#the rise of nationalism in europe

[rodaportal]

🔍 Unlocking Europe's Political Shift! 🌍🔐

Hey, deep thinkers! 🤔💡 Ready to understand the surge of conservative politics in Europe? 📈🗳️ Our latest YouTube video, "The Rise of Nationalism: Europe's Right-Wing Political Landscape," delves into the complexities shaping the continent's political future. 🚀✨

Discover the motivations, controversies, and electoral victories that define this political shift. From the transformation of Sweden Democrats to Marine Le Pen's National Rally, Hungary's resilience under Viktor Orban, Geert Wilders' controversies in the Netherlands, to Matteo Salvini's League in Italy—we cover it all!

#nationalism #europe #conservativepolitics

👉 Watch Now: https://youtu.be/uRVUo0hqc5M

[cigarette-room]

Liberators - bravest, most beautiful. Their smiles are shining like the sun. Happy birthday to the defeat of European fascism and may we see it lose again, and again, and again ❤️

[orlandospride]

i’m actually so gassed that zambia beat germany

[a-god-in-ruins-rises]

[anneowl2803]

I’m a sciency gal. I haaaaaate climate change, because I recognise how dangerous it is. How it’s affecting everyone worldwide, specially those closer to the equator.

Recently, there were these huge floods in Germany, one of, if not the most, influential countries in Europe. Unfortunately, people have died and billions of dollars have been lost in damage. Suddenly, in the days preceding the European elections, politicians came to the news with worried faces talking about how we need to end climate change.

Like it was a freaking side quest before!

I seriously hope things change for the better after these storms. I hope the world starts investing more in technology that will help us mitigate climate change, instead of financing stupid dumb protests lead by uneducated puppets, who are more concerned in pushing Marxist agendas than actually fighting the big oil companies (which could be achieved through nuclear power plants, which are much, much safer now).

I want to see more Boyan Slat’s and less Greta Thunberg’s. More Wangari Maathai’s and less Jair Bolsonaro’s. It’s time we stop talking about climate change or denying it and actually do something about it.

white americans when you tell them that the idea of climate change as an impending disaster is a reductive first world perspective because it’s a tangible reality for many in the global south already:

[reasonsforhope]

The World's Forests Are Doing Much Better Than We Think

You might be surprised to discover... that many of the world’s woodlands are in a surprisingly good condition. The destruction of tropical forests gets so much (justified) attention that we’re at risk of missing how much progress we’re making in cooler climates.

That’s a mistake. The slow recovery of temperate and polar forests won’t be enough to offset global warming, without radical reductions in carbon emissions. Even so, it’s evidence that we’re capable of reversing the damage from the oldest form of human-induced climate change — and can do the same again.

Take England. Forest coverage now is greater than at any time since the Black Death nearly 700 years ago, with some 1.33 million hectares of the country covered in woodlands. The UK as a whole has nearly three times as much forest as it did at the start of the 20th century.

That’s not by a long way the most impressive performance. China’s forests have increased by about 607,000 square kilometers since 1992, a region the size of Ukraine. The European Union has added an area equivalent to Cambodia to its woodlands, while the US and India have together planted forests that would cover Bangladesh in an unbroken canopy of leaves.

Logging in the tropics means that the world as a whole is still losing trees. Brazil alone removed enough woodland since 1992 to counteract all the growth in China, the EU and US put together. Even so, the planet’s forests as a whole may no longer be contributing to the warming of the planet. On net, they probably sucked about 200 million metric tons of carbon dioxide from the atmosphere each year between 2011 and 2020, according to a 2021 study. The CO2 taken up by trees narrowly exceeded the amount released by deforestation. That’s a drop in the ocean next to the 53.8 billion tons of greenhouse gases emitted in 2022 — but it’s a sign that not every climate indicator is pointing toward doom...

More than a quarter of Japan is covered with planted forests that in many cases are so old they’re barely recognized as such. Forest cover reached its lowest extent during World War II, when trees were felled by the million to provide fuel for a resource-poor nation’s war machine. Akita prefecture in the north of Honshu island was so denuded in the early 19th century that it needed to import firewood. These days, its lush woodlands are a major draw for tourists.

It’s a similar picture in Scandinavia and Central Europe, where the spread of forests onto unproductive agricultural land, combined with the decline of wood-based industries and better management of remaining stands, has resulted in extensive regrowth since the mid-20th century. Forests cover about 15% of Denmark, compared to 2% to 3% at the start of the 19th century.

Even tropical deforestation has slowed drastically since the 1990s, possibly because the rise of plantation timber is cutting the need to clear primary forests. Still, political incentives to turn a blind eye to logging, combined with historically high prices for products grown and mined on cleared tropical woodlands such as soybeans, palm oil and nickel, mean that recent gains are fragile.

There’s no cause for complacency in any of this. The carbon benefits from forests aren’t sufficient to offset more than a sliver of our greenhouse pollution. The idea that they’ll be sufficient to cancel out gross emissions and get the world to net zero by the middle of this century depends on extraordinarily optimistic assumptions on both sides of the equation.

Still, we should celebrate our success in slowing a pattern of human deforestation that’s been going on for nearly 100,000 years. Nothing about the damage we do to our planet is inevitable. With effort, it may even be reversible.

-via Bloomburg, January 28, 2024

[the-microphone-explodes]

Well for one thing, you (or the West for that matter) didn’t create the word genocide, it was coined by a Polish-Jewish lawyer named Raphael Lemkin. In his book, the Axis Rule in Occupied Europe he showed his research of the way the Nazi occupied Europe and narrated how he thought the crimes the Nazi committed against the Polish during their occupation came down to 5 main policies that displayed their will to completely destroy the Polish nation which included:

1) The mass killings of Poles

2) Bringing “serious bodily or mental harm to members of the group”,

3) Planned deterioration of living conditions "calculated to bring about their destruction

4) Implementation of various "measures intended to to prevent births within the group" such as promotion of abortions, burdening pregnant women, etc.

5) Forced transfer of Polish children to German families

He used these instances as proof for the Nazi plan to completely terminate the Polish identity and these markers are still used by the Genocide Convention as proof of genocidal intentions. He also used this word to describe the atrocities that Nazi committed against the Jewish people during the Holocaust. Lemkin also spent the rest of his time advocating for an international convention to stop the rise of “future Hitlers”, and on December 9, 1948 the U.N. authorized the Genocide Convention, which had many of its clauses based on Lemkin’s own research and proposals.

Also this is a very narrow idea of racism and discrimination. Anti-semitism was rampant in American and Western society years before Hitler came into power. I mean in 1942, American literally turned away a boat load of Jewish people seeking refuge. People didn’t look at Jews and think “Oh man they look just like us, so their murders must be important and we have to create a word that describes their condition and the crimes being committed against because we care sooooo much about them”. In reality, most people didn’t really given a shit about all of the Jews being murdered, only when America and the West was being directly threatened by war did they retaliate.

So no, the West didn’t coin the word Genocide to describe the atrocities that Nazi Germany inflicted because the victims looked like them or whatever, the word was created by Polish-Jewish lawyer to describe the oppression that his people were put under.

[pietroleopoldo]

Re: the last post I re logged the last story I tried to write was set during ww1 so to be fair the rise of fascism wasn't really a metaphor

[saldziakrauje]

a "federal european union" will never happen because the countries of eastern europe are colonies to the west, not equals

[determinate-negation]

"Jewish Marxists have always rejected Zionism. In 1906, a leading member of the Bund published this polemic in Die Neue Zeit, the theoretical journal of the German Social Democracy. "A national economy would mean a territory where the Jewish people — and in the capitalist mode of production: the Jewish bourgeoisie — form the majority and oppress peoples who are in the minority, just as they have been oppressed until now." "Do the Zionist socialists intend to introduce … exceptional laws for immigrant, non-Jewish workers?"

Many people claim that Zionism and Judaism are identical, as if the Jewish people, for thousands of years, had obviously longed to return to Jerusalem. Yet Zionism is a relatively new political movement — a product of the era of bourgeois nationalism and colonialism. Theodor Herzl's programmatic manifesto only appeared in 1896, at a time when Jewish socialist groups had been active in London and other cities for more than two decades. Long before anyone thought of colonizing Palestine, Jewish revolutionaries had been fighting for socialism.

Zionism was far from hegemonic among Europe's Jews. In the largest Jewish communities, in the Pale of Settlement on the western edge of the Tsarist Empire, far more Jewish people were drawn to socialism. The most important organization of the Jewish proletariat was the General Jewish Labour Bund in Lithuania, Poland, and Russia, or the "Bund" for short. The Bund opposed the Zionist program of emigration with a program of class struggle and "doikayt," or hereness.

Herzl's Zionism was bourgeois, and he sought support from the Tsar's antisemitic ministers, the organizers of terrible pogroms — he saw they had a common interest in getting Jews to leave the Empire and stay away from revolutionary organizations. After the 1905 revolution, the rise of class struggle in Russia and the radicalization of Jewish workers led to the emergence of various hybrid forms of socialism and Zionism. "Socialist Zionism" was founded by Ber Borochov, and its most important organization was Poale Zion (The Workers of Zion).

Poale Zion had a contradictory program: sometimes it said that Jewish workers should focus on emigrating to Palestine in order to build a socialist society there; at other times its emphasized class struggle, while the construction of a Jewish national home in the Holy Land was declared to be a goal for the distant future. Due to this contradiction, Poale Zion did not last long; after the Russian Revolution, the left wing joined the Communist International, while the right wing became a reformist and colonialist party that founded the State of Israel.

In this 1906 essay, Chaim Yakov Gelfand, a leading member of the Bund, explained why socialist Zionism was a reactionary utopia. Socialism and Zionism were fundamentally incompatible: the former depended on the political independence of the working class, whereas the latter required long-term collaboration with both the Jewish bourgeoisie and with the imperialist colonial powers. This text appeared in Die Neue Zeit, the theoretical journal of the German Social Democracy, edited by Karl Kautsky. In his own book on the question from 1914, Kautsky also declared that oppressed Jewish workers should aim for a "revolution in Russia" instead of emigration to Palestine.

Gelfand's essay is tragically prophetic. Even in 1906, it was clear that Palestine was far from uninhabited, and that the establishment of an exclusively Jewish nation-state would inevitably lead to conflicts with the indigenous population. Marxists understood that colonization would create new forms of oppression and also new hatred against Jews. Gelfand made clear that a Jewish state could only be built in cooperation with imperialism and would therefore never be socialist.

It's interesting to read about the progressive ideals of sections of the early Zionist movement, prior to the foundation of the State of Israel. The contradictions of this "socialist" colonial project proved to be insurmountable. Over the decades, numerous young Jewish activists turned away from socialist Zionism and joined the Trotskyist movement — in some cases only after arriving in Palestine.

