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brotheralyosha · 3 years ago

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In the book, you recounted how the writer Susan Sontag was "cancelled" for a post-9/11 New Yorker essay in which she argued that the attacks were politically motivated as a reaction to US foreign policy — and that it wasn't because the terrorists "hated us for our freedoms." Why was that a significant moment in the immediate aftermath of 9/11?

The point of canceling Sontag was to make sure that others didn't rally to that cause. The point of canceling Sontag was making sure the connection between 9/11 and US foreign policy was considered a toxic, scandalous, victim-blaming thing to discuss. And it had the effect of really scaring people in the mainstream discourse away from making this really vital connection that the more the United States tries to violently dominate the Muslim world, the more a violent response is going to happen as a result.

That's not remotely the same thing as blaming the 3,000 Americans who Al-Qaeda murdered on 9/11. But cancelling Sontag collapsed that distinction, and removed it from respectable discourse. Once that is accomplished, without a historical or material analysis of what led to 9/11, the foreign policy response could proceed unimpeded down a very violent path.

As you note in the book, the rock band The Strokes — who were never bigger than right at the moment in 2001 — had to remove the song "New York City Cops" from their debut album because of the line "New York City Cops, they ain't too smart." And then there was Bush's press secretary Ari Fleischer's disturbingly cryptic comment that Americans "need to watch what they say." People talk a lot about how 9/11 was a moment of great tragedy that ultimately united us. That it was a good moment. But there was a real air of menace about what was or was not ok to say.

First off, I ride for "New York City Cops." That is the best Strokes song. I got an advance copy of the record while working at my college paper. I remember listening and saying, "This one's good. And this song is good. But this song is amazing." And that was "New York City Cops." And then when the record finally comes out, it's not there.

This was barely two years after the NYPD murder of Amadou Diallo with 41 shots in his own vestibule for holding up a wallet. Suddenly, you could not talk about that anymore. You couldn't portray people in uniform as anything but the most selfless of heroes. It was very conspicuous to me how that narrative was promulgated by the people who very likely have the least actual contact with people in uniform.

9/11 was a cancel culture, as we would understand it today. It was extremely censorious, especially in a way that fed into nativism, to sort out real Americans from conditional Americans. After 9/11, a still unknown number of Muslims, immigrants, people from majority Muslim countries, and people presumed to be Muslim from New York and New Jersey were shuffled into the Metropolitan Corrections Center in Sunset Park and effectively disappeared for long periods of time.

People had to flee their neighborhoods out of fear of deportation or fear of arrest. These were people who had come to America seeking not just safety, but seeking prosperity and seeking freedom. Basically, people who came to America seeking what America tells you it is on the package. And they learned quite quickly who the so-called national unity was directed against.

In the book, you recount in great detail the "Ground Zero Mosque" episode from 2010 — where bad faith actors shut down plans for a community center that wasn't a mosque and wasn't at Ground Zero. Why was it an important episode in War on Terror culture?

A critical aspect of this is that the War on Terror had been going terribly, particularly the Iraq War. And there was a cognitive dissonance on the nativist right, whereby its American exceptionalism was glitching over the fact that people that they considered little better than subhuman were able to frustrate the United States' grand military ambitions. Accordingly, [the right] went seeking enemies they could beat far closer to home.

And one of the ways they had always been successful since the start of the 9/11 era was to constrain the space for American Muslims to feel free and to meaningfully contribute to civic life. And nowhere did this crystallize more intensely than over this community center that these very bourgeois people tried to create in Manhattan. It was basically a Muslim version of the 92nd Street Y, which is a Jewish space in New York City, but its Jewishness is a background aspect of it compared to what it offers the intellectual life of the city.

It was the right and, we also have to confront it, 9/11 survivors and the relatives of those who perished. They had been so misled by the 9/11 era and by the political and journalistic discourse about who was truly responsible for 9/11. [It was depicted as] the equivalent of Mehmed the Conqueror transforming Hagia Sophia into a mosque after his conquest of Constantinople. They called this proposed community center a "victory mosque."

It was of course, no such thing. But the point wasn't to accurately reflect what this thing was. The point was an assertion of dominance and to constrain the space for Muslims to exist safely and freely in the United States. There was an intensity to the response, and it entirely intimidated all of the so-called liberal allies of the project in the city, from former New York City Mayor Michael Bloomberg to the city council to mainstream Democratic politicians like Harry Reed — who was the Senate Democratic leader at the time and said that the mosque ought to move. He was aligned in that view with Donald Trump.

I've come to believe this was a moment that flipped a switch. In retrospect, I think that's where a Trump-like figure becomes inevitable.

#spencer ackerman #us politics #us foreign policy #business insider #islamophobia #long post

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trashmenofmarvel · 4 years ago

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Branded - Chapter 21

Pairing: Demon!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Bucky gives you a gift.

(This is a fan AU of Falling’s Just Another Way to Fly by @araniaart . Please check out this incredible series for all of your demon Bucky needs.)

Chapter Warnings: None, it’s all fluff

AO3

You had a plan.

Not a plan to break the demon bond. Or a plan to figure out how many demons were left in the world chasing after you. But it was still an important plan. One that would take skill, cunning, and unending bravery to pull off.

You were going to seduce Bucky.

Yes, technically the two of you had been having sex for the last two months, but that was out of an obligation to stay alive. You were tired of the bond being something you let happen to you, and wanted to turn it into something that worked for you.

You were 95% sure it would work. After waking up that morning, pulled against Bucky’s chest, you were fairly convinced your feelings weren’t entirely one-sided. You knew he was awake and that it wasn’t Bucky grabbing the closest warm object in his sleep.

His guise was active. He’d told you before there were two instances he couldn’t hold the disguising magic: when he was unconscious, and when he needed to feed to the point of starvation.

So you knew, with no horns out of the corner of your vision and no tail wrapped around your leg, Bucky was fully awake and aware… and was still holding onto you. That didn’t last long, when you stirred and he realized you were awake, but it was a hopeful sign.

It also left your brain mush and your knees weak with need. He kissed you on the forehead, got out of bed, and that was that.

Or so he believed. No more dancing around each other; you were going to fuck Bucky Barnes if it was the last thing you did.

Famous last words. Your sister, her husband, and their infant were visiting because it was Christmas Eve. If anyone was going to see through your false relationship, it was her.

You were certain the secret had been discovered when she pulled you into the kitchen, leaving her baby to be doted on by your mother (who kept sneaking knowing glances at you and Bucky, which did not help), and gripped you by the shoulders.

Her face was so stern you could almost hear the lecture in your head. Is Mom pressuring you to get married and have kids again? You deserve better than to have some pretend-boyfriend! Please tell me you didn’t pay him money for this?

Instead, she pulled you into a fierce hug, squeezed you tightly, and said, “I’m so happy for you!”

You were pretty sure your brain shut down. Does not compute.

“Uh. Thank. Thank you?”

She pulled back and tucked your hair behind your ear, smiling affectionately.

“When Mom told me the news, I was so excited. I mean, I don’t care if you’re in a relationship or not, just as long as you’re happy I’m happy—You are happy, right? Is he treating you well? Do you have open, healthy communication? Does he need the shovel talk? I can give him the shovel talk, please let me give him the shovel talk.”

By the end, you were laughing. It couldn’t be helped. At least you knew this really was your sister and not some imposter.

“I’m happy. Jacob is great.” Open communication? Well… you were getting there. “I don’t think he needs a shovel talk, but I’m not going to stop you because I know you’ve always wanted to give one.”

She gleamed like a kid on… well, Christmas morning.

Something curled in your chest, aching and bittersweet. You pulled her into another hug, gripping her tightly as a lump formed in your throat. If she only knew the truth. You wanted to tell her the truth. Confide in her about Bucky, about the wizards, even about Davin. There was so much that had changed over the last two months, you’d been terrified that you wouldn’t be the same person you were before.

“Hey,” she patted your back softly, “you okay? Like… really okay?”

You nodded quickly, not wanting her to question why you weren’t speaking yet. You weren’t sure you could.

Fuck, get it together.

You pulled back from her, forced your expression into one of simple happiness, and hoped she wouldn’t see anything deeper.

You were somewhat disappointed when she bought it, but… it wasn’t her fault you had become so good at lying.

The rest of the day was uneventful but fun. You really were happy, for the most part. You weren’t taking for granted the rare opportunity to glue yourself to Bucky’s side and preened when he seemed just as receptive. A very large part of you hoped it was genuine. Each time he put his arm around your shoulder, each kiss on the top of your head, you wanted it to mean something.

Bucky even did it when no one was watching. That had to count for something, didn’t it?

The time for wondering was over. After your sister and her husband went back to their hotel room, Bucky asked if you wanted to go for a walk. There was still snow on the ground but the sky was clear, a large moon illuminating the white and turning it faint blue.

A walk. Walks were romantic. You could do this. Operation: Seduce Bucky Barnes was a-go.

Your hand was warm in his as he gently pulled you across the snowfield behind the house. You’d thought maybe he would take you on a stroll around the neighborhood, but this was just as good, even if your footing wasn’t as steady and you had to grip his arm for balance.

Hmm, maybe this was better.

After a few minutes of walking in silence through a copse of pine trees, Bucky stopped and let go of your hand.

“Should be safe here.”

You blinked as he stripped off his scarf and his jacket.

Oh. Were you… going to do it right here? Well, it would be cold and wet and dirty, but you’d be down for—

Bucky pulled his shirt over his head, revealing a body that would put Greek statues to shame. You stared, probably drooled a little, and stood as still as a deer as he approached. Bucky stood so close you could feel his body heat like a furnace, but all he did was wrap your head in his scarf and slipped your arms into his jacket.

“You’re going to need it,” he answered to your confused blinking.

“Uh…”

Whatever you were going to say died out as dark, webbed wings arched from his back, curling and stretching over his head. At the same moment, a mirage-like shimmer wavered above his head, and his horns formed into existence along with his tapered ears. His tail tickled the side of your knee, greeting you like an affectionate cat.

You didn’t think Bucky would appreciate the comparison.

