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#The Beautiful Oppressor
forged-in-kaoss · 3 months
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Tama. You fed me your precious rice. I'll never forget it!
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nando161mando · 1 month
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aeide-thea · 2 years
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sometimes... the original state of an old clock and the OTT way somebody's repainted it can both be ugly, actually...
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drakonovisny · 1 year
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am i supposed to take this seriously after all the shit she's said and done before?
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lmao
#she's better than the other templars! she thinks that it's ok to magically lobotomize mages only sometimes#and she's so so pretty and cool! everyone just can't stop noting her beauty and amazingness#and she's very brave for standing up to authority figures for what she believes is right even if it means she can lose everything#not like that stupid adrian girl who wants freedom ''but doesn't even understand what it means''#how could she be so dumb to demand for magical lobotomy to be abolished completely and advocate for everyone already subjected to be cured?#and she's so short and her red curly hair is funny!#plus she can't even think for herself sometimes‚ she just stands next to fiona ''like an accessory'' during the conclave#and she's so explosive‚ it's so foolish and short-sighted of her to stand up to her oppressors#clearly she's just a lost child like the rest of the mages who want to separate!#of course rhys is the most reasonable among them so he feels like an outcast#after being thrown in the dungeons for 4 days without food and water he knows that there's no middle path with the templars#but he just doesn't want anyone to get hurt :((((#and instead of doing anything he keeps shaking his head in disapproval and criticizes everyone#but not evangeline because she's so so pretty and actually a good templar!#adrian is angry at him because she's jealous!#not because he keeps ridiculing everything she does and refuses to support her time after time#when she keeps supporting him without question even after he deliberately broke her trust several times already#and of course by the end of everything her blind rage has taken her too far and she betrays rhys#because people like her who are ready to fight for their freedom are ''radicals'' and those are ruthless and insane#it's all adrian's fault that wynne's perfectly sound plan of slowly reforming the circle under the divine's guidance hasn't worked#it's not like that plan would have crumbled the moment templars realized they're losing authority#and they would've pushed the chantry to revoke the changes#because all of the mages' rights and freedoms could be stripped down on a whim as long as they don't have the means to protect them#and as a cherry on top after everything that happened rhys joined the centrist fraternity!#fucking hell#all of the main characters in this book suck#excluding cole#cole did nothing wrong <3#i'll need to take a break and read a different book before subjective myself to the remaining two novels written by g*id*r#sorry for the rant this book is making me froth at the mouth
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notteadrops · 2 years
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something so strongly anticolonial about a ukranian radio host interviewing (in ukrainian) a belarussian activist (who answers in belarussian) despite both of them probably knowing russian
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dridersgeorg · 2 years
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MERRILL <3
KILLING ME WITH THE WIFE SHIT
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sixty-silver-wishes · 3 months
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gotta say, I love the direction we're taking steamboat willie mickey mouse in now that he's public domain. I was expecting tumblr to rip him apart and be like "we feast on his corpse" (and I would have been on board with that lol), but we've decided that he's one of us now. he's a hero of the working class, newly liberated from his capitalist oppressors who sought to shackle him to traditional values and conservatism for decades. he's supportive of leftist causes. he's trans. he's married to jay fucking gatsby.
we're not celebrating that mickey mouse is dead.
we're celebrating that mickey mouse is free.
and that's beautiful.
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dungeonpuppykai · 7 months
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When I want to read dark fics, your writing just hits. One of my guilty pleasures recently has been dark!winter soldier stuff and I was hoping you could write one.
If you can, can you make it where Bucky is still the Winter Soldier and finds himself completely enamored with the reader. He stalks her briefly and decides he has to have her. So where it gets dark is mean, brooding soldier kidnaps reader and makes her his housewife. (I’d like to think that some of Bucky’s 40ness is still there along with some good old fashion 50s idealization where he basically molds her into being his perfect little housewife.)
He can still be with hydra or not but this thought has been buzzing around in my head recently and I personally am not good at writing dark fics.
