Some years ago I was having lunch with my nana at a conveyor belt sushi restaurant. It’s important to know for the sake of this story that my nana is a little old Mexican lady who nevertheless mistrusts everyone except white people. We were having a nice time, chatting and eating.
Then midway through the meal she leaned in close and said, “Sometimes… do you think they reuse the rice to make rolls?”
I turned to her in surprise and said, “No, why would you think that?”
“Well,” she said, “You know… those people never like to waste anything.”
We stared at each other across the yawning chasm of her previous statement and finally I managed, “Nana, that’s racist.”
“It is?”
“Yes. It is. Not all Asian people behave the same, and assuming they do is racist. Just like not all Mexican people are the same.”
She looked down at her meal, nonplussed, and I realized that her actual fear of spoiled food hadn’t been addressed.
I sighed and added, “You know, restaurants all get inspected by health inspectors and have to maintain certain codes. And the health inspector is probably also racist, which means non white businesses have to be even more careful. So the rice will always be fresh.”
She brightened immediately. “That’s true!” She ate another roll, secure in the knowledge that racism would keep her food safe.
Then she said, “I could be a health inspector!” and I nearly choked.
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Bob in female fight club au. Thoughts
Probably named Marge
Rather than doing a direct inversion (ie making the character the exact opposite, much tits -> no tits, etc) I think sort of an analogue would work better riffing off the motherly role Bob has, in combination with the group being for uterine cancer/ovarian cancer
The women come together, and they cry, cry, cry, over lost husbands, who left them because they got cancer, because overwhelmingly, men leave if their wife gets cancer, over lost relationships with children, who stayed but resent them, over lost Motherhood, that thing you were told was your worth but now you are told you're shit. Remaining Women Together. Despite. Despite despite despite.
What is it, about purposes. Want to see misery, see women fed their own physical oppression as lost salvation.
Marge, whatever her name is, her husband divorced her, left her with the kids and medical bills stacked as high as she is tall. She is thankful she still has her kids, it makes her feel like she's still worth something. She's had to try and get back into the workforce. No one wants to hire dear former stay at home mother Marge. She shows you her kids in her wallet in her purse and there are no pictures of her. There's a picture of her old husband, which she keeps to show her kids if they ask. They're old enough to go to school now, which is good, because it gives her more time to work. Life is hard, but she's doing her best.
Marge, who is on hormone therapy so she doesn't get those "side effects" she's heard about from other total hysterectomy patients, the future of early dementia and degeneration and horror. Who does pelvic floor exercises in hopes it will minimise the fallout of the surgery. Who carefully rips every hair out of her upper lip and chin because even if it would be normal for a woman, a woman whose gone through menopause, a woman at all — she knows, it's probably the estrogen tipping back over into testosterone, and she can't handle any more losses. She compensates. They all do.
The support group is her Me Time. It is the single hour plus half hour commute she can afford once a week for herself. So she gets here, and she cries, cries, cries, and the others cry with her, all over how their lives have fallen apart since they got ovarian cancer, got breast cancer, and their lives derailed because they can't be proper women anymore.
They cry in their waterproof makeup. Another product to promise womanhood. Identify yourself via consumption. Identify yourself by covering yourself up.
And when she finds fight club. When she finds something that says, jesus fuck. You are more than your children. You are more than your ability to have kids. You aren't a failed woman, that's a sack of shit you've been sold wholesale. When she finds something that promises her she will grow, achieve personhood, not because she was the ultimate martyr mother, not because she played the game of human or woman, but because it promises a freedom from all that, identification and repulsion of such sickening chains. When she stops worrying about her slightly deepened voice, and works to keep her dose even keel for her health, to avoid the toxic highs of accidentally juicing, rather than the lesser effects of a black lip hair or two. When she has a photo, not of herself in her wallet, but of the things she makes with other women from fight club, of the one view of the sunset from that one parking lot that she always thought was wonderful, when she has things in her wallet for her and her enjoyment. When she has corded muscle and a built up spine, when she sits her kids down and explains why they only see dad one weekend every other month, all the fun holidays, because dad decided staying with her through cancer was too hard even when she stayed with him through four lost jobs pissed away in alcohol and lottery tickets.