“Hang onto this for me, will ya?”

Bucky handed you his balled up shirt. You took it out of reflex, but still didn’t understand what he was—

He retreated a few feet, an impish smile on his lips. And then he turned, spread his wings, and gave one enormous flap.

You nearly stumbled back, raising your hand to shield your face as dusts of snow kicked upwards, but then the air cleared and you got a perfect view of Bucky soaring into the night sky. Each rise and fall of his wings was accompanied by a low whoosh, like rumbling leather, and it sounded exactly like you’d imagine webbed wings to sound.

But to see it in action was…

You strode forward, head tilted back as you watched him circle the field above you. He was flying low, maybe twenty-five feet in the air, just enough to ruffle your hair and dislodge wisps of snow.

It was the most beautiful thing you’d seen in your entire life, and you couldn’t help but laugh. It was like… seeing a real unicorn. Or a dragon. Something magical you’d wanted to see your entire life but never dared to dream could be real.

And here he was. Beautiful and real and… and he cared for you. He did, didn’t he? He wouldn’t have showed you this otherwise.

Before you could get caught in a loop of “he loves me, he loves me not,” Bucky banked at the end of the field and flew back to you, barely flapping his wings as he glided at a gentle angle to land in front of you, lightly disturbing the snow.

You were grinning like an idiot, but this was a grin-like-an-idiot situation and could be forgiven.

“That was… amazing.”

Bucky’s smile was more reined in than yours, but his eyes sparkled with that same mischievous light as before.

“You think so, huh?”

He didn’t give you time to answer before he stepped forward, bent down, and scooped you up in his arms. You yelped and clung to his chest on instinct, the breath rushing out of you at the feel of all that hot, bare skin. You didn’t normally get to see him so exposed, let alone touch him like this.

When had been the last time you’d done so? That first night when the demon bond had caught you both by surprise? Bucky had been so uninhibited that night. Raw and uncontrolled. He’d even kissed you, something he hadn’t done since.

If only there was some way to—

Your scheming thoughts were scattered as he raised his wings behind his back, his head tilted as he looked down at you.

“Ready?” The smirk was back.

“Uh, ready for what?”

He rolled his eyes as if the answer was obvious, and it kind of was. Your brain was slow to catch up, distracted by all the Bucky you had access to under your hands.

“Oh, oh no, no, I don’t think this is a good idea,” you said, panic rising. “I mean, aren’t I too heavy for you to carry? What if I make you crash? What if—”

Bucky scoffed, and that was all the warning you got before his wings rushed downward and you were both launched into the air.

It was like going up the steep incline of a roller-coaster, and your stomach dropped like angry ballast. You clung to Bucky’s neck for dear life and buried your face in his shoulder. He wouldn’t drop you on purpose, but what if he lost his grip? What if he couldn’t get high enough and flew into a tree?

The possibilities were endless and you clung to him even tighter. The sound of his chuckle was felt more than heard over the freezing rush of wind, and you understood why he’d wrapped your hair in a scarf.

And then the wind died down apart from the downdraft caused by his wings.

“You can open your eyes now.”

You slowly raised your head and immediately lost your breath. The ground glowed in the moonlight far below you, but the truly stunning view was the city spread out in the distance, twinkling lights a reflection of the constellations above.

“I’m flying with the wind so it shouldn’t bother you too much.” Bucky sounded almost nervous; as if unsure you could somehow not be impressed with the gorgeous sight before you.

But you were impressed. And the city was pretty cool, too.

“It’s perfect.” You leaned your forehead against his jaw, arms still looped around his neck for comfort rather than out of fear. “Thank you, Bucky.”

“Merry Christmas,” he said, turning his face to press his lips to your forehead. Normally such a gesture would have left you flustered and speechless, but you were too busy being horrified.

“Oh, no!”

“What?” His tone was sharp, alert, as if he expected the next demon to somehow attack them in midair.

You groaned and thumped your head against his shoulder.

“I didn’t get you a Christmas present.”

Bucky barked so hard with laughter he wobbled in the air for a moment, and you clung to him even tighter, your stomach clenching as you tried not to look down.

“That’s what’s got you so worried? Really?”

“It’s Christmas Eve and I haven’t gotten your present yet. This is a serious matter!”

Bucky snorted. He eased his wings into a shallow angle and slowly banked back toward the field.

“Don’t worry. I think I’ll live.”

You frowned, turning your face back into his neck to shield it from the biting wind that had returned. This was no good. Sure, you’d been distracted by wizards and heigores and learning your demon not-boyfriend had a million-dollar penthouse in Brooklyn, but that was no excuse for forgetting something so important.

In comparison to taking you on a nighttime flight and aerial view of the city, seducing Bucky seemed pathetic in comparison.

Well, you decided as he gently touched down in the snow-filled field, you’d just have to make sure it was the best sex Bucky’d had in a century.

Next Chapter

#bucky barnes x reader #demon!bucky x reader #demon!bucky barnes #branded #my writing #my fanfiction #demon bucky barnes

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moons-and-stars-and-shit · 4 years ago

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hi! congrats on 300! could i get a star matchup for your event? i’m a gemini sun, capricorn moon and leo rising, and i ship myself with tendou :) tysm!!

𝕊𝕥𝕒𝕣 𝕄𝕒𝕥𝕔𝕙𝕦𝕡 𝕎𝕚𝕥𝕙 𝕋𝕖𝕟𝕕𝕠𝕦

𝑃𝑙𝑎𝑛𝑒𝑡𝑠 🪐.

Taurus is ruled by the Planet Venus (Love) and Gemini is ruled by the Planet Mercury (Communication).

Since both of these Planets are close to the Sun

they’re always in the same neighborhood even though they’re very different.

Venus is all about physical pleasures, romance and sensuality.

Mercury has both masculine and feminine energy, and Gemini takes on whichever energy best serves at any given moment.

Taurus is just looking for a dependable, sensual partner, so Gemini’s brilliance may be lost on the Bull.

This may be trouble, since Geminis often feel like their quick wits are the most important thing about themselves.

The good thing is, Gemini is smart enough to learn to be the romantic, sensual partner that Taurus craves.

𝐸𝑙𝑒𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑠 🔥💧🍃🌬

Taurus is an Earth Sign and Gemini is an Air Sign.

Gemini makes decisions based on intellect (and whim), while Taurus is more practical.

Taurus asks, ‘How will this help me achieve my goals in life?’

while Gemini goes with the moment, never feeling too pressured to stick to a set plan.

If Taurus gives in to those Bullish possessive feelings, or if Gemini is aloof and detached (as they often are), this relationship may suffer.

Both Signs must strive to stay open and flexible in order to make this union work.

Though Gemini seems unpredictable, Taurus can learn to understand that although Gemini may flirt, the relationship is still important to them.

And though Taurus seems overly stubborn, Gemini must use their flexibility to bend to their partner’s will on occasion.

𝑇𝑟𝑢𝑠𝑡 🤞

Trust can be a real issue with this couple. Gemini is not all that trustworthy when someone tries to tie them down.

Taurus, in most cases, lives for the day when they will be tied down with someone simultaneously.

If they don’t start their relationship on a clear and truthful foundation, where the first thing they learn about each other would be the level of commitment each of them wants, a true problem with trust will easily arise.

Gemini partner will start thinking of excuses to get out of any obligation imposed on them by Taurus, only to avoid hurting their feelings.

In response, Taurus will sense something is wrong and start obsessing about their partner’s behavior and the things they say.

This can come to the point of absolute distrust between them, especially if Taurus gets really angry and “vindictive” in their usual passive and stubborn manner.

Gemini’s intentions are often misinterpreted here and this can lead to a number of following situations that will hurt them both.

It is very important for them to discuss into detail what they both wish for while their relationship grows.

This way, they could prevent misunderstanding that could lead to an unrepairable lack of trust.

𝐶𝑜𝑚𝑚𝑢𝑛𝑖𝑐𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 🤝

Taurus is a sign that precedes Gemini. In the astrological sense

this tells us that the sign of Gemini wouldn’t exist if Taurus wasn’t there.

Basically, this means that Gemini partner wouldn’t do much if their physical needs weren’t taken care of. '

This is where their relationship has a strong connection, for Gemini partner might need someone like Taurus to take care of their body and its needs.

It is very easy for an Air sign such as Gemini to forget to have lunch or sleep for a couple of hours per night.

There are so many interesting things in the world that they just don’t want to miss.

Taurus partner could cook a healthy meal, take care of their finances and insist on a daily schedule that would give their Gemini a good energetic base to invest in their ideas.

In general, their interests are not that similar, but they can find a way to communicate, for none of them lacks gentleness and a way with words.

If Gemini partner decides to slow down a little bit and Taurus opens up, they could even find out it is possible for them to have fun together.

After all, they are ruled by Venus and Mercury, two inner planets that are, when combined, in charge of fun, sweet talk and the art of conversation.

𝐸𝑚𝑜𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠 😠😔😊

It is not very likely they will share their emotions with ease and enjoy each other the way they might with some other zodiac representatives.

Still, there is a gentle side to Taurus that can melt down even the coldest of hearts.

In most cases, their best chance of a loving relationship is in the love Taurus feels.

We wouldn’t say that Gemini is insensitive or unemotional, but they certainly have different approach to their emotional nature than the Earth sign of Taurus, that exalts the Moon.

When Taurus falls in love with a Gemini, they will do anything to understand their nature.

There is nothing that a gentle nature of Taurus can’t understand, however different from their personal primal character it might be. When their Gemini feels this deep and stable understanding, they could respond in a warm and childish way, learning that they can be free even when in love with someone like Taurus.

𝑉𝑎𝑙𝑢��𝑠 🤲

While Taurus values the Earth, the material world, their emotions and what is stable in their life, Gemini values the Universe, the world of ideas, their rational mind and change.

This is where their differences and element natures strongly diverge.

They should really try hard to accept the true value of both their worlds in order to work out their differences.

𝑆ℎ𝑎𝑟𝑒𝑑 𝐴𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑣𝑖𝑡𝑦𝑠 💪

They could find activities to enjoy together, but not at the same pace.

