible string

🪞 “And that's the thing about illicit affairs // And clandestine meetings and longing stares // It's born from just one single glance // But it dies, and it dies, and it dies // A million little times “ - illicit affairs

🪞”Look at this idiotic fool that you made me // You taught me a secret language // I can't speak with anyone else” - illicit affairs

🪞 “All these people think love's for show // But I would die for you in secret // The devil's in the details, but you got a friend in me // Would it be enough if I could never give you peace?” - peace

🪞” I didn't have it in myself to go with grace //And you're the hero flying around, saving face //And if I'm dead to you, why are you at the wake? // Cursing my name, wishing I stayed // Look at how my tears ricochet “ - my tears ricochet

🪞”And I can go anywhere I want // Anywhere I want, just not home” - my tears ricochet

🪞 “Stood on the cliffside // Screaming, "Give me a reason" // Your faithless love's the only hoax// I believe in // Don't want no other shade of blue // But you // No other sadness in the world would do” - hoax

🪞 “ I want auroras and sad prose // I want to watch wisteria grow right over my bare feet // ‘Cause I haven't moved in years // And I want you right here // A red rose grew up out of ice frozen ground “ - the lakes

(Kaz, Inej, Jesper and Wylan are already posted)

#grishaverse #six of crows #matthias helvar #nina zenik #nina x matthias #helnik #taylor swift #swiftie #lover #folklore #It was so difficult narrowing down #The amount of lyrics to fit the post #i love them ur honour #the crows as taylor swift albums

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alphaman99 · 1 year ago

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Tomas Estevan it all a damn ruse....

From a California school teacher:

I am in charge of the English-as-a-second-language Department at a large southern California high school which is designated a Title-1 school, meaning that its students average in the lower socioeconomic and income levels.

Title-1 schools are on the free-breakfast and free-lunch program. When I say free breakfast, I'm not talking about a glass of milk and a roll, but a full breakfast and cereal bar with fruits and juices that would make Marriott proud. The waste of this food is monumental, with trays and trays of it being dumped in the trash uneaten. Well over 50% of these students are obese, or at least moderately overweight. About 75% or more have cell phones. The school also provides daycare centers for the unwed teenage pregnant girls, some as young as 13, so they can attend class without the inconvenience of arranging for babysitters or having family watch their kids.

I was ordered to spend $700,000 on my department, or risk losing funding for the upcoming year, even though I had little need for anything. My budget was already substantial, but I ended up buying new computers for the Computer Learning Center, half of which, one month later, were carved with graffiti by the appreciative students, who obviously feel humbled and grateful to have a free education in America. I have had to intervene several times for young substitute teachers, whose classes consist of many illegals here in the country less than 3 months, who raised so much hell with female teachers, calling them putas (whores) and throwing things, that the teachers were in tears.

Free medical care, free education, free food, free day care, free housing, etc. Is it any wonder they feel entitled not only to be in this country, but also to demand more rights, privileges, and entitlements? To those Americans who point out how much these illegal immigrants contribute to our society, because they happen to like their gardener and housekeeper, I say: Spend some time in the real world of illegal immigration and see the true costs to American taxpayers. Higher insurance, medical facilities closing, higher medical costs, more crime, lower standards of education in our schools, overcrowding, new diseases, etc. are the real costs of illegals.

America, we need to wake up. The "guest" worker program will be a disaster, because we won't have the guts to enforce it. Does anyone in their right mind really think illegals will voluntarily leave and return? It does, however, have everything to do with culture: A third-world culture that does not value education, that accepts children getting pregnant and dropping out of school by age 15, and that refuses to assimilate; and an American culture that has become so weak and intimidated by "political correctness," that we don't have the will to protect ourselves.

