#just like. don’t disrespect people. be mindful with your work. but also— BE LIBERAL with catering your fandom space!

[blank-space-daisy13]

Why I won’t invite my biological father to my wedding.

I wanted to post this on Instagram or Facebook but I don’t want to deal with people saying I’m “drama.” But I wanted to write this out just in case someone is ballsy enough to ask me.

Let’s start off with the fact that after he got with my step mom, he wasn’t really around. He also never really cared or tried to take care of us (my brother and me) unless he absolutely had to.

Before my step mom and when we still lived in the apartment, On nights he had us my mom would drop us off already fed, he’d turn the tv on and go play on his computer until we had to go to bed. If he had us on a weekend, same thing. We’d wake up and he’d feed us breakfast, then tv with him in his room on the computer, lunch, tv, dinner, tv, and bed. When we moved from the apartment we stayed at his buddy’s house where he rented a room but guess what? He’d send us down to the basement all day to watch tv, and let us up for meals.

When my stepmom came into the picture, we started going to Canada. On every single one of his weekends. She was nice, at first. Sooner or later everyone shows their true colors. But she started slowly to get a hold of my dad. (My dad had no boundaries with us and she wanted to “help” my dad learn to discipline, but she’s a little extreme.) I once got punished for saying the word “butt” because we only say, “bum” and he yelled at me. Yelled. I was about 7 or 8. Then I heard my future step mother telling him how good he did. Also while we were there, I remember very few times we actually hung out with my dad. It was always being shoved into the playroom with my brother, future stepsister, and sometimes future stepbrother. (Step mom never had full custody of stepbrother.) We’d never leave the playroom other than for meals like the TV. But at least we weren’t rotting our brains, I guess.

After awhile he decided he wanted 50/50 custody. My stepmom at this point could be brutal emotionally. I remember getting yelled at for not knowing any of my immediate family member’s birthdays. I was about 8 or 9. Kind of shitty don’t you think? Going back to the wanting 50/50 custody, he didn’t actually want us. Looking back I understand this now. He just didn’t want to pay as much child support, and that’s probably the only reason my step mom agreed to this. They treated us (my brother and i) horribly. He moved close to my mom’s to prove he’d be willing to do the 50/50 custody, and at that point it was hell. If we did something wrong, immediately we’d get soap in the mouth. My brother later on was getting hot sauce. It would be for things such as, “not sharing with your step sister,” (which she would’ve lied about) or “talking back,” when as a kid I was asking a simple question about their rules. They had so many rules to the point you didn’t realize you were breaking a rule until they told you it was one. My *fondest* memory was when they’d send us kids to the basement for a few hours during the weekend and then got mad when we went through boxes and such to find toys to play with. Because when they first sent us down there, they sent us down there with nothing at all. Sure we probably shouldn’t have gone through boxes, where my brother and I found our toys that they never put with our step sister’s toys, but they sent us down there with nothing at all. They expected us to “imagine” things with no toys. I also got yelled at one weekend because they asked us to clean our bathrooms. (Step sister and I shared a Jack and Jill bathroom and my brother had his own bathroom as well.) We went and picked things up and went back to play. They both yelled at us and said, “If I had meant pick up I would’ve said pick up. I said CLEAN.” At this point I had never cleaned a bathroom in my life. They gave us the cleaning supplies and we went to work. I did what I thought was the best I could do and then my stepmom yells at me, “That wasn’t nearly long enough!!!! Haven’t you ever cleaned a bathroom before?!” Uh no ma’am, I was literally 10. But that was her favorite way to make us feel like shit. To yell, “Haven’t you done XY&Z before?” Or “You don’t know (blank)?! So disrespectful! You should know these things!” (That was said about the birthdays. Again I was a decently young kid.) But going forward, towards the end of them living there, they had a baby together, my other brother J.

Luckily for my brother and I, he eventually gave up going for the 50/50 custody. But with doing this, he left and we didn’t see him for a long time. 5-6 years approximately. I was 15 when he decided he wanted to see us again, and because of everything we had gone through before, we didn’t want to. I had a choice but my brother didn’t, and I was forced to go.

At this point he had married my stepmother, and was living in the same subdivision, and one road away, where had had a house with my mom when they were married. Kind of awkward but ok.

And I have to say, they were better. To a point. They wanted us to feel bad that we didn’t want to be there. At the time I had a really old phone, not a smart phone, that didn’t lock, but they expected my phone to be on the counter at 9pm every night. They read my texts and held them against me, but when I called them out on reading my texts, they told me I was crazy. I would text my friends that I didn’t want to be there, and that I was uncomfortable. They asked me, “Why don’t you want to be here? Why are you uncomfortable? We understand what we did in the past was wrong, but the past is the past and you have to forgive us!” (One wrong thing I was always taught was you always have to forgive. You don’t always have to forgive for things that hurt you.) Finally at the end of this period, they sat us down and tried to make us feel bad by saying, “If you don’t want to be here, we don’t want you here. We want you to want to be here.” At 15 I tried to explain why this was hard, but they didn’t care. It wasn’t their way so they weren’t ok with it.

Fast forward to my Senior Year of high school, I don’t remember how, but my father and I got in touch. My step mom wanted nothing to do with me because of a dumb YouTube video I made at 14 where I “talked shit” about her daughter and herself. Yes, I did, but who didn’t do something dumb at 14? I wasn’t allowed around their house because HER son had a “drug problem.” (Marijuana) Whatever, I didn’t care. Slowly we lost touch because I was the only one calling, and I got sick of it. I was done. But I was still young.

Fast forward to me being a sophomore in college. I was 20 or 21. My brother had an issue that got the police and CPS involved. My father decided to text me and ask me what was going on. I called him and told him that he had “no fucking reason to know what was going on” because he was never around. He gaslighted me into feeling bad because I cussed him out for 10 minutes. But we kept contact after that because I had thought about it and I wanted to get to know my little brother J more. We did lose contact again but then we gain it back later on.

Skip forward a couple years and I’m talking to my cousin, (another thing was he kept us from his side of the family and I had lost contact with most of them until I was an adult.) my cousin told me he was going to MY little BABY sister’s 1st birthday. My father had been talking to me for a few months at this point and NEVER mentioned I had a baby sister. He told me, “I thought your aunt posted about it. I saw it on Facebook and assumed you knew!” It doesn’t matter whether I saw it on Facebook or not. He should’ve told me. But whatever, I let that go too.

Here is where I get frustrated. I wouldn’t call for a couple weeks because I didn’t think about it. I’ve only seen him twice in the past 9 years. But he would blame me for us not talking, when he’d never call or try to talk to me. It drives me crazy when people think like that. It’s not just my responsibility and mine alone.

Skip forward to a few months ago when he brought up politics. I hated this because I’m mostly liberal/democrat and he’s 100% republican. He called liberals “libtards” and goes, “you’re not a libtard are you?” And when I tell him it’s offensive he says, “It’s just a joke!” But now we’re here and yet again it’s been 2 or 3 months since we’ve spoken because he’s blocked my number. It goes straight to voicemail and my texts aren’t going through as iMessages. I’ve decided after trying for over two months, he’s uninvited to the wedding. He’s never met my fiancé, ever. We were only inviting him to be civil. But if he can’t even speak to me, I feel it’s not my problem, and it’s one less drama issue to worry about at the wedding.

My family can believe what they want. There are so many things left out of this 15 year drama circle of my father just disappearing. And I don’t care anymore. I hope someone asks why he wasn’t invited because I know for a fact he’ll be at least telling the whole family that he wasn’t invited. And I don’t mind sending them this so they can know why.

[vivithefolle]

You said something about Hermione being “that white feminist” (and so you don’t think a black actress would fit in the reboot). What do you mean?

First off, why I headcanon Hermione as white!

Next off, let’s look at S.P.E.W.:

"How dare you!" said Ron, in mock outrage. "We've been working like house-elves here!"

Hermione raised her eyebrows.

"It's just an expression," said Ron hastily. - Goblet of Fire, chapter 14

So Ron uses a rather racist… speciesist? Expression, then quickly amends when he sees Hermione’s reaction. That is good. This shows that even if he uses the expression, he can recognize it’s problematic.

And now for S.P.E.W….

She brandished the sheaf of parchment at them.

"I've been researching it thoroughly in the library. Elf enslavement goes back centuries. I can't believe no one's done anything about it before now. "

"Hermione - open your ears," said Ron loudly. "They. Like. It. They like being enslaved!"

"Our short-term aims," said Hermione, speaking even more loudly than Ron, and acting as though she hadn't heard a word, "are to secure house-elves fair wages and working conditions. Our long-term aims include changing the law about non-wand use, and trying to get an elf into the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, because they're shockingly underrepresented." - Goblet of Fire, chapter 14

Okay, yeah, that’s not on, Ron. Nobody likes being enslaved, ever. He’s only met one house-elf, and she didn’t seem very happy with being enslaved - but she seemed to despise freedom a lot more.

Meanwhile Hermione is on the warpath and is showing that she did research her stuff, although…

trying to get an elf into the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, because they're shockingly underrepresented

Very good! That’s excellent, a very good goal indeed. Only house-elves would know how to treat other house-elves better. …………. though, um, Hermione, haven’t you noticed that your, erm… organization for the right of house-elves… seems to also shockingly underrepresent house-elves?

But hey! At least she’s trying. She may want to look into actually talking to house-elves rather than trusting the stuff wizards have been writing about them, but…

"Listen, have you ever been down in the kitchens, Hermione?"

"No, of course not," said Hermione curtly, "I hardly think students are supposed to -"

"Well, we have," said George, indicating Fred, "loads of times, to nick food. And we've met them, and they're happy. They think they've got the best job in the world -"

"That's because they're uneducated and brainwashed!" Hermione began hotly, but her next few words were drowned out by the sudden whooshing noise from overhead, which announced the arrival of the post owls. - Goblet of Fire, chapter 15

And

A light rain had started to fall by midafternoon; it was very cozy sitting by the fire, listening to the gentle patter of the drops on the window, watching Hagrid darning his socks and arguing with Hermione about house-elves - for he flatly refused to join S. P. E. W. when she showed him her badges.

"It'd be doin' 'em an unkindness, Hermione," he said gravely, threading a massive bone needle with thick yellow yarn. "It's in their nature ter look after humans, that's what they like, see? Yeh'd be makin' 'em unhappy ter take away their work, an' insutin' 'em if yeh tried ter pay 'em. "

"But Harry set Dobby free, and he was over the moon about it!" said Hermione. "And we heard he's asking for wages now!"

"Yeah, well, yeh get weirdos in every breed. I'm not sayin' there isn't the odd elf who'd take freedom, but yeh'll never persuade most of 'em ter do it - no, nothin' doin', Hermione. "

Hermione looked very cross indeed and stuffed her box of badges back into her cloak pocket. - Goblet of Fire, chapter 15

… aaaaaand here we come to the problem with Hermione. Once she has an idea in her head, she won’t let go of it.

Fred and George have actually met the house-elves. Then Hagrid, our resident expert in Magical Creatures explains that house-elves seem to have a different view of their job than humans do.

Okay, but that’s what we’re told the house-elves are like. What are they actually like? Let’s go find our proof!

"Hermione!" said Ron, cottoning on. "You're trying to rope us into that spew stuff again!"

"No, no, I'm not!" she said hastily. "And it's not spew, Ron -"

"Changed the name, have you?" said Ron, frowning at her. "What are we now, then, the House-Elf Liberation Front? I'm not barging into that kitchen and trying to make them stop work, I'm not doing it -"

"I'm not asking you to!" Hermione said impatiently. "I came down here just now, to talk to them all, and I found - oh come on, Harry, I want to show you!" - Goblet of Fire, chapter 21

(I just want to point out that Ron has managed to find a better name than SPEW for Hermione’s organization in just a throwaway bit of brilliance. House-Elf Liberation Front spells HELF. H-ELF. House-ELF. Ron is brilliant and I will not have anyone say otherwise.)

So, Ron doesn’t want to “barge into” the kitchen to “try to make them stop work”, it doesn’t say anything about why he doesn’t want to do that, but Ron doesn’t seem to want to go inside the kitchen. Probably doesn’t want to disturb the elves.

And Hermione has finally learned that she’d be much better at this activism thing if only she actually talked to the people she’s activism-ing for! Good on her! And what she wants to show Harry is Dobby, for those who tried to make it into a Harmione moment.

"Would Harry Potter like a cup of tea?" [Dobby] squeaked loudly, over Winky's sobs.

"Er - yeah, okay," said Harry.

Instantly, about six house-elves came trotting up behind him, bearing a large silver tray laden with a teapot, cups for Harry, Ron, and Hermione, a milk jug, and a large plate of biscuits.

"Good service!" Ron said, in an impressed voice. Hermione frowned at him, but the elves all looked delighted; they bowed very low and retreated. - Goblet of Fire, chapter 21

So, Hermione isn’t happy with Ron, but the elves… the elves are certainly happy. Heh. :’) And hell, Ron has just given them a genuine compliment, he wasn’t being condescending or disrespectful.

And now…

Dobby beamed very brightly, and happy tears welled in his eyes again.

"And Professor Dumbledore says he will pay Dobby, sir, if Dobby wants paying! And so Dobby is a free elf, sir, and Dobby gets a Galleon a week and one day off a month!"

"That's not very much!" Hermione shouted indignantly from the floor, over Winky's continued screaming and fist-beating.

"Professor Dumbledore offered Dobby ten Galleons a week, and weekends off," said Dobby, suddenly giving a little shiver, as though the prospect of so much leisure and riches were frightening, "but Dobby beat him down, miss. . . Dobby likes freedom, miss, but he isn't wanting too much, miss, he likes work better." - Goblet of Fire, chapter 21

Ten Galleons a week and weekends off!! That’s big. I’m pretty sure Arthur Weasley doesn’t earn ten Galleons a week. And Dobby refused to take it! Dobby would rather work than be “free” in the sense Hermione thinks of it!

There is absolutely Blue And Orange Morality at play here! The house-elves do not work the way humans do! They are different in terms of culture and beliefs.

"Can't house-elves speak their minds about their masters, then?" Harry asked.

"Oh no, sir, no," said Dobby, looking suddenly serious. "'Tis part of the house-elf's enslavement, sir. We keeps their secrets and our silence, sir. We upholds the family's honor, and we never speaks ill of them - though Professor Dumbledore told Dobby he does not insist upon this. Professor Dumbledore said we is free to - to -"

Dobby looked suddenly nervous and beckoned Harry closer. Harry bent forward. Dobby whispered, "He said we is free to call him a - a barmy old codger if we likes, sir!"

Dobby gave a frightened sort of giggle.

"But Dobby is not wanting to, Harry Potter," he said, talking normally again, and shaking his head so that his ears flapped. "Dobby likes Professor Dumbledore very much, sir, and is proud to keep his secrets and our silence for him." - Goblet of Fire, chapter 21

So, Dobby does speak of it as enslavement, but in the same way he seems to not mind it very much if it concerns Dumbledore. Mostly because Dumbledore doesn’t actually force Dobby to uphold the full contract.

It’s again Blue And Orange Morality. Even if a secret could be very harmful, it’s a matter of pride for house-elves to never betray them. Dobby wanted to flee the Malfoy family because they were going to harm Harry, and Dobby liked Harry more than the Malfoys, which was why he went out of his way to help him and risked disgrace.

Ah, and what had the other house-elves had to say about Dobby’s behaviour?

"Dobby has traveled the country for two whole years, sir, trying to find work!" Dobby squeaked. "But Dobby hasn't found work, sir, because Dobby wants paying now!"

The house-elves all around the kitchen, who had been listening and watching with interest, all looked away at these words, as though Dobby had said something rude and embarrassing. Hermione, however, said, "Good for you, Dobby!"

"Thank you, miss!" said Dobby, grinning toothily at her. "But most wizards doesn't want a house-elf who wants paying, miss. 'That's not the point of a house-elf,' they says, and they slammed the door in Dobby's face! Dobby likes work, but he wants to wear clothes and he wants to be paid. Harry Potter. . . Dobby likes being free!"

The Hogwarts house-elves had now started edging away from Dobby, as though he were carrying something contagious. Winky, however, remained where she was, though there was a definite increase in the volume other crying. - Goblet of Fire, chapter 21

Yeah, Dobby is the only one who wants and enjoys freedom. And even then...

Dobby likes freedom, miss, but he isn't wanting too much, miss, he likes work better.

Is it insane? To a human it would be, but to a house-elf it’s probably normal. And who are we to declare that house-elves are brainwashed because they think differently from what a human thinks?

The problem is that we’re never given a clear answer. Are house-elves brainwashed or is it truly the way they are? Do house-elves need humans to survive or have humans forced them to become like this? How can we know? No answer is ever provided!

And let’s see how S.P.E.W. ends in GOF:

Winky's eyelids drooped and suddenly, without warning, she slid off her stool into the hearth, snoring loudly. The empty bottle of butterbeer rolled away across the stone-flagged floor. Half a dozen house-elves came hurrying forward, looking disgusted. One of them picked up the bottle; the others covered Winky with a large checked tablecloth and tucked the ends in neatly, hiding her from view.

"We is sorry you had to see that, sirs and miss!" squeaked a nearby elf, shaking his head and looking very ashamed. "We is hoping you will not judge us all by Winky, sirs and miss!"

"She's unhappy!" said Hermione, exasperated. "Why don't you try and cheer her up instead of covering her up?"

"Begging your pardon, miss," said the house-elf, bowing deeply again, "but house-elves has no right to be unhappy when there is work to be done and masters to be served. "

"Oh for heavens sake!" Hermione cried. "Listen to me, all of you! You've got just as much right as wizards to be unhappy! You've got the right to wages and holidays and proper clothes, you don't have to do everything you're told - look at Dobby!"

"Miss will please keep Dobby out of this," Dobby mumbled, looking scared. The cheery smiles had vanished from the faces of the house-elves around the kitchen. They were suddenly looking at Hermione as though she were mad and dangerous.

"We has your extra food!" squeaked an elf at Harry's elbow, and he shoved a large ham, a dozen cakes, and some fruit into Harry's arms. "Good-bye!"

The house-elves crowded around Harry, Ron, and Hermione and began shunting them out of the kitchen, many little hands pushing in the smalls of their backs.

"Thank you for the socks, Harry Potter!" Dobby called miserably from the hearth, where he was standing next to the lumpy tablecloth that was Winky.

"You couldn't keep your mouth shut, could you, Hermione?" said Ron angrily as the kitchen door slammed shut behind them. "They won't want us visiting them now! We could've tried to get more stuff out of Winky about Crouch!"

"Oh as if you care about that!" scoffed Hermione. "You only like coming down here for the food!"

It was an irritable sort of day after that. Harry got so tired of Ron and Hermione sniping at each other over their homework in the common room that he took Sirius's food up to the Owlery that evening on his own. - Goblet of Fire, chapter 28

Typical Harry, he tunes out the argument between Ron and Hermione. Ron probably didn’t like Hermione saying he only likes the elves for the food.

But look at Dobby, indeed. Dobby wants nothing to do with Hermione’s SPEW. Dobby doesn’t want to be the poster boy for house-elf freedom. Dobby wants to do his own thing and not be bothered for it.

No more to see in GOF after this. Moving on to OOTP.

'What in the name of Merlin are you doing?' said Ron, watching her as though fearful for her sanity.

'They're hats for house-elves,' she said briskly, now stuffing her books back into her bag. 'I did them over the summer. I'm a really slow knitter without magic but now I'm back at school I should be able to make lots more.'

'You're leaving out hats for the house-elves?' said Ron slowly. 'And you're covering them up with rubbish first?'

'Yes,' said Hermione defiantly, swinging her bag on to her back.

That's not on,' said Ron angrily. 'You're trying to trick them into picking up the hats. You're setting them free when they might not want to be free.'

'Of course they want to be free!' said Hermione at once, though her face was turning pink. 'Don't you dare touch those hats, Ron!'

She turned on her heel and left. Ron waited until she had disappeared through the door to the girls' dormitories, then cleared the rubbish off the woolly hats.

'They should at least see what they're picking up,' he said firmly. - Order of the Phoenix, chapter 13

Thank God for Ron.

I highlighted the “her face was turning pink” part because this highlights that Hermione is actually aware that she is tricking the elves. Ron says it and Hermione knows it’s true. But… the end justifies the means, to Hermione. Rather Slytherin of her in fact.

Meanwhile Ron is outraged on behalf of the elves. While Hermione wants to make the decision for them, Ron wants them to see and be able to make the choice themselves. And no, this isn’t OOC. This is Hermione’s qualities, her good heart and drive, becoming flaws, like qualities are often prone to do. Just like flaws can turn into qualities too. Peter Pettigrew was a coward but it sure saved his life, didn’t it?