Um, hell yes I can! Also, not me having almost exactly the same idea (it was in my drafts and I totally merged it with yours). Sorry for being late uni kicks my butt hard TT. Also, please note that this is a headcanon kind of situation type deal but apparently there's a limit to how many bullets you can put per post so that's why it looks the way it does! Hope you like it still. Unedited ❤️
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Warning(s): Dubcon (just to be safe), stalking, kidnapping, housewife kink, stockholm syndrome, spanking, misogyny, domestic discipline, breeding kink (dash), age gap (I mean, man is over a century old). Contains mature content. Browse at your own discretion. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT! 
You are absolutely shit faced as you stumble out the backdoor of the club with two of your girlfriends tangled around each arm. 
You are all giggling, stumbling and slurring out curses, trying to shush each other as you trudge your forms to your apartment complex that is close by because driving is obviously out of question now. 
Were it not for your overly intoxicated state, you would have totally noticed the dark silhouette that stills in the dark alley facing the backdoor. 
The man masked in the darkness tilts his head to the side as he tries to read your party, having gotten caught off guard by the sudden bursting open of the door. 
One of your friends stagger in his direction and he moves back, his labored breaths warm in his mask, watching the girl as she retches her guts out.
Silence follows the wheezes and gags of the girl.
Then there is a sound– a melody in the air.
Soldat feels something stir within himself.
Something his masters did their best to suppress. 
Not that they would be doing any more of that. 
They needed to be alive to do something like that ever again.
His eyebrows furrow as he scans your group for the source of the sound; you. 
You are laughing.
At your friend that is throwing up.
Hands clutching your hurting sides, eyes scrunched, head thrown back, flushed and sweaty face vibrant under the bright moonlight as your hair frames it in the most perfect way possible. 
A shaky breath escapes the man covered in tears and blood of his captors and oppressors.  
His eyes scan your form. 
Beautiful. 
His metal hand clenches into a fist and he makes his resolve almost instantly;
Mine.
Soldat cannot recall much of his past except for a few things like his name.
But he knows that it has been a long, long time. 
And it's time to go home.
But a home is not walls and concrete. 
It is the people that live in it. 
His head is a mess as he scales a wall and follows you to your building, skipping from roof to roof effortlessly with a careful eye on your form.
James had finally broken free against hydra yesterday morning while they were experimenting something more brutal. 
And during the following hours, all various leaders that made the organization what it was were dead.
For what is a structure without its pillars?
He had plundered them single handedly. 
And now he was a slave no more.
James would live, and he would take.
Just as had been taken from him.
You woke up the next morning, sprawled across your bed.
As you winced and sat up, you could swear you had knocked out on the couch last night. 
But since you couldn't teleport, it was probably just a gap in your memory.
Right?
The second sign was the painkillers and water next to you on the bedside table.
The third was the window of your room that was open wide.
But you shook your head as you were behind on your schedule for the day and got on with your busy university student life. 
You should have taken notice of the signs. 
How things would always somehow work out when you were struggling with some sort of a problem. 
Regardless of whatever type of an issue it was. 
Your friends joked about it as Divine Providence. 
And Divine it was, you lived to learn. 
When it happened, it wasn't after a dramatic chase or anything. 
You had simply woken up in a room you had never seen before, tucked in the bed like it had been yours for ages.
What even happened? 
You had finished an assignment before heading to bed for an early class the next morning. 
But now you were timidly surveying the room, more and more panic filling you by the passing second. 
The house is beautiful and bright outside the dark room you had woken up in, big glass windows facing tall trees and various other type of greenery outside. 
A loud gasp escaped you when you were somewhere in the middle of the living room.
You turned around to find a huge and by that you mean, giant man standing a few steps away from you.
You could swear he wasn't there a minute ago.
But now he is towering over you, head tilted to the side as if interacting with something from an outer planet, eyes scanning your form slowly. 
As if he's savouring the sight of you in a…
Your blood runs cold as you look down to realize that you are dressed in a white sundress with yellow and red flowers printed on it.
Your eyes widen in horror.
Because you had been wearing your PJs last night–
Or, rather, the last time you were awake.
Before you can say anything, he extends a hand towards you invitingly, nodding sideways to what seems to be the kitchen. 
Something in his hand glints in the sunlight coming from the windows.
It is when your panicked vision realizes that the hand and the whole arm is made up of metal, your body backs away.