Cheap labor? Isn't that what the whole illegal immigration issue is really about? Business doesn't want to pay a decent wage; consumers don't want expensive produce. The phrase "cheap labor" is a myth, a farce, and a lie; there is no such thing as cheap labor. An illegal qualifies for Section-8 housing and subsidized rent; he qualifies for food stamps; he qualifies for free (no deductible, no co-pay) health care; his children get free breakfasts and lunches at school, where they get a free education; he requires bilingual teachers and books; he qualifies for relief from energy bills; if he is, or becomes aged, blind, or disabled, he qualifies for social security income; once qualified for SSI, he qualifies for Medicare; he doesn't worry about car insurance, life insurance, or homeowners insurance; taxpayers provide Spanish language signs, bulletins, and printed material; he and each member of his family receive the equivalent of $20.00 to $30.00/hour in benefits, whereas Americans are lucky to have $5.00 or $6.00/hour left after paying their bills and his; American taxpayers also pay for increased crime, graffiti, and trash clean-up.

Cheap labor is such a ruse it is laughable.

---Sarah Jones

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thebookbin · 2 years ago

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I need my fellow white gays to take a step back.

If I see another white American saying they unequivocally support Disney in their lawsuit against Ron DeSantis in Florida, I am going to scream. One of my most favorite authors disappointed me deeply this week by condemning those of us who are not cheering for total Disney dominance here on tumblr.

Just because your whiteness and your Americanness shields you from having to confront that Disney helped the genocide of Uyghurs in Xinjiang as late as 2020 does not mean the just of us can swallow that pill. This was a cold and calculated choice to maintain profits. When Disney was brought before a Human Rights Tribunal and questioned not only why they filmed in Xinjiang but thanked the government profusely (groveling on their knees to keep the CCP happy so they could air Mulan in China's billion dollar market), they responded with "the benefits outweigh the risks." Americans just don't care.

That is only one example out of thousands. If there is something evil going on in the world, Disney has their grubby hands in the pot (including ties to Epstein). Before all of this nonsense they were funding the campaigns of Republicans who signed and backed the "Don't Say Gay" bill.

If you are a Disney Adult, there is no hope for you. You will always choose your expensive mouse-shaped ice cream and minimum wage workers in fancy costumes and your own escapism, over the lives and dignity of others. It disgusts me.

Disney is not taking a moral stand. They are making a business decision.

Disney does not care about you, they do not care about trans kids, they do not care about marriage equality, representation, or your basic human rights. They do not care about creativity, or storytelling, or art. All they care about it money. It's not a moral failing, either. THAT'S WHAT CORPORTATIONS EXIST TO DO. MAKE MONEY. The fact that you are falling for their marketing scheme to take your money only goes to show how effective it is.

I am a lesbian. I am an activist. I care deeply about what is happening right now in this country, most especially to the trans community. We need to be fighting. We need to protect them, and protect each other.

However selling your soul to the devil to do it is the fastest way to get us all to hell.

Did anybody even notice the 2nd biggest bank failure in US history happened over the weekend? And self-described "Diversity Activists" helped it happen.

A note for those of you who won't click the link. The language of inclusion has long been co-opted by the corporate class and everybody's falling for it.

Right now, Disney operates a kingdom inside the US. And no, not the "fun" kind. Reedy Creek Improvement District functions like sovereign state or a tribal nation. They have the ability to tax, their own police force, and have already negotiated carte blanche to build a nuclear reactor any time and for any reason. You need to step back and ask yourself if you are really okay with a multi-billion dollar corporation having that much power.

To make it worse, they want more. The lawsuit they are currently engaged in is about contract rights and it is making conservatives salivate at the mouth.

If Disney wins this lawsuit unchallenged, labor rights in the US will be obliterated.

This is not an exaggeration. I am talking about going back to the days of child labor (which is already happening in Iowa), Disney, or any corporation will be able to sue the government for "interfering their private contracts" EVEN IF those "contracts" violate minimum wage, health and safety standards, or ANY REGULATION local, state or federal government enacts to protect workers.

When I say that you allowing your whiteness to shape your worldview and it will destroy us, this is both an inditement and a call-to-action.