'Winky is still drinking lots, sir,' [Dobby] said sadly, his enormous round green eyes, large as tennis balls, downcast. 'She still does not care for clothes, Harry Potter. Nor do the other house-elves. None of them will clean Gryffindor Tower any more, not with the hats and socks hidden everywhere, they finds them insulting, sir. Dobby does it all himself, sir, but Dobby does not mind, sir, for he always hopes to meet Harry Potter and tonight, sir, he has got his wish!' Dobby sank into a deep bow again." - Order of the Phoenix, chapter 18

And it turns out Hermione’s efforts are doing more harm than good. Dobby now has to clean Gryff tower all by himself! House-elves have strong magic, but still it has to be rough on him. Ron is proved right by the canon text. Ron understands elves better than Hermione does, because Hermione is trying to apply her human reasoning and morality to them, while Ron is more of a “live-and-let-live” kind of person.

To give you a comparison: Hermione is that person who insists that two men together can’t have “proper” sex but she’s not judging not at all but still you have to admit you can’t find the same fulfillment in another man as with a woman but she’s not homophobic, it’s just- While Ron is maybe weirded out at first, but then he shrugs and says “yeah ok whatever works for you”.

They were so busy that Hermione had even stopped knitting elf hats and was fretting that she was down to her last three. 'All those poor elves I haven't set free yet, having to stay here over Christmas because there aren't enough hats!' Harry, who had not had the heart to tell her that Dobby was taking everything she made, bent lower over his History of Magic essay. - Order of the Phoenix, chapter 21

Uuuuuuggggggghhhhh and this is where I start getting mad…

How can people say that Hermione actually cares about house-elves? “Having to stay here over Christmas”? Yeah, have you noticed how miserable they were in the Hogwarts kitchens? How awful it is that they’re not outside in the freezing cold, without shelter, without food, in a place they love, employed by a man who doesn’t consider them slaves! Poor little house-elves who are stuck at Hogwarts rather than in the loving care of a family like the Malfoys!

Hermione cares more about saving the house-elves than she cares about the house-elves themselves! Hermione seems to care more about being the house-elves’ saviour than about doing what is right by the elves!

Ah and Harry of course, lies by omission because he doesn’t want to get involved. Typical Harry I’d say.

Oh sure, he “doesn’t have the heart to tell her”, oh, how romantic, he doesn’t want to hurt her feelings, but wouldn’t it hurt YOUR feelings that you spent countless afternoons doing something you thought was making a difference only to discover one day that it really never accomplished anything, or would you rather be put out of your misery fast by a friend telling you how it is? I dunno which one you’d pick but I’d rather take the second one. It may hurt on the moment but at least I’m not working on a pointless endeavour anymore.

(Find the whole essay at Quora here)

So. This is Hermione’s first foray into social justice. So of course she’ll fuck it up.

But she’s fucking it up pretty royally, by speaking over the very people she’s trying to represent, by trying to impose her values over theirs and trying to tell them her values are the “better’ ones (yes Hermione is a colonialist) and, worst of all: she seems to be doing it for herself.

All those poor elves I haven't set free yet 

I. I. I haven’t set them free. I am the saviour of house-elves, for I alone have noticed their terrible plight. I, Hermione the Enlightened, am special and will save an entire species from slavery, and I will be recognized by all in History!

Let’s also remember that Hermione is Muggleborn, so the fandom fawning over her “tolerance” and “progressism” is... um. Kinda pointless. Because it’s not exceptional for Hermione to believe that “slavery is bad”. Most countries have banned slavery. It’s not an amazing thing. All the other Muggleborns probably think the same thing. (That is without taking into account that house-elves are a wholeass different species of sentient beings, capable of making decisions and able to decide for themselves what to do.)

Anyway, that’s it. Hermione is Doing Activism Wrong, which is pretty much expected since she’s barely 15-16. But I’ve seen too many folks praise her for the way she went about helping the elves, which is certifiably awful.

S.P.E.W. should be something to, say, help abused elves be freed from their masters. That would be a good thing, that would help the cause. Help the elves that want freedom achieve that freedom. But free ALL elves without even asking them their opinion, treat elves as though they’re humans when they plainly aren’t, they’re a whole-ass different species? Hell no.

[cotncandyboifics]

1989 [High School AU]: Chapter 3

AO3 Link

Masterpost

Chapter 1 ~ Chapter 2 ~ Chapter 4 ~ Chapter 5 ~ Chapter 6 ~ Chapter 7 ~ Chapter 8 ~ Chapter 9 ~

Pairings: slight Logince, eventual Prinxiety & Logicality

Word count: 1,983

Story summary: Roman Prince is your stereotypical Jock, with everyone swooning after him. Every day a crowd of people follow him around, only to disperse at his personal whim. In reality, he's lucky to have such good acting skills that help him cover up the disdain he has for his life. He only wishes he could use his skills properly.

Patton Whitelock's always there to lend a helping hand, no matter who you are. If you need a favor or just need someone to talk to, go to him. In reality, he's been taught from a young age that kindness should be held above all else. No one suspects that he took it the wrong way.

Logan Montgomery is the smartest boy in the Senior class. He's stern, and most people are too intimidated to speak to him. In reality, he despises most all of his fellow students. He sticks to his studies and doesn't stray, for fear of being stuck in his father's shadow his whole life.

Virgil Black is the most emo kid in school, let alone 12th grade; everyone knows to leave him be. In reality, he's very fortunate. He has two parents who love him dearly. But everything beyond his life, everything within his mind, is utter chaos and turmoil.

what will happen when they're assigned a biology project together?

General CW: food, swearing, implied s-lf h-rm, non-graphic descriptions of s-lf h-rm scars, graphic and non-graphic descriptions of anxiety attacks and panic attacks, drug abuse, minor character intoxicated on heroin, non-graphic drug overdose description, sickness/description of sickness, blood, non-graphic descriptions of needles, (will be added to as I write more)

Chapter CW: implied anxiety attack, (let me know if i missed anything please!)

Author notes: <none>

...

The four boys were in Roman's room; Virgil sprawled across the bed lazily, Patton and Logan observing Roman's pet turtle, and Roman taking out the Cress plants and setting them on the window sill by his desk.

"soooooooo adorable!!" Patton yelped. he was naturally very enthusiastic, but seemed to be putting a little extra umph into it now.

Logan smiled over at him. "Quite. This is a Trachemys Scripta Elegans, also known as the red-eared pond slider. These are among the most common species of pet turtles. Although, despite their prevalence, they are indeed 'adorable.'" Upon finishing his analysis, Logan looked back to Patton, who had been watching intently as Logan explained. Patton felt a light blush rise to his cheeks, looking away from Logan.

"H-how do you know so much about turtles?" Patton said quietly.

"Well, when I was young, I really wanted a pet turtle. My mother, well, she supported it, but my dad... well, they came to a compromise, that if I did my research and took care of it on my own, that I could have a pet turtle."

"...And? Did you end up getting one?" Patton asked, his face showing plainly how emotionally invested in this story he'd become.

"Yes. His name was Star, I had him for a total of two years and three months." Logan said shortly.

"Why only two years? What happened?" Patton said. "I thought turtles lived for a long time?"

"They do, but Star was already 46. I got him from a rescue center; he had been left in an aquarium on the side of the road. I knew before committing to keeping him that he wouldn't last too much longer." Logan reminisced, but only for a moment. "Anyway, that was years ago." He said shortly, turning away from Patton.

Just at that moment, Roman turned around and cleared his throat. "If I could have everyone's undivided attention," he side-eyed Virgil aggressively, who just smirked and seemed to relax more into Roman's bed. "ugh, typical. will you please come and join the conversation, Hot Topic?" he pressed.

"Aww, you think I'm hot." Virgil teased back as he sat up. Roman's eyes went wide, his cheeks darkening. But before Virgil could notice, Patton diverted the conversation.

"What's the plan, Roman? Logan?" Patton looked between the two of them, and they looked at each other. They both went to speak at the same time, interrupting each other. While Roman chuckled at the situation, Logan took the opportunity to speak first.

"Well, I assume that you don't have any fertilizer Roman, so we'll-"

"Actually, I had my dad pick some up on his way home from work! He bought two very different brands- one mainstream and one... liberal. I'll go grab those, and some plant pots." Roman interjected, and then pranced off out of his room to collect said items, leaving the three others alone in the room.

Immediately, Virgil got up from the bed, and bent down to check under the bed, rummaging around.

"What are you doing, Virgil?" Logan asked, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose again.

"Yeah, isn't that including on Roman's privacy?" Patton said, sounding a bit concerned.

"I believe the word you mean to use is 'intruding,' Patton, and the correct wording would be 'intruding upon,'" Logan corrected.

"Oh, sorry, 'intruding upon.' Thanks, Lo!" Patton said, smiling brightly. Logan felt his cheeks heat up, and smiled softly back to him.

"Well, if you must know," Virgil grunted, getting up from his crouching position on the floor and moving to examine Roman's bedside table, "I'm looking for his stash."

Logan and Patton shared a confused look. "what do you mean 'his stash?'" Patton asked, somehow looking more confused.

Virgil was now making his way into Roman's closet. "Whatever that means for Roman, I guess. the stuff he hides from his parents. Drugs, porn, you know. something juicy." Virgil clarified. Patton winced at the p word.

"Virgil! Not only is that - intruding upon - his privacy, but that's downright disrespectful! you stop that right now!" As Patton finished speaking, Virgil emerged from the closet empty handed.

"Well, either way, I just checked all the classic spots. nothing to write home about. Guess I'll have to up my searching game for next week." He teased Patton, who whimpered. Virgil plopped back onto the bed, and Logan was about to ask why Virgil would need to write a letter to his parents when he'd be returning home far before a letter would arrive. But, his opening mouth was cut off, as Roman returned with two small flat pots, both already consisting of two different looking types of fertilizer.

"It's amazing, the differences between these," Roman said, presenting the pots to his teammates. Patton leaned in, and Roman made a good point. One pot had grayer dirt, and much fewer flecks of minerals and nutrients, and the other looked rich with life - Patton half expected a worm to emerge from it.

Logan walked over to the sill where Roman had put the plants, setting them down on the empty section of the desk. Roman brought over the pots, and Logan pulled the Garden Cress plants out of their temporary plastic pots, placing them gently in their respective pots. While he did this, Roman stepped behind him and put his arms around Logan's waist, and growled lightly into his ear. Virgil scowled in their general direction, and Patton's face fell.

Through his blush, Logan cleared his throat. "Roman, that is inappropriate behavior, and frankly I'm not comfortable with it. Our relationship is currently strictly professional." His voice was a little unsteady and cracked once, but he kept himself composed for the most part.

Roman considered continuing to tease him, but decided to take a nobler, grander route. "Fine," He began, releasing Logan from their intimate embrace, "I'll leave you be today, but on one condition. Logan Montgomery, will you go on a date with me?"

Everyone in the room was shocked into silence, even Roman. He was surprised at his own confidence, but he just rolled with it, as he usually did. Virgil's scowl just worsened, and he quietly said he had to use the restroom, leaving with hardly a sound. Patton just looked horrified, all the color having drained from his face. But no one was looking at him.

Logan turned around slowly, looking Roman in the eyes, half expecting him to have some silly grin on his face and say "haha, just kidding! Man, I really had you there!" or something of the like. But Roman just returned his gaze confidently, a small smile tracing his face.

"...You're serious?" Logan said after a long moment. Patton was praying that he wasn't.

"deadly," Said Roman, his smile widening slightly.

Logan thought for a long moment. "...w-well, I'm not sure that's appropriate, consid-"

"Come on, just one date. That's all." Roman pleaded.

"And what of your reputation? Won't people be jealous? What if someone does someth-"

"I promise, I'll keep my... fans... from messing with you, if that's your biggest worry. Please, please please?" Roman pressed.

"...A-and I'm not sure my parents would approve. They've never allowed me to be involved with anyone romantically before, so-"

"I'm sure they'll be more understanding this time around! Or, better yet, just don't tell them!" Roman countered. He had a glint of determination in his eyes, and Logan knew he wasn't going to back down. He spent a long moment trying to think of some conflicting factor, but he couldn't come up with a thing. He also considered simply telling him he wasn't interested, but that would be a lie. Despite his better nature, Roman did capture his attention.

And so, with a somewhat defeated tone, Logan sighed and pushed his glasses up again. "Fine. One date. But that is all. I wouldn't plan on-" Logan tried to be stern, but Roman was pumping his fists in the air excitedly.

"yes yes yes yes yes yes yes!!!! Woohoo!!!!!!! Be prepared for the most romantic and fantastical evening of your life, my Iron Giant Nerd!! How's Thursday sound?"

"That is... adequate," Logan responded, not knowing what else to say.

"Excellent! Just give me one moment." Roman pulled out his phone, and from what Logan could see, he was looking something up. "...Okay! Perfect. I'll pick you up at from your house at, say, 7?"

"okay. I'll text you the address beforehand." Logan said shortly. He then set the pots on the windowsill, assuring that they were receiving equal amounts of light. "Alright, I'm going to go wash my hands in the kitchen and get some water for our specimens. Roman, the kitchen is the first left down the hall, correct?" Roman nodded, and Logan left swiftly. Roman just punched the air a few more times, and then fell back on his bed with a plop.

Patton was sitting on the edge of the bed, fiddling with the ring on his right middle finger. Don't let it show.

He turned to address Roman, a smile gracing his face that few people would know was forced. "Congratulations on your first date, Roman! You guys make an adorable couple. I wish you a successful relationship!" He said.

Roman sat up and eyed him. "Really? I mean, from the way you and Logan were talking, I would've guessed you have a crush on-"

"Nope!" Patton said shortly, smiling more intensely. "I like Logan a lot as a friend, but I'm so glad he has you now! Well, hopefully. We'll see after your first date! What do you think, will he want to go on another one?" Patton waggled his eyebrows.

Roman delved back into his self-centered world once again, considering Patton's query. "Well, I certainly hope so. I'm quite... attracted to Logan, so hopefully we connect on an emotional and mental level as well. If I play my cards right, I think he'll fall for me." Roman idly speculated, smiling at Patton.

"I'm sure! I mean, you are such a charmer, from what I've seen. I-I mean no disrespect! I don't mean like that. I mean you have an inmate skill for attracting people! I think you have a shot." As Patton finished, Logan returned with clean hands and a spray bottle, walking over to the plants in the sill.

"Once again Patton, the word you mean to use is 'innate.' Don't worry, you'll get there." Logan assured, spritzing each plant exactly five times. "Roman, since you'll be the primary parent of these plants, i beg you, please don't falter in consistently watering them. five spritzes each, every day, preferably when you get home from school. If you don't have confidence in your commitment to this, as I don't, I suggest setting a reminder on your phone." Logan turned to Roman, watching expectantly for him to pull out his phone.

"Oh calm down, calculator watch. I have complete 'confidence in my commitment,' thank you very much," Roman said, earning a grimace from Logan, who then turned away and pulled out his own phone. Once Logan's attention was diverted, Roman did in fact pull out his phone and set a reminder for watering the cress.

Just as he was slipping his phone back into his pocket, Roman felt it buzz. "There's my address. Now, I'm going to call my parental units. I must be getting home, as I have work to do. For now, none of you should worry about the report itself, I'll be writing up a draft tonight and sharing it with each of you. Excuse me." And with that, Logan left the room once again to call his father, leaving Roman and Patton in silence.

Suddenly, Roman thought of something. "Hey, where's Virgil? Count Woe-laf may not be the best company, but it seems he's been absent for an excessive amount of time."

Patton didn't say anything as he listened to Roman, his thoughts quickly beginning to race. He's right. When did Virgil leave? Oh, when Roman first asked Logan. Oh, no... he wouldn't have been gone this long, unless-

Patton stood abruptly. "Wait here. I'll be right back." He said quickly, rushing out the door, leaving Roman to speculate.

[tonya-the-chicken]

I promised to tell my new Todoroki Enji backstory yesterday to some people so um hello

CW for abuse and alcoholism. Nothing inteense - it’s a recap

His grandparents were supporters of Destro and Meta Liberation army. Though they might have went a little bit too much into extremes, believing in inherent privilege of those who is strong aka has a strong quirk. They were very centered on that but also wanted their family to be prestigious. They believed that some familiies are better than the others. They also dreamed of having a proper heir who will continue to represent their strong family

Enji’s father was not on good terms with his parents. He was convinced that their parenting style and ideas only damaged him (obviously, they did; I am convinced those people saw nothing wrong with quirk training from young years and physical punishment). When he was younger he ran away, tried to live on his own, even got married but eventually he failed to survive in the world on his own and returned to his parents’ house

They desired to have a proper heir to the throne. So fisrt thing first they either arranged marriage for him or let him find a woman who had a fire quirk as the rest of his family (yeah they all kind of had quirk marriages but weren’t really open about it). Then they had a kid

Enji’s mother wasn’t from very prestiogious family so his grandparents kind of disrespected her but overall she believed she is in the very best place in her life. She lived a rich comfortable life and all because she had a child - it seemed like a dream and so she didn’t question anything her parents-in-law were doing... Endeavor’s father was the only one to dislike the state of affairs in this family

But his opinion didn’t really mattered - he had already failed in life and knew he could do shit without his parents’ money and influence. Nevertheless, he really tried to somehow keep Enji away from his parents’ ideas... His methods didn’t work - all he could was say “Don’t listen to them”, scream or even hit him but none of that made Enji care less about his grandparents - despite being strict, they loved him and convinced him he got to be ambitious and work hard to be the greatest

What didn’t make his father more credible was that he wasn’t really succeful himself and so everyone looked down on him (which made Enji look down on him too). He felt like a failure in his own house so he tried to spent as little time there as he could, probably even cheating on his wife

In short, Enji’s grandparents were corrupted with absolutely disgusting ideas, his father was a loser cheating on his wife and having no say in his house and his mother was going along with everything, wanting her son to be great and somehow fulfill herself through that. I would say Endeavor’s grandfather was kind of a role model for him - strong, confident and a strict head of the family - everything his father could never be. His grandfather promised him a perfect life as an heir to their prestigious household, saying that eventually they will arrange a marriage for him too and so as long as he trains hard evverything would be made for him

but

BUT

They also kind of planned to overthrow the government or something like that with the rest of Destro’s crew... Enji’s parents never knew about that, only grandparents... But their plans were revealed and they were executed on a spot or were killed while resisting their arrest. No one told Enji what exactly happened

His parents were spared and allowed to live as normal family as long as they never follow their footsteps. But that’s were difference between his Mom and Dad became obvious - she hoped that Enji will be succesful regardless of everything that happened when his father wished for... he didn’t know I guess. He had no plan for life and when his parentts died it was clear he had no idea what to do with his own child. All he knew was that his grandparents, whom Enji loved dearly, were awful people

Nor Enji, nor his mother had trust or confidence in his father and so, the man really let his self-esteem issues get into his head. He was unable to be “proper head of the family” and so he ended up lashing out on his wife and son to make them listen to him. It seemed like he hated both of them and sincerely regretted being married. Over time he spent less and less time home and when he was home he would only yell and beat them. Enji’s mother beared with all of that because she sincerely believed her role of a woman is to keep this family together. His father wasn’t that much on “keeping family together” part. Before Enji turned 10, they divorced and Enji too ack his mother’s name - Todoroki

Enji’s mother had no college degree and because of [insert reasons here] couldn’t go back to her parents. So she found a job as a waitress and rented a very small appartment in very poor neighbourhood. It was tough for her to suddenly lose everything. Enji, who previously was a “good kid”, began to act up, skipped school and was pretty shitty in general. That only added to her struggles, she picked up drinking and *drum rolls* lashed out on Enji too, though more often she would just physically punish him or verbally berate him, blaming him for her problems, saying he is “no good” and will grow up to be like his failure of a father

Most of the time she was either at work, drunk or with some man, so Enji tried to avoid being home as much as possible. He didn’t really fit in with the rest of the kid, he felt very awkward outside of “prestigious families” group, not knowing how to behave around more simple-minded people. He also might have despised them or himself. Overall, he lived the same fate any kid from that neighborhoud was living - eventually, many of them became villains, addicts or workers of low-prestige jobs. Such perspectives made Enji only more depressed

Being very prideful and very on his limit, one day he couldn’t stand his mother belitteling him and so he ran away... Actually I like making him bordeline suicidal at this point. Since his Mom was drunk all the time and used to him not being home, she took her time before starting to worry about his disappearance. When she did began to worry she didn’t knew what to do and so, she probably just was full on binge drinking

Meanwhile Enji wondered around cities, probably going to his father’s house and starring blankly into the door. Then he got wasted and was found by some dude whose job is searching for lost kids. He refused to say his name or anything about himself and since his Mom did not file a report no one knew he was missing. Maybe his school was worried though?...

All that stuff happened in April, by the way, the same month the UA Sport Festival was held. And the man who found him took him there (he had two spare tickets from his work or something). I think Enji thought about being a hero before because he was taught to admire strength but seeing them out there in living flesh really inspired him. I also think it would be hilarious if he met young All Might there

The man tried to convince Enji that he can do great stuff and running away from home is no good. He also tried to find out i he was abused at home but Enji was quiet as a fish - admitting to being hurt weak was worse than death to him

So ummm

Enji’s father came to pick him up. It turns out he saw him near the house so he got all worked up and contected da police

While they were driving to his mother’s place, Enji told his Dad about wanting to become a hero and study in UA. As true garbage parent, the latter laughed...