The most famous of them is undoubtedly Abraham Leon, a scholar-warrior who wrote a Marxist history of the Jewish people while leading the underground fight against the Nazis in Belgium, before being murdered at Auschwitz at 26. Left-wing Zionists from Berlin such as Martin Monath and Rudolf Segall also became Trotskyists — the former in exile in Belgium, the latter while working at a kibbutz in Palestine. Both, like many other former Zionists, became leaders of the Fourth International.

Today, the internationalist traditions of Jewish revolutionaries are being erased. This text, in its first English translation, is a reminder that Zionism is only a small and controversial part of Jewish history. Jewish-led protests against the war in Gaza are reviving these internationalist traditions."

[tamamita]

why do zionists always assume its antisemitic to think that zionism a settler colonial idea

Modern Zionists aren't actually well-read into their own history. I could invoke the likes of Theodore Herlz, Ze'ev Jabotinsky, David Ben Gurion, and many other political Zionists and how they were ardent supporters of settler colonialism, yet it wouldn't get through their head, because they genuinely believe the land of Palestine is their right to claim, despite the people inhabitating the area. But to claim that the establishment of the Settler state was necessary due to antisemitism is not correct.

The pogrom of the Jewish people in the Pale of Settlement in Imperial Russia resulted in the mass displacement of Jews. But most Jews did not flee to Palestine, but to the US and Western Europe to live relatively better lives, due to the French revolution and so on. They had no desire whatsoever to move to Palestine due to its harsh climate and environment. Although the repression of Jews in the 19th century added to Zionism's appeal, Zionism did not emerge because of it as is often portrayed.

Jewish historian Michael Stanislawiski explains:

The first expression of this new ideology were published well before the spread of the new anti-semitic ideology and before the pogroms of the ealy 1880s. The fundamental cause of the emergence of modern Jewish nationalism was the rise, on the part of Jews themselves, of new ideologies that applied the basic tenets of modern nationalism to the Jews, and not a response to persecution.

-- Zionism, a short introduction (Stanislawski, 2017)

As was the case for that time, the doctrine of nationalism became prevalent across Europe. Many versions of it gained hold of European intellectuals and the upper-classes. One of these were ethnonationalism, which emphasised common ancestry. Such a view was popular among Germans, Hungarians, Russians, Poles and etc, who saw their "tribes" as being distinct, and therefore needed to be preserved from foreign threats. Zionism would mirror some of these aspects, which was prevalent in Eastern Europe. The founding father of Revisionist Zionism (and the precursor to the Likud party), Ze'ev Jabotinsky stated:

"The creation of a Jewish majority, was the fundamental aim of Zionism, the term "Jewish State", means a Jewish majority and Palestine will become a Jewish country at the moment when it has a Jewish majority".

-- Zionism, and the Arabs, 1882-1948 A study of ideology (Yosef Gorny, 1987)

However, there was another ideology emerging which was far more popular among the oppressed Jewish people, which would propell them to emancipate themselves where they lived. Revolutionary Socialism.

According Ilan Pappe, the doctrine of Zionism was vehemently opposed by Jewish leaders all around Europe on the basis of Talmudic violations, the rise of revolutionary socialism and the rise of Jewish assimilationism. Additionally, in a conference in Frankfurt, rabbis decided to omit the mentioning of "the return" from Jewish prayers as a reaction to Zionism. However, Zionism would face intense opposition from Socialist Jews, especially the Bundists, who openly declared Zionism to be anti-Socialist, opportunistic and reactionary. Zionism was an alien idea, and revolutionary socialism emphasised the importance of the liberation of Jews where they lived, resulting in an ideological feud between the Bundists and Political Zionists. Even the likes of the Chaim Weizmann, the first president of the Settler state, and David Ben Gurion, the first PM of the settler state, would condemn the Bundists for their opposition to Political Zionism.

[occamstfs]

Actually, They're Called Tetrominoes

Been holding out on some kinda Video Game trigger, here's a bit of an odd Russian cultural/racial TF, enjoy! -Occam

Michael could stand to be a more pleasant person. Day to day he is a pretty run of the mill head-down kinda guy, amicable but never really goes out his way to chat or make friends. Instead he finds his free time often used to prowl the internet looking for people to torment online in whatever way he finds funny at the moment. Born too late to be a goon on SomethingAwful he typically pages through Reddit threads and communities looking for someone sensitive or cartoonishly argumentative.

This is precisely where he finds himself tonight, being a pedant on some video game thread that he doesn’t truly care about. Some presumably Russian user, u/ZandrIvnov, seems to be quite proud of Tetris which Michael finds incredibly amusing. As an American he too takes pride in many of the cultural exports and ideas that his nation has sent into the world, including many of the deeply entrenched ideas about the Russian and Soviet people taught in world history. It takes especially little for him to decide to start taunting and baiting this man sitting at his keyboard a world away.

Michael launches petty taunts at the Russian, poking fun at his nationality and Eastern Europe at large, stopping short at making fun of the man’s less than perfect English, for now at least. Michael switches between accounts to upvote his responses and even add additional dunks on the Tetris-fan as needed. Try as he might though to get the conversation away from the ancient game and get some more personal and profane digs in there he finds it difficult to find any truly satisfying or clever insults.

Getting tired of hearing this man assert Russian superiority he prepares to pull the ripcord and move on before he sees the Russian misstep talking about the game he’s so invested in, as probably the only fun fact he has on deck comes to mind. After the Russian so eloquently compares Michael’s head to a Tetris piece Michael immediately replies, “okay lol big fan huh they’re actually called tetrominoes” and then moves on to find some other doofus to bully on the internet.

On the other side of the screen Sasha seethes at the man, so juvenile in his mockery “Проклятые американцы. (Fucking Americans.)” He takes to his own keyboard messaging Michael directly as his arrogant messages dry up in the thread proper, Sasha was going to have him put his money where his mouth was. He offers a challenge, “u americans are so proud da? how about we see whos country rly is the best”

Michael felt his pulse rise in excitement at how much he has truly bothered this man. Smug smile on his face as he types his response, “what did u have in mind, Zander?”

“Саша(Sasha) is my name. since u are so smart about tetris, why not see who is actual master of game da?” Sasha offers, knowing already that the troll is sure to accept out of pride alone. Michael wasn’t all that much of a gamer but surely he could show this dweeb what’s what yeah? He starts looking up tips to win Tetris as he replies “sure whatever dude, what are u thinkin”

Sasha smirks as he has Michael right where he wants him, “loser agrees with winner about national superiority? should not be problem if you americans are so good at every thing” Michael was already eager to give it a go and Sasha’s taunt only makes him all the more raring to go. Before he can even pause his meager attempt to study strategy, Sasha sends over a link to the game and Michael clicks over to play, leaving the cheat sheet open on a second monitor. 

Michael types his name into the game and finds himself looking at a familiar screen. He’s never played the game competitively but it’s a pretty simple game right? He just needs to keep his cool once the pieces start flying in. He gets the cheeky idea to check the cheat sheet in between pieces. That’s that good-old red white and blue ingenuity, Michael thinks. Unaware that these are of course also of the Russian flag. There’s a ping from the board as Sasha uses the in game chat to ask “u understand the rules da”

Michael sends back a thumbs up and Sasha sets the game going. It is predictably uneventful at the beginning, neither man making any particularly interesting plays. Michael continues to skim how to best cheat the game while Sasha waits for the perfect moment to fuck him over. Michael finds himself enjoying the game more than he thought he would as he hears the familiar tune, it is awfully catchy isn’t it? He’s gotta hand it to the soviets for that. His gameplay slows down as he tries to speedread the page on his other monitor. Instead of forcing pieces quickly he instead lets them drift slowly while his board is relatively clear. Sasha sees this and decides to go in for the kill.

Suddenly as Michael’s eyes wander away from the game for just a second too long there is an unfamiliar sound. He darts his attention back only to see the floor of his Tetris board rocket up in response to Sasha doing an impossibly well timed combo of lines. Michael’s heartbeat increases at a shocking rate in response as losing becomes a very real possibility. Why is he so upset? His face grows red as he realizes just how outclassed he is. Obviously this is no big deal right? Just a game. But Michael cannot help but feel physically uncomfortable as the tides start to turn so swiftly. 

There is suddenly a crick in his neck that he stretches to avail but only exacerbates as a soreness begins to spread further across his body. Man is he tensing up too much? It’s just, it’s just a game right? Trying to calm down he is hit with the thought as if it were a shot of adrenaline that he absolutely cannot lose this game. His eyebrows furrow as they begin to square and thicken, casting dark shadows over his rage-filled eyes. His limbs take turns cramping as he clenches his neck and jaw to distract from the pane, not noticing as the structure of his face begins to change. 

His chest grows to join the chorus of muscle spasms as Michael struggles to keep up with even Sasha’s slower gameplay. Across the seas Sasha takes his time, knowing victory is in the bag, and savoring what he knows must be happening to his little troll Michael right now. He smirks as he imagines the discomfort in Michael’s changing body as he feels warmth grow in his own chest, and crotch, as he decides just how much he wants to play with his food. 

Back in the states Michael finds the heat, the sweat, the tightness of his clothes increasingly unbearable. As he continues to mash buttons on his remote he is too intent on the game to notice as hair begins to darken around his forearms and begin to snake its way towards his hands. He rubs them each down to placate the tickle on his growing arms. This is absolutely nothing to the creeping itch that is starting to encompass the entirety of his rapidly expansive legs. He shifts his heavier thighs trying to soothe the discomfort, making a loud sound as they pull away from the sweat sticking them to the chair but not allaying the soreness or itch in the slightest.

He grunts and notices not how his voice has grown both deeper and gruffer in his throat. Michael struggles to keep the remote from slipping out of his hands as sweat trickles down from his hairy arms and into his palms. Before it becomes a problem however Michael takes advantage of the lull in Sasha’s gameplay and tries to quickly remove his far too strained shirt. It should be a simple task after all, just put the remote down for a second, slide it off, and then back to the game. He does a brief check in to ensure he has even that and after believing he does Michael starts to try and remove the shirt strained and sticking to his skin.

He has precious little time as the pieces continue to fall at their set pace in game. He gets one hand under the hem of his shirt and tries to wrench it while keeping his other hand on the controller, this lets in a breeze of cold air sending quivers of pleasure across his pulsating muscle, as well as igniting a burning ache in his chest and torso. His upper body grows even further, finally overfilling his shirt as the sound of tears ring out in his bedroom alongside the same repetitive folk song he knows well. The idea that this shirt was loose fitting when he threw it on this morning or that he just identified the Tetris theme as a folk song rather than an 8-bit annoyance don’t have a chance to come to mind as he struggles to remain focused on not losing the game.