Gemini likes things fast, while exciting, and Taurus would like to examine everything from the beginning to the end, set the value on each activity and thoroughly decide if they would want to repeat it or not.

This will drive their Gemini crazy. It is best for both of them to walk, a lot, for this can keep Gemini grounded, while Taurus always needs movement not to end up in a static, inert, horizontal state.

They could connect their passionate natures through some kind of art, especially if they managed to find a way to create something together.

With Gemini’s ideas and Taurus’ practical sense, combined with the need for beauty, this should be a true work of art.

𝑆𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦 💕

The relationship between Taurus and Gemini doesn’t give much promise to begin with.

Still, the fixed quality of the sign of Taurus can give them enough endurance and persistence to last in their intent to be with a Gemini, long enough for them to really get to know each other well.

Although their chances to reconcile their differences are slim, if Taurus partner puts their whole heart into it, they might manage to become the most relevant part of their Gemini’s life as their base and their reliability in everything they do.

In case they accept each other completely, Taurus will give Gemini their connection to planet Earth, to their body and their daily routine, giving them the base for health and normal functioning.

In return, Gemini will give their Taurus wings and, better yet, teach them how to fly.

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu fandom #haikyuu hcs #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu matchups #tendou #tendou satori #300followerevent

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diabloindigo · 4 years ago

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Are you the person to open a box of cereal just to get the toy inside? As a kid yes. Right now, I don’t buy cereals with prizes anymore. Do they even stuff toys in cereal these days?

Do you get scared easy? If it’s in the anxiety induced variety, yes.

What was one of the stupidest things you cried over when you were little? Not sure, it could have been anything from not wanting to wear a fancy dress or dress shoes to a party or a broken toy.

Have you ever drank milk from the carton? Despite having a working dishwasher and plenty of glasses, I “waterfall” milk and juice from the containers.

Juice or milk? I go both ways, leaning more towards juice. Apple or orange.

Do you ever turn off your computer properly? Once in a while.

Do you wish you were a fish? Not really, though I kinda envy the blue Dory (Doctor Fish?) in the tank at my gynecologist’s waiting room. It likes to swim to the bottom of the tank and ride up to the top on a bubble jet. That damn fish has probably had more fun than I have in the past several months.

Who’s your favorite super hero? Invincible (Amazon Prime). Along with Spider-Man (2002) and the Big Hero 6 movie, that character/series is a rare superhero show that makes me feel strong and vulnerable at the same time.

Who’s your favorite super villain? Slade Wilson/ Deathstroke as seen in “Teen Titans: The Judas Contract” animated movie and the 2003-2006 “Teen Titans” cartoon series.

Spiderman or X-men? Spider-Man. Tobey Maguire and Peter B. Parker from Into the Spiderverse.

Movie theatre or stay at home movie night? Theaters. Alamo Drafthouse. I love ordering boozy milkshakes and finger foods.

Do you have a Blue Ray? I have one of those external drives for my Mac though I never use it.

How about HD television? Yeah

Do you think HD television is kind of a waste of money? No.

Do you get why people get so frickin’ freaked out during football season? I do not, and living in a state with a hard-on for (American) football makes it weird when I tell people that I do not have a favorite football team/player.

Do you ever sneak scraps to the dog even though you’re not suppose to? I don’t sneak him food. If I cook or order too much to eat, then I scrape a couple of cup’s worth of leftovers in his bowl. He’s probably got only a year to live so let him live it up a little.

Are you reading a book right now? If so what? A friend gave me a copy of “The Only Good Indians” but I can't get into it so I’m reading “Full Throttle” by Joe Hill.

What was the last book you were required to read for school? It’s been so long I can’t remember.

O donuts or jelly filled? Whipped cream filled. I love Krispy Kreme’s whipped cream filled donuts with raspberry filled donuts as a close second.

If I’m feeling bland then I do like crullers.

Do you like your ice-cream in a bowl or cone? Bowl unless it’s a tasty cone.

Marshmallows in your hot chocolate or no? I could go either way unless it’s a tiny cup of chocolate.

Do you like cherry coke? Hell yes. I love going to Sonic for a cherry-vanilla-lime Coke or this greasy little 1950s type burger joint for their cherry cokes since they load the cups with several cherries.

Do you really think diet Dr. Pepper is the equivalent of a cupcake? No, it tastes artificial. Like a bastard child of a soft drink that wants to pass for cherry soda.

Do you snore in your sleep? Drool? Talk? Snore and talk (I’m pretty stressed out).

Have you ever sleep walked? no

Are you a morning person? I am now.

How do you wake up in the mornings? by alarm during the work week, naturally at 6-7 on vacation days.

Do you think guyliner is hot? What is that?

Is variety the spice of life? yeah

Do you think strawberry milk is disgusting? I like it.

Have you ever drank after anyone? Like sharing a cup/bottle? Yeah, loads of times.

Have you ever drank after anyone you don’t know very well? No.

Do you have any limits on who you drink/eat after?

If we’re talking about sharing, then I will share food/drink with family and friends. If someone offers me bite-size pieces that are individually wrapped or can be torn off the main portion, I’ll eat it, but only from co-workers or acquaintances.

Would you eat a sucker if someone already ate some of it? No.

Would you chew somebody else's gum? Hell no.

Do you know anyone who’s going to die of mono because of that? No.

Do you enjoy school? My English and psychology classes.

Are you a teacher’s pet? no

Do you have a job? Yes.

How did you get to and from school? Parents drove me or I walked for elementary through high school. I drove when I went to college.

Do you have a bedtime? And if so what is it? I’m in bed between 11-12 a.m.

What time do you get up? 6 am so I can walk/exercise before the sun boils the earth in full force.

Have you ever pulled an all-nighter? Yeah in college.

What’s more important? Beauty or brains? brains

Do you believe in yourself? Sometimes I do, and sometimes I don’t.

Did you ever want to be an astronaut when you were little? No. Being a veterinarian or scientist were my highest ambitions as a small kid.

How about the president? Never.

What did you want to be when you were little? Veterinarian, scientist, cartoon character.

Did you ever want to be a super model? no

Do you believe you’re attractive enough to be a super model? No.

Have you ever had an X-ray? Several in the past few months for pre-surgery and dental work.

What’s your favorite guy’s name? What’s your favorite girl’s name? Guys’: Shane, Mark, Tadashi, Austin, Cade, Trip.

Girls’: Quince, Sienna, Amy, Kit, Lizzie (Elizabeth), Raven.

Who’s your second cousin’s, grandparent’s, sister? The fuck...

Do you laugh to yourself whenever the ketchup bottle farts? No, in fact, I get annoyed when other people hear it and ask me if I farted.

Do you have any real guns in your house? I have several.

Do you know how to use nunchucks? No, I bought a pair at one of those Asian imports emporiums, but I donated them since I never learned to use them. They were these crappy foam padded ones with dragons printed on the handles.

Do you know anyone who can use nunchucks? No.

What do you want to be next Halloween? In better health and not shitting bricks about using up my paid time off to go to doctors’ appointments.

Did you ever consider getting a job as a mall Santa? No. I’d rather be one of his elves or a reindeer.

Are you the one responsible for taking out the garbage? Yes. Grosses me the fuck out sometimes with smelly discarded poultry trays or rotten food, but somebody’s gotta do it.

Do you recycle? My city has the blue recycling bins, but I heard that since we’re an ass-backward community, “recyclables” and trash all go to the same place. I just place recyclables in the blue bin to help clear up space in the trash bin. Maybe I’m wrong and this city does recycle? Can’t hurt.

When I was 11, I’d collect empty soda cans to take to the recycling guy since back in the day, they’d pay for aluminum cans. That’s how I scraped up funds for dollar movies and hot dogs.

Are you a pyro? Yeah. I carry/collect Zippo lighters but mostly because the “click-click” is satisfying to hear since I flip the lids open and closed to relieve stress. And I burn a lot of old bills and letters with sensitive info on them.

What was the last word/thing you wrote down? I was researching high fiber foods that are also low in carbs to make a grocery and dinner meal plan.

Sleeping or eating? After my surgery, sleeping.

Are you overall a positive person? I try to be realistically positive, if such a thing exists. The world will never be all sunshine and My Little Ponies, but I try to find some comfort and positivity when my world is a shit-show. Filling this survey out kinda helps.

Do you hate hypocrites? Yeah, especially the “do as I say, not as I do” types.

For instance, a certain family member is pushing good diet and health habits, but it aggravates the hell out of me if I see him drinking high sugar iced tea or eating ice cream. Or Door-Dashing Burger King, even if it is a Beyond Whopper with a diet Coke.

Do you like to prank people? Yes, but I do benign pranks like leaving dirty riddles and meme drawings on their front doors.

What was the worst prank you’ve ever done on anyone? I tried fucking with a telesolicitor but I could not stop laughing.

Have you ever jumped on a trampoline in the ice? I don’t own a trampoline.

Have you ever ice skated? No. I tried once after a local minor league hockey game. I got the skates on, but my ankles were bending/bowing out so I changed my mind.

Ever water skiid? No.

Is vacuum spelled funny? Yes.

Democrat or republican? I don’t associate formally with either party, but I hitch my pony a little to the left.

Who’s the biggest asshole you know? My former boss circa 2013. Very unprofessional and a veritable loudmouth and a poor (shit) showman wannabe.

Pen or pencil? Gel-ink pens.

Should all paper have holes? nope

Speaking of holes. Swiss cheese, what’s the point of that? Fewer calories? Spinning slices in my hand like a TV cowboy spinning his revolver in the trigger guard with his finger?

Have you ever been in a helicopter before? No.

Own any airbrushed tshirts? Nope, not even in the nineties.

Have you ever been suspended? No.

Have you ever been in a fist fight? A few playground fights as a kid.

Ever said something to someone that you didn’t mean to say? Yes.

Do you forgive too easily? I don’t think so.

What are you listening to right now? The AC running.

Have you ever seen any of MCR’s music videos? Nope.

Are you tan? No.