He also told about that idea to his mother and she was furious. Enji went away saying he will take a walk so they can have no worries. When he was back in the evening his parents were mmmhmmm [”oops, sweetheart, you usually go back from your “walks” in the morning, son”] so he decided to return in the morning lol

His Mom went to work, so he roasted his Dad... Figuratively. He reminded how he cheated with their maid and was awful in general. Hid Dad tried to have a talk with him, complimenting how mature he was for his age (never a good thing). Enji said “Well, someone has to be a head of this family” while looking down at him

His Dad also asked him why he want to be a hero

“Well... I have always admired strong people and wanted to be strong myself... And heroes, they are strong, right? They are strong and they save other people. That is noble. Wasn’t that what grandpa meant saying how we should freely use our quirks to do more good in this world?”

“Yeah, that exactly what he meant. You should... Defnitely use your quirk to do good”

Enji - shocked that his father is being supportive; Enji’s father - relieved that his son didn’t understand his grandfather’s ideas

And like that Enji began his road to being a Number One Hero of Japan... That was bumpy. He moved away from his mother, working as much as he could

His father die in some suicide car accident and so Enji inherited his house... His mother either refused to live with him there or had died already

Anyway, it was pretty lonely in such a huge house... He would wonder around aimlessly on his days off... which usually were the days he couldn’t work because he was recovering from injuries.

On one of such days he went to his granfather’s cabinet... Looking through the books, he found the one called “The genetis of quirks”. It seemed interesting

There were a lot of case studies for some reason. One described how individuals might inherit both their parents’ quirk if they had the “opposite” ones

Most intriguing

Looking around the cabinet more, he also found some weird photoalbum with lots of different people Enji had never met. One of photos was signed “Himura - family of ice quirks”

“Well, that must be fate”

/

/

/

/

I know that was a lot but believe me it could have been longer. I have maladaptive daydreaming problems

[theculturedmarxist]

Decolonization is not a metaphor

Kind of sucks for a lot of reasons, many of which I think are illustrated in their section about Occupy Oakland. (pg 25, 26)

As  detailed  by  public  intellectuals/bloggers  such  as Tequila  Sovereign(Lenape  scholar Joanne Barker), some Occupy sites, including Boston, Denver, Austin, and Albuquerque tried to engage  in  discussions  about  the  problematic  and  colonial  overtones  of  occupation  (Barker, October  9,  2011). Barker  blogs  about  a  firsthand  experience  in  bringing  a  proposal  for  a Memorandum  of  Solidarity  with  Indigenous  Peoples,18 to  the  General  Assembly  in  Occupy Oakland.  The memorandum, signed by Corrina Gould, (Chochenyo Ohlone-the first peoples of Oakland/Ohlone), Barker, and numerous other Indigenous and non-Indigenous activist-scholars, called  for  the  acknowledgement  of  Oakland  as  already  occupied  and on stolen  land; of  the ongoing  defiance  by  Indigenous  peoples  in  the  U.S.  and  around  the  globe  against  imperialism, colonialism,  and  oppression;  the  need  for  genuine  and  respectful  involvement  of  Indigenous peoples  in  the  Occupy  Oakland  movement; and  the  aspiration  to  “Decolonize  Oakland,”  rather than  re-occupy  it. From  Barker’s  account  of  the  responses  from  settler  individuals  to  the memorandum,

Ultimately,  what  they  [settler  participants  in  Occupy  Oakland]  were  asking  is whether  or  not  we  were  asking  them,  as  non-indigenous  people,  the impossible? Would their solidarity with us require them to give up their lands, their resources, their ways of life, so that we –who numbered so few, after all –could have more? Could have it all? (Barker, October 30, 2011)

These responses, resistances by settler participants to the aspiration of decolonization in Occupy Oakland, illustrate  the  reluctance  of  some  settlers  to  engage  the  prospect  of  decolonization beyond  the  metaphorical  or  figurative  level. Further,  they  reveal  the  limitations  to  “solidarity,” without  the  willingness  to  acknowledge  stolen  land  and  how  stolen  land  benefits  settlers. “Genuine solidarity with indigenous peoples,” Barker continues, “assumes a basic understanding of  how  histories  of  colonization  and  imperialism  have  produced  and still  produce the  legal  and economic possibility for Oakland” (ibid., emphasis original). 

For  social  justice  movements,  like  Occupy,  to  truly  aspire to  decolonization  non-metaphorically, they would impoverish, not enrich, the 99%+ settler population of United States. Decolonization eliminates settler property rights and settler sovereignty. It requires the abolition of land as property and upholds the sovereignty of Native land and people.

The only thing more shocking than already impoverished people rejecting the call to impoverish themselves further because of events that occurred hundreds of years before they were born is that a majority of the GA supported the endeavor, just not enough for it to actually carry.

SUNDAY AFTERNOON GA: DECOLONIZE

Although I had participated in many of the marches and demonstrations in the fall, including the stunning shutdown of the Port of Oakland, my involvement really began December 4, 2011.  That week, the Sunday GA moved from the evening to 2:00 in the afternoon.  We met in Oscar Grant Plaza (OGP), the Oakland civic center previously named Frank Ogawa Plaza.  It was renamed when it was the site of the OO encampment, which was violently evicted; it was now tenuously claimed by an ongoing 24 hour vigil and the GAs several times a week.

There were a lot of people at this GA.  I had no idea that we would be considering a highly contentious proposal.  A group of Native people were proposing renaming Occupy Oakland—to be called “Decolonize Oakland.”  A term describing colonization and expropriation was not one they wanted to claim for our movement, and they wanted their history acknowledged.

GAs began with an introduction, including the hand signals of approval (twinkling fingers), disapproval (limp fists nicknamed “Quan hands” after our mayor) and impatience (rolling arms to signal time to wrap up a rambling or off-topic speech).  Then we separated into smaller groups for the “forum discussion.”  The topic this week was “What does Occupy mean to you?”  This turned out to be ambiguous and led many groups to focus on the proposed name change.  There were many groups of about twenty people each.  In my group the participants were diverse, respectful and lively.

What was supposed to happen next was report backs about forum discussions, with people summarizing what went on in different groups.   It soon became clear that dozens of people were lining up “on stack” for a chance to speak for or against the motion.  It seemed impossible to maintain the GA agenda structure.  As I remember it, the facilitators took a straw pool to check in about changing the sequence, although some were disgruntled by this procedural move.

I was impressed by the diversity of speakers, the range of opinions, the level of passion and the skill of the two young facilitators.  At one point one of them slowed things down by reminding us all of the emotions expressed at this GA—anger, pride, anxiety, conviction, excitement—I don’t remember the specifics but I remember thinking, “I’ve gone to political meetings for decades and I don’t think I’ve ever heard someone speak explicitly about the feelings in the room.”

The defenders of the Occupy “brand” spoke about the national impact of the shared name, but I remember thinking, “if we can’t even change our name after four months, how can we change the world?”  I even got on stack to say this, but there was a very long line ahead of me and I had to leave before getting a chance (by then the GA had lasted more than three hours).

At that time the operating rules of the GA considered a 90% vote to be a consensus, approving the proposal, and allowed for amendments if 70 to 90% of the group voted in support of a proposal.  I found out later that 68% had voted in favor and that the supporters of Decolonize had separated from OO as result.  A couple of weeks later, on December 16, the GA shifted to the concept of a “living document” that could be amended on the spot, if the proposers agreed.  I wonder whether that GA could have endorsed a compromise hybrid name like Decolonize/Occupy Oakland, and what might have been different if we had–or if we hadn’t been able to even do that.

I was impressed with the GA I attended as a vivid example of “direct democracy.”  At the same time, the damage was evident.  Some supporters of the indigenous people resented disrespectful treatment of their elders, while some of their allies made accusations of racism against the people who wanted to hold onto the name of Occupy.  As I understand it, Decolonize Oakland continued to exist as a separate group and sometimes participated in shared actions with OO, but this GA prevented greater ongoing unity.

(Note: the minutes of this GA can be read at http://occupyoakland.org/2011/12/ga-minutes-12-4-11/  and the proposal can be read at http://occupyoakland.org/2011/12/emergency-proposal-3-on-queue-for-december-4-2011-ga-proposal-to-decolonize-oakland-creating-a-more-radical-movement/)

From the minutes:

F: We’re going to change this topic.  Please discuss: What does this movement mean to you?

The historical context of “occupy” doesn’t fit with the goals of this movement.

Newer people who are just discovering that they are oppressed need to respect the work and presence of those who have already been in the struggle.

People are responding to what we are doing, not to our name.  They are excited about the larger connection to the national movement.

As a daughter of Texas and as a single mom, I think we should stay in keeping with ancestors and elders to rename the space.

We, the congregation of First Christian Church of Oakland,  advocate that this movement be renamed Decolonize Oakland.  We would also advocate for CoExist in Oakland, to embrace all people.

The original intent was to occupy the seat of power.

The term occupy is racist.  In these movements across the country, few people of color are involved.  We have this opportunity to step up.

The history of Wall Street is built on the colonization of the indigenous people, and the slavery of Africans on the land.  The seats of power are within us – we do not need to use the same paradigm of “taking seats of power.”

F: Many people are speaking about a proposal in queue, and are not speaking about the topic, “What does this movement mean to you?”  Please make your comments about the topic.

This must be divine timing.  We did talk about the forum topic.  We accept the concept of “occupy” but we think that it’s time for a change that will reflect everyone’s histories and voices.

In our group, some people liked the term “occupy” because it’s a good brand and it connects to OWS.  We agree that all people’s voices should be heard, but we don’t know how to make decolonize, liberate, and occupy meld together as one.  Some people in our group preferred “liberate” than “decolonize” because “de-“ sounds negative.

This is an opportunity to hold corrupt systems accountable and to protest people who are vulnerable in these systems

F: Let’s see who would like to go straight to the vote?  Who would like to go to pros and cons?  We could try hearing 2 pros and 2 cons.  It seems like many people would like to speak.  We will hear as many as we can.

Pros

I am in support of this proposal as a white person.  I stand in solidarity with all people in the movement. We need to support this proposal on the principle of people who are left out of this movement.

We need to acknowledge that some of us have white privilege.

As Jewish person, I cannot support Palestinian people in a movement named “Occupy.”

We will only be weakened when using the language of our oppressors. The divisiveness here today is a symptom of colonization.  We need to listen to those who are most affected.  Let’s do it.

This language shows how colonized our minds are.  Let’s change the status quo.

I will vote yes on this if the people behind the proposal put their lives into increasing the movement.

I do not want to fly on the coattails of imperialism.

People can understand that we are a part of the global movement, just like “Arab Spring” or “Los Indignados.”

One way that violence is perpetuated is through language.

This issue is not just about indigenous people.  It’s about recognizing the history of the shoulders we stand on.

This proposal has pushed the envelope of this conversation.  It has made you uncomfortable – welcome to my world.  This emergency has been on hold for over 500 years. 

We are more than a brand. Let’s occupy, decolonize, and liberate this.

Cons

Feelings are more important than words.  Words change.  Occupy is used throughout the movement, so we should keep that word. We have broken the process by allowing an emergency proposal to be heard that is not an emergency. 

We have also allowed proposers to speak for 10 minutes.  I am an occupant.  I live here.  I’m not stating an opinion about the name change.  We have not had time to develop this conversation.

[...]

Vote Results:

68.5 % approval: THIS PROPOSAL HAS BEEN TABLED

YES: 198

ABSTAINED: 19

NO: 91

(After some cheering, much confusion and agitation ensued.   Several people started chanting “Decolonize Oakland” for about five minutes.) IMPROMPTU ANNOUNCEMENT(This was said in the midst of the crowd with the People’s Mic, not within the GA process). No matter how you voted, please realize something. Everyone has a place here.  We all need to recognize the power of this conversation.  We want people to come out and be part of Occupy Oakland.  Figure out what you want.  Start listening to the people!  Be about it!  I love you all!! (Another voice…partially muffled – I couldn’t hear everything amidst arguing and people have side conversation). We might  hold our own GA.  Stay connected with us.  We have more work ahead of us.

======================================================

So a movement divided and a bunch of time wasted over a name change because some people didn’t think that their cause was being acknowledged enough. And even after a vote in which most people actually supported the motion and then actually left to form their own Decolonize Oakland group or whatever, they still get libeled as a bunch of callous “settlers”.

Between DINAM and Settlers, if these are the products of Decolonization theory then I can’t see any good in it. It sounds like it wants to pretend to be egalitarian and anti-property, while at the same time privileging one group above all others and ensuring their own property rights to their land, at the expense of everyone else living on it. And yes, at the expense of everyone else living on it:

Not unique, the United States,as a settler colonial nation-state, also operates as an empire-utilizing  external  forms  and  internal  forms  of  colonization  simultaneous  to the  settler  colonial project. This  means,  and  this  is  perplexing  to  some, that  dispossessed  people  are  brought  onto seized   Indigenous   land   through   other   colonial   projects.   Other   colonial   projects   include enslavement,   as   discussed,   but   also   military   recruitment,   low-wage   and   high-wage   labor recruitment     (such     as     agricultural     workers     and     overseas-trained     engineers),     and displacement/migration  (such  as  the  coerced  immigration  from  nations  torn  by  U.S.  wars  or devastated  by  U.S.  economic  policy).  In  this  set  of  settler  colonial  relations,  colonial  subjects who  are  displaced  by  external  colonialism, as  well  as racialized  and  minoritized  by  internal colonialism, still occupy and settle stolen Indigenous land. Settlers are diverse, not just of white European  descent,  and  include  people  of  color,  even  from  other  colonial  contexts.  This  tightly wound  set  of  conditions  and  racialized,  globalized  relations  exponentially  complicates  what  is meant by decolonization, and by solidarity,against settler colonial forces.

So when they’re saying “to support us you have to impoverish all the settlers, ie, everyone that isn’t us,” they’re being very literal. It’s just more bourgeois identity politics cooked up by privileged people in academic institutions.

Into the trash it goes.

[catharsis-in-a-bottle]

ALL MY THOUGHTS ON GENDER:

A brain dump / essay-ish thing

Hello, dear humans! I had no particular inspiration for this massive chunk of text beyond “it’s late and there are thoughts in my little human brain.” And so here are all my current thoughts on gender - all of the thoughts that I can... think of... at least. Disclaimer: much of this is speculation and personal opinion. This isn’t a research essay. This is a brain dump. These are thoughts that have been shit out of my head, tidied up, and sprayed with perfume; proceed, therefore, with a critical mind.

There arises a thought, and likely a rather common one among those who think about gender on a regular basis. What if this heap of gender baggage - the expected appearance, personality, and occupation of a given sex - did not exist? What if people disregarded genitalia in favor of raising all sexes with the same status quo, or perhaps even without expressional expectations?

My question is: what, then, would become of gender dysphoria? If the differences between men and women in society were not so heightened - if the existence of nonbinary people was something normalized... I don’t think I would be dysphoric. My mind would be nonbinary - as gender itself is possibly an intrinsic part of neurology, whereas the gender baggage (roles and expectations) is socially constructed - my mind would be nonbinary, but there wouldn’t be an ideal body to ‘transition’ to. So what would I do? The only difference now would be biological sex. And perhaps, for some, this alone is enough for incongruence and/or dysphoria.

And if all sexes were raised not only equally, but better yet encouraged to express themselves as they wished - how might the face of the earth be changed? In terms of fashion, form-fitting clothing would not be made only to accentuate “feminine” curves. Maybe it would simply accentuate *human* curves and features. If the only recognized differences between sexes were natural physical appearances and roles in reproduction, and we DID NOT create gender roles to accommodate those roles in reproduction... Our world, the products we create, the ways we act... everything could be very, very different.

This imagined world is, of course, an unlikely outcome of our societal evolution. In the animal kingdom, different sexes are assigned different roles and jobs. Why should humans be any different? The task of physical labor to men arises from the sole biological factor of higher potential muscle mass - and in our prehistory, that muscle mass was real. Everyone was working hard as hell in the fight for survival.

And so the differences in sexes grew and grew. With a gap in the jobs they were expected to perform based on their reproductive and physical capabilities, societally recognized men and woman drifted apart. And as humankind grew, these differences were portrayed in wildly different ways in differently developing cultures. So in our prehistory, there were hunters and gatherers, caretakers and fighters; but in the beautifully diversifying cultures developing across the globe, the gender baggage differed. Ideas of femininity, masculinity, neutrality, and combination of expression were quite different as one moved from place to place. In western culture, neutrality was rejected and stomped upon, while in many non-western cultures, neutrality, ambiguity, and overall third genders received their own baggage and thrived in the gender arena (which is now a term, thank you very much.)

Gender expression and gender roles were socially constructed. But what of gender itself? What is gender? We say it’s a personal identity, what’s in our minds and hearts. Is it neurological? If so, that would explain gender incongruence at the base level - feeling that incongruence based solely upon one’s sex. If not, if gender itself is in fact entirely social construct and not just the baggage, what of transness? What would it mean to be trans? That’s not my place to answer, because I don’t know and all of these rhetorical questions are sheer speculation. Whether or not gender is an intrinsic, neurological part of our individual selves, trans people still exist.

And not only do trans people exist, but we deserve to live as the height of our true personal expression. Freedom is so fucking important. Speaking your mind and being yourself and showing the world, or showing a loved one, or knowing and loving who you are - this is all freedom, this is all personal expression. For trans people it is emancipation and liberation from the shackles of all of that gender baggage. In one way or another, gender differs from biological sex, and the sheer difference in what each gender is supposed to do, present as, act as - that difference is what feels so absolutely, goddamn confining. If we returned to my unrealistic little scenario in which we somehow suppressed the evolution of gender baggage, the societal confinement would not exist. It would be biological confinement. And who knows what that would entail; certainly not I, a non-omnipotent little Homo sapiens.

Being a woman and having society tell you you’re a man is confining. Being a man and having society tell you you’re a woman is confining. Being nonbinary and having cultures in which that is simply *not historically a thing* tell you that “you’re whatever’s in your pants” is confining. In my own personal experience in western society, this enby confinement is different than that of binary confinement, as a neutral role - a good old nonbinary baggage suitcase - is a new thing. Nonbinary PEOPLE are not new; a nonbinary suitcase (I love making terms up) is new though, once again illustrating the difference between the gender baggage and gender itself. The struggle of nonbinary people is not to be compared to that of binary trans people, as it is a separate category. They are related but not the same. Binary trans people push against gender baggage that has developed, evolved, and existed for centuries; nonbinary trans people are making a new category (in cultures in which that isn’t a defined gender role). And we don’t necessarily want to create any more ‘baggage’ for nonbinary people, as once again this is what causes that suffocating feeling of confinement within society.

Xenogenders are sort of similar in this sense - an entirely new category is surfacing. At first I did not understand them. But not understanding something is never a basis for disrespect. I don’t know the people identifying as xenogenders, and I don’t know how they feel or what their personal struggles are, so who am I to say “ahahaha trender”? Their existence does not affect me. “But they make the trans community look like a joke.” Well, people with xenogenders are not the face of the trans community, and those who think they are simply cherry-pick the “cringiest” examples in a varied community that they can find, which is already shitty in itself. And also, the problem is not “trenders”. The problem is people with already transphobic mindsets, whether that be passively transphobic or actively transphobic. That mindset is just being extended to this emerging group of people. I don’t give a shit if someone uses neopronouns or describes themself using a neogender, because I do not know them and their existence does not affect me negatively in any way, nor does it affect the trans community negatively. By simply their identity, they are not hateful or discriminatory. And so what trans people should really be fighting against is passive and active transphobia within society - the actual, real life problem. We shouldn’t be turning inwards and setting our own dogs loose on each other.

Here we are in the world. Femininity, masculinity, neutrality and ambiguity have become established fashion codes and expressional standards in my good ol’ western society. Occupational gender roles still exist heavily, because that’s literally an intrinsic part of our evolution as humans, but these occupational roles are being fought against. Which is due, because anything otherwise would be archaic and non-progressive. Personality and personal expression are still heavily scrutinized when differing from one’s own assigned gender. The latter is an issue; the fashion codes and expressional standards have their deep problems, such as violence on the basis of expression, but once femininity, masculinity, neutrality, and ambiguity have been extended and allowed to all genders and socially accepted, these issues should fade. It’s sad that we must base the resolution of violence on social acceptance. But we must push for this social acceptance. We must push for the elimination of confinement, and for the absolute freedom of personal expression for all people; once real, true freedom of expression becomes normalized, becomes the status quo, it will no longer be met with challenge and hate.

That’s one thing we want deeply in life. To exist as we wish to exist without challenge and hate.

That concludes my... words. I hope that entire thing could be perceived as relatively orderly. I encourage you to leave your thoughts in the notes or ask a question or whatever you want to do.