He pulls the shirt up to his chest before it gets uncomfortably stuck “Ach, bog uh- god damnit.” He scratches at his chest as the soreness and growing muscle makes way for a fiery prickling as the few chest hairs he has been a tad ashamed of begin to thicken and darken on his chest. Swirling out from his nipples and inching higher on his chest with each breath, he continues to struggle to remove himself mindlessly. Finding his shirt caught on his expansive pecs he rubs his hand underneath it across his sweaty chest, and finding it pleasurably drag through more hair on his pecs than he would’ve sworn he had in his pubes, he resolves to remove the shirt however he can. 

As soon as he finishes a line Michael tosses the remote down and goes to raise his shirt above his head, his thicker arms struggling as they adjust to their new range of motion. He wrests the tight shirt above his head, his chest bursting large once more, freed from the garment as the breeze tickles the sweat covered chest hair and forces his enlarged nipples to harden. Having overcome his suddenly massive pecs the neckline is now caught on his chin, his arms raised high above his head expose his pits to the cold open air. He feels the air con blow against his recently shaved pits as the hair begins to grow back. It starts to catch as the hair begins to grow thicker and longer than it had ever done before, curling together as new hairs begin to push out and form a bush thick enough to never see the skin beneath again.

This also brings his attention to new development in his body, with his face shoved into his shirt it would be impossible not to notice the unbecoming amount of sweat soaking it. Arms raised though he finally notices that he has an altogether far more powerful scent, on par with a macro-obsessed body builder or hygiene-phobic wild man. Michael feels a beard start to push out into the shirt still hugging his face. Shaving once a month was more than enough to keep him clean shaven but now he knew deep in his mind that he would never have a day again where his face would be smooth. It’s that Ru- That American blood in him, right?

He begins to feel himself lost in the scent as his mind begins to grow distracted, attention fading from the game despite the looping tune filling his mind. He turns his head to smell his pits through his shirt which is when he hears the dreaded sound of Sasha making a combo once more, “Gah! Nyo, I can’t lose” he shouts, not noticing as his rough tone begins to develop a slight accent. Ending the long-standing struggle against his shirt he simply rips it off and jumps for the controller, ashamed at how foolish and lustful he has suddenly found himself in the middle of this all-important competition.

He needs to make his people proud! He cannot let Amerika down, ya? His focus and vision return to the game as he stumbles through one more line before all the pieces fall from view and the game declares Sasha the winner. Mikael reflexively pounds his table shouting, “Ny- no! I, this!” struggling to find any words to make his loss okay. Unable to notice just how bizarre this game has affected him, though sure that something grave has occurred. He scrambles to the chat box where he sees Sasha has yet again beaten him to the punch, “gg Брат(brother) yes?”

Mikael’s eyes don’t even notice the language switch in the message as he quickly races to demand a rematch. Punching keys slower than the career-cyberbully is accustomed to, almost as if he would be more comfortable with a different keyboard format, slowly he punches his response “one more best dva out of tri ya?” Sasha laughs out loud seeing Mikael suddenly typing out anglicized Russian. He smirks and squeezes his crotch in excitement at just how far this American brat has fallen into his hands. Sasha responds in full Russian knowing that Mikael may as well already be his countryman. “конечно, почему бы и нет, брат (sure why not, brother)”

Mikael smiles as he prepares for yet another go against Sasha, he’s eager to learn from his, uh? Suddenly he can’t quite remember how he knows Sasha exactly as his memories of his persistent pathetic history of being a troll begins to fade from his mind. As the Tetris theme starts once more with the game Mikael finds himself singing along as the words to the folk song it is based on, blushing at the vulgarity therein.

The race is on once more and though he was sure this was a competition against his friend, no, his брат(brother), Sasha, He can’t help but feel a giddiness as the game progresses. He feels a warmth in his chest just from playing a game of his childhood, of his country? No he’s a born and bred statesman da? He’s from, uh Moscow is a city in one of the states too da? Though he finds himself distracted his body continues to expertly control the game subconsciously.

He blushes as he struggles to remember where he grew up, it was a smaller town for sure. Somewhere very far North for sure, after all why else would he grow so hairy! He launches into a hearty laugh as body hair continues to push out from every pore in his body, sure to be peaking out from every shirt collar on both sides. He scratches at his pubes as it becomes clear that even besides his massive package there will evermore be a bulge in his pants from this unkept jungle as well. 

His eyes continue to follow the pieces up and down as they slowly begin to lighten and bleach themselves an icy blue. The itchiness that has made itself at home through the whole of its body is replaced with a burning pleasure as he thinks oh his home. Full days where there is only sun, long treks into the city to visit St. Basil’s, helping his mother fry pirozhki. The hair atop his head bleaches itself a sandy blonde while still thickening and pulling itself short as a lightbulb goes off in his head his voice rumbles in his chest as he reflexively speaks in what must be his mother tongue, “Конечно! я спрошу у Саши (Of course! I’ll just ask Sasha).” 

He goes to pause the game as he now knows he can do and types to Sasha in chat, “hey брат, wher am i от again?” Sasha smirks at just how easy this was stopping short from fully masturbating as he thinks of his new massive countryman living a world away as he replies, “недалеко от Москвы, Миша (just outside of Moscow, Misha).”

Misha’s eyes glaze over as he reads this, the room around him changes, American flags familiar patterns shift into the Russian tricolor. Any writing within the room shifts from English to the cyrillic alphabet and Misha sits there with a smile as he recalls his home. Long winters working alongside his best friend Sasha. His neck thickens and his waist expands as he thinks of long nights drinking alongside his friends to abate the cold. The game of Tetris continues on and he again feels a warmth in his chest at the chance to play with his dearest Друг(friend) Sasha.

For the life of him he can’t quite remember why he has moved to Америки though he is sure that Sasha will know. Sasha always knows the right thing to do. One thing is for sure though, he is going to do his Motherland proud.

[phoward89]

Based on this ask

Obsessed!Coriolanus Snow x Innocent!Reader, Obsessed!Crassus Snow x Innocent!Reader

WARNING ⚠️ Coriolanus Snow is a warning in and of itself. Cussing, obsession, older man/younger woman, father & son both want the same girl, reader is just too sweet for this world and has no idea that the men in the Snow family are toxic...

Masterlist

Part 1:

You've known Coriolanus Snow and his family ever since you were a little girl. When the war started, you were about 5, and Crassus, Coriolanus' father, helped you, your mother, and your brother get smuggled into the Capitol as a favor to your father, a Colonel who served under him in District 12 while he was a General; the Commander.

Sadly your father, Colonel Javanis Halvir, didn't survive the war. Tragically, Coriolanus' mother died during the first bombing strike on Capitol City. She died in the birthing bed, weeks before she was due, because the bombing had triggered off her labor. Coriolanus' little sister died too. Was stillborn.

But since your families knew one another and lived in the same building they huddled together during the war. Your mother wasn't too thrilled about having to receive help from Grandma’am Snow and a seedy neighbor that owned a nightclub, but she dealt with it in order to survive and protect her children: you and your older brother.

General Crassus Snow barely made it out of the war alive. He was nearly killed in the woods outside of 12. But, alas, he survived and returned home to Capitol City, Panem a war hero. He also came back with a heavily lined pocket although District 13 was destroyed and that's where all of his assets, factories, and science labs were located.

Your mother told you and your brother that Crassus was a cold, cunning, calculating man and that she's positive that he somehow brokered a deal to get paid for the loss of his assets.

What nobody knows, except for the higher powers that be of course, is that Crassus still has his factories and labs in District 13. They're nuclear weapons factories and, since 13 went underground as an independent nation via a hush hush backroom midnight deal between the leader of 13 and Panem's President Ravenstill, a deal that went into effect before the Districts surrender and the signing of the Treaty of Treason. Crassus is a black market arms dealer. He sells his nucs to neighboring countries. Countries that include Canada (yes, they never changed their name after the wars and natural disasters that drastically changed the geography of the world) and a small coalition of old world Eastern European countries that survived the rising sea levels that had eradicated some island countries and shoreline countries of old world Europe.

Crassus Snow takes a lot of out of town business trips to broker illegal arms deals between the underground District 13 and the countries that he's constructed alliances with. General Crassus Snow had no loyalties to Panem any more; his only loyalties were to himself and his family. He also had a sliver of a sense of honor when it came to his old comrade’s family and felt the need to watch over your family: the Halvir family.

But after being shot by rebels, left for dead in the woods, and barely being able to survive long enough to trek back to the PK Base D-12’s hospital, General Crassus Snow truly lost faith in the country that he was supposed to serve proudly. But did he ever truly have faith in Panem as a country since he was in the woods, sneaking like a thief in the night, to get to District 13 to check his assets and his alliances there?

Snow lands on top; Crassus was playing both sides of the war to ensure that his family came out winners. And then when his contacts in District 13 told him of the deal between the President and the Commander of 13, well…General Snow's career as an arms dealer was born.

It paid well and kept the Snow family living high off the hog. Crassus also supported your family with his endless money, much to your mother's dismay.

Your mother couldn't stand Crassus, out on a polite face for Grandma'am Snow, felt sorry for Tigris, and cringed with how you and Coriolanus were the best of friends.

And you remained best friends with Coriolanus Snow as the two of you grew up side by side. You always viewed the friendship as platonic, but a teenaged Coriolanus viewed it as more. He developed a crush on you that quickly turned into a dark, possessive obsession.

But Coriolanus was certain that what he felt for you was love.

And when it came to his father, who he was the spitting image of with the same tall, sinewy build, platinum blonde curls, striking icy blue eyes, chiseled jawline, and prominent nose, well…Crassus Snow had an obsession with you as well. But his obsession was rooted in a darker place than his son's.

The esteemed war here General Crassus Snow has a sick obsession with you because you favor your mother. And, well, when Crassus was a young grunt in 12, serving in the Peacekeepers under his father Xanthos who was the Commander of 12 at that time, he fell for your mother, but she didn't reciprocate his feelings. Instead she fell in love with his friend, Javanis Halvir. Thus the reason you and your older brother were born to Colonel Halvir and Mrs. Halvir.

Feeling jilted and betrayed by the object of his affection and obsession not loving him back, Crassus became a cold, cruel, cold, calculating, and cunning man. He put on his charming smile and wooed a young, pretty, naive girl from Capitol City. Demeter: Coriolanus’ mother.

But he never got over your mother, despite her hating him as the years went on. So you looking just like her once you hit your teenage years has Crassus falling down the rabbit hole into dark obsessive head spaces.

So, unknown to you, your platonic relationships with the men in the Snow family are anything, but that in their eyes. And they don't even know that the other has an obsession with you.

You know what they say…like father, like son.