And Marge, who gets shot by the police on a regulation chill-and-drill assignment for Project Mayhem. Whose obituary in the newspaper talks about the children she left behind, how she battled cancer and kept caring for them, how she was such a strong mother, whose kids would now be shipped off to their grieving father who is so, so brave and stunning for standing up and taking care of the kids he made and dropped as soon as his live-in servant had a few issues. Her name is Marge Paulson, and she was forty-eight years old. She was a person. She will be remembered in the annals of Project Mayhem, lest what little there was of her be stolen from the world. She was killed by Project Mayhem, but they're the only ones who will remember Marge Paulson.
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its very interesting to me how Tamlin is the character and High Lord that is heavily vilified (I would almost say even more than Beron strangely) when he is the only High Lord to have talked about d how he has gone about removing slavery within his court, protecting lower fae in general, and his court was open to immigration from other courts (i cant remember if its mentioned again in acomaf but in acotar fae from other courts are free to move to the spring court. example, Alis) and how overall he is a great leader. Especially when you compare him and Rhysand as High Lords.
The Court of Nightmares is well, a nightmare. Its existence is extremely strange and makes Rhysand look very odd. as well as its unclear how Rhysand gets his wealth. Velaris was a hidden city until acomaf-ish, which means it was locked (so no immigration or emigration which isn't bad per-say but does bring up how it works economically) and Rhysands inability or unwillingness to protect his citizens (not enforcing the wing clipping ban and allowing people to be abused in the CoN. and before anyone starts about him not being able to control the illyrians, why did he make it a law in the first place? It just makes him look bad) makes him look like a shitty ruler. His supposed "feminism" and friendship with the people of velaris doesnt answer these very important questions or justify the strange shit he does. Versus Tamlin, which you can refer to my opening statement for the comparison. Also to note, his rule only came into question and stability after Feyre broke into people minds (which I do feel is extremely gross and a huge violation of ones autonomy and privacy) and had to sabotage him. I won't comment how I feel about this in this post, but it says a lot that she had to go through such lengths to break him down. Especially after it was revealed he was in fact a double agent and never actually siding with Hybern.
The only time Tamlin is an arguably bad high lord is in acofas and acosf where he is in a severe mental crisis and not in a position to properly rule. But even then, it's not clear if this is actually causing harm to the land and people. It's probably not good because they don't have a proper leader but I can't believe it's a severe issue.
Its definitely a strange choice, isn't it? Cause I think anyone in their right mind would choose the anti-tyranny, anti-slavery leader who does his best for his people... and its somehow not our supposed 'hero'
"I once told you I would fight against tyranny, against that sort of evil. Did you think you were enough to turn me from that?"
Acowar, chapter 44
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how do you think dean feels about aging? obviously we know he never expected to live very long, so when he does i’m sure he’s thankful as hell!! but things like wrinkles, hearing loss, bad eyes, other disabilities that come with age — how do you think he takes it? especially when he was such a physical POWERHOUSE in his prime.
AHH GOOD QUESTION THANK YOU!!!
In general, yeah, every day is a gift because he never would've thought he'd live this long, especially not to see retirement. It wouldn't hit him until his birthday, when he's now in his forties, mid-forties, his fifties, mid-fifties, and so on. Watching his kids get older too would really make him feel old.
But looks-wise, Dean is largely in denial, as we see here
(courtesy of arcanespillo)
I don't think that would change lmao. I think it would take someone else pointing something out to make him feel conscious about it. Like the "What's a dad bod?" moment that one episode (it's escaping me rn I can picture it clear as day). But I think generally he's confident enough in his looks that it doesn't bother him. Especially since he's in a loving, committed relationship.
His body degrading would be much more disheartening (as you've seen in my ficlet about his bad knees) Like, he loves his new quiet retirement life. He still works out regularly and stays in shape in case he does need to fight, so he definitely could be worse-off if he wasn't exercising, but he still lived a really hardcore lifestyle and that did some damage. I think losing his hearing and eyesight would be difficult but losing his mobility would hit him like a truck. At first, he just powers through (to his own detriment later on when he's sore for the next day or two) and he learns the hard way he's better off taking it easier in the first place. But that takes a mental toll as well. It's hard, adjusting to this new normal and letting go of things he used to do, letting go of how his body used to be. He really beats himself up for it. But he has a good support system in his partner who accommodates his needs and they figure everything out together 💖
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