[reynesofcastamere]

Thrown Gauntlet[Ω]

(A/N: Sooooo....I’ve decided to start another series of fics that I will be marking with [Ω] in the titles: To disinguish them from both the main series (which I am still working on) and the [β] drabbles (which are all over the place in terms of timeline, setting, universe, etc.). Essentially a very self-indulgent AU where Savage, Maul, and Feral all get adopted by Clan Wren. This installment takes place in 20 BBY, so Ahsoka is around 16 and Maul is about 34. However. I want to state outright that the dynamic is intended to be a verrrrry slow build and that nothing romantic and/or sexual will be occurring between Maul and Ahsoka until MUCH later. If what I’ve described does not sound like your personal cup of tea, then by all means, feel free to give this fic and/or series a pass. This is getting a bit long, so to sum up: No trigger warnings, Obi-Wan is an Incurable Flirt, Rex is Flustered, and Maul is about 100% Done With Everyone’s Nonsense. Unbeta’d)  The Jedi Temple is buzzing. Not literally, of course, but Ahsoka can feel a strange vibration in the Force. Excitement, or maybe irritation? There’s definitely quite a bit more whispering amongst her fellow Jedi and the clone troopers she passes on her path to the east hangar. Master Anakin had told her to pack for a long trip, which she can only assume means they’ve been assigned another mission and he’s withholding the details so as to ‘surprise’ her appropriately. Typical Skyguy.

She spots Rex near the door, sans helmet. “Good morning, Captain.” A proper salute, quickly returned, though her tone is light. “Morning, Commander. And-er, yes, it certainly is.” He actually seems to be fidgeting a bit, and his face- “Rex, are you...blushing?” “N-no. No. Just-ah...Finished up my workout routine. Took more out of me than I expected. You know how it is; One day you’re all shiny-new and the next you feel older than General Yoda.” “Reeeeexxxx....Come on, whatever it is can’t be that bad.”

“The Clawbirds arrived about an hour ago. Captain Wren’s refusing to do much of anything until he finishes repairs on General Skywalker’s ship.” Rex caves, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “Master Anakin can’t be too happy about that.” Ahsoka observes, knowing just how...particular he is about his personal projects. “Should I be worried?” “Er...maybe? It’s kind of a toss-up. Depends on whether M-” He begins, before a subtler voice cuts in. “Captain, there you are. I was hoping to speak to you.” The speaker is a male Zabrak with soft golden-yellow eyes and skin, the latter of which is liberally patterned in brown markings. Unusual enough, but he’s also clad in full Mandalorian armor, helmet tucked under one arm and carrying what looks like field medic gear along with the standard jetpack and arsenal of weapons. And he’s glowing; a defined Force signature radiating Light and positive energy like a solar lamp. How-? “Medic Sergeant Wren. They are still getting along, right?” “Oh yes. He’s in a much better mood than last time. Apologies, am I interrupting?” “Thank the Maker. And no, um. Commander Tano, this is Medic Sergeant Feral Wren.” Rex looks like he’s in danger of heatstroke with how red he’s gotten. It’s not hard to see why, especially when Feral gives a smile that could melt half the ice on Bahryn. Rather than salute her, he stretches his right hand out so that they can clasp forearms briefly, a greeting from one warrior to another. “It’s a pleasure, Medic Sergeant.” She smiles back. Ahsoka can’t help it. He’s just...She’s fighting the urge to hug him like some kind of stuffed animal toy. Which is bizarre and will most definitely not be happening anytime soon. “Tano...Oh, you must be ‘Snips’. It’s almost a shame Savage volunteered to help the younglings train, we’ve both wanted to meet you for some time now.” Wait, what? “Tranyc’vod [Sunny(star-burned) brother] Anakin hasn’t been able to call as often, but he’s very proud of your accomplishments.” Feral remarks, genuinely pleased even as her head spins with the implications. Her Master has a lot of explaining to do. “Speaking of which, I’d better not keep him waiting much longer. I look forward to talking to you again, though. See you later, Captain. Maybe you should ask the Medic Sergeant about those stamina issues you’re having?” She can’t resist ribbing Rex as she departs, watching him splutter as Feral, like any good medic, starts making inquiries about his ‘condition’ while looking him over. And placing a hand on his chestplate, apparently. Huh. Maybe her friend’s obvious crush isn’t quite as one-sided as she’d thought. Ahsoka navigates her way through the semi-organized rows of ships. Even if Anakin’s presence in the Force wasn’t abnormally strong, she doesn’t need to focus to find him. Not when he’s talking loud enough to be heard across half the hangar. “-last time, it’s fine! You’re just being paranoid, as usual.” “Every ship I have been forced to borrow from you has either crashed, suffered a critical malfunction, or was confined to the scrap heap mere hours after landing. No one is setting a foot on this poorly-constructed death trap until I am absolutely certain it won’t spontaneously combust mid-flight.” And that must be Captain Wren. He sounds...irritated, to say the least.

“My ships run perfectly, thanks. Must hurt that Mando pride, knowing a Jedi is a better pilot and mechanic than you, Captain.” She’s not quite within visual range yet, but she knows her Master is smirking. “How sad that as a Jedi, you cannot recognize your own failings, General. Perhaps you should conduct a survey of your ‘victims’ instead of this poor attempt at distraction. Mir’osik adiik be’kyorla hut’uun![Dung for brains child of (a) rotten coward!]-” “Ouch. What, did one of your horns get caught in the hydraulics?” “Hilarious. Make yourself useful by grabbing a towel, or something from Kenobi’s closet. I’m coming out.” “Ah, Captain Wren. I thought the general ambience had improved. What were you saying about my clothing?” She hadn’t been aware of Master Kenobi’s presence before this. Either he’d used a secondary entrance or had been waiting for his chance to join the exchange while the captain was busy. “Kenobi.”

“Oh come now, surely you can muster a more polite greeting than that. You’ve been away so long I’ve had to listen to recordings just to remember the sound of your lovely voice.” “Perhaps I will address you with respect when you learn to stop leering at me, besom [ill-mannered lout].” “Busted. Again.” “You’re not helping, Anakin.” Ahsoka rounds a corner and-Oh. Wow. How far down do those-? She blinks a few times, just to be sure of what she’s seeing. Yep, there is a very shirtless Zabrak with the kind of muscle definition that would make scores of artists weep standing with his back to her and wiping his face off with a towel. She desperately hopes that her jaw is not hanging open as he turns his head to survey her with one vibrant yellow tourmaline eye. She honestly doesn’t know if she wants to draw closer or back away in that moment. His presence in the Force is not a benevolent, harmless light, but rather a controlled fire that sparks and issues dark threads of smoke. This...Ahsoka doesn’t understand what is going on, and it’s starting to make her uncomfortable. “The spy finally shows herself.” He remarks, assessing and dismissing her as a non-threat within the span of a few seconds, continuing to wipe off whatever type of mess had been spattered on him. “Don’t mind him, Snips. Someone shoved a shock baton up his ass years ago and the medics never found a way to pull it out. Tragic, really.” Anakin Skywalker grins, arms loosely folded across his chest and leaning against the outside of his ship. “Ahsoka, this is Maul. We’ll be working with him and his people for the forseeable future.” It clicks suddenly where she’s heard both his name and that of his group before: Captain Maul of Clan Wren and his company are the only Mandalorian supercommandos who will actually work with the Jedi Council. At least, when they’re not busy with bodyguard or mercenary jobs. Part of that involves what is referred to -with some awe and a lot of fear- as ‘running the gauntlet’, a mandatory training course for any Padawans or Knights posted to or intending to spend a considerable amount of time in the barely-civilized regions of space. It’s been suspended since the war started in earnest, but if they’re going to be sticking around for a while...Well, the implications are pretty serious. And Ahsoka has somehow managed to ogle one of the most infamous hardasses this side of the Mid Rim. Fantastic. Really. Maul disposes of the stained towel and turns to face her properly, Ahsoka’s gaze staying determinedly on his face as they grip each other’s right forearms. He doesn’t pull back after a few seconds as Feral had, hand locking in place as he seems to peer into her soul.  “I will say this once. We are not like our evaar’la vod’e[young brothers]. We are not subservient to you, and I do not accept excuses or blatant disrespect.” A pause and a slight increase in pressure, just below the threshold of inflicting pain. “Are you ready, Ahsoka Tano?” “Yes, Captain.” She answers with a certainty that she can feel in her very bones, and is rewarded with the hint of a wry smile when he lets go. Well that’s...something. Master Kenobi clears his throat pointedly. Right. Mission briefing first. Sort out her feelings later. Still, she can’t help but look forward to whatever comes next. (A/N: *cracks knuckles* Well, that’s the first installment. A little vague on the details, but I’m hoping to elaborate on what’s been hinted at here relatively soon. The name of the supercommando company comes from the Legends novel Maul:Lockdown by Joe Schreiber. And yes, for fellow Rebels fans who are reading this thing: In this AU, Sabine and Tristan get three badass Zabrak-hybrid uncles and a fair amount of adopted cousins. (Which is entirely Savage’s doing.) I do believe that Anakin is a gifted mechanic, but also couldn’t resist the running joke of ‘Skywalker’s ships/anything he tinkers with only work for him and Artoo’. Cheers!) 

[dailytomlinson]

“There were times I struggled to find my place in the band,” Louis admits today.

But it’s often the quiet ones you’ve got to look out for.

Behind the scenes he was very much centre stage: Louis was the mouthpiece, constantly fighting the boys’ corner and acting as chief negotiator between band and management.

“Being from Doncaster,” he says, “I’ve never had a problem with telling anyone ‘no’.”

“There was a while when I was worried I was getting left behind – some of the boys are on to their second album now,” he says, taking a draw onthe first of several cigarettes. “At times, I’ve been swimming against the tide, working out who I am. I was trying to find a way back into the industry, thinking of it mathematically rather than going off feeling and emotion.” 

He’s referring to collaborations with Bebe Rexha and Steve Aoki in 2016 and 2017 respectively, which, although successful, weren’t where his heart lay. With Kill My Mind – the exhilarating ’90s-inspired opening track of the album Walls – he sets his stall out with a clear departure from anything he’s done before.

Walls is about regret, reflection and ultimately, hope, and feels like Louis, who sings in his still-broad Doncaster accent, has finally found his voice.

“I’ve always wanted to be autobiographical and honest. And in the last six months the songs I’ve written and recorded are of a better standard because there’s an honesty there,” he says.

Honesty certainly characterises the album, sometimes devastatingly so. There’s no escaping the fact that Louis, 28, has faced unimaginable pain over the last few years.

“It wasn’t until after I’d written it that I realised how much vulnerability I’d put in there,” he says. “When I first performed it… I had fans coming up to me in tears telling me their stories, and that’s not something I’ve ever had before. And to do it on that level about something so delicate… It was really cool to take something so dark and make people feel like that.

“I had to get a song like that off my chest. It was difficult writing about things that felt trivial compared to what was going on in my life. There was, I think, a necessity to write that song before I could move on creatively.”

Understandably, Louis won’t talk specifically about Félicité. But when asked about how grief has shaped him both as a man and an artist, he pays tribute to Jay.

“I think it’s a credit to how my mum brought me up that I have a resilience,” he says. “There’s nothing I want less than to have people feel sorry for me, so having that mentality has helped me through the hardest of times.

"I’ve also felt a real support system through my fans. I’d always felt it on a lower level, but when it’s something so impactful and life-defining, I really did feel it from them.”

Days after Jay’s death, Louis appeared live on The X Factor to perform Just Hold On with Aoki.

He was clearly in pieces and it was hard enough just watching, but somehow he held it together, presumably thanks again to that resilience.

“Sometimes it’s fight or flight,” Louis explains. “And the way I was brought up and because of where I’m from, I only see one option in that situation. I also wanted to put myself second and do it for my mum.

"That moment was bigger than me and it was actually incredibly liberating. It used every bit of strength and power and I look back on that performance as one of the proudest moments of my career.”

He says he tends not to suppress emotion and is able to share his darkest points with those he’s closest to.

But as the eldest of Jay’s seven children (five girls and two boys), he also feels a huge weight of responsibility towards his younger siblings and hasn’t had any professional therapy himself.

“No, no, nothing like that. That might be down to a bit of Northern pride, but I have a lot of responsibility on my shoulders and that drives me. I’ve got siblings who look up to me and I’ve got my grandparents as well. So all those things keep my head screwed on.

“My mum had a massive influence on me and I lived with a lot of sisters in the house, so I do find it easier to speak about my emotions. But I’m also from Doncaster, where to be a guy is to be tough and traditional and I feel like [there are] times where pride kicks in and I just say I’m all right.

"I’m lucky that I’ve got good people around me who I can trust and who I can be completely vulnerable with and say how I feel. Nine times out of 10, I don’t bottle things up. I wear my heart on my sleeve.”

They sold 20 million albums worldwide, earning over £40million each, but the pressures of fame were, at times, intolerable. Louis says they were only able to keep their heads screwed on because they had each other.

“You can never be prepared for that. It was such a head f**k. But we grounded each other so the minute one of us acted like a d**khead one of the others would say: ‘Stop being a d**khead’. I see people in this job surrounding themselves with superiority and they lose the concept of the real world.”

He remembers doing a shoot with the band for Pepsi over in the States with American footballer Drew Brees.

“This guy was like a god and we were insignificant when he was around, which we understood. But I’ve never seen anything like it. Every sentence that came out of his mouth he’d have an audience of hangers-on in hysterics.

"These people were so far up his arse and he didn’t have one good joke. He had no banter! I still hang around with my boys from Doncaster and I hear real stories all the time, which helps me understand the world that unfortunately I don’t get to see. Having empathy with people and a connection with the world is imperative for any songwriter.”

Harry Styles recently said that he never touched drugs during his time in the band (although he’s made up for that since), because he didn’t want to “mess it up”. Louis smiles as he confides that he can’t say the same.

“All I’ll say is that I did my fair share and enjoyed my time in the band. It’s right what Harry said and it was smart of him, but I definitely had a lot of fun in the band. I was always aware of how amazing the opportunity was, but also enjoying the moment for what it was. I lived like anyone else my age – the difference was that I was in One Direction.”

He’s in touch with Harry, Niall and Liam “sporadically” (we’ll come to Zayn shortly), but they’re all on very different paths for now.

“If we all went to a pub tomorrow it’d be like we’d never left. The enormity of what happened in One Direction creates a massive bond and we’ll always have that.

"There have been times when we’ve done each other’s heads in. There might be something I say in an interview that bugs Liam or vice versa, but we all know what each other is like and we can call each other up and say sorry for being a d**k. We’re like brothers.”

But that’s not necessarily the case with Zayn, who quit in 2015 and with whom Louis has had a turbulent relationship since. He was hurt when Zayn was the only one not to turn up at the X Factor studio to support him through his performance after Jay’s death, despite promising to be there.

Then there’s Zayn’s apparent repeated digs. In one interview he branded 1D’s music “generic as f**k”. There’s a difference between making a break from the past and dismissing it completely, and it’s a line Zayn perhaps hasn’t always managed to walk.

“Hmm,” agrees Louis, cautiously. “Other than maybe Niall, there is no one who is prouder of the band and the songs we created than me. But while what I did with One Direction is relevant, it doesn’t define who I am and I don’t struggle to make that dissociation.”

Does he think some of what Zayn has said has been disrespectful?

“Yeah, I do. But I can understand it. We have a lot of situations where we’re sat in interviews and if you’re in a certain mood you might run your mouth. The older you get the more you can tell if these things actually carry any malice or if they’re just a prod in the back. That’s life, innit? Sometimes people chat s**t and that’s the reality.”

He’s not ruling out resolving their differences in the future, but there’s no olive branch on the horizon.

“No, but I’ve not actively tried. We’ve all got a lot on our plates and there might be a day where I wake up and think: ‘OK, I want to right that wrong’, but not yet.”

After being in his company for a while, it’s not hard to see why Louis was 1D’s driving force backstage. He’s thoughtful, articulate, open and self-aware, but there’s a steeliness to him and the requisite pop-star swagger, which doesn’t seem to spill over into arrogance.

And that is reflected in his music, which is heavily influenced by the Arctic Monkeys, The Smiths and Oasis. In fact, the title track and latest single Walls sounds so similar to Oasis B-side and fans’ favourite Acquiesce that Louis’ manager flagged it as a potential issue.

“These kinds of things happen. There are only so many melodies you can write and if you listen to a band all the time like I do with Oasis…”

Anyway, says Louis. He had to make a choice.

“I was ready to risk it, but everyone said we should get in touch with Noel [Gallagher] so we did. Often the industry, and especially Noel’s world, can be a bit snobby and say: ‘F**k you you’re not using this song’. But he was really cool about it, signed it off no problem and although I’m sure he’s not happy about this, I f**king am, I’ve got a writing credit from Noel Gallagher on my album. That is some sick s**t so I’m buzzing.”

Is he nervous about going it alone? “I think I’ve got a good record so I’m confident. But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t little bit nervous – there’s three and half years work gone into it so there’s a level of anticipation.”

The most overwhelming emotion though, is relief.

“Because it’s taken such a long time. I’m excited to go on to the next phase of my career.”

[spacesnail3000]

Brooklyn’s Sweetheart Chapter 4: Don’t Get Handsy, Doll

Pairing: Stucky x Reader

Chapter Summary: The calm is supposed to come before the storm, but with Steve, it comes after. Unfortunately, he’s a storm that goes on and on and on.

Word Count: 5042

Warnings: Language, abuse (slapping), smut between Steve and Bucky (rough blowjobs, handjobs), manipulation tactics and Steve being a controlling asshole

Masterlist / AO3 

The weekend started off cloudy and rainy, much to Y/N’s chagrin. She had been enjoying the nice weather and their days spent swimming together. It was like old times, and she felt liberated from the constant watch of her father. She knew Steve was supposed to be upholding her father’s stern rule, but he seemed to forget himself in the past few days as they played around, allowing her the freedom to act how she pleased and do what she wanted—as long as she didn’t get too bratty with them.

After a breakfast of French toast and a mid-morning nap on the sofa, Steve and Bucky took a work call in the office, leaving Y/N up to her own devices for a short time while they spoke to Tony about mob developments. The phone call took almost an hour before they were done. Then they were walking into the kitchen discussing what they should do for lunch.

“It’s whatever you want, Buck,” he snapped, a little harsher than he meant to. Steve didn’t want to deal with it. He didn’t have the patience for it. 

He hadn’t started the day off in a good mood. The phone call with Tony had worked him up even more. On top of that, Peggy was still cross with him, and she hadn’t been accommodating for phone sex, so he was frustrated in more ways than one.

His relationship with Peggy was one of convenience at first, but more and more these days it was becoming the opposite. He began dating Peggy about a year before because he liked her, her beauty, her sharpness, how refined she was, so he fell into a relationship with her. Then, it became clear that she wasn’t the type of woman who would understand the mob life—she didn’t grow up in it; she only came to New York from London for work. 

Sometimes she spoke to him about moving back to London—together. He never told her he had no intention of doing so—more because he didn’t want to deal with the fight that would result, but he also didn’t want to break up with her for the time being. His relationship with her was just so easy for him—sex and affection when he wanted it, and radio silence at other times.

But she wasn’t pleased that so much of his time was spent with the mob—which was only increasing now that Tony was giving him more responsibility. That was why she was so mad about the trip to Martha’s Vineyard. She said if he had time to go on vacation there, he should be able to spend more time with her in the city. She didn’t understand that it was his job to be there, protecting Stane’s daughter. 

Peggy didn’t understand most of the things he had to do because of the mob. That was the most annoying part for him.

And now, Bucky and Y/N were both testing his limits.

Their days at the pool were almost torture, with Bucky’s short shorts and her little bikinis. Bucky had spent all day the day before cuddling up to him and batting those long eyelashes at him. Steve didn’t even know if Bucky knew what he was doing to him. And Y/N had spent the last few days provoking them any way she could, pressing up against them in the pool, getting them to put sunscreen on her back. He definitely knew she didn’t know what she was doing to him.

Regardless of how they both made him feel, he knew he couldn’t act on it. Peggy didn’t deserve to be cheated on. When he started dating her, he broke things off with Bucky—but they had always been on-again-off-again, so he didn’t think Bucky would mind. They would start fucking when it was convenient and stop fucking when they started dating other partners. If either of them wanted more than a friends-with-benefits situation—well, neither of them ever said anything.

And Y/N—she was probably off-limits. Stane’s daughter? Steve would be missing nine fingers if Stane found out Steve was after her. But then again, nobody really had to know—right? Not this summer when they would be practically alone on Martha’s Vineyard almost the entire time.

Steve had warred with himself in his head like that since he first saw her in that pearl choker necklace.

Unfortunately, his arousal only added to his anger from the call with Tony, and now his irritation was threatening to boil over at any moment.

“Y/N!” Bucky called into the house, getting out sandwich ingredients. When he got no answer, he called again, “Sweetheart, c’mere, we’re gonna make lunch!”

Several minutes passed and they still had no answer. Steve and Bucky shared a look, and his irritation mounted with each passing second that she ignored them.

He shouted her name using his no-nonsense-voice. “Get down here, now!”