It's mid-May of your senior year at the Academy and you're so ready for the school year to end. You can't wait for graduation and for summer break. You also can't wait for the opportunity to spend your summer break hanging out with your best friend, Coryo.

Coriolanus Snow.

But you call him Coryo. Always have, always will.

But in the meantime you spend your weekends at the Snow penthouse; you also go home with him after school a couple of days during the week- much to your mother's dismay.

And this afternoon’s one of those days where you go home with Coryo after school.

“You're staying for dinner tonight, darling. The cook’s making your absolute favorite and I'd hate for you to miss out on it.” Coryo told you on the elevator ride up to the 12th floor of your Corso building.

The elevator had been broken for a few years, but after General Snow slapped some money at the apartment building association maintenance fixed the elevator and Grandma'am Snow was able to leave the penthouse and go out into the world with the help of a can instead of being kept locked up inside like a recluse.

“I hope you didn't ask the cook to make my favorite meal just to get me to stay for dinner.”

“Of course not. They plan the menu, not me.” Coryo tells you, a lopsided lipped smile on his face.

What neither of you knew was that Coryo's father, Crassus, and told (more so demanded) that the cook make your favorite meal. He knew that you'd be easier to sway to eat dinner with him and his family if the smell of your favorite dish was wafting in the air as you hung out with his son in his room.

And that was something Crassus was going to be putting a stop to. He can't have you spending so much time alone in Coriolanus' bedroom. What if the two of you start to become curious about- things…

Ugh, Crassus can't imagine you with his son. He thinks Coriolanus is a sassy, whinny, bratty, weakling of an heir. Too bad he couldn't toughen that boy up; too bad he's too much like his mother. Has too much good in him, can be easily pushed and pulled by a pretty face and the promise of love.

Crassus would prefer it if Coriolanus was more like him. More cold, more cunning, more calculated, and didn't wear his feelings on his damn sleeves.

Anyways…

The elevator stops and the doors ding open, revealing the hallway of the 12th floor. A floor that was solely inhabited by the mighty Snow family. They had the upper level penthouse that took the entire floor. It was quite impressive. You love it, but your mother hates it.

And talk about your mother…

“I know you want me to stay for dinner, Coryo, but I really shouldn't. My mother's been getting on me lately about how much time I spend up here with you.” You tell the boy with the light golden curls as the two of you exit the elevator.

“Your mother needs to take a chill pill. You're my girl, darling. It's completely normal to be spending all of your free time up here.” Coryo tells you while leading you over to the front door of his penthouse, palm of his hand resting lazily on the small of your back.

“I know, Coryo, but my mother hates that we're besties and she wants me to meet new people.”

“Meet new people?” Coryo scoffed, brows furrowed in disdain, as he opened the door to his place. “There's nobody new in Capitol City our age to meet, darling. Not unless you go to the mission in the slums by the rail station and start introducing yourself to those District immigrants that conned their way into our grand Capitol.” The cerulean eyes boy told you while ushering you into his penthouse and down the entrance hallway.

Coriolanus was personally offended by your mother. How dare she tell you to meet new people? You belong to him. You're his girl.

HIS GIRL!

HIS!

Coriolanus was good at schooling his features, considering he's been doing it his entire life to keep from letting his father know how bad his harsh and hateful words affected him, so you didn't catch onto how upset he was with your mother. No, you thought he was fine. As cool as a cucumber as he led you past the kitchen, where the cook was starting on dinner, and into the main room of the penthouse to acknowledge Grandma’am, who's always sitting in her favorite chair watching her soaps on CapitolTV during this time of the late afternoon.

“Oh, Coriolanus, you're home and I see you brought Y/N over to visit with you.” Grandma'am Snow, who was dressed to the nines in her jeweled turbin, silk tunic, extravagant jeweled brooch, and long strand of pearls. She was the epitome of Old Guard aristocratic lady of fineries and class.

“Yes, Grandma'am I'm home and my darling’s staying for dinner tonight.” Coriolanus smiles at his grandmother.

Coryo silently nudges you forward to give Grandma'am a hug while greeting her. It's something you've done you years and he doesn't want you to stop doing it either since his Grandma’am adores you.

If only Grandma'am could persuade his father that you're a good match for him. The old lady gets it, why can't his father get it? You and Coriolanus belong together; make quite the pair.

But if the platinum haired boy with a halo of curls on his head only knew that he wasn't the only one obsessed and lusting after you- well…

“Good afternoon, Grandma'am. It's so good to see you.” You smile sweetly, hugging the regal old woman that you've come to love and think of as your own grandmother over the years.

“It's also so good to see you too, my dear.” Grandma'am replies, patting your back as she reciprocates the hug. “Has our Coriolanus asked you to the prom yet?” She inquired, as a way to push you and her grandson together, your hug broke apart.

“Not officially, but we have an understanding that we'll be going together since we go to all of the galas, balls, and dances together.” You tell Grandma’am while returning to Coryo's side.

Coryo’s fiddling with the strap of his satchel, that's currently across his chest, as he awaits Grandma'am’s reply. Or, a lecture aimed at him to properly ask you. A lecture she's been giving him daily since the beginning of the month.

And sure as shit, Coriolanus gets his prom lecture.

Grandma'am looks at her grandson, who's his father's spitting image, and firmly tell him, “Coriolanus, properly ask her. You're a Snow and as a Snow doesn't assume things, but makes them happen.” Cutting her eyes at her only grandchild, she orders in a grandmotherly way, “Now, properly as her as your prom date before somebody else tries to snatch her up from you.”

You felt a bit awkward. Grandma'am’s lecture was something you felt she should've given Coryo in private, not while you're by his side. It wasn't meant for your ears, or at least you don't think it was.

Coriolanus’ lips draw taunt into a tight line as he tells his grandmother, “Yes, Grandma'am.” He half nods at her before turning to you. Giving you a smile that shows too many teeth, like a wolf baring its fangs before its prey, he takes your hands in his and asks, “Y/N, my darling rose, will you do me the honor of going to prom with me?”

It felt more like a marriage proposal than a promposal. Aren't promposals supposed to be fun and exciting with songs, dances, and glittery handmade poster boards? Not so serious. Right?

Right?

You're already going to prom with Coryo, but since you've been out on the spot with a promposal you have to formally accept. All thanks to Grandma'am.

“Of course I'll go to prom with you, Coryo.” You answered your best friend, causing his icy eyes to sparkle with joy.

It all felt so surreal. A bit heavy too. Honestly, it felt like you were agreeing to give your best friend your hand in marriage right in front of his regal grandmother then agreeing to go to prom.

Unknown to you, you accepting Coryo's proposal was, in fact, you agreeing to a future marriage to him in the delusional minds of both Coriolanus and Grandma’am.

Mhm…

You just signed your freedom away by saying yes to prom and you don't even know it, all because you view your relationship as platonic. Too bad the platinum blonde boy with baby blue eyes and his sophisticated grandma view the relationship as something more.

Coryo's father, Crassus, also views your relationship with his son as platonic. But that's for an entirely different reason; one that would make you gasp from shock if you knew.

After making Grandma’am Snow the happiest lady alive in Capitol City by accepting Coryo's proposal, you went to his bedroom to do homework with him. And when your class assignments were done, you two just laid on his bed while listening to music.

It was a new album that Coryo had to get the neighbor, Pluribus Bell, to smuggle to him because Crassus refused to give his son the money for the album. In fact the former General turned Minister of National Security, and black market arms dealer, hates the music you and his son listens to. Crassus is more of a classical music and soft jazz type, so he hates the poetic lyrics and the vibe of the beats of the alternative indie and pop you and Coryo enjoy so much.

The album was on its second playback while you cuddled into Coryo's side. His large, but lanky frame always made you feel so safe. So protected. And, your best friend's lanky, he does have solid muscles under his skin.

Having you tucked into his side while lying on his bed listening to the new album that an artist the both of you loves just dropped is like being in heaven for Coriolanus. Growing up the platinum blonde boy with a head full of soft curls and striking baby blue eyes always had you by his side. You're his one constant. No matter what, you're always there for him.

It's what makes Coryo crave you like Dean Casca Highbottom craves his morphling fix every 15 minutes. You always being there for him, being by his side for better or worse during your childhood friendship, is what caused him to grow obsessively in love with you.

But the problem is, in his delusional mind, Coriolanus thinks that you're in love with him too. All because of how you're always letting him cuddle you, hug you, and touch you. Letting him call you darling while you often call him ‘my Coryo' while talking about him to others also has him thinking that your feelings for him mirrors the ones he has for you.

You and Coryo are talking about small things, silly things really, whenever the bedroom door opens with a loud band followed by the deep bellowing of Crassus Snow. “Why're you two alone in here listening to this trash?”

“She's not a trashy singer, father. She's one of the best.” Coriolanus retorted, causing his imposing and stern father to fill his icy eyes at him. “Y/N and I were doing homework and decided to listen to some music afterwards.” Your best friend added in, to answer his father's stupid question about why you're in his room.

“General Snow, if me being alone in Coryo's room with him gets him in trouble with you then I'm sorry; I'll just go.” You apologized to the Snow patriarch while making to pull away from Coryo and sit up.

But your best friend wouldn't let you leave his side. No. Actually, his hold around you tightened.

And that made Crassus pissed. His sniveling brat of a son didn't deserve you. You deserved a real man to care for you; to guide you on your journey of womanhood.

Crassus felt that he's the Snow for you. The only man that can mold you into the perfect Capitolite lady you're meant to be. And when he successfully gets rid of old President Ravenstill and wins the next presidential election, well, he plans on making you his wife and his First Lady.

Whether you like it or not.

With a devious smirk painting his lips, the middle-aged man with slicked back platinum blonde hair and cold, hard, bitter icy eyes tells you, “Please, call me Crassus. After all, petal, with as much time as you spend here you're practically a part of the family.”

General Snow's remark went right over your head. You just nodded and simply said, “Okay.”

You honestly didn't think anything of it. If General Snow wanted you to call him Crassus because of all the time you spent around his son, Coriolanus, then so be it.

But Coryo knew that his father had just become, as fucked up as it sounds, his romantic rival for you. As soon as he heard him call you petal he knew, oh he just knew, that his father's lusting after you.

Coriolanus is his father's son after all. Despite being told time and time again by Crassus that he's too much like his mother, too soft and eager for affection- for love. But what Crassus didn't grasp was that Coriolanus didn't just have his father's looks, but his dark tendencies for obsession and over ‘loving’ his intended lover.

And the son just knew that his father was head over heels obsessed with you because, in fact, he was too. Coriolanus saw the way his father looked at you, as if you're a piece of meat ready to be carved and served, and it disgusts him. You belong to the younger Snow, not the older one.