Have you ever been in a tanning bed? No. I have no desire to look like a Cheeto or woo skin cancer.

Have you ever played water volley? Once at my uncle’s neighborhood swimming pool.

Ever had a sunburn? Yes, from neglecting sunscreen re-applications or underestimating the sun.

How about wind burn? It hurts….. Nah, I don't live in a cold enough climate for that.

What was the first word you learned how to say? I think it was “mama.”

#random monkey shit #survey #ask #bored #Q and A #long post

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theprincesslibrary · 3 years ago

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#4: Baleful - Close your eyes

Warning: violence, past trauma, mention of abuse, mention of rape, domestic abuse, blood, torture

He’s waking up.

He doesn’t remember much. He was coming home after a night out, drunk and alone, the girls weren’t receptive to his charms. And then nothing. Just darkness and a violent pain at the back of his skull. He’s fully awake now, though his reality looks like a nightmare. His reflection is staring at him from the ceiling, eyes wide from fear. He is strapped to an operating table, naked, unable to move. He doesn't understand why he's here.

I’d feel bad for him if I didn’t know any better. But I do.

I know what he did to his wife, to his previous girlfriends. I know what type of monster he is. But I’m worse. The saw in my hand is itching to cut, but I can’t start yet. Everything must be done to perfection. So I step out of the shadows and move closer, tape his eyelids open, so he can't close his eyes. Putting that mirror on the ceiling was a real pain in the ass, it’d be a shame if all that work went to waste. I wouldn’t want him to miss the show.

*****

When Thancred reaches the scene everything looks like it did for the previous murders: they still don't have the crime scene, just the dumping area. A godforsaken place where nobody cares what you do or say: welcome to Ul'dah's low town, where the jewel city doesn't shine so brightly. Here only the rule of the three wise monkeys applies: see nothing, hear nothing, and above all shut the fuck up. The perfect place to get rid of a body.

These corpses are not your typical murder victim though: no crime of passion, no hit-and-run. Everything is clean. It’s the third case of the type to end up on his desk, and it's a fucking nightmare. Let’s be clear, the modus operandi is dirty as fuck: shallow cuts all over the body, severed limbs, head cut off… all of that ante mortem, a fucking slaughter. But the scene is fucking spotless, perfectly ordered like a freaking Mog Station warehouse. They don't really have a corpse, more of a human puzzle: the organs and the head sit in separate jars, the limbs are all wrapped up mummy style, personal belongings in a cardboard box... And the cherry on top: not a single witness.

That’s when Thacred's expertise comes to play. See, a regular cop would harass the lab, call them every 5 minutes, pressure them day and night… be a pain in the as. But not detective Thancred Waters. Nah. He has his way of doing things. He lets the lab rats alone, especially with a scene like that which is as much of a nightmare for them as it is for him. If puzzle number 3 is like its friends, CSI can’t do much for him right now, they need to unpack all that shit, literally. So he leaves them the fuck alone, they’re happy, and when they have something conclusive they call their favorite detective: how far one can go by not being an asshole is astonishing.

Instead, Thancred likes to interrogate people. Relatives, of course, that’s police work 101, but he pays extra attention to the little monkeys on the streets: the guy no one notices sitting in the corner, the drug dealer in his vintage car, the homeless lady who sleeps here at night. He just knows how to make them talk. It must be his lucky day because he saw his favorite monkey when he arrived at the scene. It would be rude not to check on his old friend, although “friend” might be a bit of a stretch. He met Theodric in Limsa Lominsa, back when he was still a street urchin, stealing purses from unsuspecting passersby. They were in the same band of petty thieves, followed the same path, except one day Thancred targeted Louisoix Leveilleur. Instead of turning him in, the man saw his potential, and took him under his wing. His life changed that day. Theodric wasn’t so lucky. He got involved with the wrong crowd, took the wrong drug, and ended up here, in one of Ul’dah’s worst neighborhoods where not even the refugees dare to come.

Yeah, not really friends, and considering what he's about to do to him, it's better that way.

*****

Thancred’s fists hurt from punching Theodric’s ugly face, he needs a break from all that “friendly catching up”. He reaches for a cig and lights it up. Gods, how he loves the taste of tar… finally some stale air to help him breathe. He spares a look to the little monkey slouched against the tainted wall of a shabby restaurant. His face is covered in blood, but he’s not talking. He hates when they stay quiet, he’ll just have to be more explicit.

“You know Theo, I can call you Theo, right? You know… it’s the weekend for me too. As you can imagine that I have other things to do besides fucking up your hideous face. I'm not asking you to share every tiny detail of your sad existence, I’m not your therapist. I’m not even asking for the name of your dealer. Just tell me who the fuck threw away the mummy. That would make me incredibly happy, I’d be able to go home, have a nice bath, you know, normal people shit.”

Thancred takes another puff from his cigarette and looks down at the man who was once his partner in crime. It’s almost like staring at a twisted version of himself, at the man he would have become without Louisoix. Six months ago, he might have gone easy on Theodric, might have tried to help him out. Six months ago, he would have been the man Louisoix wanted him to be, but that guy died in Lahabrea’s basement. All those months of sequestration and torture did a number on him, fucked him up so bad, his soul died back there. Now he's just this empty shell, pretending to be alive out of spite. Just to say “look at me now, I’m still there”. But he's not, not really.

He draws the last puff from his cigarette and crouches next to Theodric, his face on the same level as the junkie's. The little monkey has one open eye, just one, the other is too fucked up. There’s fear in that one eye, but he’s still not talking. Thancred gets his cig close to Theodric’s good eye, so he can understand what’s going to happen next. He likes to let people understand the rest on their own, it stimulates communication.

“You might think I hate you Theo, but I don’t. I don’t give two flying fucks about you. But you see, my shrink told me I had to externalize my rage. When you don't talk to me, it pisses me off, so I have to externalize. On your face. You’re not a bad guy, a little drug here, a little dealing there, it’s not that bad. I’m a whiskey guy myself so really who am I to judge? Just tell me who threw this corpse, so I can calm the fuck down. I don’t need to externalize as much and we both go on our merry ways.”

Thancred punctuates his question by crushing his cigarette's butt on Theo’s arm. His screams echo in the empty street so loudly dogs start to howl, not that anyone cares. Noone would come to his aid, not in this part of town, not when a cop is the one making him scream like a pig. The wise monkey rule reigns supreme. But now he’s in enough pain for Thancred to believe whatever he’s gonna say next.

“Fuck Waters, I swear I don't know anything. You know me, I'm not that brave, if I knew anything I’d be singing like a fucking canary right now. Please let me go, I promise if I hear something I'll tell you. I swear Waters.”

*****

Theodric looks sincere.

It pisses him off, cause now he’s gonna have to resort to a more classic approach and act like a regular cop: talk to the wife and relatives. He hates to act like a regular cop, hates to talk to the wives. He doesn’t know how to deal with crying people. He used to be good at people skills, he’s not anymore.

He needs a drink.

He ends up at the Quicksand like always. It’s a second house for all sorts of human trash: bikers, dealers, pimps, him...

Thancred likes the atmosphere, and the barmaid, Lya. Lya is good. It sounds dumb, but she is. She smiles all the time and listens to everyone’s bullshit without judging. She’s pretty too, beautiful even. When she smiles it's a bit like a breeze blowing over a field of poppy, it shakes him to the core. It shakes up any guy. They all want to throw themselves in her arms and let her lull them to sleep as a mother would. She could turn the most vicious wolf into an obedient little lamb with just one smile. All the guys here come for her: the alcohol tastes like piss, the food is barely decent when it’s not expired, and the walls grow mold. But she's here. They all want her, but no one touches her. She’s broken, they all know that. They might be a bunch of heartless assholes, but they have principles. And Lya is off-limits. Her last boyfriend used to beat her up to a pulp, she still has a scar running down the side of her face. It doesn't take away from her beauty, but it drives him mad with rage.

One night he was taking a piss behind the bar – mind you the alley’s hygiene is better than the loo inside – he saw the guy slap her, and felt the irrepressible urge to externalize his rage on the asshole’s face, so he did. Repeatedly, until he was the one lying on the ground, pissing himself. They’ve been friends ever since. She listens to his stupid jokes, gives him the best food, stops pouring drinks when she thinks he’s too drunk and smiles at him. She smiles so brightly he feels like a little boy in a candy store, hopeful and fearless.

She looks out of place in this dirty joint full of heartless assholes, like a porcelain doll forgotten in a construction site, but she’s one of them: damaged. They don’t want to break her, they can all see the cracks in her porcelain skin, so no one touches her. They just pretend, pretend they have a chance, pretend they’re good enough for her. They even play this game where the last guy standing can ask her out. They drink until they either pass out or leave, and only one guy is left. The winner never asks her out, but still, they come every night to drink and dream.

*****

I always start with small incisions, quick and superficial. It stings just a little, but not too much. The most important thing is not the pain or the screaming, it’s the fear, the anticipation. It’s a wholesome experience: he gets to feel, see, and smell all of it. People often forget to mention the smell, iron and urea, blood and piss. The mix elicits a primal reaction: run, it says, run. But he can’t.

*****

It’s Monday and Thancred has an appointment with the third victim’s wife. She looks vaguely familiar, must be from the file or the guy’s belongings. The murderer never bothered to hide his victim's identity. Hell, they even leave a special box for passports and other personal stuff. So yeah, she looks familiar, but he’s been in Ul’dah for a while, so it’s not a surprise. What he can’t stand is the way she's fidgeting on her chair.

Thancred doesn’t like when the witness fidgets because a regular cop would think ‘hum, that’s suspicious'. Thancred tried being a regular cop once, wasn’t for him, so he stopped, started being an asshole instead with some instinct sprinkled on top, it was a wholesale price. Still, the fidgeting is annoying. And she still looks familiar, more than she should from just a file picture. Thancred can’t put his finger on it. Maybe he fucked her once. He was kind of a womanizer before his life went to shit, before Lahabrea. It doesn’t explain why she’s so nervous, or why she keeps nervously rubbing her arms. Nor does it explain the five layers of clothes. It’s at least 35° out, and she’s out in the sun with a freaking turtleneck. The outrageous makeup has to be the icing on the cake.