Because I also happen to care deeply about labor rights, I know that a majority of the LGBT community in the US are working class, and over 25% of us live in poverty--

Because I know that we are at much higher risk of losing the source of household income than our straight counterparts--

Because I know that not only did we overwhelmingly had to work during the pandemic, risking our lives to make ends meet, we are more likely to work more hours, get paid less, and have to file for unemployment. Now take into consideration any sort of intersectional identity, including race, disability, or class and the numbers just get worse and worse-- I know that the queer community cannot afford to take these hits.

This is not Labor Rights vs Gay Rights. It is two, powerful malicious entities fighting to maintain power, and all of us are in the firing line. Labor Rights are Gay Rights are Black Rights are Human Rights.

So square up, it's time to fight.

And, remember: selling your soul to the mouse is selling your soul to the devil dressed like a cartoon character. Don't fall for it.

Recommended Watching: (independent media)

youtube

Sources: (in order of appearance)

Disney & China: BBC Unrepresented Nations & Peoples Organization Vox News

Disney's Abuses: Investigative Journalist Team: Judd Legum, Tesnim Zekeria, & Rebecca Crosby Investigative Journalist Liz Crokin The Guardian Pink News Movie Web The Corporate Research Project The American Prospect IGN

General Labor: Des Moines Register Investigative Journalist Lee Fang Reedy Creek Improvement District

LGBT Labor: Center for American Progress US Census Report

#disney #anti disney #ron desantis #walt disney #disney adults #trans rights #i am not christian but i do live in texas which is where all these christian metaphors are coming from #thots and feelings

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werewolf-hunter · 2 years ago

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So I read Red, White & Royal Blue and here's my opinion on it:

In short: I really enjoyed it! I read through it in approximately 8 hours yesterday so the memory is still fresh. The rivals to lovers trope is one of my favorites so it wasn't very hard for me to enjoy. I liked the build up and even though I have no real concept of American Politics (as Henry said "Is that far?") and really, anything American lol it was still easy to understand, especially as an immigrant child in a foreign country.

If you're still here: Hi, hello, welcome to spoiler city! You have been warned!

I liked Alex well enough, loved Henry, and the entire character cast was enjoyable (well... Almost but more on that later) and unique. (Unique as in, everyone of them had different voices in my head and I never got confused about who is who because it was very well established, which in my opinion is a good sign!)

Plotwise it was not really the best book for me, I do not enjoy Queer Pain. If you also want something that does not center an outing without consent, the aftermath and somehow everyone brushing it aside this book may not be the best choice for you.

For clarity's sake: I am well aware that the characters do deal with the aftermath of Alex's outing but in my opinion it was pretty weak. It really felt more like "This sucks for your mom and oh yeah, you're here too lol" Alex got drunk about it and had a panic attack but other than that it wasn't treated with the caution it deserved.

Now, does that ruin the entire book for me? No. I love the banter between Henry and Alex, I love that they're allowed to be queer teenage boys who are in love and horny and stupid. I love that they don't shy away from (indirectly) criticizing how celebrities are treated as a main attraction at a zoo when it comes to their sexualities, as if they're someone's characters in a TV-Show. I also love that they weren't afraid to call it what it is (bisexuality) as I am also aware how much erasure the Bisexual community faces. Not only that, we also got male bisexual rep!

Let's talk about the parts that I did not enjoy as much.

The pacing was a bit awkward, you've had tons of build up between the main characters only to then have the reminder of american politics in between (it was off putting to say the least, suddenly we are talking about how to turn Texas Blue? I understand that this is part of the story but I do not have to like it.)

I did not enjoy Zharas character at all. That was a personal ick of mine, where it is seen as strong and cool and feminist to be a jerk to people. It was especially awful when Alex got drunk about his outing and the entire focus seemingly shifted to: "How can we fix this for your mom, so she can get elected again? Oh also you're here too but feelings later." This is not really the author's fault or flaw as (shocker) asshole characters exist, I just also don't have to like them. It felt flat, it felt rushed, there was no real time to process and grief, when there should've been. If you get outed nation-wide albeit in a safe enough environment (for Alex anyway, Henry was an entirely different story) the focus should be on exactly that.

I have a lot of words and none of them are fitting together well but english is not my first language and this ain't Goodreads so we're fine.