Giving Crassus a cutting look with his icy eyes, Coriolanus announced in a smug baritone, “Father, my darling rose is going to prom with me as my date.” And then he twisted the knife in his father's black, soulless heart by adding in the three simple but damning words of, “As my girl.”

Crassus’ face turned to stone. Of course, you'd agree to go to prom with Coriolanus. The former general's seething with jealousy. He wants you, why does his son get to take you to prom? Ugh, why can't you just go to prom with a group of girls? Go stag, like single girls do. But no…

NO!

You just have to go to prom with Coriolanus. And as his girl too!

Crassus' blood is boiling in his veins. Hearing Coriolanus reveal that he’s made you his girl and is taking you to prom makes him want to tear his son apart limb by limb.

Well, he needs to nip that in the bud.

Perhaps he'll talk to his old, estranged friend Dean Casca Highbottom about being a chaperone at the prom. That way he can keep an eye on you, socialize with you, and keep you from spending the night dancing with his son.

Dancing at prom can lead to other things in hotel rooms after prom. Things that Crassus certainly doesn't want you doing with Coriolanus.

Although Crassus is having an internal meltdown, his appearance stays stern and calm. “I'll make sure your mother has enough money to take you dress shopping.” The middle-aged platinum blonde man assured you.

Cocking his head to the side, Crassus flashes you a savvy smile before looking at his son and giving him a look that rivaled that of Medusa herself. “This door stays open while you two are in here. Only one of you can be on the bed and the other must be at the desk.” Crassus instructed in a stern, authoritarian baritone. “And turn off this music. It's giving me a headache.” He adds in an ordering snap before pivoting on his heel and matching off.

Shaking his head, Coriolanus darkly chuckled, “My father's so pathetic. Having a crush on you.”

“He doesn't have a crush on me, Coryo.” You’re quick to tell your beat friend, writing off his remark as you break your contact with him by sitting up. “He's your father and he's old enough to be mine.” You remind Coryo while making to get off the bed.

Coryo stops you by reaching out and wrapping his hand around your arm. “Just stay on the bed with me. Father’ll never know.” He tells you as you look at him, worrying your lip. But after a few moments, you slowly nod your head and take up your spot nestled into his side once again. “And trust me, from the way he was looking at you, my father likes you.”

“I don't think he does, but if you say so…” You sigh, letting your sentence hang in the air.

But Coryo's right, his father does like you. He likes you a little too much. Just like how his son, your best friend, likes you a little too much.

The million dollar ticket is who’ll snag you up and make you theirs? That's a question only the ancient gods of old know and they're not sharing the answer until the time's right. But until then, father and son will be competing for your heart. A heart that you can only give to one Snow.

Tags: @kuroosbby001 @purriteen @poppyflower-22 @meetmeatyourworst @whipwhoops @bxtchopolis @readingthingsonhere @savagenctzen @ryswritingrecord @erikasurfer @tulips2715 @universal-s1ut @thesmutconnoisseur @squidscottjeans @sudek4l @wearemadeofstardust0 @mashiromochi @gracieroxzy @belcalis9503 @shari-berri @aoi-targaryen @whiteoakoak @spear-bearing-bi-witch @gisellesprettylies @loverandqueenofdragons @qoopeeya @mfnqueen1 @permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88 @v-love @swiftieblyth @joyfulyouthlover @harvey-malfoy @chxrrybomb22 @marvel-hiddles-stark @xjinnix @devils-blackrose @zombicupcake3 @jacesvelaryons @tempt-ress

[girlactionfigure]

AUGUST 5, 2024

TOKENISM 

Tokenism is the practice of selecting a person from a minority group to give the illusion of diversity or of representation of the minority group’s opinion. Tokenism is racism — or in this case, antisemitism — because it weaponizes the identity of the marginalized person to justify things that hurt that very same marginalized group. 

In other words, when you tokenize someone, you’re using them in a way that ultimately will hurt them or the group they are affiliated with. 

BECAUSE I KNOW I WILL BE ASKED…

I often highlight the voices of Palestinian dissidents, anti-Hamas Palestinians, and of Palestinians seeking to make peace with Israel. People tend to ask me a very good question: how is this any different than “tokenizing” fringe Jews?

Firstly, I want to make it clear that when I highlight the voices of “fringe” Palestinians, I am in no way claiming that they are necessarily representative of the majority. The overwhelming majority of past and recent surveys and statistics I’ve seen unfortunately suggest otherwise.

Secondly, there is a major, major difference between tokenizing the voices of Jews who minimize antisemitism, both in the Diaspora and in Israel, and uplifting the voices of Palestinians who seek to make peace. Tokenizing Jews who dismiss left-wing or Islamist antisemitism or who believe Israeli Jews are fair targets endanger the rest of us. That’s a far cry from Palestinians who wish to live side by side in peace.

Most importantly, the overwhelming majority of Jews worldwide have all the freedom of speech in the world. They are not risking their lives by sharing their views. Palestinian dissidents in the West Bank and especially in the Gaza Strip are quite literally putting their necks on the line to speak out against their tyrannical leaders. To not understand the difference between this and a Jew living comfortably in Brooklyn is a sign of privilege, of not understanding authoritarian societies. When dissidents speak, whether in Iran or the Palestinian Territories, I believe it’s the duty of the people in the free world to uplift their voices.

SELF-TOKENISM: ASSOCIATION OF GERMAN NATIONAL JEWS 

In the earliest days of Hitler’s rule, there was a small group of Jews that supported Hitler. In 1921, a Jewish man named Max Naumann founded a group known as the “Association of German National Jews.” 

Following Hitler’s rise to power, the Nazi regime itself never tokenized the Association of German National Jews, but the members of the organization tokenized themselves, particularly when speaking to the press. In 1933, a member of the group, Hans Priwin, issued a statement alleging that reports of the Nazis’ mistreatment of Jews were “stupid lies.” In 1934, the Association issued a statement of support for Hitler. 

The Association of German National Jews was especially hostile to the less assimilated Jews from Eastern Europe, who they considered backwards and “racially and spiritually inferior.” They were also hostile to Zionists, as they believed that they were a threat to Jewish integration into wider society. The main goal of the Association of German National Jews was the self-eradication of Jewish identity. To accomplish this sinister motive, they weaponized — and tokenized — their own Jewish identities. 

After Hitler’s appointment as German Chancellor in 1933, Jews worldwide protested, boycotting German goods. Instead of supporting the protest, the Association came out against the boycott and issued a manifesto that the Jews in Germany were being “fairly treated.”

In 1935, the Nazis declared the Association of German National Jews illegal and dissolved it. Naumann was arrested by the Gestapo the same day.

TOKENISM: HELENE MAYER

German Jewish fencer Helene Mayer is considered one of the best fencers of all time, having won gold at the 1928 Amsterdam Olympics and placing fifth at the 1932 Los Angeles Games. After Los Angeles, Meyer stayed in California to earn a law degree. In 1933, Adolf Hitler rose to power in Germany, stripping Mayer, who was then banned from her old fencing club, of her rights.

Leading up to the 1936 Berlin Olympics, the United States Olympic Committee was under tremendous pressure to boycott the Games. The head of the US Olympic Committee, Avery Brundage, was a Nazi sympathizer, who convinced Germany to allow one German Jewish athlete to compete to give the impression that Jews in Germany were being treated fairly. In other words, the Nazis needed a token Jew.

Enter: Helene Mayer. Mayer had been living in the United States since her expulsion from her fencing club. Desperate to reclaim her old Olympic glory, Mayer tried out and was selected for the German team. She placed second and gave the Hitler salute on the podium. 

After the Olympics, where the Nazi press and government ignored her, Mayer returned to the United States, thus saving herself from the Holocaust. She moved back to Germany in 1952 and died a year later. She never publicly addressed her decision to participate as an athlete under the Nazis, a decision which temporarily sanitized Nazi Germany’s image. 

TOKENISM: YEVSEKTSIYA

In 1918, the Soviet Communist Party established a “Jewish branch,” with the consent of Vladimir Lenin. It was named “Yevsektsiya,” meaning “Jewish Sections of the Communist Party.” The mission of the Yevsektsiya was, quite literally, the “destruction of traditional Jewish life, the Zionist movement, and Hebrew culture.”

From the outset, the Yevsektsiya began harassing Zionist Jews. Initially, the Yevsektsiya legally abolished the “kehillas,” the traditional Jewish community organizations. Sometimes, they even burned their offices down. They shut down everything from Jewish political groups to theaters to sports clubs. They raided all Ukrainian “Zionist” offices and arrested every single one of their leaders.

Until their dissolution in 1929, they imprisoned, tortured, and murdered thousands of Jews. The fact that the Yevsektsiya was “Jewish” was central to its purpose. After all, the Soviet regime couldn’t be accused of antisemitism when those shutting down all Jewish cultural and spiritual life were Jews themselves. In other words, the Soviets tokenized the Jewish identities of the Yevsektsiya members to legitimize their systematic persecution of Jews. 

According to historian of Soviet history Richard Pipes, “In time, every Jewish cultural and social organization came under assault.”

The Soviet government dissolved the Yevsetskiya in 1929, claiming that it was no longer needed. During Stalin’s Great Purge in the 1930s, virtually all its members were arrested and executed. Some were shot by bullet, some were tortured, and others were sentenced to hard labor in Siberia. A former member even died when the prison he was in refused to supply him with insulin.

TODAY 

NETUREI KARTA

Antisemites today continue to uplift fringe Jewish groups to deflect from accusations of antisemitism. The Neturei Karta, for example, are a staple at pro-Palestine protests, despite the fact that they share just about zero values with the progressive left, given their sexism and homophobia, among other things. Their membership does not surpass 5000 people, and they are considered so fringe that even other anti-Zionist Orthodox groups, such as the Satmar, have disavowed them, issuing a cherem (censure, similar to excommunication) against them. The Neturei Karta have friendly relations with the Islamic Republic in Iran and even attended a conference in Holocaust denial in Tehran. 

JEWISH VOICE FOR PEACE, IFNOTNOW

Surveys consistently show that between 80-95 percent of Jews support the existence of the State of Israel. Yet politicians and activists often uplift anti-Zionist Jewish groups such as Jewish Voice for Peace and IfNotNow as though they are representative of “true” Judaism. These groups have a long history of regurgitating the propaganda and glorifying, excusing, or justifying the actions of terrorists and terrorist groups responsible for heinous attacks against Jews around the world, including October 7.

HOW NOT TO TOKENIZE JEWS 

#1 Before you amplify a Jewish person, pause to think: is there anything in it for you? Are you amplifying us because you care about what we have to say or because our words validate your pre-existing opinions?

#2 Some discussions are intracommunity discussions. You don’t need to speak for us, over us, or weaponize intracommunity discussions to demonize the Jews you dislike.