And that’s when it hits him. He knows her, but not from the file, or a one-night stand. She’s from Lya’s support group for battered women. That’s why she’s nervous. Not because he’s her former lover, not even because he’s a cop, but because he’s a man. That’s why number 3’s dead: he was trash like the rest.

"Excuse me for a few minutes."

Thancred gets up and exits the room, leaving the widow alone. He spots Minfilia across the room and strides towards her.

"Hey Min, I'm gonna need you to take this one."

"Why?", she teases, "finally found a widow impervious to your charms?"

"Pretty sure our so-called victim wasn't the loving husband he owed to be."

Understanding flashes on her face, she drops the file she was reading on her desk and follows him to the interrogation room. Relief washes over the widow’s face when she sees Minfilia.

“This is my colleague, Detective Warde. She’s going to take it from here.”

Then he’s out again, leaving the two women alone. He goes to his desk while Min does her thing, and looks for the victim’s name in the database. He doesn’t need to watch Min do her work, he trusts her to get the answers they need. The petite blonde has great people skills, and she’s one of the good ones. She's so good, it's hard not to hate her. He doesn't though, never did, never will.

She’s one of the few friends he has left, one of the few people to put up with his bullshit after Lahabrea's "incident". He loves her like the little sister he never had, and more than anything he respects her. She's a good friend and a good cop, something this city sorely lacks. Rhabdan runs a tight ship as chief of police, but there's always a few bad apples in the bunch, not Min though. She's one of the good ones, not some disillusioned asshole like him. It's hard to be hopeful in a city like Ul'dah where being rich means one can escape any form of responsibility. Like number 3 here. His wife's medical record is a testament to his behavior: bruised face, broken ribs, even lacerations. It's a miracle the woman is still alive. But her in-laws are rich, and influential: Lolorito's people. That's why Thancred is not so sure he wants to catch the killer, not when they're doing what he's not free to do himself.

When Minfilia is done with the interrogation, she motions for him to join her in the break room. She confirms what Thancred already knows: the guy was an asshole.

He needs a fucking drink.

*****

First I remove his dick, not like he’s gonna need it anymore. I do this slowly, very slowly. I want him to suffer. This is also what the mirror on the ceiling is for, and the tape on the eyelids, no escape. He must see everything and especially hear everything, the slightest tear of his flesh, the sound of his blood dripping on the sanitized tiles, the scalpel cutting his flesh, my slow breathing. The shock of emasculation makes him pass out. It’s okay, we have all the time. I cauterize his wound, I don't want him to bleed out and die. Not yet.

*****

Another corpse: emasculated, dismembered, and wrapped up like his buddies.

Thancred lights another cigarette and crouches down in front of the jar containing the head. He knows this face, he broke that nose: Lya's ex. Suddenly the crime scene doesn't seem ugly anymore, it shines with glitter and shit. It makes him happy to see that stupid face in a jar, means he won't be a problem for Lya anymore. He's also the second "victim" who likes to take out his anger on women, there has to be something there. Thancred needs to take another look at the first three victims, they can't be all that clean.

He ponders whether he should tell Lya about this. Would that make her happy? It might make her feel better, safer. "By the way, the asshole who used to beat you up is dead, a serial killer took care of it."

Yeah. Maybe he needed to work on his speech.

It’s just him and the old Bernie now, playing that secret game of theirs. The old man sends him a dirty look before finally getting up. Thancred wins tonight, and he plans on taking her out for real, not just in his head. It's a lucky day after all, maybe she'll say yes.

The bar is empty that time around. ‘Good’ he thinks, 'Her smiles will all be mine.'

She’s smiling more than usual, she looks happy even, so he decides not to say anything. She smiles, but she’s seldom happy, no point in ruining the mood. The asshole will be just as dead tomorrow. So he sits at the bar to be closer to her, and drinks while he tells her stupid nonsense. One drink, then a second, and finally a whole bottle.

*****

He waking up again, and we’re back in business. Killing a man isn’t easy work, but a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do. My mom used to tell me: “When things get hard, just put them in different boxes and deal with them one at a time.” So I do just that: I cut him into small pieces, wrap them up, put them in nice little jars.

First his right arm, the one he used to slap his women. I cut just below the elbow, he screams like a piglet being bled out. Then his left arm, all the way up to the shoulder, his legs, and finally his head.

*****

He wakes up to an empty room. Of course, she’s not here, why would she? She’s in his fantasy, not in his reality. It was such a vivid dream, it left him hard and wanting. He buries his face in the sheets, and he can almost smell her. As if dreams could leave a scent behind. Fucking morning wood. He needs release and a shower, but first, he wants a smoke.

He dreams of Lya that night.

She's riding him like a fierce amazon, her breasts moving to the rhythm of their bodies. Everything about her is erotic, her hungry gaze, her mischievous smile. That smile excites him as much as it soothes him. Fuck, he doesn't want to get out of this dream, but his alarm rings, and the dream is gone.

He walks to the kitchen naked, he lives alone and doesn’t give a fuck about flashing his neighbors. She’s standing in his kitchen, a coffee mug in hand. She’s wearing one of his shirts; it’s a bit too big for her, but too short to be decent. She’s so fucking beautiful wearing his clothes, if he wasn’t hard before, he certainly is now. And then he remembers everything.

She kissed him outside the restaurant, he wouldn’t have dared, but she kissed him. They ended up at his place. They made love on his couch, in the shower, in his bed. He didn’t fuck her, no, he worshiped her: kissed every inch of her skin, licked every freckle. He prayed to her body like a mad man, as much as he could, as much as she let him.

She said yes.

All the alcohol made his brain soft and mushy, but he remembers now. He helped her close the bar, and they went to that new place near his precinct. The one that stays open until 3 am. They talked, he told her he was a cop, she said she knew. It was written in the way he moved, in the way others moved around him. They talked all night long, and she smiled. Gods, that freaking smile got him good. They talked so much, they got kicked out.

He must look like a fucking idiot now, with that surprised look on his face and his hard cock because she bursts out laughing. A laugh that explodes like fireworks and ricochets against the walls of his apartment, leaving notes of bright colors everywhere. It's crazy how beautiful she is when she laughs. He wants her, needs her.

He strides towards her, lifts her off the floor, and drops her off her gently on the kitchen table. He doesn’t want to break her, doesn’t want to worsen the cracks in her porcelain skin. Then he makes love to her, in the middle of his kitchen, with the blinds open for the world to see. Because he can, because she wants him as much as he wants her.

*****

His instinct about the victims being trash was right.

After some heavy digging in the first two victims’ past, he finds what he needs. Victim number one’s a serial rapist: used to slip roofies in women’s drink, raped them, and filmed the whole thing, threatening to release the tapes if they tried to report him. Not that they would, the guy was filthy rich, another one of Ul’dah’s “cream of the crop”, these women knew they didn’t have a chance to see justice. If it wasn’t for his “barely legal” deep dive in the guy’s personal belongings - he might have stolen his computer after breaking into his parents’ house - Thancred wouldn’t even know about it.

Victim number 2 was no better, he had a long history of domestic violence and child abuse, but no open case, not even a complaint. Now adding number 3 and Lya’s ex to the list… these guys all deserved to die like pigs. He should say it, should even think like that, but he does. He doesn’t even want to catch the culprit, for all he cares they should be free to rid the city of these predators. Should even get paid for doing public service.

Looking at the so-called victim’s file drives him mad with rage. He wants to drink, but more than anything he needs to see Lya; He can even pretend to do police work while he’s at it. She knows at least one of the women, she’s a victim herself, maybe she knows more.

The Quicksand is packed. He has to share her smile and his time, it annoys him, but it's okay. Tonight she will be his, and his alone. He sits at the bar, she smiles at him, and he’s not mad anymore. He orders whiskey, then another, and another. After the third glass, the rush finally dies down, and they can talk. He tells her about his investigation, and tells her about her ex. She's a little shaken up, but it's okay, she is strong.

He shows her pictures of the victims, not the one from the autopsy, he’s not that stupid, pretty pictures with happy smiles and perfect lives. Moments of happiness he knows to be fake. He asks her if she knows the victims or their wives, through her support group, or by word of mouth. She nods. She knows the wives of 2 and 3, she talks to them often. She recognizes the last victim, of course, he was her monster.

Thancred’s curious to know what she thinks about all this, that’s the cop in him, but he’s also worried about how it’ll affect her.

“I don't know… well I do. I know I shouldn't be happy, but I am,” she admits. “I'm a little less afraid.”

He hates that she feels guilty.

“I’m glad he’s dead,” he states, hoping she’ll feel relieved that those words are coming from him. “Now, I know he won’t prowl you around anymore.”

She smiles softly, and he has the urge to make love to her on the bar, in front of everyone. But he won’t, Lya is a goddess, not a girl who gets fucked in a bar. He’s going to buy her flowers, and maybe a nice bottle of wine. He might even light some candles to set the mood, then he’s gonna make love to her, again and again until they both pass out in blissful exhaustion.

*****

I dispose of his body in one of the city’s garbage dumps. It’s the perfect place to get rid of a body. And this open sky trash dump is perfect for me: exactly what this trash deserves. The people who live here all look dead, the only thing that sets them apart from my guy is the steady movement of their hearts. That, and the fact that they’re all in one piece, for the most part.

*****

Reports come back on Lya’s ex.

Toxicology’s clean, no head trauma either, he wasn’t drugged or incapacitated like the others. He might have known his assailant. The rest of the report looks similar at first glance, cuts all over the body, severed limbs, emasculation, beheading. It’s the same MO but somehow it feels messier: the body shows hesitation marks, the cuts are deeper, meant to hurt... it feels more personal, like an act of revenge.

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

*****

He opens up his flat’s door and practically runs towards the kitchen. He needs a drink before seeing Lya. It can’t be her, when she smiles the ground shakes, she turns wolves into lambs. She’s so small, with soft porcelain skin, tiny hands… It can’t be her, yet his guts tell him otherwise.