I loved the references to queer history because it is so, so important for young queer Kids and old, tired, queer people (like me lol) to remember that we existed, and we made it, that we loved and were loved since the dawn of time. (As a Hamilton enjoyer it was also a delight to see it mentioned lol)

In conclusion: I liked the book well enough. I would not want to read it a second time though, I will keep it in fond memories.

On a score it was a solid 3/5 for me. Hope you enjoyed this little review!

Cheers,

Cassian

#history huh #red white and royal blue #casey mcquiston #queer books #book review #book criticism

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secretlythepits · 2 months ago

Text

Good morning,

This is a meandering post.

My brain has been struggling lately.

Four years ago, I planned to not be in the country for November. I know everybody had a hard time last election cycle, but for me, my brain was disintegrating and I was rapidly loosing the ability to function. My language was elusive. Sometimes I could talk at all. Sometimes I couldn’t swallow. I had a walker to move around the house. I fell multiple times every single day because my legs just gave out. I was so tired. The energy of the election was too much and it was deeply traumatic to me because here I was, falling apart at the seems, and nobody seemed to care. Everyone was wrapped up in their own experience— I thought I was dying.

Later, my kids told me they thought I was dying. They were 11 and 12 years old and they were watching their mom fall apart, one brain function at a time.

Now, they are 15 and 16 and their dad is dying a slow and painful death.

I didn’t want to be here for the election and its aftermath. It’s too much on a personal level. Also, my birthday is next week. Sorry, but that’s what November is about, should be about. Not the collective fear and untethered rage. In truth, I would have heard about it abroad. Everyone is obsessed with our election and I find non-American opinions about this deeply annoying because they are so simplistic and judgmental. They don’t understand the complexities and take a lot of glee in kicking us when we are down.

I’m stopping that train of thought right there. The main point is, I am doing my darndest to block the collective energy from entering my awareness. A certain amount of failure is expected.

People think there is a certain energy in the air, like a force, but it’s just their anxiety feeding off of each other so that it grows into a palpable thing. In truth, if we all exerted effort to manage our own anxiety, there wouldn’t be this collective energetic entity that feels real but is not. It’s our sacred responsibility to manage the energy we contribute to the world. It’s as simple as cultivating inner peace. That’s not easy, but it is simple. You want world peace? Start with the area you are in charge of and establish peace there. Tend that garden. Help it grow.

Exit this post now if you don’t like astrology. I am getting more and more into it. I used to deny this part of my belief system, because I was shamed by my religious family and my atheist friends alike. But as I complete my 50th orbit around the sun, I have earned my brave heart and I’m not going to pretend my thoughts aren’t valid.

Pluto leaves the sign of Capricorn on November 19th for good. Outer planets have long, slow transits, so we will not experience Pluto in Capricorn again in our lifetime. It will enter Aquarius, where it will be until 2044. We will call it the Age of Aquarius.

So what does that mean and how does it relate to the election and anxiety?

Pluto has been in Capricorn since 2008. Capricorn is the sign of structure, work, institutional power, unremitting discipline. Think big banks, big government, centralized power.

Aquarius is very different. It’s the sign of collective energy, working together, technology. Innovation, decentralization of power. It’s humanitarian energy, but also aloof. There is an emotional detachment, because it’s more about the ideas that will help humanity than the feelings of the people.

Why does it matter where Pluto is?

Well, Pluto is the planet of transformation through destruction and reconstruction. Wherever it is, that area of life sees growth through a rather painful process. Think of the journey of power and money from 2008 until now. There was a threat, a tearing down, and then a massive consolidation.

The last time Pluto was in Aquarius, Ben Frank discovered electricity, the Industrial Revolution began, the American Revolution and French Revolutions took place along with the Irish Uprisings.

Whatever happens in this election, the tired, staid, institutional power is going to crumble. If you’ve been thinking: we can’t go on like this forever, you are right and we won’t. It can be scary to think of revolutions and an economy that changes overnight. Even if it’s good for the whole, it massively disrupts individual lives. Some will be left behind and some will be sacrificed to a cause. Others will benefit from the redistribution of power.