#3 You cannot adequately support Jewish people if you are not open to hearing about our experiences, even when they don’t align with yours.

#4 Listen to many Jewish voices, and not just voices that you always agree with. It’s also important to listen to Jews of diverse backgrounds, races, sub-ethnic groups, social classes, genders, sexual orientations, and more.

This also means that if you disagree with a person about a topic unrelated to Jewishness or Judaism, you should still be willing to listen when they talk about their Jewish experience. People — Jews included — are multifaceted individuals. You might not always agree with us, but you should understand that no one can speak to the Jewish experience better than we can.

#5 No Jew — not a single one — deserves antisemitism. Antisemitism is not a valid punishment for bad behavior; it’s an ancient, senseless form of hatred that has gotten innocent people murdered for thousands of years. All Jews deserve protection from antisemitism, no matter how good or bad their views and/or behavior. Additionally, antisemitism targeting Jews you dislike always spills over and hurts other Jews. If you do not pursue safety for every single Jew, you are not an ally.

#6 To adequately represent the views of the Jewish community, share the views that are representative of the majority of the Jewish community, not fringe opinions. Don’t uplift a minority voice to pretend that that’s how all of us feel.

#7 Understand that Jews can very much perpetuate antisemitism. Agreeing with a Jewish person doesn’t mean you are not antisemitic.

rootsmetals

Olympics x As a Jew crossover

Sources

[wearebarca]

9. Captured // Alexia Putellas x Original character pt. 9

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8

synopsis: Rosalie has never stayed somewhere too long. When the opportunity of a lifetime presents itself at critical moment in her life, the photographer decides to once again leave behind what she knows and joins the staff of Europe's best football team.

Word count: 6,3k

Warnings: 18+ Smut

Alexia Putellas is a creature of habit. Every day at seven, she would be dressed and taking Nala for a small walk before eating breakfast and leaving for training. Even when she was out of town for games or training camp, she would be up and pacing in her room until it was time to go down to breakfast. 

But this morning was different. It was the sun shining bright and illuminating the room which pulled her from her slumber. Her body was still heavy with sleep as she attempted to rise from the very comfortable yet unfamiliar bed, but her efforts were cut short by an arm snaking around her waist and pulling her deeper in the covers. 

Rosalie was still fast asleep. Her hair was all over her pillow and the sheets were sitting at her lower back, which allowed the footballer a clear view of the curious tattoo snaking down her spine.  

 Alexia smiled at the sight, not quite yet processing the fact that she had finally made a move on the French-Canadian. A lot of questions and insecurities were still coursing through her mind but she willed them away for now, deciding to enjoy this peaceful moment.

Her eyes scanned the room. The walls were painted white and harboured many gold picture frames. All the images were in black and white and showed what Alexia guessed were some of Rosalie’s favourite shots. The decorations were simple, with a dark green, gold and dark wood theme. It was cozy and warm, which matched the brunette’s overall energy. 

Rosalie shifted in her sleep, turning around with her back facing the blond. The strange line caught yet again Alexia’s attention. She could not help but trace the pattern with her slender fingers, her touch light as a feather. 

“It’s the map of a hiking trail from back home.” A small sleepy voice said. 

“I am sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up.” Alexia said, her fingers not leaving the smooth skin of her back. 

“You didn’t, I was just resting.” She said, turning her head to smile at the beautiful woman in her bed. 

“This path was like a little sanctuary for me. It ends at the foot of a small waterfall where you can swim. The water is freezing though.” She said, shivering half because of the memory, and half because of the feeling of cold fingers tracing her skin. 

“It’s very beautiful,” She smiled at the compliment and turned fully towards the captain. Alexia’s gaze shifted from her face to her body which had only the bottom half hidden by the covers. 

Rosalie smirked, “ Do you see something you like capitaine?”

Alexia blushed furiously and averted her eyes, only to feel a hand on her cheek pull her back in. “Oh Alexia, you are allowed to look.”

The declaration only made the blond blush worsened, but it didn’t keep her from leaning down to capture the photographer’s lips. “que suerte tengo”

Rosalie snaked her arms around the footballer’s shoulders and dragged her back down with her, without separating her lips from hers. The weight of the blond felt divine. Her hands lazily roamed over warm skin. They stayed like this for a moment, limbs tangled in the sheets until Rosalie moved suddenly. 

“What about Nala? Don’t you have to go take her out?” She asked, looking worried. 

“It’s ok, she’s with my sister. She’ll stay over there for national camp.” Alexia answered, her lips moving down the column of the brunette’s neck. 

“When are you leaving for Madrid?”

“Tomorrow night.” Alexia said, while her hands trailed down to caress the skin of her inner thighs, making Rosalie’s breath hitch.

“Alexia..”The photographer whispered breathlessly. 

“Si? Que quieres hermosa.” Her fingers were lingering dangerously close to her center. 

“We should probably get up.” The photographer said, not sounding the slightest sincere. Alexia simply hummed as her fingers made contact with her slick center. She spread her lips, gathering her arousal and started circling her clit. 

Rosalie grabbed her shoulders and buried her face in the blond’s neck, muffling the sound of her soft moans. 

Alexia kept her rhythm slow, working up the photographer before slipping her fingers inside. Rosalie’s grip tightened around her shoulders. She didn’t even need to say anything to the blond, who added a finger when she felt the brunette needed more. 

The coil was rapidly tightening inside Rosalie who wondered just how hard it would be to start her day when she had this beautiful woman in her bed. 

Her climax washed over her as she bit down on Alexia’s shoulder. She was left limp on the bed as waves of pleasure still travelled down her body. 

“Are you ok Rosalia?” The blond asked teasingly. 

“Oui, oui… just a minute please” she said, her eyes closing on their own accord. 

When the photographer came to, she was still in bed, but this time, Alexia was not laying at her side. A wave of sadness came over the brunette. Nothing had been said about what their situation currently was but, she couldn’t help but have some hope that this was not a one time thing. 

She slipped on an oversized t-shirt and underwear and stepped out her bedroom, only to be greeted by the smell of fresh coffee and what she guessed were crêpe. 

Alexia was in her kitchen, wearing what the brunette recognized as her old college t-shirt and training shorts that were very short on the taller woman’s frame. Rosalie took a seat at the kitchen island and watched the midfielder cook for a moment before deciding to make her presence known. 

Alexia spun rapidly around, but smiled as soon as she saw the smaller woman sitting in front of her. 

“Bon dia, Rosalia. Did you sleep good?” She asked, putting a cup of coffee in front of the brunette. 

“Very much so, you?”

“ Me too.” They stayed silent for a while, with Alexia focusing on the food while Rosalie was lost in her thoughts. Sure the blond had not left, hell she was making them breakfast, dressed in her clothes, so by all means, this meant more than just a hookup. 

That knowledge alone seemed to satisfy the brunette. “You are packed already, si” Alexia asked, motioning to the bags laying by the door with her spatula. 

“Yes, you know how I get when it comes to travelling.”  Alexia laughed at the comment as she started to plate their food. 

Rosalie was quite impressed with her cooking skills, especially since the blond had never made this dish before. They spoke about everything and nothing, simply enjoying each other’s company. They both felt the elephant in the room, the fact that they would both leave for at least two weeks, leaving this situation un-discussed. 

“What are you planning to do today?”Alexia asked after a moment. 

“I was going for a run then most likely working on some side projects.” The photographer said, putting away the dirty dishes. “What about you?” 

“I have to pack my bags and Alba is coming over later.” Alexia said, sounding a little exasperated by the fact that her sister would surely be pestering her for details of her night. “When will you be back?” She asked in a small voice. 

“In about two weeks, maybe a little longer, I’m staying a few days with Leah” 

Alexia stiffened slightly at the mention of the English captain, but Rosalie could not decipher if it was a question of rivalry or something else. 

“Si, Lucia mentioned it.” Alexia said, walking around the kitchen island only to cage the brunette between the counter and her. 

“You text me when you land, si?” She asked with a worried expression. 

“Oui, yes I will.” She captured the captain’s lips for a sweet kiss in which the blind melted. 

They finished picking up and Rosalie gave Alexia a pair of team issued track pants. The blond left soon after, much to the photographer’s disappointment. She did end up going out for a run, but sadly did not make it to her desired distance due to a certain soreness she could only blame on the midfielder. 

She was up at four the next morning. A mix of anxiety and febrility had prevented her from getting a proper night of sleep and now, she was out running again, like every morning before a flight. When the English couple showed up at her door, the photographer had already showered and was pacing her apartment. 

When they saw her, the couple mutually decided that teasing the brunette about the other night was not the best idea since she looked like she could snap at any given opportunity. 

Shortly after they reached the airport, Rosalie’s phone chimed. The message that pulled up on her screen was the cause of her first smile since the morning. 

La Reina - Have a good flight. You’re gonna be fine.

This message, as simple as it was, served as a reminder of the night the photographer had spent with the captain. The flashbacks which would randomly appear in her mind succeeded in keeping the woman busy during the short plane ride that separated them from Portugal. 

She had never been in this country before and was excited to walk around and capture what Lisbon had to offer. She sent a message to Alexia telling her she had landed safely before following the rest of the girls towards their transport. 

The drive to the hotel was short and filled with excited chatter. It had been a while since she had seen the lionesses and she was buzzing at the thought of seeing her best friend again. 

As soon as the bus stopped at the front of the hotel, they were called to the conference room where the rest of the team and staff were already gathered. 

Seeing as the briefing was about to start, Rosalie made a beeline to the rest of the media team, instantly recognizing the familiar faces with whom she had worked with for years. 

The players and coaching staff were gathered on one side while the rest of the media and administrators were on the other. The meeting was short, with the head coach welcoming everyone and explaining the schedule of the following two weeks. Then the head of each department gave a few words and scheduled some meetings to give out the details of each team’s missions. 

Timing was simply not on her side, since the media team was meeting right after in a different conference room, preventing the Canadian from seeing her friends. It wasn’t until much later, when Rosalie was prepping her camera for the first training session, that arms wrapped themselves around her from behind. She knew right away who they belonged to, and she spun around to properly hug the blonde captain. 

“I’ve missed you Frenchy.” Leah whispered, her head still buried in the brunette's neck. 

“Me too Williamson“

“Movie night tonight, your room cause it’s cozier, we’ll be there at 18h” Leah said as she sped back down the tunnel to the pitch. It was a tradition for the little group. Every camp, on the first night, they would all meet in one of the girls' hotel rooms and catch up while “watching” a movie. 

Rosalie smiled and shook her head at the blonde’s antics and made her way to the field. The practice went well, with most of the girls messing around in front of the camera, the first training always lighter than the rest of the program. 