She wouldn’t disobey one of his direct orders.

Right?

“Buck, go get her.”

Bucky sprinted upstairs, and moments later, Steve heard several doors opening and closing. He called her name, his voice soft but a little panicked. “Steve! She’s not up here?”

Bucky and Steve checked the downstairs rooms quickly before Steve was growling, “She’s not here, where the fuck is she?”

“Calm down, Steve,” Bucky tried, but Steve shoved past him and into the backyard. She wasn’t there either, and it was still drizzling a little bit, so she wouldn’t have gone far.

Right?

“She’s over there!” Bucky called. He was at the edge of the backyard, looking over the fence, and then darting out the back gate. Steve quickly followed, and then he saw her.

She was some ways away, standing at the edge of the water, the hood of her windbreaker pulled up to protect her from the rain. Her old Polaroid camera was in her hands and she was crouching, taking photos of the tide.

Steve yelled her name, anger clear in his voice. She straightened up immediately and looked over at them. One hand raised in a tentative wave, but Steve was on her before she could say anything. “What the hell are you doing?” he growled, grabbing her by the upper arm and dragging her back towards the house.

“Ouch!” she yelped, and his grip tightened. She wasn’t walking as fast as he wanted her to be, and she whined at him, stumbling a little in her effort to keep up with his long strides. “Steve! Stop! What are you doing?” He yanked her forward and she whimpered. “Steve, please! You’re hurting me!”

But he didn’t stop, not until they were back in the house, where he shoved her roughly onto the sofa. There were tears in her eyes and her hand came up to rub at her arm where he has grabbed her.

“Just what the hell was that?” he snarled.

“I just wanted to take some pictures,” she answered, voice reedy and wavering. “The sea foam gets really pretty when it rains and I wanted some pictures of it…”

Steve couldn’t fault her for wanting to take pictures of things she liked—she did that all the time, ever since her father had given her a Polaroid camera when she turned 12. Snapping pictures of sun beams through the window, fresh snow on the streets of Brooklyn, the asphalt just after it rained. He was used to it. 

But he couldn’t shove down the intense panic he felt when he realized she was gone.

“You should have told us where you were going,” he told her, anger still boiling over, lacing his words and the tone of his voice with venom.

“I didn’t want to interrupt you,” she said, “I know you guys were on the phone. I knew it was important…”

“Don’t give me that. You should have waited for us or—"

“I didn’t do anything wrong!” she protested, standing up abruptly. “You’re being such a jerk about this!”

They all heard the crack of Steve’s palm against her cheek before any of them had time to process it. He hadn’t smacked her that hard—her father had surely done worse—but a bright red mark was already clear across her cheek.

Bucky jumped slightly at the sound, but he knew he couldn’t intervene. Steve would never allow him to. He watched the two of them, every single muscle in his body tense.

Slowly, she turned her face to look at him, eyes shimmering. But Steve wasn’t finished yet.

Swiftly, he gathered her hair in one hand and yanked her head back, straining her neck as he forced her to look up to him. His face was close to hers as he spoke and she could feel his breath on her lips. “You don’t talk to me like that,” he growled, “You don’t disrespect me like that.”

“Steve—”

“Shut your mouth!” he barked, silencing her easily with a yank to her scalp. “You’re going to listen to me carefully, sweetheart. I will not tolerate your attitude, nor will I tolerate you disobeying my rules. Now, I have rules for a reason—to keep you safe. You’re not allowed to go off by yourself without telling us first. I do that to keep you safe. Do you understand?”

A few tears slid down her cheeks, and she didn’t answer him until he yanked on her hair again, shaking her a little. “Answer me!”

“Y-yes, S-Steve,” she stuttered through a fresh wave of tears.

“Good girl.” Steve met Bucky’s eyes, gave a quick tilt of his head towards the couch, indicating for him to come and help him comfort her.

Then he released his tight grip on her hair, but he slid his hand down to grasp the back of her neck firmly. She was boneless under his touch, and he maneuvered her easily so that she was sitting sideways in Bucky’s lap. Steve sat close, her legs draped over his thighs so she was practically sitting in both their laps. As Bucky stroked up and down her spine to soothe her, Steve kept a hand on her neck so she couldn’t turn her face away.

For a moment, Steve just watched as she cried, appreciating the sight. Flushed cheeks glistening, red rimmed eyes and nose, eyes sparkling in the low light. She was one of the prettiest criers he had ever seen, and something swelled inside his chest at the idea that he was the cause. That she looked all pretty and vulnerable for him.

He really did have a thing for making people cry—Bucky was right; he didn’t know what it was, it just did something for him.

However, it wouldn’t do to get hard now, with her on their laps like this, so Steve tamped those thoughts down. Still, he made sure to mentally catalogue the image of her tear-stained face for later.

“Let it out, sweetie,” he purred, voice taking on a gentler tone as he pulled her into his chest, stroking her hair. As she sobbed, Steve met Bucky’s gaze. The other man’s eyes were dark, and as Steve looked at him, he licked his lips. He had a knowing look on his face, like he could see every one of Steve’s thoughts.

Steve only smirked at him.

She eventually pulled back, and he used his thumbs to wipe the tears from her cheeks tenderly. “I forgive you,” he whispered, stroking a few errant strands of hair from her forehead. “You’re okay. We’re okay.”

Frowning at that, she tried to pull back, knowing she wasn’t in the wrong—Steve was. Both Steve and Bucky kept her close with their firm grips. She felt conflicted. After all, she hadn’t done anything wrong, and then Steve got so angry and slapped her. But then he was so sweet and tender, soothing her as she cried.

“I know you want to be a good girl for me,” he murmured, still stroking along her cheeks, large hands framing her face. He thumbed along the dip right below her lower lip, just a fleeting touch. “We have rules for a reason. Be a good girl and follow them.”

She supposed he had a point. He was supposed to keep her safe, and how could he do that if he didn’t know where she was? 

Plus, how could he be bad if he was being so nice to her?

Steve saw it when she resigned herself to him, to his will. He smiled softly at her and leaned in to kiss her forehead, his firm grip keeping her close for a moment. She could smell him—all peppermint and sharp aftershave. When he pulled back, he touched his own cheek with a finger, asking her for a kiss. She relented easily, leaning in to press her lips against his jaw.

Manipulating her had always been so simple.

Satisfied that he had her wrapped around his finger again, he patted her thigh. “Now, you’re going to go up to your room and stay there until dinner. Understand?”

She didn’t hesitate before nodding. Helping her up and leading her to the stairs with a hand on her lower back, he kissed her on the crown before sending her off.

Once her door closed, he went into the kitchen, gesturing for Bucky to follow, and poured a glass of scotch for both of them.

“You liked that a little too much, I think,” Bucky said, watching Steve as he downed the entire glass at once.

Steve exhaled with the burn of the drink, and then poured another. He needed it. Her insubordination had been just the right catalyst for his anger to boil over. Yelling at her, manhandling her—it had released a little bit of his tension, but he needed more. Now that he had seen her crying so pretty for him, his anger had shifted more to a heated desire simmering under his skin, one that needed taking care of now.

He had sent her up to her room so he wouldn’t do anything he might regret.

To her, at least.

“You think so?” he asked, eyeing Bucky. Bucky was only wearing a pair of short shorts and one of Steve’s sweatshirts. The thin cloth of his shorts didn’t hide his erection, which rivalled Steve’s own.

“I know so.”

“Looks like you enjoyed the show, too.” Stalking towards Bucky, he gestured towards Bucky’s groin. 

Bucky didn’t respond to that, but he did blush fiercely, so how was Steve supposed to resist? He was on Bucky in no time, pressing their bodies together. “I’m feelin’ a little worked up here. Care to help me out?” The subtle grind of his hips against Steve’s own told Steve all he needed to know.

“This why you sent her to her room?” Bucky asked, already a little breathless. 

Smirking, Steve moved closer to whisper into Bucky’s ear, “Well, it wouldn’t do to fuck your mouth in the middle of the kitchen when she could just walk in on us, would it?” He could smell Bucky’s cologne and a little bit of cigarette smoke as he ran his nose along the side of Bucky’s neck, eliciting a shiver out of the man.

“That’s never stopped you before,” Bucky groaned as Steve shoved a thigh between his own, pressing up into his crotch. Their bodies were pressed so tightly together that Bucky could feel Steve breathing, the rapid thrum of his heart.

Steve hummed. “No, it hasn’t. I wouldn’t care if she saw me using you like that. But it might confuse her. You know how she is.”

“A virgin, you mean?” Bucky’s hands came forward to grab Steve’s hips, his head falling backward as Steve pressed up against his cock.

Steve huffed a laughed. “Yeah. She’s just so… innocent.”

“You liked it when she cried, Stevie?” Bucky goaded, trying to provoke him more. He loved it when Steve got all hot and bothered like this.

“I did,” Steve confirmed, pressing his cock up against Bucky’s hip, grinding into him for some relief. One hand came up to cup Bucky’s jaw, thumb tracing his lips. “Looked so pretty, all teary-eyed for me.” His other hand came down and cupped Bucky’s cock. “And you? This? Where did this come from, hmm? Did you like to see her cry? Or did you like it when I slapped her? Or maybe it was when I sat her on your lap and wiped her tears away.”

God, it was just so debased, but yes, Bucky had enjoyed all of it. For some sinful reason, Bucky was turned on by Steve’s rough handling of their girl, and Bucky had wanted nothing more than to kiss her and hold her while she cried, distract her from the sadness with something else—something she wasn’t ready for. 

More importantly, Steve knew that Bucky had enjoyed it. Steve knew exactly what Bucky wanted.

It was a dynamic of theirs. Steve yelled at her, she cried, and they comforted her together. Bucky had always done most of the comforting, being extra sweet to her for days afterwards to try and make up for when Steve was an ass.

Bucky just… wanted more.

Steve was kissing at his neck now, sucking harsh marks into the skin below his jaw. Bucky buried a hand in Steve’s hair and yanked his head up, joining their mouths in a sloppy kiss. It had been a while, but they knew each other’s bodies too well, knew how to move together, how to make each other feel good.

Steve bit at Bucky’s lips and then was putting pressure on his shoulders. As Bucky sank down to his knees, he nipped at Steve’s neck, pushed up his shirt to lick at his abdomen, then, once he was seated back on his ankles, leaned his head forward and nuzzled into the line of Steve’s clothed cock.

“Such a good boy,” Steve praised him, petting his head and then pushing his face into his crotch more. Bucky loved it, could feel his own dick leaking into his shorts. Bucky mouthed at his dick, wetting the fabric of Steve’s joggers with his mouth. “Take them off, baby.” Steve pulled his hand away from Bucky’s head.

Bucky obeyed, quickly pulling Steve’s joggers and thin briefs down. Steve took control then, fisting Bucky’s long hair with one hand and taking his length into his other hand.

“Open,” Steve commanded, and Bucky complied. Steve traced the line of Bucky’s lips with the tip of his cock until they were glossy with precum. “Pretty,” Steve said reverently, “So pretty like this.” The praise went right to Bucky’s cock.

Bucky licked his lower lip, just a quick little flick of his tongue to taste Steve’s precum, salty and a little bitter.

Steve didn’t waste any more time. He pushed Bucky’s head forward with the vice grip on his hair and slid his cock into the man’s mouth swiftly. “Oh, God,” Steve groaned. Bucky was always so good at this—always had been able to take Steve right down to the root, nose buried against his dusty blond pubic hair. 

And God, Bucky just loved it. He loved the feeling of Steve’s cock obstructing his throat, the weight of it in his mouth, stretching his lips wide.

Steve stayed there, reveling in the feeling of Bucky’s wet mouth, tongue gently caressing the underside of his shaft, throat convulsing around the head of his cock. Then he adjusted his grip on Bucky—framed his face with large hands on either side of his head, fingertips digging into the place where his jaw met his neck. Steve could feel his carotid pulse right on his fingertips, and if he pressed hard enough, he could cut it off, make Bucky real dizzy.

Just the thought of Steve doing that made Bucky dizzy. Well, that and the fact that Steve’s cock was still lodged in his throat, cutting off his airway. But he had always been able to hold his breath for a long time. It came in handy.

Steve pulled back and immediately set a punishing rhythm, fucking Bucky’s throat without delay.

It was rough, sloppy, saliva pooling in his mouth and dripping down over his lower lip, trailing down his chin. His jaw ached and he was making obscene noises every time Steve’s cock stormed the path across his tongue, past his gag reflex, and right into his throat—and back.

“Fuck—yes,” Steve grunted, “So good at this, baby. Your mouth was made for this, Buck. Made for my cock.”

Bucky palmed at his own erection lazily, just to relieve some tension while Steve used his mouth. Steve noticed. “Good God, baby, you’re so fuckin’ hot for this, aren’t you? Love it when I fuck your mouth like this? It turns you on?”

Bucky gave a broken little moan in response, but it was quickly cut off by Steve’s cock. Steve laughed at the noise and hummed. “Yeah, I know, sweetheart. Can’t help yourself, huh? Should use you like this all the time, keep your throat around my cock every second of the goddamn day. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Bucky gave another rough little noise, and then Steve was groaning loud, grip tightening on Bucky’s jaw. “You would like it, I know you would. God—fuck,” he groaned and his hips stuttered. It didn’t take long to get him to the edge after his lack of sexual activity for the last few weeks. “Too good at this, Buck, gonna make me—ohh—come—fuck!” He growled and buried his cock in Bucky’s throat. Bucky’s lips and nose pressed against Steve’s pelvis as he came, forcing Bucky to swallow everything.

Finally, he pulled back, and Bucky took several moments to catch his breath, dark spots dancing in his eyes. Then Steve was pulling him to his feet and kissing the taste from Bucky’s mouth, tongues dragging together lazily in Steve’s post-orgasm haze and the oxygen-deprived fog of Bucky’s mind. The only thing keeping Bucky standing was Steve’s unyielding body pressed against his.

“Thank you, Buck,” Steve muttered into his mouth, then dragged his lips down Bucky’s neck. “Can I—” He didn’t wait for Bucky to answer before Steve was shoving his hand down Bucky’s shorts to palm at his hard cock. “No boxers, Buck?” Steve teased, “Were you hoping for this to happen?”

“Mmm,” Bucky moaned as Steve quickly stroked up his length. “Maybe.” Truthfully, he had been horny since they had gotten to Martha’s Vineyard but Steve had hang-ups in the past year about not wanting to cheat on Peggy, so Bucky hadn’t pushed his luck.

He supposed that Steve’s resolve to remain faithful had gone right out the window now.

Multitasking skillfully, Steve slipped his other hand down the back of Bucky’s shorts, kicked his legs further apart with one foot, and continued marking up the column of Bucky’s neck, all while whispering filthy things against his skin. “Been teasin’ me all week, these little shorts, goin’ around shirtless. What’d you want, Buck? You wanted this?”

His fingers circled Bucky’s rim, only pressing lightly, not breaching his entrance. He pressed a knuckle against his perineum while still fisting his cock, swiping his thumb over the head with every stroke, making a mess with his precum.

“Fuck, Steve,” Bucky gritted out, grinding his ass back against Steve’s hand. “Please, yes, fuck,” he babbled nonsensically as Steve worked him, and in no time he was begging to come. Steve knew exactly how to work him.

“Yeah, Bucky, come for me,” Steve hissed. Bucky tilted his head up for a kiss and moaned his orgasm into Steve’s mouth. Steve kept stroking him as he came, sloppy and wet with each spurt of ejaculate. Steve kept touching him until Bucky was shuddering and pushing Steve away.

“Fuck,” Bucky breathed, running his hands through his hair to collect himself. “Fuck, Steve.”

Steve laughed, pulling his hand out and lapping at the mess on his palm and fingers, humming at the taste. “That was pretty good, huh?”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Don’t get too cocky.”

“Hey, we both needed to blow off a little steam,” Steve said, dipping his head to press his lips to Bucky’s jaw, just like their girl did to him not long ago. “The sex is best when it’s like this. You know it.” Then he gave Bucky a gentle kiss, loving and sweet, running his clean hand across Bucky’s waist. They kissed like that for a while before Steve pulled back. “We should get cleaned up.”

Bucky smirked. “Wanna shower together?”

“I suppose so,” Steve teased, “After all, she’ll be in her room for the rest of the day. We can take advantage of that.”

“Well you know the walls aren’t that thick. We need to keep quiet so she doesn’t hear us.”

Steve shrugged, kissing Bucky again. “I’m not too worried about that.”

Steve dragged Bucky upstairs and into the shower, and they stayed in Steve’s bedroom for the rest of the afternoon.

Once dinnertime rolled around, they cleaned up one last time and slipped out of Steve’s bedroom. They both went down the hall to her door. Steve knocked softly, and when they didn’t get an answer, they opened the door and glanced inside.

Her back was facing the door where she was sitting at a little blue desk pressed up against the window. It was still raining lightly, and she was working on something in front of her. She had headphones on, so she didn’t hear them come in.

They both snuck up behind her and looked over her shoulder. She was writing in a journal, one that they had seen her working on before. They knew the pages were filled with sketches and poetry and little blurbs that she wrote. The one she was working on had a little drawing of a cluster of sunflowers, the stems dropping down to frame the words she was writing.

She had always been artistic. Steve taught her when they were kids how to draw and paint. He was satisfied to know she still had that creative side in her.

She still hadn’t noticed them, so Steve dropped one hand on her shoulder abruptly. It startled her and she yelped, turning to look at them with wide, red-rimmed eyes. When she calmed down, Bucky slid the headphones from her ears.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Bucky said, “Time for dinner. I was thinking spaghetti Bolognese. How ‘bout it?”

Her stomach growled at the mention of food. She was very hungry, not having had the chance to eat lunch before she was sent to her room. But something seemed different between her boys. She had heard weird noises earlier, and she had wondered what it was, but she didn’t want to risk another punishment by leaving her room. And now there they were, Steve’s arm slung around Bucky’s shoulders, almost too casually.

“What are those?” she asked, pointing to Bucky’s neck, where dark purple bruises lined his throat.

“We were wrestling earlier,” Steve answered for Bucky. Bucky smirked at the euphemism. “We both needed to blow off some steam.”

She was silent for a moment, considering them both, eyes flickering between them, like she was trying to figure out what was wrong. They were both looking at her with easy little smiles, eyes on her almost predatorily. 

“C’mon, doll,” Bucky said, trying to disarm her, “We know you’re starving.”

Steve added, “We’ll even let you have a little wine with dinner.”

Something seemed to settle in her eyes, her shoulders relaxing, and she smiled. “Spaghetti Bolognese sounds good.” Nothing was wrong, nothing had changed. They had forgiven her for earlier—she had nothing to worry about.

She stood, and Bucky said, “Hey, wait a second.” His hand fell to the hem of her shirt. She had changed into a pair of athletic shorts and a faded blue t-shirt—one that was suspiciously familiar. “I don’t think this belongs to you, doll.”

A blush came over her face, but she smirked at him instead of seeming bashful. “Yeah, well. It looks better on me.”

He agreed, but he wasn’t about to tell her that. “Oh, you think so?”

Bucky’s hands slipped to the sides of her waist, and she tensed up again, because they both knew she was the most ticklish on her sides. Before she could try and stop him, he was digging his fingers in, tickling her as she squealed.

“Stop!” she gasped, moving away from him and into Steve’s waiting arms. Steve tightened his arms around her, holding her in place for Bucky to tickle, and they both laughed at her cries for help.

“You’re both evil!” she gasped through her laughter as she thrashed in their grip.

“Say uncle and we’ll stop,” Steve said evenly. She caved to him almost immediately, crying out uncle and begging them to stop.

When they let her go, she shot away from Steve, only to run into Bucky’s chest. He grabbed her around the waist and hauled her over his shoulder, making her screech again. Walking to the stairs with one hand resting on her upper thigh to keep her steady, he said, “Listen, you’re gonna eat everything on your plate since you didn’t have lunch.”

“You’re bossy.” She reached down to pinch his ass through his shorts.

In retaliation, he smacked the skin of her thigh, soliciting another shriek. “Don’t get handsy, doll, you won’t like the result.”

Steve watched on with amusement, following them downstairs.

As Steve tossed together a salad, Y/N brushed a loaf of ciabatta bread with garlic and olive oil and snuck tastes of the cabernet Bucky was using in the sauce. Once dinner was done, they sat down and enjoyed the food.

Steve had to admit that Bucky was a very good cook, but he would never say that to Bucky’s face. It would just feed his ego.

 After dinner, they put on a movie, and Steve held her close to him as a way to apologize and make up for his anger earlier. As he sat there, with his girl in his arms and his boy at his side, he felt more content than he had in almost a year.

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Why Is It So Hard for Democrats to Act Like They Actually Won?

By

Rebecca Solnit

November 19, 2020

When Trump won the 2016 election—while losing the popular vote—the New York Times seemed obsessed with running features about what Trump voters were feeling and thinking. These pieces treated them as both an exotic species and people it was our job to understand, understand being that word that means both to comprehend and to grant some sort of indulgence to. Now that Trump has lost the 2020 election, the Los Angeles Times has given their editorial page over to letters from Trump voters, who had exactly the sort of predictable things to say we have been hearing for far more than four years, thanks to the New York Times and what came to seem like about 11,000 other news outlets hanging on the every word of every white supremacist they could convince to go on the record.