He’s halfway in the kitchen when he spots her. She’s waiting for him, his backup gun in those tiny hands of hers. When he dreamt of coming home to her that’s not what he had in mind.

She’s smiling at him, a sad little smile because she doesn’t want to kill him, not really. He might be an asshole but he doesn’t hurt women. Maybe she likes him too. She’s crying now, tears rolling down her beautiful face. It’s stupid but he still wants to throw himself in her arms. It’s stupid because she’s going to kill him.

She’s gonna try anyway.

*****

Gunshots echo in the room, followed by the loud thud of a lifeless body hitting the ground.

#FFxivWrite2021 #FFxivWrite #ffxiv fanfiction #FFxiv #my writing #Thancred Waters #wolcred #wolnpc

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themovieblogonline · 7 months ago

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Neighborhood Alert: A Reality Check Wrapped in Film

Cinematography, plot, acting... these are the trifecta of any movie review. But when it comes to "Neighborhood Alert," there's a deeper conversation that needs to be had. This film doesn't just entertain; it hits a raw nerve and forces us to confront uncomfortable truths about race and societal dynamics. The Good Alright, let's get into the good stuff first. This movie's got some serious cinematography skills. The film opens with a breathtaking drone shot of the neighborhood, instantly establishing the setting and mood. It's a visual feast that immerses you in the world of the characters. The aerial views are not just beautiful; they are purposeful, providing context and a sense of place that’s crucial for the narrative. Plus, the lead actress, Constance Ejuma, brings it. She's nailing it with her performance, and her worried mama energy on point. Her performance is a bright spot, elevating the scenes she’s in and anchoring the film with her emotional gravitas. Noah Abbott as Chike isn't bad either. Abbott does a commendable job, of creating a believable and sympathetic character. They definitely hold the movie down, even when the supporting cast can be a little, well, uneven. Speaking of holding it down, the camerawork deserves another shoutout. This director knew what they were doing, capturing real moments and raw emotion. And hey, some of the jokes even landed. Not laugh-out-loud funny, but that dry wit that makes you smirk and nod your head. The Bad Now, we can't all be winners, right? The acting can be a bit stiff at times, and the dialogue? Sometimes it stumbles a bit. Look, I ain't here to sugarcoat it. The story itself is rough. It tackles that whole "existing while black" thing, and let's be real, it ain't sunshine and rainbows. It's heavy, the kind of movie that hits you right in the feels. It tackles themes of black suffering and racial stereotypes head-on. While these stories are essential and reflective of real-life issues, it begs the question: who are these movies for? Are they meant to educate, to elicit empathy, or to provide a mirror for black audiences? Here's the thing, though. These stories are important. They spark conversations, even if they make you uncomfortable. But who exactly are they for? Is it gonna shame the racists into changing their ways? Probably not. But maybe, just maybe, it'll make you think twice about the world we live in. The Bottom Line "Neighborhood Alert" ins't perfect. The acting's a mixed bag, the dialogue could use some work, and the story is a straight-up gut punch. But here's the thing: it's real. It forces you to confront the uncomfortable realities of racial profiling. The scene where the mom introduces herself and her son to the neighbors and hands out contact information for her son's safety is both heartbreaking and relatable. It's a stark reminder of the extra steps black families often have to take to ensure their safety. This moment resonated deeply with me. It's a sad but necessary addition to the list of talks black parents have with their children. Like how to interact with the police, what to do when pulled over, and now, how to navigate their own neighborhood safely. So, should you watch it? If you're looking for a light and fluffy comedy, move along. But if you want a film that'll make you think, that'll stay with you long after the credits roll, then give "Neighborhood Alert" a shot. A Brief History of the African Film Festival The African Film Festival (AFF) is a global movement celebrating the rich and diverse cinema from Africa and the African diaspora. The first AFF was held in New York City in 1989, and since then, it's grown into a major platform for independent filmmakers and established directors alike. The AFF showcases a wide range of genres, from documentaries and dramas to comedies and animation, all with a focus on stories from the African continent and its global communities. Read the full article

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leviathangourmet · 4 years ago

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(Archive Link)

I recently attended a Washington-D.C. event focused on community-building hosted by The Aspen Institute’s Weave project, which works to reduce social isolation and build bonds between Americans. During one portion of the event, various activists described how racism had impacted their lives and their communities. Following a number of such testimonials, a white woman from southeast Ohio named Sarah Adkins spoke about her own community work, which involves raising money to provide post-trauma support to individuals affected by tragedies.

Perhaps because several speakers had discussed racism and issues related to white privilege, Adkins spoke about her own self-perceived racial privilege. “I followed the perfect mold…I did all the things, I went to college, and I keep thinking of white privilege in my head so forgive me, that’s what’s in my head right now, very much white privilege,” she said, while reflecting on her middle class life in an affluent neighborhood.

But Adkins also went on to describe the reason she originally had become involved in community work—which is that her then-husband had killed both of her sons and then later took his own life. One can only imagine how much suffering this caused her. Yet she still viewed herself as privileged due to her race.

“I was wealthy, okay, I was a pharmacist, I made a lot of money, right? So after that happened, I really wanted to understand that for me there definitely was a lot of white privilege. I had money, I had health insurance, so people came in and cleaned up my house. I was able to pay for a funeral for my children,” she said.

I wondered how someone who’d lived through such an awful tragedy could consider themselves to be in any way “privileged.” Yes, she had the funding to clean up her home and bury her relatives. But nearly everybody has at least some advantages in life. It feels perverse for someone who has suffered so much to be confessing their perceived advantages.

When activists and academics invoke the phrase “white privilege,” they typically are speaking of advantages that whites, on average, have over members of other ethnic minority groups in our society. And there is no doubt that racial inequality is both real and persistent in the United States, where I live, and elsewhere. There is a sizable racial wealth gap, a life expectancy gap, and an incarceration gap. Many of America’s most pressing social problems disproportionately harm people from minority groups.

But there is a danger that, by talking about this inequality as an all-consuming phenomenon, we will end up creating a flattened and unfair image that portrays all whites in all situations and all contexts as benefiting from unearned advantages. Indeed, it’s possible that we will cause people to confuse a structural inequality that exists on the level of group average with the circumstances of every individual within a particular racial group.

In the case of Adkins’s tragic story, it’s not even clear that being white in any way constituted a form of privilege. Recent research has found a huge surge in white working-class suicides. In 2017, whites in the United States had a suicide rate of 17.8 per 100,000; for Hispanics, that rate was 6.9; for African-Americans, it was 6.9. The only group with a higher suicide rate than whites was Native Americans, at 22.2.

The phenomenon of suicide is not perfectly understood, but it is generally believed that loneliness and alienation are driving factors. Whites in America tend (on average) to be more culturally individualistic, while those from other groups tend (again, on average) to exhibit more collectivist social values. The group of which I am part, Asian-Americans, would be “privileged” on this index, since our rate (6.6) is well below that of whites. But would it really be wise for me to tackle the social problem of suicide by zooming in on some idea of “Asian privilege?”

In fact, research recently published in the Journal of Experimental Psychology suggests that such an approach wouldn’t just be unhelpful. It would actually be harmful.

I recently interviewed Erin Cooley, a psychology professor and lead researcher at Colgate University, about her research for Greater Good magazine. She studies prejudice and structural inequality and her research has illuminated the ways in which persistent racism continues to negatively impact the lives of racial minorities in America. A study she recently published, for instance, shows how participants were more likely to associate poverty with blacks as opposed to whites. Her team found that this association helps predict opposition toward policies that involve economic redistribution, since it is widely believed that these policies benefit blacks over whites.

Her team was curious about the impact of teaching people about white privilege. Would it make people more sympathetic toward poor blacks? As part of their research, Cooley and her colleagues offered study participants a reading on white privilege—based partly on the seminal work of Peggy McIntosh, who originally formulated the concept in the 1980s—and then described to them the plight of a hypothetical man, identified as either white or black, who is down on his luck.

What the researchers found is that among social liberals—i.e., participants who had indicated that they hold liberal beliefs about social issues—reading a text about white privilege did nothing to significantly increase their sympathy toward the plight of poor blacks. But, as Cooley told me, “it did significantly bump down their sympathy for a [hypothetical] poor white person.” (Among conservative participants, there was observed no significant change in attitudes at all.)

What accounts for this? One possibility is that social liberals are internalizing white-privilege lessons in a way that flattens the image of whites, portraying all of them as inherently privileged. So if a white person is poor, it must be his or her own fault. After all, they’ve had all sorts of advantages in life that others haven’t.

When we talk about racial inequality, it is important to understand that we’re often talking about structural or society-wide averages, not the status of all individuals at all times. It is true, for instance, that African Americans are disproportionately impacted by poverty. That means a higher percentage of African Americans live in poverty as compared to whites. But the largest number of individuals in the United States who live in poverty are white. We can’t, and we shouldn’t, assume anything about any individual’s life solely based on his or her race, or based on larger facts about racial inequality.

Racism exists, of course, and its impact is disproportionately felt by society’s minority populations. I have personally spent a decent chunk of my reporting career documenting this. But the fact that disparate treatment is inflicted on racial minorities doesn’t prove the existence of an all-encompassing pattern of white privilege. “If you’re white, chances are seeing a police officer fills you with one of two things: relief or gratitude,” writes one advocate of a privilege-centric worldview. But around half of the people who are killed every year by U.S. police officers are white. True, police violence falls disproportionately on ethnic minorities, especially African Americans. But if you’re white and you’ve been abused by a police officer, your individual experience may be just as painful as that of a black person who’s suffered similar abuse.

If we extend the logic of privilege beyond the issue of race, it’s easy to see the flaws with this approach. We know, for instance, that 93 percent of people in U.S. federal prisons are men. In nearly every part of the criminal justice system, in fact, men on average have it worse than women do. But does that then mean we should be discussing “female privilege”? Would it be beneficial to the men behind bars for women to proclaim awareness of their “privileged” status?