As soon as it was over, Rosalie was swarmed by the rest of the girls who were trying to hug the photographer and rub their sweat on to her. 

“Non non non I have equipment on me don’t touch me!” She yelled while backing away from Beth Mead who was stalking towards the brunette with a devilish grin. Unbeknownst to her, Rachel Daly was behind her and trapped her in her arms. 

“Eh merdre vous êtes dégoûtante! Lâchez-moi bande de pestes!” She yelled, laughing while Rachel lifted her off the grass and took off with her. 

“Ok enough!” Lucy said, smiling at the two girls. “Careful Daly, she gets nasty when she switches to French.” 

It was agreed that the girls would be heading to their rooms to shower and get ready and they would all get room service delivered to Rosalie’s room and eat together. When she finally opened the door to her room, Rosalie felt a wave of tiredness wash over her. She took the few steps that separated her from her bed and flopped down on it. 

A rather harsh series of knocks jolted the brunette awake. The poor girl had completely lost track of time and checked her watch , only to realize that she only had twenty minutes before the girls would arrive. 

She silently thanked whoever was at her door For the interruption and opened it to reveal Leah in her lioness tracksuit and sporting her signature raised eyebrow. “You were sleeping, weren’t you?”

“Look that awful?” The French-Canadian said, stepping aside to let the captain in. 

“Like you got trampled yeah“ She said, walking around the room and grabbing her shower bag from her luggage. “You go shower, I’ll put away your stuff.”

When the photographer emerged from the bathroom, she found the blonde English woman sprawled out on her bed, with her phone in hand. “I take it all is well between the queen of football and you.” she said with a smirk. Rosalie lunged at her trying to pry her phone from her hands but the footballer was faster. 

“Bonita hm? I did not know you guys were at the pet name stage just yet.” 

“Give it back already!”

“Not before you tell me exactly what happened since the team bonding night.” Leah said, sitting on the brunette’s phone so she could not reach it. Rosalie was about to cave in and start spilling when voices followed by rapid knocks resonated in the room. Rosalie smiled as she walked to the door.

“Don’t think this is over darling.” Leah said, standing up to greet her teammates. 

It took a grand total of three days for Leah to finally catch the photographer alone again. Three days of watching from afar as the brunette kept smiling at her phone and texting while never divulging who was on the other end. Some of the girls had tried to know, Beth Mead being the most insistent. But the Canadian stayed secretive, avoiding the subject like the plague. 

It was getting late and the sun was slowly setting when she did find her, the brunette was laying on an outdoor chair with her computer, visibly working hard on something. Her hair was up in a messy bun and her glasses were perched on the brink of her nose. She was wearing an oversized Barcelona hoodie that looked like it swallowed her whole. Leah stopped for a second and snapped a picture, before making her way to the empty seat next to her.

“What are you working on Frenchy?”

“Do you remember that project I told you about? Well, I asked someone from the media team to make an announcement to ask people to submit pictures of them taken during games. I want to have a part of the expo where fans can share their own memories and what it means to them.” Rosalie said, her eyes not leaving the screen in front of her. 

The blonde smiled at her friend and stayed silent for a moment. This night was so similar to the countless ones they had spent on her balcony with her reading or studying games while the other was editing pictures. Leah would be lying if she said she didn’t miss these quiet nights, but also understood why the Canadian had to move away, and was glad to see her start to be happy again. 

Sha had had doubts when Lia had proposed that she come spend a few days in London with them and the rest of the Arsenal girls. She didn’t want to see her friend affected by a certain Irish footballer. 

She did trust the photographer’s judgement. If she said she’d be fine, she had to trust her. But she couldn’t help but be protective. 

It was that protectiveness that fuelled the English woman’s curiosity.  “Are you gonna make me ask again or are you finally gonna tell me.”

Rosalie stopped typing. She had hoped that the blonde would have forgotten, but she knew that it was very unlikely. “What do you want me to say? It was just a night out with the team.” She said, knowing that Leah had smelled her bullshit from a mile away. The look she sent her was confirmation enough. 

“Ok, I danced with some of the girls.”

Leah stayed silent, watching her friend, waiting for the brunette to unfold the true events of that night. 

“What?”

“Continue.” Leah said, her expression unchanged. 

“We were dancing pretty close..” Leah’s eyebrow shot up. 

“No no it’s not that. She was trying to get a reaction… and she did.” Leah straightened In her chair. The simple fact that her friend was so hesitant in telling her meant that things did happen during that night. 

“Rosalie Montmorency I swear to god if you don’t start making sense soon..” Leah did not have time to finish her threats that Rosalie blurred out a series of rapid sentences. Unfortunately for the brunette, Leah had heard enough to be able to piece everything together. 

“She dragged you in the bathroom and y’all finished the job at your place.” 

“How did you..”

“I’m an expert in French accented nonsense.”

“Va te faire foutre”

“I have Lia for that thank’s very much mate.” Rosalie laughed at her response. “Back to what really matters now. Is she serious about this Rosie?”

“I don’t know.” She said, her gaze fixed on the skyline. “Honestly, I don’t need to for now. It feels good. That’s what matters right now. I know it won’t be a one time thing that’s for sure.”

“Don’t let yourself be someone else’s secret Frenchy.” They stayed silent for a long while. Rosalie working on her project and Leah simply enjoying the calm of the night air.

 For the remainning few days, Leah helped the photographer get out of the none stop questions by changing the subject or draghing the brunette away when the girls got too intense. That, was a luxury Alexia could not afford, since half of the national team, also her club teammates, had seen her drag the photographer outside and disappeared for the rest of the night. 

Without much surprise, as soon as Jenni and Misa had caught wind of it, she became the target of unrelenting teasing and questionings. Rooming alone had become a blessing since the short amount of free time she had could be spent in the quiet of her hotel room. 

Or she thought. She should have known better. Jenni, who had transferred in Mexico, had watched from afar the social media slip up the captain and photographer had been victim of and had seen the small video with something the public does not have. She knew the midfielder. This was not a simple, playful interaction. Alexia was not like that with people she met not too long ago. 

Irene had also shared how she had reacted when the story was posted, which showed just how much the blonde really cared. So it was with all this in mind that the striker had showed up at Alexia’s door one night and demanded she tell every little detail possible. 

As reticent as the blonde was, she was still, in a way, glad to be able to talk about that night, since she had not seen Mapi before leaving for camp. Jenni knew everything, while Misa, Laia and Mariona knew only the brunt of it. 

Alexia could not be more glad to step into the familiarity of her apartment. She was tired, and her ears still buzzed from the incessant chatter and bickering. Her apartment was dark and still. Nala was still at her sister’s place due to the late hour of her arrival and the absence of the sound of her excited little paws made the space feel cold and empty. 

She dropped her bags in her bedroom and opened her phone. Rosalie must’ve landed in London by now, and her suspicions were confirmed when a notification grabbed her attention. They had not talked much about her stay in London. She knew that she would see the girls from Arsenal, which meant that she would be seeing McCabe. The simple thought made Alexia’s blood boil. Her own reaction surprised her and she shook her head in a vain attempt to get her out of her head.

The blonde unpacked her suitcases and tried to do some chores around the flat to occupy her mind, but her eyes kept drifting  to the clock in her living room. Barcelona was an hour ahead of London. She had a good chance of finding the French-Canadian awake. Without much thinking, the footballer grabbed her phone on the counter and opened the photographer’s contact, but instead of clicking  on messaging, her finger drifted up to reach the call button. 

There was no time for the midfielder to reconsider, because after two tones, the tired voice of the brunette resonated in her kitchen. “Allo? Alexia? Are you alright?”

Rosalie was getting ready for bed. Her skin was still red from the boiling shower she had just stepped out of. It wasn’t in her habit to stay up so late, but the flight and the anxiousness of being back here had come with a lot more strength than she had anticipated. She had felt the need to go out for a run in hopes of exhausting herself enough for a good night of sleep. 

Seeing Alexia’s contact name and picture light up her screen had been a surprise, but a welcomed one. The line stayed silent for a second. Alexia had not exactly planned what she would say. Hell, she didn't even know why she had called in the first place. 

“Hola Rosalia.” The nickname made the brunette blush, and she was glad the captain could not see her face right now. “ Si I am alright. How are you?”

“I’m ok, mostly tired from the trip.”

“You went running, si?” The blonde asked in a disapproving tone.

“How did you…”

“I pay attention Rosalia, especially when it comes to you.” The revelation stunned the brunette who stayed silent, speechless. “ I should let you rest.”

“Non, no please. It’s nice to hear your voice.” 

“Ok, Where are you?”

“At Leah’s place, she has a guest room.”

“Ah, England captain hm.” Her tone was curt, almost as if the blonde wasn’t a big fan of the defender.  Rosalie chuckled.

“Yes, her and her girlfriend are close friends of mine.” 

“ Ah, Lia Walti si? Or is it just a rumor?” Alexia asked, her voice a little lighter than before.

“Just between us, it's true. But they are very private about all this so please don’t say anything.” The brunette said.

“No, do not worry, I understand.” Alexia said, making her way to the bedroom where she let herself fall on her bed. “When will you be back?” 

“Is La Reina missing me?” Rosalie said in a playful tone. Alexia could feel her face heat up at the comment. The photographer was right, but there was no way the footballer would admit it. 

“I was just wondering that is all.” Alexia covered her face with her hand, cringing at her horrible attempt to sound casual. “I better let you sleep, You probably have a big day ahead tomorrow.”

Rosalie hummed softly. She would love to keep talking to the blonde but her eyes felt more and more heavy and sleep was harder to fight off as the minutes passed. “Thank you for calling me Ale.” She said in a small sleepy voice.

“Thank you for answering. Bona nit, preciosa.” The tone signaling the end of the call was heard before Rosalie could even register what the Catalan had just said. She dropped her phone on the night stand and fell asleep a few moments later, with a smile still apparent on her lips. 

The next morning was chaotic to say the least. She was woken up by a very grumpy English woman who decided that throwing a granola bar at the photographer’s face was absolutely the best type of wake up. When she groaned in annoyance, the brunette was only met with “ Should’ve gone to sleep instead of chatting with La reina.” and another granola bar hurled her way. 

Lia, who was decidedly more chipper than her girlfriend, was waiting in the living room, already dressed for training with two to-go cups of coffee in hand. She handed one to the photographer with an apologetic smile. It had been agreed that Rosalie would come with them during practice and would have access to the gym and facilities while the team was out on the field. Then, Beth, Viv, Victoria, Steph and the LW’s would all go for a coffee together. 

It seemed like a simple plan, nothing too fancy, nothing stressful. But on the car ride to the training ground, Rosalie could feel the steady build up of anxiety. She was happy to visit her old stomping ground and see the people she had worked with for two years, but she also dreaded seeing some others. The brunette did not have more time to prepare herself because Leah pulled up at her parking space and her door had already swung open. A second later, her own door was opened and a hand was dragging her out of the safety of the car. 