But there is rebuilding. Reconstruction is beautiful and full of brilliant possibilities.

And so, that’s how I’m trying to take whatever the results are. I know big change is coming. No matter who wins, this concentration of power will not last long. And rather than resisting AI, the electricity of our own Aquarian Age, I will work with it or at least with the knowledge that it’s here to stay. It’s not something to be feared or avoided, but rather, adapted to. How can I use it? How can I fill the needs that will be left in its wake? Those are questions to navigate the future with.

All of this ties into a core belief of mine:

We don’t know what is good or bad.

We call it good when what we want to happen happens: He proposed! I got the job! They accepted our offer! We call it bad when what we don’t want to happen happens: He broke up with me! I didn’t get the job! Our offer was rejected!

But only time will tell whether any of those events were actually good or bad: If he was going to turn out to be a loser, better to not marry him. If there was someone more perfect for you, better to have broken up with the one you were with. If the work place is toxic, it’s better to have not gotten the job. If another job that pays better and sings to your strengths opens up next month, good thing you are still applying. If that house turned out to be a money pit, better you didn’t get it. Or maybe your finances will changes soon, so it’s good you aren’t locked into a mortgage. Or maybe a better house is coming on the market next week.

We just don’t know how things will play out in the long run. Good things can lead to bad and bad things can lead to good.

Only time will tell, and then retell, the story.

On my meditation cushion this morning, I repeated one thing:

For the good of all.

Whatever that may be. I know I don’t know what that is, but I know that’s where I can put my energy:

For the good of all.

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weirdestbooks · 4 months ago

Text

The Fire Pokémon Club (Wattpad | Ao3)

“Does she even have the power to call a meeting? I mean, she’s only a state.” Celtic League asked her father as they walked towards the meeting room that they and two others had been called into by Hawaiʻi.

“But she is a former country, Yr Undeb Geltaidd, just like Llydaw and Cernyw, and they can call meetings.”

“Yeah, but only for organizations they are a part of.” Celtic League protested

“Sometimes I forget how young you are, and then you say things like that,” Wales commented, causing their daughter to give them a fondly exasperated look.

“Do I want to know what they did?” She asked.

“No. No, you do not.” Wales responded, “Besides, you are an organization made up of former colonies, intending to preserve our cultures and languages, which almost died out. You, of all people, should be more sympathetic to Hawaii. Her native peoples have suffered similar plights to my own and the other Celtics.”

“So I’ve heard…” Celtic League muttered.

“Oh, come on, my beloved nizez. You know that Iwerzhon just has a lot of friends.” Brittany, another country invited, said as she practically skipped to join the duo.

“And kids,” Wales muttered.

“And kids, and besides, he’s a storyteller at heart. Of course, he is constantly talking about them.” Brittany added. Celtic League huffed.

“I know, I know. I don’t need a lecture,” she said as she approached the room's door, nearly shoving it open. Wales and Brittany exchanged looks with a small smile before they followed her in.

Inside the room, they saw two other nations, the American State and Former Kingdom of Hawaiʻi, the person who invited them there, and the Republic of Malta, who waved as they entered, looking relieved to see them.

“Hello, Wales,” Malta said, as he was the only one in the group she was familiar with.

“Heya Malta. How are you?” Wales responded with the friendliest smile he could muster.

“I’m confused as to why I’m here, if I’m being honest,” Malta said, turning to Hawaiʻi.

“I would also like an explanation, Hawaii,” Celtic League said. Hawaiʻi smiled as she spread out her arms.

“I have invited you all here for a very special reason—”

“Murdering my brother?” Celtic League asked, causing her father to shoot her a glare as she brought up information he and England had been trying to bury for a long time. Hawaiʻi shook her head.

“Unfortunately, no, I’ve been banned from causing international diplomatic incidents for the next three years after that trouble in Paris,” Hawaiʻi said with a dramatic sign.

“Oh, come on, that was funny,” Wales said with a laugh as he remembered exactly what Hawaiʻi was talking about.