A typical conservative response to privilege discourse is to downplay the very real inequalities that exist. This isn’t helpful. We can’t escape talking about inequality in a diverse society. For instance, we shouldn’t shy away from looking at high maternal mortality rates among black women and how it may be linked to inadequate cultural competence among medical staff. However, what I would suggest is that we change the way we talk about this inequality. Asking whites to publicly confess their white privilege—in a manner that often resembles a religious ritual more than anything else—may lead us to unfairly flatten the experience of whites while, ironically, actually shifting attention away from those who are underprivileged. The Cooley study shows that this isn’t just a hypothetical concern; it’s a reality that has been demonstrated through research.

One alternative to white-privilege discourse would be to focus on the causes and consequences of deprivation rather than on naming groups of people we believe to hold special advantages—and to stop referring to things that we should expect for all people as “privileges.” It is not a privilege to have a decent and safe childbirth, or avoid harassment by the police, or to have enough to eat. All of those things should be something we expect. While we can and should aggressively address inequality, we should make sure the methods we employ serve to strengthen our sense of empathy rather than sap it.

#social science #social justice #racism #critical race theory #equity #affirmative action #equality #anti-racism #article #faq

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aion-rsa · 4 years ago

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The Simpsons Season 32 Episode 17 Review: Uncut Femmes

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This The Simpsons review contains spoilers.

The Simpsons Season 32 Episode 17

The Simpsons Season 32, episode 17, ” Uncut Femmes,” is a caper comedy, and criminals Sarah Wiggum (Megan Mullally) and Fat Tony (Joe Mantegna) steal every scene they are in. Over the course of the jewel heist parody at the center of the installment, we learn Chief Wiggum’s wife has a shady past, and the neighborhood mob boss has a paternal presence. They don’t have any scenes together, but they make crime pay off, and prove two or so wrongs can make a right.

“Oh, my hallway-walking God,” the episode opens, as a workplace atrocity leads to a nondisclosure agreement which results in two front-row seats at a Bob Seger concert. The rock star plays himself, but goes against the wind. Yes, this is the Silver edition of his Bullet Band, but when he learns both Homer and Chief Wiggum dumped an overnight field trip with the kids on their wives to make the show, he feels obliged to remind them: a wife, like rock and roll, never forgets. Who knew a Detroit belter like Seger could throw such guilt?

The trip is to a World War II battleship, retrofitted to look like it did back in May 1943. That was the last time it was scrubbed, and the kids and wives get keelhauled into breaking up everything but the barnacles. They swab the decks and are told they’re killing Oxees, which sounds enough like Nazis for Springfield Elementary. Nick Offerman voices Captain Bowditch, who Sarah Wiggum calls Captain Dingdong before robbing his liquor cabinet and sharing a bottle with Marge.

The police chief’s wife also shares some unexpectedly relatable problems, like the pressures of being married to “a man with a dangerous job he’s just not good at” But her best comic line is about her husband’s health, and how every slice of cheese could be his last. The bonding scene is very effective, warm and witty. Both women give up so much because they are mothers.

Sarah Wiggum gave up a glitzy and glamorous life of crime, like the Ocean’s 8 masterminds. She was the getaway driver on the famed “Hourglass Diamond” heist. Her story is broken down in a flashback sequence with subtitles like “The Grab,” “The Camaraderie,” and “The Double Cross.” To give historical perspective, one of the items which the young thieves steal, while listening to Gwen Stefani’s “Hollaback Girl,” are MP3 players which held over 300 songs.

In the segment entitled “The Honey Pot,” Sarah explains her own role in the robbery. “The Chump” denotes when she met Clancy Wiggum, then a mere security guard, working his way through one of his many attempts at passing the police academy. “I love a man in a rented uniform,” she says.

Marge had to miss the one event she gets to share with her sisters’ friends, which includes the crumbs of the crème de la crème of Springfield’s LGBTQ community: Watching the annual Gen Gala on TV and making scathing remarks. Marge is jonesing for snark. She’s got an itch to throw good shade. This would be a blast to hear from Marge, who is “still working up the courage to call a man the B word.” This year’s Gala is themed, “The Audacity.” The prior year was called “The Nerve. Marge breaks her usual reserve to tell Rihanna she listens “to the clean versions of all your songs.”

Marge is so consistently Marge-like, so clearly defined within the vantage point the series has set up for her. Marge’s first words, when trying to start a conversation with Sarah, are “the top 10 ways of starting a conversation.” When she is kidnapped, she observes whoever had the bag over their face before her was a smoker. Julie Kavner also pulls off amazing physical comedy in this episode, even though it’s vocal acrobatics. When Marge is bound by Sarah’s old gang, she hops away – chair, pole and all – to allow them to scheme. She points to their scheme-board with her high mound of hair, which she later uses to blur surveillance cameras. Kavner’s inquisitive or insistent moans fuel every blue follicle.

To distract the mark, Lindsey Naegle, Marge makes small talk about common household chores the VIP would never do herself, like paying attention to whether you switch delicates to extra warm when you’re doing laundry. “You’re not famous, so you don’t exist,” Lindsey, who pocketed the diamond for herself to buy a celebrity lifestyle, snorts at Marge. Her husband, Springfield’s beloved Rainier Luftwaffe Wolfcastle, takes this gag to an absurd conclusion. Wolfcastle has no idea what the two were talking about when he enters the scene, but he is more blinded by his celebrity. He asks his wife why she’s talking to an empty chair. It’s all a punchline which lands on “somebody stop those nobodies,” a masterful twist of social restraint.

Ultimately, one of the snarkiest lines turns out to be a comment on Marge, when she makes a very surprising appearance at the Gala. But only because “she looks like dirt” walking a red carpet designed for 20 plus-size gladiators to carry Beyoncé. The snide aside comes across as exactly what Marge would’ve wanted.

The episode has plenty of successful throwaway sight gags. Homer closes shop at his post at the nuclear plant with the same kind of cage storefronts lock up with after hours. We’re not sure if this means the workers on the other side are locked in the workspace without emergency supervision for the whole weekend, though.

The kidnapping is first reported by Chief Wiggum’s son, Ralph, who was watch commander on deck. Fat Tony will come to be simpatico with Ralph in hysterically edgy ways later in the episode. They both “know nothing about nothing.” Until he met Ralph, Fat Tony thought putting crumbled Oreos on ice cream would be redundant, but now finds it transcendent. It is like a grooming process; the police chief’s son even begins wearing a matching fur coat. And when a kid behind an ice cream counter tells Ralph not to grab at the Gummy Bears, Fat Tony says “if the boy wants this the boy wants to smooch, the boy will spook smooch.” He could be telling The Bronx Tale. Ralph’s rejoinder, “I love you, scary daddy,” is so in keeping with his character of cluelessly deranged innocence.

When Homer and Wiggum first learn their wives are missing, the police chief immediately blames Fat Tony. The reputed, reported, alleged and convicted crime boss is plainly being honest when he says he would never even consider such a crime. First of all, how would he finish the sentence “it would be a shame if something were to happen to?”

Wiggum is very important to crime in the town. This episode points out how it flourishes under his lazy watchful eye. Fat Tony loves “Chief Bungles” because he’s a horrible cop. Even Sarah admits her husband is “better at planting evidence than finding it.” But, more importantly to Fat Tony, the chief loves the top cop because he is a selfish man. He’s on the take from Burns, Fat Tony, and we know from past episodes he’s in on schemes with Mayor Quimby. But some things, even a cartoon mob boss cannot forget.

Fat Tony is surprisingly woke in his off hours. It’s the espresso. His men only yell respectful innuendoes at attractive women. The boss not only tutors Homer and Clancy on ways to respect their wives, but takes care of Ralphie while he lets the men fix their marriages. The male gaze is all over this episode, and it gets poked in the eye repeatedly. From WWII books to gender-trading action movie remakes. The real Silver bullet is the truth. Seger’s concert T-shirt is actually a list of things he has to get done to keep his marriage happy, including getting a C-PAP for his snoring.

For Homer, this change is as sweet as a donut, the ordeal makes him notice what Marge looks like when she’s happy. Clancy realizes, for the first time in his long career, that there is a museum in town. At their heart, Homer and the Chief are really only paying attention to their wives for themselves. Oh, and for Bob Seger, they did promise him that. The lesson they learn when confronted with their selfish ways is: “it’s all about us.”

The final part of the scheme earns its subtitle as the exact kind of surprise double revenge twist we have come to expect from this genre. The only difference is what kind of spin the parody will take. Things have a special way of falling on The Simpsons. In a classic early episode, Homer took a memorable tumble down the rocky edges of a cliff in a failed daredevil stunt. So, he knows to get out of the way when Lindsey comes tumbling down the stairs at the Gala. She tumbles long enough for Wolfcastle to find a newer, younger, more trophy of a wife. In real life the fall would have killed her, and Marge would feel terrible. Thank god for animation. Kids, don’t try this at home.

“This isn’t about the cash, it’s about righting a wrong and looking damn good doing it,” Sarah convincingly explains when she lays out the premise of the heist. By the end, Marge declares it “best field trip of my freaking life,” which is what the episode seems to be going for. It’s fun, more fun than most school trips, and it teaches a lesson.

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“Uncut Femmes” is a fun and playful movie satire. It captures the suspense, romance, glamour and pace of a heist film, but puts The Simpsons touch on it. Marge shines in the unexpected, manages to clean house at the same time, and brings Homer into an understanding. The crooks get away with it, and nothing will change. Like so many crimes in Springfield, it’s got Chief Wiggum on the case, and that’s like having no one at all.

The post The Simpsons Season 32 Episode 17 Review: Uncut Femmes appeared first on Den of Geek.

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eiirisworkshop · 4 years ago

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Soul

2020, Dir. Pete Docter, Kemp Powers

Overall Quality ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️5/5

Entertainment Value ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️5/5

Story ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️5/5

Visuals and Craft ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️5/5

Soul is a beautiful movie, both in terms of visual artistry and in what it shows and says about people, about passion and fear, about life. Pete Docter—who is also the mind behind Inside Out, Up, and WALL-E—clearly has a feel for the depth and nuance of human emotion, and it is my understanding that we have Kemp Powers largely to thank for taking Docter's initial story of a soul reluctant to experience life and turning it into the celebration of Black American community that the finished film is.