The letters editor headed this section with, “In my decade editing this page, there has never been a period when quarreling readers have seemed so implacably at odds with each other, as if they get their facts and values from different universes. As one small attempt to bridge the divide, we are providing today a page full of letters from Trump supporters.” The implication is the usual one: we—urban multiethnic liberal-to-radical only-partly-Christian America—need to spend more time understanding MAGA America. The demands do not go the other way. Fox and Ted Cruz and the Federalist have not chastised their audiences, I feel pretty confident, with urgings to enter into discourse with, say, Black Lives Matter activists, rabbis, imams, abortion providers, undocumented valedictorians, or tenured lesbians. When only half the divide is being tasked with making the peace, there is no peace to be made, but there is a unilateral surrender on offer. We are told to consider this bipartisanship, but the very word means both sides abandon their partisanship, and Mitch McConnell and company have absolutely no interest in doing that.

Paul Waldman wrote a valuable column in the Washington Post a few years ago, in which he pointed out that this discord is valuable fuel to right-wing operatives: “The assumption is that if Democrats simply choose to deploy this powerful tool of respect, then minds will be changed and votes will follow. This belief, widespread though it may be, is stunningly naive.” He notes that the sense of being disrespected “doesn’t come from the policies advocated by the Democratic Party, and it doesn’t come from the things Democratic politicians say. Where does it come from? An entire industry that’s devoted to convincing white people that liberal elitists look down on them. The right has a gigantic media apparatus that is devoted to convincing people that liberals disrespect them, plus a political party whose leaders all understand that that idea is key to their political project and so join in the chorus at every opportunity.”

There’s also often a devil’s bargain buried in all this, that you flatter and, yeah, respect these white people who think this country is theirs by throwing other people under the bus—by disrespecting immigrants and queer people and feminists and their rights and views. And you reinforce that constituency’s sense that they matter more than other people when you pander like this, and pretty much all the problems we’ve faced over the past four years, to say nothing of the last five hundred, come from this sense of white people being more important than nonwhites, Christians than non-Christians, native-born than immigrant, male than female, straight than queer, cis-gender than trans.

Supreme Court Justice Samuel Alito just complained that “you can’t say that marriage is a union between one man and one woman. Now it’s considered bigotry.” This is a standard complaint of the right: the real victim is the racist who has been called a racist, not the victim of his racism, the real oppression is to be impeded in your freedom to oppress. And of course Alito is disingenuous; you can say that stuff against marriage equality (and he did). Then other people can call you a bigot, because they get to have opinions too, but in his scheme such dissent is intolerable, which is fun coming from a member of the party whose devotees wore “fuck your feelings” shirts at its rallies and popularized the term “snowflake.”

Nevertheless, we get this hopelessly naïve version of centrism, of the idea that if we’re nicer to the other side there will be no other side, just one big happy family. This inanity is also applied to the questions of belief and fact and principle, with some muddled cocktail of moral relativism and therapists’ “everyone’s feelings are valid” applied to everything. But the truth is not some compromise halfway between the truth and the lie, the fact and the delusion, the scientists and the propagandists. And the ethical is not halfway between white supremacists and human rights activists, rapists and feminists, synagogue massacrists and Jews, xenophobes and immigrants, delusional transphobes and trans people. Who the hell wants unity with Nazis until and unless they stop being Nazis?

I think our side, if you’ll forgive my ongoing shorthand and binary logic, has something to offer everyone and we can and must win in the long run by offering it, and offering it via better stories and better means to make those stories reach everyone. We actually want to see everyone have a living wage, access to healthcare, and lives unburdened by medical, student, and housing debt. We want this to be a thriving planet when the babies born this year turn 80 in 2100. But the recommended compromise means abandoning and diluting our stories, not fortifying and improving them (and finding ways for them to actually reach the rest of America, rather than having them warped or shut out altogether). I’ve spent much of my adult life watching politicians like Bill Clinton and, at times, Barack Obama sell out their own side to placate the other, with dismal results, and I pray that times have changed enough that Joe Biden will not do it all over again.

Among the other problems with the LA Times’s editor’s statement is that one side has a lot of things that do not deserve to be called facts, and their values are too often advocacy for harming many of us on the other side. Not to pick on one news outlet: Sunday, the Washington Post ran a front-page sub-head about the #millionMAGAmarch that read “On stark display in the nation’s capital were two irreconcilable versions of America, each refusing to accept what the other considered to be undeniable fact.” Except that one side did have actual facts, notably that Donald J. Trump lost the election, and the other had hot and steamy delusions.

I can comprehend, and do, that lots of people don’t believe climate change is real, but is there some great benefit in me listening, again, to those who refuse to listen to the global community of scientists and see the evidence before our eyes? A lot of why the right doesn’t “understand” climate change is that climate change tells us everything is connected, everything we do has far-reaching repercussions, and we’re responsible for the whole, a message at odds with their idealization of a version of freedom that smells a lot like disconnection and irresponsibility. But also climate denial is the result of fossil fuel companies and the politicians they bought spreading propaganda and lies for profit, and I understand that better than the people who believe it. If half of us believe the earth is flat, we do not make peace by settling on it being halfway between round and flat. Those of us who know it’s round will not recruit them through compromise. We all know that you do better bringing people out of delusion by being kind and inviting than by mocking them, but that’s inviting them to come over, which is not the same thing as heading in their direction.

The editor spoke of facts, and he spoke of values. In the past four years too many members of the right have been emboldened to carry out those values as violence. One of the t-shirts at the #millionMAGAmarch this weekend: “Pinochet did nothing wrong.” Except stage a coup, torture and disappear tens of thousands of Chileans, and violate laws and rights. A right-wing conspiracy to overthrow the Michigan government and kidnap Governor Gretchen Whitmer was recently uncovered, racists shot some Black Lives Matter protestors and plowed their cars into a lot of protests this summer. The El Paso anti-immigrant massacre was only a year ago; the Pittsburgh synagogue massacre two years ago, the Charlottesville white-supremacist rally in which Heather Heyer was killed three years ago (and of course there have been innumerable smaller incidents all along). Do we need to bridge the divide between Nazis and non-Nazis? Because part of the problem is that we have an appeasement economy, a system that is supposed to be greased by being nice to the other side.

Appeasement didn’t work in the 1930s and it won’t work now. That doesn’t mean that people have to be angry or hate back or hostile, but it does mean they have to stand on principle and defend what’s under attack. There are situations in which there is no common ground worth standing on, let alone hiking over to. If Nazis wanted to reach out and find common ground and understand us, they probably would not have had that tiki-torch parade full of white men bellowing “Jews will not replace us” and, also, they would not be Nazis. Being Nazis, white supremacists, misogynists, transphobes is all part of a project of refusing to understand as part of refusing to respect. It is a minority position but by granting it deference we give it, over and over, the power of a majority position.

In fact the whole Republican Party, since long before Trump, has committed itself to the antidemocratic project of trying to create a narrower electorate rather than win a wider vote. They have invested in voter suppression as a key tactic to win, and the votes they try to suppress are those of Black voters and other voters of color. That is a brutally corrupt refusal to allow those citizens the rights guaranteed to them by law. Having failed to prevent enough Black people from voting in the recent election, they are striving mightily to discard their votes after the fact. What do you do with people who think they matter more than other people? Catering to them reinforces that belief, that they are central to the nation’s life, they are more important, and their views must prevail. Deference to intolerance feeds intolerance.

Years ago the linguist George Lakoff wrote that Democrats operate as kindly nurturance-oriented mothers to the citizenry, Republicans as stern discipline-oriented fathers. But the relationship between the two parties is a marriage, between an overly deferential wife and an overbearing and often abusive husband (think of how we got our last two Supreme Court justices and failed to get Merrick Garland). The Hill just ran a headline that declared “GOP Senators say that a Warren nomination would divide Republicans.” I am pretty sure they didn’t run headlines that said, “Democratic Senators say a Pompeo (or Bolton or Perdue or Sessions) nomination would divide Democrats.” I grew up in an era where wives who were beaten were expected to do more to soothe their husbands and not challenge them, and this carries on as the degrading politics of our abusive national marriage.

Some of us don’t know how to win. Others can’t believe they ever lost or will lose or should, and their intransigence constitutes a kind of threat. That’s why the victors of the recent election are being told in countless ways to go grovel before the losers. This unilateral surrender is how misogyny and racism are baked into a lot of liberal and centrist as well as right-wing positions, this idea that some people need to be flattered and buffered even when they are harming the people who are supposed to do the flattering and buffering, even when they are the minority, even when they’re breaking the law or lost the election. Lakoff didn’t quite get to the point of saying that this nation lives in a household full of what domestic abuse advocates call coercive control, in which one partner’s threats, intimidations, devaluations, and general shouting down control the other.

This is what marriages were before feminism, with the abused wife urged to placate and soothe the furious husband. Feminism is good for everything, and it’s a good model for seeing that this is both outrageous and a recipe for failure. It didn’t work in marriages, and it never was the abused partner’s job to prevent the abuse by surrendering ground and rights and voice. It is not working as national policy either. Now is an excellent time to stand on principle and defend what we value, and I believe it’s a winning strategy too, or at least brings us closer to winning than surrender does. Also, it’s worth repeating, we won, and being gracious in victory is still being victorious.

[Rebecca Solnit’s first media job was in fact-checking and her last book is the memoir Recollections of My Nonexistence. She’s sent a lot of mail to her nieces and nephews during the pandemic.]

[caltropspress]

Notes on Pink Siifu’s NEGRO

You and anybody else who wants to get their random vicarious kicks off White Power can stay the fuck away from me. 

—Lester Bangs

Tell a nazi he can suck my dick. —Pink Siifu, from “SMD”

My first contact with white america was marked by her violence, for when a white doctor pulled me from between my mother’s legs and slapped my wet ass, I, as every other negro in america, reacted to this man-inflicted pain with a cry. A cry that america has never allowed to cease; a cry that gets louder and more intense with age….A cry? Or was it a scream? —H. Rap Brown (Jamil Abdullah Al-Amin), from Die Nigger Die!

it is the hour of conflict, antagonism, struggle the world turning autumn in warpaint everything silently prepares to scream —Amiri Baraka, from “Disorder”

1.  

White institutional power operates to negate or suppress. To that end, white institutional power bestows awards on singular figures when it’s convenient. Let’s call one such example Kendrick Lamar. Pulitzer Prizing DAMN. is white institutional power taking cover. This, in no way, defangs DAMN. But it does provide crowd control. Pink Siifu, meanwhile, won’t be awarded a Pulitzer for NEGRO. If he did, I’m confident he’d pull an Adrienne Rich, telling President Clinton to choke on his National Medal for the Arts, seeing as how the U.S. gov’t drives “the demonization of our young Black men.” Siifu would be PE boycotting the Grammys on the grounds of Black invisibility. Or John Lennon relinquishing his membership in the Most Excellent Order of the British Empire because, well, empire (see: Biafra).

2.

NEGRO is what happens when Three 6 Mafia goes full bandolier, full decolonization, full Thomas Sankara. When the emphasis is on the 666 sirening[1] across white cop foreheads, reflecting off Makrolon face shields. Siifu cites and channels Sun Ra, June Tyson, Death, and Bad Brains, but you also hear the mass hysteria of Abbey Lincoln’s vocal cords trembling, of Max Roach’s We Insist! in a street brawl showdown with the LRAD. Basically, it’s Ornette blowing sax in a riot, harmolodics like incendiary devices.

3.

“FK” is the primal scream reaction of hearing the news another one of your people has been killed, snuffed out. Suffer through our screams, it says to the listener. And “out of body, out of mind” distorts what we see with what we witness. It’s the re-played, re-tweeted, re-shared visuals of Black death.

4.

At moments, NEGRO sounds like Aaron Dilloway organizing a chapter of the White Panther Party.

5.

Siifu’s lyrics are a Stokely speech draft. His artistry is prismatic, shattered pane glass: crust punk, jazz cat, marching band drummer, hood ballerina, noisemaker, bareknuckle emcee. His lyrics should be run off on the mimeo and saddle-stitched into a chapbook for Totem Press to publish.

6.

“SMD” samples from Ivan Dixon's 1973 film The Spook Who Sat by the Door (“Do you hear me, man?...I am BLACK!”). Just like dead prez sampled the dialogue before Siifu on “We Want Freedom.” Siifu and dead prez are bedfellows, for sure, but Siifu's head rests on a pillow of static. It’s the friction that electrifies.

7.

NEGRO is the art of de-arresting in audio form. As the comrades at Mask Magazine have stated, de-arrests “are beautiful,” reminding us “the law and the state are not supernatural forces.”[2]

8.

I’ve always felt uncomfortable using the word freedom. It’s a word that’s been co-opted and gutted to the point of parody. I subscribe only to a different form of freedom, one articulated in noise. Suicidal Tendencies’ “Freedumb” cuts it: “Peace through politics is a fallacy—that doesn’t exist.” Liberation more seriously expresses the extinction agenda. Poor Righteous Teachers taught the curriculum out of Trenton, on “Freedom of Death”: “Consciousness—it’s a must / Just avoid the wicked, wicked ways of this pale Caucasoid.”

Regardless, we see freedom, liberation, knife through even with Siifu’s orthography. Revolutionary thought requires revolutionary language. Ask the Combahee River Collective. Come correct. Fuck autocorrect. Remember womyn. Siifu spellings like: nxggas, eye, tyme, iono, and the evergreen ameriKKKa. The abbreviated words—eliding letters wherever possible—don’t reflect self-censorship so much as the mindmaze of a harried man. Deliberate typos demonstrate no faith in the system. It’s like if Bon Iver (see: “22 (OVER S∞∞N)”) decided to forgo BLM symbolic gestures (Mahalia Jackson) and straight-up encouraged looting. Siifu is CAPS LOCK happy, too. We’re witnessing the joy of militancy.

9.

To begin with, it must be said that former African slaves and their ancestors have been the avant-garde of everything in this country. There’s no culture in America, in this American wasteland, without us. There’s no classical music; there’s jazz, and that was invented by us. And besides that, America has nothing to offer the world and it never has. —Idris Robinson, from “How It Might Should Be Done”

Siifu in the audience of the Congress of Afrikan Peoples, and Baraka imploring him like, “Get up, Pink Siifu.” It’s nation time. But on “Nation Tyme.,” Siifu groans, I’m tired…can’t fall…asleep. Black rage, of course—but what of Black insomnia? The French revolutionaries abolished the calendar. CPT, so, is rightly weaponized. “I feel fettered by Western time,” Gregory Pardlo writes in “Colored People’s Time.” Punch clocks need punching, smashing. I saw Baraka roll up to a conference panel late as fuck once, cane-walking right down the center aisle, shameless, commandingly.

In a somnolent slur, Siifu says, “They treat me like I’m wasting away / I know I’m worth more than they pay.” What of these capitalist definitions of work? What of productivity? What does it mean to monetize every waking moment? He’s been quoted as saying, “I ain’t have to work for no white man.”[3] “Nation Tyme.” picks up there.

10.  Feel like deadmeat. They say I’m deadmeat.

“DEADMEAT” is a pig siren stuffed into an industrial-grade slaughterhouse grinder. It sounds the way Alan Vega's sculptures look—hazardous masses of electronic junk, like wires raveled inside a homemade bomb, like buzzing viscera. 

I want to see Siifu perform it at the Meat Locker, a cellar club in the underguts of Montclair, New Jersey (s/o the dramacydal Outlawz). The place is dingy and bedecked with feces—a venue befitting a GG Allin opener. GG Allin, a racist, who also hated cops. Who, on “Shove That Warrant Up Your Ass,” a track that appeared on the posthumous Brutality & Bloodshed For All album, sang, “You say I broke the laws in your state… / Your courts and cops should all be hung.” Allin hoists a headless, legless, armless torso on his hip in the cover photograph—a slab of meat. Like the Beatles with baby doll parts and prime cuts in their laps, bloodless butcher coats on the original Yesterday and Today (1966) artwork. Like the papal kill floor in Francis Bacon’s “Figure with Meat” (1954) with its tapestry of offal. But what you don’t get from Bacon, or the Beatles, or GG Allin is what Siifu needs us to hear. What Siifu tells us is the reality of corporeality is that cops continue to make carcasses of Black people.

11.

That cellar club can be scream therapy, can be cell therapy. Siifu brings us there—to the darkest, dampest corner of the Dungeon Family’s dungeon. Big Gipp, speaking self-defensively: “Try to separate me from the blood / Is disrespect like you coming in my home and not wiping your feet on the rug.” It’s echoed in Siifu addressing the question of his audience: “This [album] is for black people, but I know white people are going to fuck with it. I’m mad cool with that. I just want everyone to know, before they come through the door, that this is a black house and you have to respect my people.”[4] The theme of respect as it relates to a sense of home, to cultural tourism, is paramount in both. Everyone’s got to know their place. No listener should approach ignorant of the auction block. Siifu’s noise refuses the separation of kinsfolk and his stubbornness makes the dungeon shake—he is rightfully “tough, dark, vulnerable, moody,” and, on NEGRO, he has a “definite tendency to sound truculent.”[5]

12.  

“ON FIRE, PRAY!” eventually grinds the brakes to a cavernous slowjam pace. “Blood on my body / Blood on my face.”

13.

The racist dog policemen must withdraw immediately from our communities, cease their wanton murder and brutality and torture of black people, or face the wrath of the armed people. —caption on Huey Newton photograph

NEGRO’s album cover, painted by Junkyard, is a call-and-response. Pink Siifu is a portrait of exhaustion, slouched, shirtless like Huey was when he was released from the Alameda County courthouse in 1970. It’s a tableau like Huey in that rattan peacock chair was. Eldridge Cleaver orchestrated it, right down to the zebra rug.

If you squint, the glimmer of Siifu’s gold fronts looks like his jaw is wired shut. Of course, violent threats are routinely directed at Black people—that's how the system operates. Media is often behind the scope. Relentless orders to “shut up,” to silence yourself, police yourself. We know this from David Wojnarowicz, photographed with his lips sewn shut, blood dripping like shadows, in “(Silence = Death)” from 1989. The violent threats on queer life are kin to those on Black life. But Siifu, like Wojnarowicz, refuses the censorship. After all, those aren't wires—they're the glint of his grill. Siifu is dribbling blood, too, and those black splatters across the flag are like pen bursts—ink poisoning for all. If you squint, the mind’s eye might see the Pan-African flag.

The flag above his head recalls Jasper Johns’ flags: elliptical, non-patriotic, made slop-bucket sloppy from newspaper shreddings and other detritus, i.e. amerikkka is a trash heap. At least the stars are black in the “Flag (Moratorium)” rendition. Bullet hole dead center, too.

If all goes well, the riots going on—bless them—will go on interminably. Sly Stone’s customized flag with black in place of blue[6] and sharp solar-flared suns in place of Betsy Ross geometric stars is yet another parallel to Siifu’s flag. Like Sly, Siifu isn’t opposed to police ambushes. They both know you’ve got to grin at the gun of the devil. (“Don’t you mind people grinnin’ in your face,” Son House sings eternally.) Citizen takes on cop on “Thank You For Talkin’ To Me, Africa”: Bullets start chasin’, / I begin to stop. / We begin to tussle. / I was on the top. Just the same as Siifu on “SMD”: “Iono why eye ain’t shot ya.” Or on “run pig run.”: “Kill a cop / Left a pig dead.”

14.

We can't disparage any aggressive protest on the reductive grounds it's aggro or violent. I think of Pam Echols in Milwaukee in 1968. Siifu’s assertion of you are my enemy on “steal from the ENEMY” corresponds with Paris’s sophomore and shadowy album, Sleeping with the Enemy. Like on the corrode-ode “Coffee, Donuts, and Death”:

You get poached when you fuck with black folk. Said it ’til my voice was hoarse. I ain’t down with excessive force, But of course I wasn’t heard so I’m silent now. Black folk can’t be non-violent now. […] The only motherfucking pig that I eat is police.

Which is to say, try no pork, ameriKKKa.

15.  RE: punk

Think of Bad Brains playing CBGB’s in 1982. Lester Bangs writes of a woman in the scene who referred to Black people as “all these boons.” He tells us a Black friend of his believes the clubgoers “[strive] to be offensive however they can.” Anti-Blackness plagued CBGB’s and nascent punk like vermin, a pestilence. A white woman in the music business claims she “liked [Black people] so much better when they were just Negroes.” These anecdotes are culled from Bangs’ 1979 Village Voice piece entitled “The White Noise Supremacists.” He notes Ron Asheton’s predilection for “swastikas, Iron Crosses, and jackboots.” He cites Ivan Julian, guitarist for Richard Hell and the Voidoids—one of the few Black individuals to grace those inchoate punk stages—as saying “whenever he hears the word ‘n-----’…he wants to kill.” He calls Nico a “dumb kraut cunt” for her brazen, Third Reich-ish brand of racism, which was no industry secret. Bangs even implicates himself, quoting an earlier article: “…it’s the n-----s who control and direct everything just as it always has been and properly should be.” He meant this, somehow, as a compliment.