“And you can’t say Bro-C'hall didn’t deserve it,” Brittany added.

“Oh, I agree there. Unfortunately, America can’t let me get away with things like that, and his government was very insistent he punish me because apparently ‘international diplomatic incidents are bad’ or whatever,” Hawaiʻi said, making air quotes as she explained.

“So what was the punishment?” Brittany asked, her voice playful.

“He said some of the tourists from the mainland were punishment enough and then passed out for twelve hours,” Hawaiʻi said, prompting a startled laugh out of Wales.

“Is that normal for him?” Malta asked, still looking uncomfortable.

“Yep. He’s a workaholic insomniac sometimes.” Hawaiʻi said before clapping her hands together, “Anyways, let’s get back on track. So, the reason why I’ve invited you all here is because it’s come to my attention, via Massachusetts bitching to me at three am, that we all have the ability to create fire.”

“I see where this is going, and I’m excited,” Celtic League said with a wide grin.

“Yr Undeb Geltaidd, shouldn’t you be the one advocating against arson most?” Wales asked his daughter. Celtic League snorted and waved her hand dismissively.

“You’ve let me spend too much time with Moereb Breizh. I’ve been corrupted, and there’s nothing you can do to stop it,” she said, causing Brittany to give Wales a triumphant grin.

“I wasn’t advocating arson—��

“Who are you, and what have you done with Hawaii?” Wales asked, earning him the middle finger from said state.

“But I was going to propose, like, a club for us with fire abilities so we can just fuck around with them. We are all fireproof, right?” Hawaiʻi asked, looking around the small group of nations.

“I’m not.” Malta said, “The horse features canceled it out.”

“Malta, you can hold the fire extinguisher then,” Brittany said, walking over to the fire extinguisher in the wall.

“Don’t steal that,” Wales said halfheartedly.

“Don’t tell me what to do, Kembre.” She snapped back but backed away from the fire extinguisher anyway.

“Where would we do this anyway? Because all of us together seems like a massive fire hazard.” Malta cut in.

“Fire hazards are fun.” Wales said blankly, causing his daughter to smack his head, “Ow!”

“No!” She snapped, “I’m not dealing with that bullshit from you today.”

“It was one time!” Wales protested, rubbing at his head.

“You burnt down my fucking house!” Celtic League said, throwing her hands in the air.

“I didn’t know you had a gas fireplace like a heathen!”

“Rydych chi wedi marw i mi.” (You’re dead to me,) Celtic League said, causing Wales to gasp and clutch at their chest like an overdramatic Victorian maiden.

“Dy dad dy hun?” (Your own father?)

“Fe wnaethoch chi losgi fy nhŷ i lawr!” (You burned down my house!) Celtic League yelled.

“Not that this isn’t exciting or whatever, but can you save your little familial spat for later?” Brittany asked.

“You’re literally my aunt,” Celtic League said, turning to Britanny, which caused Hawaiʻi to laugh.

“What?” Brittany asked, looking towards Hawaiʻi, who just waved her hand dismissively.

“Don’t worry about it. You just remind me of my family.” Hawaiʻi explained.

“I can’t tell if that’s a compliment or an insult,” Britanny commented. Hawaiʻi shrugged.

“Neither can I. Anyways, are you guys down for it? I…I miss being able to interact with people outside of my families.” Hawaiʻi.

“Sounds fun. And maybe I’ll get yelled at less for setting things on fire.” Wales said, causing his daughter to give him an exasperated look.

“I’m only looking because someone has to supervise all of you.” Celtic League commented.

“I thought we decided that Malta’s job was to do that. Also, you are a literal child,” Brittany said.

“And yet I’m more mature.”

“That’s because you haven’t been relentlessly traumatized yet. Give it time.”

“Fuck you.”

“You know what, maybe burning down your house wasn’t an accident.”

“TAD I WILL FUCKING KILL YOU!”

#countryhumans #statehumans #oneshots by weird #statehumans hawaii #countryhumans wales #countryhumans brittany #countryhumans malta #countryhumans celtic league

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