The story is one of learning to appreciate life, to live for the sake of the little things that bring you happiness whatever they may be, to not tie yourself up too much in the idea of having to have a particular goal that you must constantly strive for and achieve otherwise you're a failure. The film tells its characters—and through them, us, the audience—not to be so hard on yourself, and also to be gentle with and mindful of each other because we all have struggles and we all impact each other. It's very astute in its assessment of human behavior and the message is one that I think we all could use to take to heart. That's one thing that Docter's films all seem to have in common: they teach, directly without being heavy handed, lessons about life that are just as important for adults in the audience to learn as for the kids.

This message is taught through interpersonal relationships (with only the slightest passing mention of romance!) that center the importance of community. School, the way a good teacher can impact kids, the cultural importance of the barber shop and of matriarchs in the Black community are all given particular emphasis. There's a groundedness to the world of the film—highlighted, not detracted from, by the fantastical elements—that's artful, and often subtle. The subway is grimy, but the music being played by a busker in the station touches the heart. The neighborhood with its driveways full of taxicabs is, by that wordless detail, shown to be working class, and it is precious and it's home.

There is a sequence that does deserve the warnings floating around about it, because it very accurately portrays the experience of a sensory overload and may be triggering for some viewers, especially because it comes on abruptly, but it's brief and only happens once. A later sequence deserves a similar warning for portraying the experience of a rejection-sensitive dysphoria or similar anxiety spiral.

The visuals of the film are stunning. The etherial texturing of everything in The Great Before is reminiscent of the soft effervescence of Joy in Inside Out and feels appropriate to the setting. The real world, living world sequences are where the animation really shines, though, particularly in lighting and the rendering of Black bodies—two things which are ultimately closely tied together.

One of the trickiest things CG animation tackles when attempting photorealistic texturing (which the vast majority of CG films do, even when the designs are stylized) is recreating the way light interacts with human skin. The difficulty in getting CG skin to not look wrong and deeply unsettling is, for the record, exactly why the first Pixar feature film is about toys. Plastic is relatively easy to render. If anything, “looking like plastic” is the default mode of CG animation.

Anyway. Skin is made up of layers of varying translucence, so light passes into it some before bouncing back. That process behaves differently on lighter vs darker skin because dark skin isn't just darker, it's more opaque—more, but not entirely. Now, in the early days of photorealistic CG we were actually better at dark skin than light—in Final Fantasy: The Spirits Within (a groundbreaking foray into CG filmmaking from 2001), the character who looks distinctly the least plastic is Ryan, the one Black man among the cast. But as time has gone on, an enormous amount of time, money, and effort has been poured into attempting to perfect CG renderings of light skin, while dark skin has been neglected, so we've gotten white characters (and a few lightskinned characters of color) who look more and more human while the few Black CG characters out there have lagged behind in plastic land.

For Soul, the time, money, and effort has been put in to close that gap. We get Black characters in sunlight, under stagelights, in dim oblique lamplight, under harsh yet innadaquate subway fluorescents, and they look human. Their skin looks like Black skin—there are a couple moments in particular that really capture the kind of soft, refractive glow you get from dark skin in bright light, which I have never seen animated before.

The lighting team for this movie deserve all the accolades they can get. In addition to the above, Soul features the distinct look of extremely high-gloss black piano finish under various lighting conditions, brass instruments of varying levels of polished under various lighting conditions, city streets at all times of day, a sequined dress under stagelights, sunlight filtering through the semi-translucent leaves of a maple tree in seed—all of which look exactly right—and a square of sunlight through a window that just looks warm.

The character designs are stylized in a way that reminds me of the work of caricature artists you often find in city parks—each individual's physical characteristics are emphasized such that they made even more distinctly them, which is pretty much the exact opposite of the genericized, stereotyped, frankly racist character design that's still all too common.

I have seen some not-entirely-undeserved critique comparing Soul to The Princess and the Frog for having the Black main character spend a significant portion of the film in the body of an animal. I feel like there's an important difference between the two, though, in that the protagonists of Princess and the Frog are transformed into animals so that for the bulk of the movie there are not Black bodies on screen and the story is divorced from those characters' existence as people of color, whereas Soul is a body swap situation where the experience of the characters existing in a Black body, living life, and interacting with the community around them is key.

There's pages more that I could write, analyzing and gushing about this film, the way it treats jazz music and the historical importance of that art form in Black culture and wider American culture, the impeccable rendering of various hair textures, the humor, the validation and value it gives to people who are often treated as lesser (public school teachers, children, sign-spinners), but for brevity let me just say:

This is an excellent movie. It's worth watching. It's good that it was made, and I think it may represent an important turning point in the film industry. Time will tell what its legacy ends up being, but for now, it's a really enjoyable film.

#soul #soul (2020)#movies #movie review #eiiri reviews movies

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babbushka · 5 years ago

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i’m not sure if you’ve already addressed this, since i haven’t been on tumblr in a bit, but do you support acab? and if you don’t mind me asking, how does your personal au play into that? i’ve been feeling really conflicted about my appreciation of characters who are law enforcement, because i find it difficult to separate real life connotations from those characters, especially because i am a proponent of acab. i hope this doesn’t come off as rude, just wanted some advice.

I’m going to put my response under a cut because it’s long and I have a lot of thoughts surrounding this matter but if you read nothing else, please know this: I have always been, and will always be, a supporter of the BLM movement. I believe that if you are a human being, a decent human being, you must be in support of the BLM movement.

It is a moral obligation, to stand with those who face oppression, and support them in any way that you can. Particularly if you are someone (read: white) who exercises a privilege that exempts you from the oppression they face. We have a duty to our own humanity to amplify the voices of the communities which have been persecuted, otherwise we are no better than those who carry out the persecution.

As a person who exists within the spheres of different marginalized and persecuted communities (lgbtqia+ and jewish), I do not pretend to conflate one form of oppression with another -- however I do know the life of someone who is hunted, and I empathize as deeply as I can.

No one is free, until we are all free, and those freedoms do not come easily. I believe that it is not enough to say ‘i’m not racist!’ because racism is an institutionalized system that is integrated into every policy, and societal structure that this country has. We must be actively anti-racist, to be anything else is complicit in further oppression.

I personally believe, that there’s no such thing as a “good cop”, because the American police force is quite literally built on the grounds of racism, classism, antisemitism, and sexism. Cops have attacked my people since their inception, and they are attacking people now. They will attack people again. The system is designed to protect an incredibly specific type of human, and that is simply unacceptable. Too many people join the police force as an explicit means to attack, to harm, to carry out their personal prejudices because they know the system will support them when they do. I want to say ACAB, I do, because the vast majority of them are.

However.

I cannot ignore the incredibly small minority (because let’s be very very clear, it is a minority) of people who become police because they truly believe they are helping their community. I cannot ignore the men and women who seek to fight the system from the inside, who challenge the corruption and the brutality head-on. I cannot ignore the people of color, the queer people, the people from marginalized religious backgrounds, who fight to act as a voice for their community in an otherwise unrepresented group of violent forces.

And I’m not talking about cops who don’t harm people and just carry on their business with a blind eye. They’re as complicit as those who do harm people. I’m talking about the cops that expose the corruption within their ranks, who put their own lives and careers on the line to rid their precincts of brutality because it’s the right thing to do. I’m talking about the cops who go against orders to keep protesters safe, cops who genuinely do care about the people in their neighborhoods -- all the people.

Now, all this being said, the actions of an incredibly small percentage of cops cannot and should not be used to cover up or excuse the horrific actions of the majority of police officers. But I am a personal believer that change cannot happen from the outside alone. There must be action from within the system in addition to external pressures. There must be supporters from within the institution that agree with the movement happening outside of it.

One of the things that I thought was so well done about BlackKklansman, is the back and forth that Patrice and Ron have, regarding the concept of Ron being an officer to genuinely do good and fix the system, and Patrice arguing that it’s just not possible. I personally am on Ron’s side, that though it may seem impossible, we are obligated to at least try.

And that’s kind of where I fall with the personal AU. For me, Flip is one of the very very few cops out there who, like Ron, is willing to put himself on the front lines to expose corruption and make significant change. The fic that I’m working on, Break The Blue Wall, is entirely about this topic, the idea of exercising privilege in a meaningful way. Do I like that Flip is a cop given the history of police and my people? Of course not.

But do I think that he has to be condemned for it when he uses his position as a cop to support the movement of challenging oppression and brutality? I don’t know.

I know that all of this is coming from a place of conditional privilege as a white person (I say conditional because nazis/klansmen do not care if you’re white when they find out you’re Jewish, they view us as almost a subhuman species). I know that. I am trying my best to learn and educate myself as much as I possibly can, to stand up for and lend my support to the BLM movement. I have signed petitions and called representatives, I’ve emailed, I’ve donated to various different funds and organizations, I’ve tried sharing comprehensive information so that others can educate themselves too, without bombarding everyone with posts because I know that so many people come to this blog as an escape from the horrors of the world.

I want to go out into the streets and stand in solidarity with those who protest, but as we’re still in the middle of a global pandemic and I live with imunno-compromised family members, amassing in large quantities isn’t something that’s possible for me at the moment.

I don’t know if I have any advice to offer you, aside from just think critically about the stories being told by characters in law enforcement. Think about the people who are writing the scripts, the producers of the show or movie. Think about the message that these shows send on an objective scale. If it’s a bunch of white dudes writing a quirky sitcom about a group of goofball lovable cops, that’s important. But if it’s people of color expressing their experiences with law enforcement in a poignant and realistic manner, that’s important too.

I hope that this cleared up any sort of mystery or confusion or questions about my beliefs and opinions on the subject matter. I don’t want to talk about it any more than this, because to be totally honest, I mentally like, just kinda can’t handle it. And I know that’s a privileged thing to think, but please know that behind the scenes and behind the screen, I’m doing all the steps I deem necessary to support BLM.

#Anonymous #cowboy answers

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