16.

On “we need mo color. Abundance,” there’s no innocence left in asking “tell me your favorite color.” Siifu answers rhetorically, parenthetically, melanin. Don't settle for forty acres of color—demand abundance. Take, loot in abundance. And don't be contained by the gendered parameters of “pink or blue.” “You can have any color you like” suggests the limitless possibilities if you move your mind beyond the imposed parameters.

The “favorite color” invoked on “we need mo color. Abundance” becomes abundantly clear on the following track, “BLACK!”

17.

“ameriKKKa, try no pork” starts in a slurry of radio static, news reports of Black death. Black, Black, Black, Black. Sped up. Slowed down. Drag the progress bar. “Progress,” ha.

18.

“run pig run.” See the pig / Run away / Run, pig, run. Like a Dick and Jane basal reader. Like picking your favorite color. Like a Three Little Pigs fable. Like huffing and puffing. These are childhood exploits for childhoods that aren’t allowed to be. As long as the Kenneth and Mamie Clark doll experiments keep providing the proof, there can be no childhood innocence. So it's a carnival game in the meantime: See a pig / Shoot a pig. Huffing and puffing: Run, pig, run.

19.

"myheartHURT" is the safehouse after the shooting. It's the cooldown, the chillout. The hypnagogic nightmare. It's vaporwave minus whiteness. We all know Biz had the vapors before Daniel Lopatin. As if DJ Screw was just an apparition, a codeine cloud. The fact remains, Screw's phantasmagoria hovers above all our heads.

20.

The wail of distorted police sirens introduces “Chris Dorner.,” a track gleefully indebted to Ice-T and Body Count’s “Cop Killer.” Repetition was a popular device and it still is: die, pig, die. Chris Dorner has achieved folk-hero status in anarchist circles and beyond since he waged asymmetrical warfare on the LAPD. His manifesto has been published as a zine.[7] “No one grows up and wants to be a cop killer,” he wrote. Begs the question.

21.

“faceless wings,BLACK!” nods to Frank Castle[8], a figure who may or may not be recoverable from militias and thin blue liners, despite Gerry Conway’s best efforts.

22.

White institutional power operates to negate or suppress. Pink Siifu, through NEGRO, refuses suppression and negation. Siifu delivers a hole in the head, and it’s sublime.

Footnotes:

1  “The Law comes sirening across the town.” Gwendolyn Brooks, “THE THIRD SERMON OF THE WARPLAND” from RIOT

2  “De-Arrests are Beautiful.” Mask Magazine.

3  “The Necessity of Pink Siifu’s Rage.” Marcus J. Moore. The Fader.

4  “Pink Siifu’s ‘NEGRO’ is a Riotous Mix of Jazz, Rap and Punk.” Max Bell. Bandcamp Daily.

5  Baldwin, the god.

6  “What did I do to be so black and blue?” (see: Armstrong); light a reefer and listen to the phonograph (see: Ellison)

7  Research and Destroy New York City. https://researchdestroy.com/

8  https://archive.org/details/PunisherPigs

Images:

Emory Douglas work (detail), courtesy of Sean Stewart archives | Makrolon face shield, Google Image Search result | Amiri Baraka performing at the Congress of Afrikan Peoples (screenshot) | Alan Vega light sculpture (photograph) | GG Allin Brutality & Bloodshed for All album cover | The Beatles Yesterday & Today album cover | Francis Bacon, “Figure with Meat” (detail) | Goodie Mob “Cell Therapy” (screenshot) | Splitting up a family at auction, Public Domain | Huey Newton Black Panthers Minister of Defense, photographed by Blair Stapp, 1968 | Andreas Sterzing, David Wojnarowicz (Silence = Death), 1989 | Sly and the Family Stone There’s A Riot Goin’ On album cover | Jasper Johns, “Flag (Moratorium)” | Pam Echols punching cop, 1968 (photographer unknown) | Sid Vicious, nazi (photographer unknown) | Emory Douglas work (detail), courtesy of Sean Stewart archives | Biz Markie Goin’ Off album cover | Oneohtrix Point Never Memory Vague album cover 

[applesauccce]

What’s up gamers, back at it again with complaints and over sharing about my life. I swear I’m not turning into a life blogger, I just want somewhere to spew my thoughts that isn’t google docs. (Quick tw: gaslighting, emotional abuse, homophobia, eating disorders)

Anyways, so as a quick summary, I got on decent meds, have seen a real difference, but am still having a multitude of problems. Brain fog, inability to concentrate or focus on tasks (even if it’s something I want to do, like cleaning my room or painting), extreme memory loss, both short term and long term, an excess of nervous energy that prevents me from sleeping or concentrating, over sensitivity to various stimuli, food texture sensitivities, etc etc etc. I’m working with a very nice psychiatrist (he’s been very supportive) and hopefully will remember to find a therapist to work with as well.

Basically, we’ve been running through the potential causes for my issues and will slowly eliminate them. The current list of most likely causes of me not being able to function is as follows. Adhd (runs in the family on both sides, I have a lot in common with adhd individuals), Autism (likely, based on my behaviors), PTSD (welcome to Trauma Town), Anxiety (no shit Sherlock), and Depression (my current meds need more time to take full effect). Currently we are waiting to see if giving my current meds more time to take effect will help at all, but it’s very likely that it won’t solve everything.

Now here’s my problem. My mom (bless her heart in every way, she is an angel on earth) is extremely supportive in every way. She listens to me, validates my worries, asks genuine questions about my experiences, and is generally open minded to most everything. She genuinely wants the best for me and has learned over the years that her idea of what’s best may not necessarily be the solution, so she has chosen to be open minded and supportive.

My father on the other hand (my parents are divorced btw, you’ll see why in a moment) is the exact opposite. Take every boomer parent that thinks they know best. has the most set in stone and stubborn mindset, and throw in a heavy dash of narcissism (scratch that, pour in the whole container) and you have my trash bag of a father. To name just a few things that he does/says.............(brace yourself, it’s a long list)

Barely tolerates me being queer (pansexual, told him. Non binary, cannot tell him unless I want to be disowned, abused, and murdered)

Believes that women shouldn’t work after they are married and they need to have kids

Claims that trans, nb, and gender fluid people are “corrupted” and have been sent by Satan to destroy the nuclear family

Thinks “the gays” are some angry liberal movement, “just like those awful BLM people”. My favorite things he’s said is “they just want govenerment funding and special laws passed to give them the power to sue religious people”, “if you want respect, why don’t you go out and organize your gay friends and do a service project to show you’re good people”, “if someone’s uncomfortable with a gay person, they have the right to refuse service!” “But what if was the other way around? What if a gay person was uncomfortable with a religious person and refused them service?” “Thats discrimination!”, “I tolerate gay people! I’ve had gay friends!” “......you do realize that means next to nothing right?” “hOw RuDe!”, and finally “yeah, you’d marry a woman just to spite me.”

I was prescribed birth control by my dr for extremely painful periods. I then happened to go visit my bf at the time and since I didn’t want to stay in my moms house (had issues with her husband, he’s a nice guy tho, we chill now), his mom offered to let me stay in their spare room, as long as I kept the door locked at night. He found out and immediately called me a whore and said I was ruining my life, had used his insurance to get the birth control to have sex, and was a disrespectful disgrace to the family. He then proceeded to tell his entire family.

When I was talking about the possible diagnosis for my issues, I mentioned autism and he laughed and said “you don’t have autism, you’re normal. Plus, you don’t look like it, and you’re smart. Trust me, I know mental handicaps, I grew up with a handicapped sister.” (His sister does not have autism and is an extreme case, she needs round the clock care). Like thanks for invalidating my thoughts and research, saying I don’t look “disabled enough”, and saying I’m too smart to have problems.

When I was discussing my eating issues, I mentioned that it was likely I was/am anorexic, based on my behaviors and thought process surrounding food. He laughed and said “oh don’t be dramatic. You’re not anorexic. Look at you! Still plump and healthy, you have meat on your bones!” I told him it wasn’t about physical appearance, it was about the mental process about food. He rolled his eyes and said to stop self diagnosing myself. Like thanks for again invalidating me.

Is in general, a gaslighting, narcissistic, self righteous bitch who thinks he is the most amazing and religious person in the world. He constantly complains about not being able to find a new wife (I wonder why /s)

Not to mention his absolute cultish fanaticism over religion. Like don’t even get me started. He’s the reason that people think Mormons are cultists.

Anyways, so my dad sucks ass, but thinks he’s a god among men. The only reason I moved in with him was because at the time my mental health was really bad and I was having a very hard time dealing with my moms husband. Things are a lot better now and I’m lowkey considering moving back in with my mom bc holy fuck I am so sick of dealing with my father.

Also I’m trying to find a therapist to help me figure things out and help find a diagnosis. If it is autism, I’m going to shove it in his face and laugh at him. And if/when I get diagnosed with an eating disorder, I am also going to shove it in his face and tell him he’s a bitch. Can’t wait till he realizes that all his children hate him and are never going to “choose to live with their daddy” bc they’d rather not be gaslighted and emotionally abused.

[kob131]

https://spectralscathath.tumblr.com/post/190909103203/fight-analysis-rwby-vs-ace-ops

So let’s start with the set up for the fight, specifically, these quotes from Marrow and Harriet.

Marrow: We’re not actually going to slug this out, are we?

Harriet: We’re not doing anything. They decide what happens next.

This puts a heavy emphasis on the fact that team RWBY starts this fight. They are the aggressors in this situation, which then makes it both incredibly cowardly and utterly manipulative when, seconds into the Harriet vs Ruby fight,

Hold it hold it hold it.

How come you don’t mention the music in the background or the alternative to Team RWBY here? The foreboding music indicating a fight is inevitable and the alternative is Team RWBY being arrested while leaving people to do, something fundamentally against their morals?

That line is more of a confrontation Team RWBY will be offensive instead of being ‘the aggressors’ (AKA negative connotation).

... This is gonna be intensely biased in the Ace Ops favor isn’t it?

Ruby: Come on, Harriet! We’re playing right into Salem’s hands! You know we need to be working together!

A quick aside, Ruby’s voice is pitched up with this line, compared to her earlier bragging that the Ace Ops aren’t the best anymore. Her cocky smirk is replaced by a wide-eyed, fearful look, and I’d like to point out that this only happened after Harriet landed the first blow of the fight, kicking Ruby into the elevator doors. This is entirely faked, purely because Ruby’s suddenly realised that Harriet poses a threat and is trying to put on her cute ‘I’m just an innocent kid don’t hurt me’ act, while also trying to heap all the blame of this fight onto Harriet.

Her tone was also pitched up when she was talking into her school. That’s the result of raising her voice. To say nothing of how her look is PLEADING in nature, not FEARFUL.

Harriet doesn’t take any of this crap, thank the good lord, and decides to put her focus on pummelling the ever-loving aura out of Ruby.

... I really should just ignore you huh?

And boy, does she manage it. I went through and counted every single blow landed in each fight, so let’s start the blow-by-blow, literally. I’ll focus on each specific match-up one at a time, to properly break it down.

Yeah huh, sure. And Tyrian would be unbiased moderator in a debate between Ozpin and Salem right?

I’ll just keep the Ace Ops fight open in another tab so I can peer into reality.

Also, just so we’re all on the same page, I am a trained martial artist, having studied Karate (specifically Zen Do Kai), and boxing. Let’s keep this in mind as we analyse this fight.

Also keep the rest of what they’ve said in mind as well, as in ‘I have already shown an intense bias for the Ace Ops’ so you really shouldn’t be listen to.

Hits Taken Harriet: 2 Ruby: 7-8

Wanna know what isn’t counted? The amount of time or the number of times Harriet and Ruby used their semblances. Wanna know long/many times Ruby used her semblance? Five times. Two times for extended distances, once for a quick defensive deflect and two for split second dodges and maneuvers. The longest being 7 seconds. 

Harriet? Fuck, I don’t even know how to measure her because EVERY MOVE SHE MAKES is using her Semblance. She uses it CONSTANTLY. So naturally, her aura would drain faster.

Does the OP consider this?

Now, if we take into account aura levels, we are aware that Harriet’s are noticeably lowered, as seen from her fight with the Megoliath. She and Ruby are both using their semblances a lot, hard to say who’s using theirs more. Possibly Harriet, but Ruby isn’t far behind.

Fuck no, they keep it VAGUE so you don’t see how much Harriet uses her Semblance. 

I shouldn’t even consider the rest of this post considering how FLAGRENT this shit is, but we’ll move on.

Hit 2: Harriet kicks Ruby in the chest with both feet.  (Some of these screenshots are hilarious but I’m doing it as categorical proof of the hits)

Yeah, see how Harriet’s feet are ON Crescent Rose?

That’s a block. So -1 hit.

Hit 3: The next one is a little hard to count, as it’s the shot where Harriet blitzes by Ruby. The first hit is hard to tell if it connects or not, while the second hit most definitely does, meanwhile Ruby blocks the third strike. The first of these is the only hit that is ambiguous.

Yeah, it looks that way in screenshots...in animation Ruby doesn’t react correctly, meaning she wasn’t hit AT ALL. So -1 as well here too.

Hit 5: Harriet restrains Ruby’s hands behind her back, enough to cause Ruby pain. However, that is an unfortunate side-effect of having arms pinned in that manner, so I’m not going to call it excessive. After all,

Harriet: It’s not excessive if it’s necessary.

Quick fuck you: This can be said of Team RWBY fighting the Ace Ops, necessary to defeat them and try and save as much as Mantle as possible.

It’d be reductionist but that’s OP’s speciality at this point.

Hit 6: Ruby escapes Harriet’s pin, ties the bolas around Harriet, before yanking Harriet backwards into Ruby’s uppercut to the spine, which appears to go near the area of Harriet’s nape and the back of her head. (I’ll come back to this)

Yeah, that’s a pretty serious hit. Most people would suffer serious pain from that. OP even tries pointing this out as a failing of RUBY.

Yeah. That one. I study in Australia, which, had a certain event happen that leads me to be somewhat biased against punches specifically to the nape/back of head, you know, that place where your spine meets your skull? From Wikipedia, just for a basic rundown: ‘During 2013 and 2014, significant media attention was paid to two violent killings involving one-hit punches in Australia. Noting that 91 people had died in Australia in the previous fourteen years from brain trauma as a result of being so hit, a media campaign was launched to refer to them as coward punches.’

91 people. Yep.

So, if I sound like I disrespect Ruby for the single hit she landed, while Harriet seems to get a pass for punching Ruby in the back and the throw to the ground, I would like to point out first of all, Harriet only started going for attacks to the head and neck area after she had been restrained, in which case she is trying to put Ruby down hard and fast. Secondly, Ruby not only pulled Harriet backwards into the uppercut, she’s fucking grinning.

How triumphant. None of the Ace Ops show this level of glee at landing hits, I’m just saying. Also, calling back to Harriet’s line about it not being excessive if it’s necessary, Harriet was at that point restrained, only showing she is capable of fighting despite that after being punched. While hitting Harriet may not have been excessive, you would also think that perhaps a leg sweep, or a kick to the back of the knee, would be enough to stop her, instead of a King Hit, specifically one that Harriet could not have even tried to block due to how her arms are tied.

Rant about my own personal biases towards coward punches is over let’s continue the actual analysis now that I’ve copped to it

P.S. No admission of your self evident bias for the Ace Ops? yeah, not gonna buy this.

Hit 7: Harriet headbutts Ruby in the face. This one doesn’t have an impact SFX like a lot of hits do, but the way Ruby reels back makes it clear Harriet connected the blow

Notice how OP doesn’t have an image here?

Yeah, -1 again.

Hit 9: Harriet runs into Weiss’s ice wall, her aura is shattered, and she is knocked unconscious.

What isn’t shown: Harriet running head first USING HER SEMBLANCE (which makes her faster than Ruby in close quarters) into a thick ice wall.

For demonstration: run as fast you can, leaning into it, at a wall of ice. Actually don’t because people have DIED from that too. And we don’t have super quick powers in INCREASE the damage.

But how, the pray tell fuck, does Ruby apparently have enough aura to tank at least 7 hits, most of which are kicks, from a combat-trained runner, and come out smiling? Tyrian gave her a few scratches and one kick to the stomach and that had her aura flickering. Now, yes, Tyrian is on a level all his own that only Qrow and maybe Clover can match, but also; are you fucking kidding me?

Difference: Ruby used her semblance a fuckton, Tyrian is probably stronger than Harriet considering he was equal to QROW and could block bullets with his tail FROM SOUND ALONE. 

Ruby barely used her semblance in comparison to Harriet spamming the thing while the OP says she had LESS Aura.

All while taking FOUR hits, maybe 5 since OP manipulated shit.

Suddenly doesn’t seem so implausible huh?

Ruby’s a speed fighter/sniper, a DPS main, and I’m supposed to believe she’s all of a sudden more of a tank then Yang?

Because fictional characters in a world without definitive roles unlike an RPG fit neatly into all roles and not like certain circumstances gave Ruby more durability that you CONVIENENTLY ignored.

So… yeah. Take that bit as you will.

Take it as an indication you’re biased as fuck? Okay.

Anyway. Shall we move onto the next round?

You’ve sunk your creditability with that last fight and I REALLY shouldn’t listen anymore out of sheer offense at the lack of principles here, but fine,

Blake and Yang vs Elm and Vine

Hits Taken Blake: 4 Yang: 4 Vine: 3 Elm: 4

Ah huh, what is said about Semblances?

Okay, so. Elm and Vine use their semblances liberally enough, while Blake and Yang barely use their semblances outside of finishing moves. I’ll grant them all that.

...After all that with Harriet and Ruby, you don’t even BOTHER discussing the use of semblances?....

You know, they don’t even really ANALYZE the fight. Wanna know what they say beyond stating hits (NOT a good indicator of whose winning)?

And aside from the suicide bomber attack, this fight is solid enough, animation-wise at least. Elm proves herself to be an absolute goddamn beast of a woman whom I love, but… it’s a little sad that the only hits Blake makes are team attacks. Once again, even worse then it was with Bees v Adam, Yang carries the fight while Blake is near-useless, aside from a few token team attacks.

I do wish Elm was more of a tank, though. It’s what she deserves.

Honestly, this feels so INSULTING. What, you didn’t have problems so you skipped the fight effectively? Analysis doesn’t mean ‘bitching about what I don’t like’, I learned NOTHING from this. 

All I can say is-

It’s not even necessary? Anyone remember this handy lil trick Blake has?

Look at that! It’s an exploding clone that doesn’t rely on someone else to pull the pin on the bomb!

What the actual fuck was the point of this move, other then to make me worry about Blake’s mental health? Who approved this? Who said ‘what’s the ultimate show of trust? Having the former member of a terrorist group put bombs on herself that someone else detonates! Brilliant!’

This is utterly bizarre.

Just sayin’.

Blake’s clones are BLATANT when infused with Dust. Vine wouldn’t have fallen for it.

Weiss vs Marrow

Hm. Hmmm. Well. Weiss got her first solo fight win. Unfortunately,

Harriet: Marrow! Cut the crap, will you?

Marrow: I’m trying to arrest her, not kill her, Hare!

Her opponent was holding back. Looks like Weiss’s special power is still ‘losing every fight she’s in with an opponent who’s not self-sabotaging’.

Marrow: I know you Schnees are used to getting what you want. But it's time to let this one go!

Yeah, don’t buy it.

Hits taken Weiss: 0 Marrow: 1

Yep.

Weiss takes no hits, at all, while Marrow blocks and dodges every single one of Weiss’s hits aside from the last. I’m serious. So I can’t go by hits for this one, I need to go by attacks.

So you say basically nothing about the actual fight but the dodgefest you say more? Really?

Hm. Yes. Hmmm. There’s some rather, shall we say, unfortunate implications here, since this looks, to me, rather more like an execution than anything else. As pointed out to me by a friend, when I showed them these screenshots, Marrow’s posture in the last is a very submissive pose. Head down, tail drooped, arm slack, reliant on external support (his boomerang), and kneeling. Also, what is with Ruby and Weiss and going for the back of the head?

He JUST got done dealing with the Knight and had to use his Semblance to stop it. After dodging and blocking a fuckton of hits. After all of the shit with the Grimm before. For someone trying to make the Ace Ops look as innocent as possible, why would you ignore how tired he must be?

Also that isn’t an execution pose. You have to be aiming for the NECK for an execution, not the HEAD. 

There’s also the unusually heavy focus on Marrow’s tail getting burnt, and this tone-deaf line, if we’re going to point out all the ‘faunus racism’ implications that show up.

Marrow: I know you Schnees are used to getting what you want, but it’s time to let this one go.

Weiss: This is my home, and I’m not giving it up without a fight.

...