“ You listen to me very carefully now, Frenchy.” she said with a serious, almost scary look in her eyes. Lia had walked a few steps ahead, giving the two women the privacy they needed. “ If she so much as looks at you the wrong way, or tries to talk to you, you let me know, got it?”

“I can take care of myself.”

“You do that, and I’ll take care of her.” Leah said, turning around and motioning to the photographer to follow. 

The girls were already all on the field when the trio arrived. Rosalie had not realized that they had arrived later, most likely to prevent the photographer from being attacked by a bunch of eager footballers in the locker room before practice. As caring as the intention had been, the very same reaction happened, but simply not in the confined space of the locker rooms. For the occasion Rosalie had borrowed an Arsenal track vest, to try and blend in better, but the photographer still stuck out like a sore thumb on the field. 

The first to reach her side was Beth, who jumped in her arms despite seeing her two days ago, followed closely by Victoria Pelova, who reacted in a similar fashion. Viv and Steph arrived side by side, greeting the photographer with a warm hug and soon enough, the whole team huddled around their old photographer and friend. 

Rosalie was too busy meeting the new signings from the summer transfers, that she didn’t see who was hovering at the periphery of the circle. No one had told Katie she was coming. Seeing the brunette walk on the pitch, being surrounded by her whole team, seeing that smile stretched so wide on her delicate face, it brought back something she had not felt in a while. A voice pulled her out of her thoughts. 

“Don’t you even think about it.” It was Steph.

“ I’m not.”

“Tell that to your face.”She finally ripped her gaze from the brunette to look at the Australian beside her. “You made choices. And surprisingly, It all went great for you. You’ ve got a girlfriend that loves you, friends and teammates that forgave you and supported you.” Steph’ s eyes shifted to the brunette who had started to pass the ball with Beth and Viv while they all waited for practice to start. “ She left because staying here was too much, and she’s just started to be happy again. So McCabe please, leave her be.”

The gym had not changed since the last time she had set foot in it. It was smaller than the Barça one, she noted,  as she took place at the farthest squat rack. Time flew by quickly, so much so, that the Canadian did not realise that someone had been tasked to come get her, and was now standing next to her on the treadmill. She was startled and her steps faltered, which would have sent her flying off if strong hands had not stabilized her. “ Hey merde Miedema! You almost ended me there.”

“I’m sorry Rosie,” She said with an apologetic smile. “ We’re all done though. We’ll go shower at home and meet for coffee after.” She said, picking up the photographer’s things. They walked down to the parking lot together, without much being said. They did not need to talk, they both understood that much could be learned in the quiet stillness. It had always been like this with Viv, and the brunette loved it. 

They all met at the coffee shop which used to be their weekly meeting spot. It was small, and hidden in a small pedestrian street. The atmosphere was light and happy. Beth and Viv had brought their new puppy and Steph had brought her dog as well. 

It truly was like she had never left. The conversations were flowing. They explained to her the latest gossip among the team, skillfully skimming over a certain defender. Rosalie got to talk about her new life in Barcelona and the smile that was plastered on her face spoke volumes on how happy the brunette was. 

They moved to the park where the puppies got to burn their pent up energy, which made for very interesting pictures that would surely make it to the photographer’s instagram later. 

«Ok we’ve all waited long enough.” Beth said as they all watched the dogs roll around in the grass. “Alexia Putellas, what’s happening?”

Rosalie heard the facepalm from Leah and laughed as she turned towards the blonde. “The social media person thought it’d be funny to use our friendship to get views.” Rosalie said. She had had time to think of an answer to give her curious friends. “There’s nothing more between us, she’s just a friend.”

If the girls had noticed the light blush on her cheeks, they didn’t say anything. It was agreed that tomorrow night, they would all go out to the team’s favourite bar like they all used to. 

The next day, the team had training and other media obligations that would most likely take all day, leaving the photographer to go out for a run in her old neighborhood. She had brought in her vest a small film camera and stopped at multiple spots to capture what used to be her home. She ended up staying out for a good three hours and came back just in time to start supper.

The pub was cozy, with colourful fairy lights on the ceiling and old worn out furniture that gave the space an authentic vibe. Several tv’s were hung on the walls and showed a rugby match with teams the brunette had never seen before. The pub was busy enough with people clearly here for the game and others just enjoying a pint with friends. A few of the girls had already arrived and had settled on the large table at the back, engaged in deep conversation. 

It was easy to go out with the arsenal girls. They were not a rowdy bunch and there was no language barrier keeping her from having to concentrate to keep track of conversation. It was familiar and Rosalie realized that she needed this after being away and adjusting non-stop to a completely different environment. 

She was in the middle of arguing with Beth and Victoria over something completely frivolous, when the table fell silent and all eyes focused on the people who had just crossed the threshold. 

Most of the girls knew not to invite her, so Leah was clueless as to how the Irish woman had known they were all gathering tonight. But upon seeing the guilty face of the new girls, she realized that one of them probably wasn’t aware of the history between the photographer and the Irish woman. Thankfully the last chair available was at the far end of the table, next to Kyra and Russo. 

Rosalie tensed as soon as she heard the thick accent. She tried hard to tune out the sound of her voice, but her ears were so used to seeking out her voice, it was like she could not escape it. Slowly, the brunette grew more and more uncomfortable, and it was clear to all who surrounded her, so it wasn’t a surprise when finally, the French-Canadian excused herself to get some air. 

Fall was slowly creeping in, the wind picking up and stinging Rosalie's cheeks leaving them rosy and cold. She could hear the muffled sound of cheering from the sidewalk, another try from the home team no doubt. She heard the door open and someone stepping out, but she stayed still, not bothering to turn around. It was probably one of her friends making sure she was already anyway. 

“Still not a big fan of crowds?” The speed at which the Rosalie tuned would have given whiplash to anyone. 

“You don’t get to come out here.” It was a tone Katie had never heard from the photographer before. It was firm, every word laced with venom. She almost took a step back when her eyes met her green ones. There was a fire in them that told the defender she had not, and would not, forgive her. 

“ I just wanted to talk.” She said taking a careful step towards the brunette. 

“You already said everything. All I’m asking is for you to stay away. You’ve got everything you wanted, everyone you wanted. Leave me alone Katie.”

“What is wrong with you?” Katie said, almost offended by the brunette’s attitude. Rosalie had never held her own against her and it was nerve wracking for the arsenal player. “I just wanna talk! You can’t talk to me like this.”

“You lost all respect from me the day I discovered your lies. I'll talk to you how I see fit.”

“I already apologized for that. Rosalie please, it’s not the same with you gone. Just hear me out please.” Rosalie didn’t move. She faced the street, hoping that the defender would give up and go back inside, or even better, leave the pub. But it was all wishful thinking. She knew her too well and the defender never backed down from a fight. 

“What happened in Spain? You changed. What did she tell you to make you believe you could treat me this way?” Her last sentence threw her off. 

 “What are you…” 

“Oh so what, you attach yourself to the biggest name in women's football and think it won’t be the only thing we hear about?” She said with unrestrained anger. “Do you need that much attention?”

As if she had been summoned, Rosalie’s phone chimed with a new message, no doubt from the Spanish midfielder. Katie raised her eyebrows, knowing exactly who that text was from without needing to ask. 

“She has nothing to do with this! And even if what you are insinuating was true, why would it matter? Who I am seeing is none of your business.”

“It’s everyone’s business if you rub it all over instagram.” She spat at the photographer’s face. “It’s just a PR stunt. You’re a fool if you think otherwise.” 

There she was, the Katie McCabe she knew. The one who shattered her without any regret. She was speechless. All her bravado from earlier was gone, the defender had pushed too far and now she was back to how it was before. The Irish woman throwing her tantrum while she stayed still, with tears threatening to spill. 

“Enough.” Rosalie had not registered the arrival of another person, too focused on holding herself together and not showing any emotions. When Leah appeared in her line of sight, Rosalie let a long sight out. 

“Can you hear yourself right now? What would your girlfriend say if she heard you?”

“I’m just looking out for her!”

“This is clearly not for  her benefit, don't try to justify your jealousy McCabe.” She said standing between the photographer and the defender. “Go get your stuff and leave, we’ll talk about your bullshit tomorrow.”

Leah made sure that the Irish woman left and then met the photographer outside again. “Wanna talk about it?” She asked, knowing the answer already. 

“It’s ok, I kinda just wanna go to bed right now.” She said, eyes still fixed on the pavement. 

“I’ll go get the car.”

“I think I’d rather walk if that’s ok.” Leah knew that the woman needed some quiet, so she handed her her keys and left a kiss on the photographer’s forehead before watching her walk away.

[niuniente]

I stumbled upon a BBC recording from 1970, where two women in their 90's were interviewed about their teenage years. These women had been born in 1880's so they were in their teens in 1890's-1900's.

One woman recalled how her brother had seen this weird machine on a shop window, and women working with these machines. It was a typewriter and the place was hiring women to learn how to type with it. She also was bicycling a lot in her teens, and told a story how she once accidentally drove into a policeman. She and her friends were summoned to a court and fined 5 shillings each for this preposterous activity. The magistrate has been most horrified and disgusted that these young women hadn't been horse riding but bicycling when this collision happened!

It was amazing to hear. These women has gone such a huge jump in development of society and technologies from 1880 to 1970! I can't remember where I heard it but when we look back at time, humanity globally has advanced between 1900-2000 as much as in the previous 5000 years.

These ladies had seen the dawn of electricity; the very first electric cars and horse-pulled handsome cabs turning into busses, taxes and cars; Titanic; two world wars; suffragette movement fighting for women's rights and women getting these rights; the Wright brother's first plane and it leading to commercial flights and eventually to the moon landing; rise and falls of nations in Europe and changes on European map; the changes in workplaces and work place regulations; the development of radio; the whole history of TV; the fast changing clothing styles by each decade; the invention of plastic. They were born just 4 years after a telephone was patented in 1876.

I'm a pre-internet era child. Pre-mobile phone era child. I can recall when news told how this thing called internet is now open and how we predict it to become important. I can tell how huge difference mobile phones, emails, internet, video services, art programs etc. have done to the world. I'm every day grateful for the internet and technology because it was brought me to all I dreamed of and wanted as a child. Endless amounts of movies, comic, pictures, information, connections to everywhere in the world, exploration. Niche books and stuff I could never even see in my whole life without internet! In a need of a certain character reference? Just google it! Want to see that particular scene from a movie or a game? Go to internet, it's there!

And yet, I can never experience the same gigantic jumps as these 1890's teenagers did.