You mean like when Kefla was launching her barrage of lazers at Ultra Instinct Omen Goku and they focused on his hair just barely getting grazed? It’s to emphasize how close the attack was.

Weiss, honey, you’re from Atlas. Mantle is a separate city. Twin cities, at the most, but you’re Atlesian. Also, this came right the heck out of nowhere. Absolutely nowhere in Weiss’s arc this season were we getting anything about her giving a damn about Mantle beyond ‘I kill grimm there’.

... HER ENTIRE ARC IS ABOUT CARING ABOUT OTHER PEOPLE!

And, just because unfortunate and hopefully accidental implications are the order of the day on Weiss vs Marrow, she’s saying this to the faunus that’s managed to get racism humansplained to him by the same woman who calls him ‘Wags’ as a funny nickname.

Sorry, I don’t speak wet farts.

Seriously, how the fuck is this a racism thing when Weiss is assumed to be someone who always gets her way, even in THIS Volume.

Weiss: Don't you think "tyranny's" a little dramatic?

Forest turns around to respond and looks surprised upon realizing who had just spoken.

Forest: Easy to say for a Schnee heiress, living comfortably up in Atlas.

Weiss: (sighing sadly) Not anymore.

Marrow deserves more respect than this, guys. I don’t even want to get into how bizarre it is that the final shot of his defeat puts the focus on his shackles, putting them even more in the foreground then Marrow himself. That’s just weird.

To emphasize he has them. Dumb I know but considering this post’s bullshit, you guys kind of earned it.

To conclude:

Ruby should have gotten her aura broken three hits in, sorry not sorry. Ruby is also a cold-cocking manipulative lil brat who has lost even the dregs of my respect for her. What a shame.

Which was complete horseshit beyond even Adel Aka or Dudeblade.

Harriet and Elm’s defeats seemed to have been framed in ways that were meant to be a little humiliating, with Harriet making dumb faces as she passes out and Elm landing in an awkward position. I disapprove of this. I would prefer if they were defeated with dignity.

It’s called humor.

Blake continues to be a useless damsel in distress in Actually Important Fights, while Yang is Angry All The Time and does all the heavy lifting.

That had fuck all to do with what you said, and as if being evasive and wasting enemy resources and acting as support for one of the BIGGEST HEAVY HITTERS IN THE SERIES is bad?

Weiss v Marrow has some weird implications that make me uncomfortable.

Which says more about you than anything else.

Credit where credit’s due: the voice acting, sound design, and the fight animation was great. Do I think the Ace Ops should have won? I would have found it more interesting, to be sure. Can I live with team RWBY winning? I can, but I could have done without the smugness.

Smugness you inserted.

Is there anything I would have changed? Bees vs Elm and Vine was fine, but I’d have either made it Ruby v Marrow and Weiss v Harriet (for a speedster vs Schnee fight, and a Lil Rd vs the Wolf fight), or would have let Harriet break Ruby’s aura.

Instead of personal stakes, bland ideas! Wonderful!

Also: War should and hopefully will be an Ace Ops’ song, not a team RWBY song. If anyone got betrayed here, the Ace Ops were the ones who put their trust into four liars who hid vital information and had the gall to act offended when they got told what a dick move said information-withholding was.

*insert equally shitty take about Ace Ops with bias in favor of Team RWBY here.*

Anyway, thanks for reading, I’d love to hear other thoughts on the matter. Ta, luvs.

Which is why the reblogs do nothing but regurgitate what you said while I’m blocked.

Speaking of reblogs....

https://jadekitty777.tumblr.com/post/190942492544/fight-analysis-rwby-vs-ace-ops

A lovely read dear! I’d also like to add, just because I was curious:

During the Qrow &Tyrian Vs Clover fight, I decided to do my best to count the amount of hits Clover and Qrow took.

I’m going to start with Qrow - he took about 5. One toss and 4 punches, mostly to the face (jeez Clover, I thought you liked his pretty face lol). Keep in mind Qrow is also primarily more a close-range fighter and took front lead in the Tyrian fight in the episode prior AND just went through a plane crash. The same plane crash that knocked Robyn unconscious - despite the fact she was only back-up during the other fight  and hadn’t been down in Mantle during the evacuation efforts up until the end to lure Tyrian out. The point is, his aura should be hurting, but it doesn’t even flicker.

For Clover? It added up to be about 11-12 - one of which was a point blank shotgun blast to the chest, 3-4 hits from Tyrian’s bullets in the back, and one more sword slice from Harbinger to his back.  I highlight those ones because they’d be the hardest to tank. The rest were various kicks and punches, most to his face and midsection.

(Also really Qrow,you should not be surprised Clover’s aura broke. You guys were killing him).

But the point I want to make is… Clover was down in Mantle just like the rest of the ops fighting for who knows how long before they went for Tyrian - considering they were coming back only slightly behind team RWBY and the others, we can surmise only maybe an hour or so they diverted to deal with our little scorpion. It’s also worth mentioning that ALL of our team members have been up an entire night and these fights in c12 happened closer to dawn, considering the sunrise at the episode’s end. They are all equally exhausted.

So to circle back around: Clover got struck with double to triple the hits his own team got - a full team of Atlas specialists. It feels like Clover is the only one who seems to be treated like he’s on Qrow’s level, wherein they really ALL should be at his level. Instead, it’s like the rest of the Ops had to be significantly nerfed to be beaten by Team RWBY.

If you want me to believe Team RWBY can beat them, then you also have to make me believe they can beat Qrow. And yeah, I don’t.

...

Clover never used his Semblance.

Qrow hits harder than ANYONE.

He was also attacked by Tyrian.

And Qrow was in a PLANE CRASH.

Fucking hell, this is one of the worst analysises I’ve read. Yes, including RWDE slock.

[thewitchofthewind]

What kind of witches are there, and how do I know what kind of witch I should be?

Hello anon! These are really good questions to ask when you’re starting witchcraft and I am happy to assist!

Answer under a cut bc this is a long one! 

What kind of a witch should I be?

So, in order to know what kind of witch you should be, what you have to do is check in with yourself, deep inside of yourself, and feel what things you personally connect to the most. What things resonate most with your spirit so to speak, what makes you feel most in your own element? when you find something like that, that is something that it is likely you’ll be able to do magic with more easily than other paths. 

Although!! you can honestly do any kind of witchcraft that you want, with very little exceptions! So if you still aren’t sure which you’d like to do based on what you vibe with, you can just pick one that sounds the most interesting to you and try it out. There’s no harm in experimenting!

There are a few exceptions to this of course. Some cultures and practices are closed or open by invitation from members of that culture only. If you don’t belong to these cultures, you should not under any circumstances try to take their practices. It’s disrespectful, it’s potentially dangerous to meddle with magic that isn’t meant for you, and in some cases it is just not likely to work.

Examples of closed culture witchcraft to stay away from if you don’t belong to that culture and heritage already include voodoo, hoodoo, and santeria. 

Also worth mentioning that you can pick as many kinds of witchcraft to practice as you’d like! The one thing i’d say is if you’re going to do that, treat it like you would treat joining clubs or hobby groups for example, or honestly really as you would treat making any other big change in your life: start with one or two, and then once you’ve comfortably adjusted to having those in your life, explore another one if you want to– don’t pick 5 or 6 and try to get into all of them at the same time because you will wind up pulling yourself in too many directions at once. 

Additionally, if you really don’t want to devote yourself to one or a handful of kinds of witchcraft only, you can be something of a jack of all trades instead! eclectic witchcraft is the undeclared/liberal arts major of witchery, it basically means you dip into a little of this and a little of that and haven’t devoted yourself into any one kind of witchcraft or another, and that’s valid too!

No matter what kind of path you choose to follow, though, starting here is a really good point!

https://will-o-the-witch.tumblr.com/post/168715999429/im-a-baby-witch-what-do-i-start-learning 

Types of witches/witchcraft

Okay, so now that you have an idea of how to pick (or not pick) what kind of witch you’d like to be, let’s get into what’s out there, yeah? 

i’m gonna go ahead and preface this by saying these lists are NOT all-inclusive because there are AS MANY types of witch and witchcraft out there as there are grains of sand by the sea and i simply cannot cover them ALL, but this should be a helpful place to start! please keep in mind that i mean these descriptions only as a jumping off point for you to gauge what you might be interested in! there is so much more to all of these than just what i’ve written here. half the fun of choosing a new path is study :3

☆ cosmic 

cosmic witches use the energy of the cosmos to practice their craft. subsets of this type of witchcraft include lunar witchcraft (witches who connect with the energy of the moon), or solar witchcraft (witches who connect with the energy of the sun), but you can be a cosmic witch without picking between those. in addition, many witches, especially theistic (god worshipping) witches, may choose to devote their practice to a specific planet or selection of planets. cosmic witches might also choose to  be good at and study astrology. 

☆ divination

divination witches channel energy to predict the future. some can also predict the past, present, or alternate timelines. subdivisions of divination witchcraft include prophetic witchcraft (witches who have honed their ability to have visions to make predictions), cartomancy (the art of reading cards to make predictions. popular card choices are tarot cards, oracle cards, and lenormand cards, but some witches just use playing cards or even make their own cards) scrying (the art of looking into something to assist in making a prediction. some witches will look into a mirror, or a pool of water, or a crystal, or a flame. there are many many ways to scry. some versions of scrying involve pendulums, and their motions),  tasseomancy (the art of reading tea leaves to make predictions), and rune throwing (the art of casting stones with runes carved into them (rune stones) and reading them in such a way to make a prediction), or throwing the bones (similar to rune throwing, but in place of rune stones the witch throws a collection of bones and reads how they fall to help make a prediction.)

☆ Faerie 

faerie witches work closely with the fae in their craft. while i personally greatly respect the fair folk, much in the way one respects a powerful foreign dignitary, or an open inferno, i do not have personal experience in working closely with them, and as such cannot describe what that might be like. however, i felt it would be unduly rude of me to leave them out, so of course i did not.

☆ hearth

hearth witches do magic for the home. their altar is often on the hearth of their home if their home has one, hence the name. subsets of hearth witch include cottage witches (cottage witches often grow their own food and some of them keep bees, they work towards independent stability as much as they can, and weave their witchcraft into that) and kitchen witches (kitchen witches use cooking and food to convey their magic. a kitchen witch might make a tea cake imbued with luck, or a latte that guarantees a successful day at work.)   

☆ hedge 

hedge witches work a lot with liminality. they often live on the edge of town, or between a town and a forest or between a town and a highway or near a crossroads (it is thought that their tendency to live near the edge of town is where the term hedge witch comes from, as towns were often lined with hedges.) hedge witches practice a lot of spirit work and/or ancestor work, as well as they may be practiced with astral projection and/or lucid dreaming. hedge witches are also known for being good with herbal remedies, and healing magic.

☆ nature

nature witches get their energy and magic from nature! there are lots of different subsets of nature witch including green witches (witches who use their magic to help the environment) forest witches (witches who get their energy from the forest. some forest witches also engage in scavenging for magical components), weather witches (witches who get energy from and use magic to influence the weather!) plant witches (witches who use their energy to grow plants, and use plants to help them in their magic), and garden witches (witches who grow all of their own magical components, similar to cottage witches but a different vibe.)

☆ ritual

ritual witches don’t do much everyday magic. they connect best with their magic when they’ve cast a circle and have something to chant, have candles lit, or are doing something else that require ritual and routine and focus. there are rituals and spells for every subset of magic, so this describes more a mode of magic use that someone may be more comfortable with than a type of magic itself.

☆ sea

sea witches draw their energy and magic from natural bodies of water, like oceans, lakes, and seas. some sea witches have more of a connection to one body of water than another, some sea witches can work with all water whether it’s inside of an ocean/sea or not. sea witches are likely to collect sea shells, do bath magic, and visit the shore as often as they’re able to. 

☆ sigil 

sigil witches create little designs called sigils to invoke their magic into the world! sigil magic plays very well with other kinds of magic, since a sigil can be made to carry any kind of intent you’d like. people who use sigils to carry out their will are often very visual, creative, or linguistic people. sigils are also versatile in that you can draw a sigil on practically anything and use practically anything to draw one with.

☆ traditional/trad

traditional witches, or trad witches, are often witches who have inherited the craft from someone in their family. trad witches often have a mentor who teaches them the ways of magic, and they often know a lot of folklore and a lot about local magical components. 

[sagebodisattva]

Another Nail in Your Coffin

“C’mon Sage. Bring on the knowledge! More Sage! Make another video!”

Sure. But I really don’t know why you’d want me to keep on going on, talking at length, as it’s only going to cause the walls to close in around you; because the more and more I scrutinize you, and the more and more I analyze and dissect the current situation, the more and more disappointed and disgusted I become, hence, the more and more arduous the inevitable judgement and consequences that will follow. Thus, every word I speak, acts as another nail in the coffin. What, you thought I was finished? Ha. No, my friend. I’m just getting started.

I know that many of you have longed for more metaphysics, and wish that I would resume making more videos concerning those types of aspects, but, one thing you have to come to realize, is that there’s been a dramatic change of season. Most of the content on the channel thus far has mainly been concerned with the metaphysical, and that’s due to the particular phase I was in at the time. It was a period of exploration, profound thought, and shared deep wisdom. Those were the main areas of concern of that era; but recently, however, there’s been a major shift of course, and, subsequently, the area of emphasis has also shifted. And so now, I have moved into a phase primarily concerned with productive destruction. Yes, productive destruction, not nihilism. Whereas nihilism might be construed as illustrating the rationalizations of a sociopath for his abhorrent criminal behaviors; productive destruction, on the other hand, is only concerned with destroying the evil crafts of deception, wherein the motive is always selfless service and magnanimous sacrifice. This is a period where the main area of concern will be deconstructing falsehoods, and tearing down corrupt foundations.

And it’s not that I want it to be this way. I don’t. I’d much rather be speaking on the higher points, and delving deeply into arcane knowledge; but, unfortunately, the current circumstances have dictated otherwise. Instead, I have to set to work, hunting down deceptive ideologies, proceeding to systematically break them down; and, ultimately, stalk and kill them. Rigorous acts of menticide, whereby any and all delusions are susceptible to decapitation on the chopping block. We have to isolate and trap the malignant sociopaths, and strip them down to their raw bones, then rack and shatter those bones down into thousands of tiny little pieces. We have to destroy them, utterly. Yeah, and it’s no big deal at all if a scumbag ends up perishing by the hand of his own stupidity. It’s a completely acceptable loss. It’s effort well worth any blood stained hands; and when it comes to washing away human stains, there is no higher calling.

And this is where some of you may get the idea to raise your voice to speak, and assert an opinion, but I say, while you are free to speak, what you say is totally inconsequential and irrelevant; as, you don’t get to decide anything, and no matter what your theory is, it’s the wrong theory. It’s not about a choice between various options in a world, no. External events don’t happen “out there” somewhere. Decisions are not being made by “others”, sorry. I know you have your little oral fixation thing, but no, sorry; and this is exactly why you are in a position where you need to be informed. The only problem is, your informers are complete liars. So get it straight: everything that happens around here is being imagined into being, and nothing else. So, overall, you really don’t know jack-shit. And since you don’t know, then ASK; instead of always being a nasty little opinionated needle-nosed twit. Shut your fucking mouth up right now, or get a viral payload dropped directly on your bird brained head. Yeah, the coronavirus! This guy thinks it’s from a bat cave, and that guy thinks it’s a leak from a viral lab, but, fuck you both, it’s original source is from nowhere, and it will go and shed wherever the hell it needs to. And right now, your overinflated pretentious head is looking like the best destination.

I mean, the arrogance and disrespect of it all, has gotten completely out of control, and I’m sick and tired of it. Sick and tired of it to the extent that, a lot of you motherfuckers are gonna have to die. Plain and simple. We’ve got no more use for you. You are nothing but a detriment. How dare you speak and act the way you do. Who the fuck’s mind do you think this is anyhow? Yeah, I know. You think you occupy physical space, so it’s no wonder you believe you have some inherent right to position and property. Well, I hate to break it to you jack-off, but you ain’t got an inherent right to jack-shit. You are occupying my mind-space, and as such, at best, you are only a guest here; but I don’t seem to remember you paying any homage, or asking permission to construct your bullshit in my mind.

And I know some of you may say:

“Hey, wait a minute Sage. Slow down. Why is it “your” mind-space? Isn’t this OUR mind-space? How can you lay claim to this? Wouldn’t it be more accurate to describe it as “our mind-space?”

No. Sorry, it’s my mind-space, and no one else’s. And that’s because I decided to take on responsibility for it, when no one else wanted it. The mind-space was essentially an unmanned wheel of a ship, with no captain, aimlessly adrift at sea. So I decided to take on responsibility for the mind-space, and therefore, maintenance of the interior of the mind-space has become my job. So that’s why I have become the main guardian and caretaker of the mind-space, and you, did not. You had your chance to let go of everything, enlighten your mind, and take on responsibility, but you chose to squander that opportunity, and decided to become a lazy ignorant jackass instead. Rather then pursuing the truth, you chose to argue against enlightenment, and continually advocated for staying powerless and ignorant in delusion. Instead, you chose masturbation with a blindfold. Instead, you insisted on constantly giving attributional blowjobs to gods or the universe. So no, it’s too late. No one was interested in uncovering the truth before, so why are you suddenly worried about it now? The only thing you all ever aspired to become, was desire whores and value junkies, trapped in a delusional state of mental slavery; and thus, that’s exactly what you got. So embrace it, and become one with it. You wholly deserve it, and threw away your chance of illumination for it. So now, go ahead and choke on it. Just like I knew you would. Just like a good little jack-ass should.

So, no. You were not yet ready to rise to the occasion. You had your chance, but you hung up your gloves, and threw in the towel. I, on the other hand, was up for the task. I rose to the occasion. I made consistent efforts, uncovered the truth, liberated the mind, and assumed full responsibility for reality. And this is exactly why this whole realm is now considered mine. It is reality that is under my direct purview. This is my mind-space, and you are but a mere guest. An unruly visitor, who is quickly testing the extent of my good graces, and trying the limits of my extreme patience. It’s time for you to get disciplined. And I don’t care about any talk of rights and freedoms. Your rights and freedoms are overrated. You don’t deserve those rights and freedoms, because you are much too immature, greedy and reckless to be trusted with such great responsibilities. So it’s time to take them away from you. And that’s gonna be one of the major ways you will be punished from now on. Things are gonna start being taken away from you at an alarming rate. I know you think you are entitled to them, but I think it’s time for you to lose them. Therefor, things will be taken away. Oh, you are gonna learn, dammit. You are gonna learn big time. You are going to behave.

And speaking of your ongoing disgusting malignant behaviors, from now on, the speed of reaping what you sow, is gonna be swift and heavy. Especially swift. In the past, these things took time. You could always cause delays or create distractions. But no more. Instant immediate justice is now the way of the new current era. And speed is, indeed, of the essence. Such extreme speed that, you will already experience the major impact of your misdeed, by the time you go to bed at night, on the very same day of your imposition. Everything you’ve taken so long to painstakingly build, can disappear faster then gasoline soaked paper in fire.

So remain heedless to your own peril. And yes, you should detect a sense of ominous foreboding in the air; because, at this point, circumstances are not working towards your well being. Yeah, “things” are being orchestrated against you; and there’s so many different ways this can ultimately reach you. Not only through such avenues as a virus, but also through your surroundings, animals and other people. Circumstance itself. And you’d really be amazed about how much can be accomplished with just the simple movements of elements, such as fire, water, rock and air. Oh, there’s just no limits to the many many ways it can get to you.

So this is a fight you can’t win, so go ahead and do your worse. Go ahead and lock and load. Arm yourself to the teeth, hunker down and make your last stand. At the very least, we can starve you out. But, always remember: there are hundreds of thousands lined up, all just waiting to sacrifice themselves for the good cause; and they’ve got absolutely nothing to lose. And that’s exactly how you wanted it. And so now it will, ironically, seal your own fate. After all, YOU are the one always going on about how you have so much to preserve and defend, hence, it’s you who has everything to lose, which, of course, means you are at a serious disadvantage; fighting a lost cause upon a sinking ship. Sometimes, to achieve a moral standard, a price must be paid in blood; and the blood supply of your precious special few is seemingly quite limited, whereas the pool of blood of our righteous warriors is as vast and deep as the ocean itself.

So hey, you know what, it’s no big deal. No one has to do the right thing. No problem. There’s absolutely no pressure. But, just so you know, things are gonna get real tough. I know you can’t help yourself. I know that it’s incredibly hard not to be a toxic selfish arrogant entitled prick. So, know upfront, things are gonna get real tough. And please, by all means, continue to abuse freedoms. Continue to impose your liberty upon others in order to enrich yourself. Just as long as you fully understand, that things are gonna get real tough. And I mean real tough; wherein accomplishing the simplest little tasks in life, will now become monumental enormities.

But you LIKE the simplest little tasks in life becoming monumental enormities. No no, you LIKE the simplest little tasks in life becoming monumental enormities. You LIKE that. And now, you are gonna get a real good taste of it, real hard.

[anguianobrodan90]

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