With your mouth agape, you demand shakily.
"Who the hell are you?" 
He sighs. 
"What the hell is this place? Why am I here? What the fuck is going on?!"
The man's features scrunch in disapproval. 
Your choice of words is much unappreciated.
"Good little wives don't ask questions." 
In his angry, fried and entitled delusional mind you are as much in love with him as he is.
Otherwise, why would you just accept all the favours he did for you during all these months he was building a perfect home for the both of you and your future children?
He takes a step in your direction and you leap back.
After a short game of cat and mouse, you are trapped against the glass window.
He is too close. 
There is a heavy looking vase on the table next to you.
The shock on his face is evident.
He hadn't expected you, his wife, such a small and innocent girl to disrespect her husband like this. 
You whimper in horror when he doesn't budge against the decoration piece exploding against his brow bone.
James' eyes narrow as he leans in, a thick stream of blood running down the hurt side of his face.
"Bad girl" and you take off without a second thought.
Thankfully, the door is straight ahead and surprisingly unlocked.
You run without looking back. 
The man is not chasing you like you expected. 
But you don't want to stick around and find out why. 
Though the reason is soon revealed when you race through the little garden and out of the fence door. 
You are looking behind you and at the house so it is not until you are a good distance away from it do you turn your head to look ahead. 
Icy horror pierces its way down your spine.
Sand and palm trees dominate your vision as far as you can see where you are and your right side.
A devastatingly vast ocean washes the shore you are running on from the left side.
That doesn't stop you until your body gives up after a few minutes. 
You ran into the jungle for some cover.
Sobs and tears burst out of you as you collapse on a blanket of leaves.
Your body is weak and confused. 
Many hours pass.
You wander and starve.
You hide and shake.
You tip toe and give up.
There are wild animals all around you.
You can hear them.
It's terrifying. 
So terrifying that when you hear the stranger's voice some time after dusk, you are almost glad.
Are you done? His bright blue eyes that you can make out even in the dim light ask you silently. 
"How'd you even find me?" You were sure you had run a good couple miles.
He refuses to respond until you place your shaking hand in his awaiting metal one. 
"I can smell you" his accent is almost foreign as he pulls you up, frowning at your hurt bare feet. 
It took you hours to get to where you were but it only takes James a few minutes to get you back home. 
"Before I clean you up, I need to punish you." You are baffled. "Good wives don't run away from their husbands." 
He doesn't listen to any of your protests and reason that day or ever.
"Little girls don't know what is right for them. Only their husbands can decide that." 
He thoroughly washes you that night after giving you the worst spanking, paying no mind to your begging and crying.
You are sniffling as you sit on the bathroom counter wrapped up in a towel an hour later, your sore ass buzzing under you.
Your captor is kneeling in front of you as he tends to your hurt feet. 
He tells you your rules as he does so.
"First, you are to always obey me no matter what. Second, your body belongs to me as I am your husband, so you should not try to deny me of it because it will never end well for you. Third, you will respect me or you will live to learn to do so. Four, you will do your chores like a good wife and fulfill your wifely responsibilities. Five, you are to always accept your punishments and thank me for disciplining you after I am through with you, should you choose to break a rule or misbehave. Six, you will not indulge in any activity that can potentially corrupt your little mind. Seven, you will speak with respect and never out of turn. Eight, you are to always greet me when you wake up or if I have been gone a while. Nine, you can try to run. I will never stop you. But when you return home after failing, you will take your punishment obediently. Ten, you must never touch yourself. You are mine and mine alone." 
Since the spanking is still fresh on your skin you panic a little and fear forgetting them.
But you find them pasted on the fridge the following morning because he knew you were too dumb to remember them.
A few days pass before you explode about not being his wife and call him crazy.
"You weren't saying that when I did you all those favours." 
Horror dawns upon you as you realize that it was him all along.
You don't give up easily, though.
You try to run more times than you can keep count.
Every direction, every plan and every map you make proves to be useless.
Because the last time you do so, you realize that you are on a fucking island.
And since there is a dock near the house with the pantry never running low on groceries, James has a means of transport hidden somewhere is no mystery. 
But you don't know when he does it. 
So far you haven't been able to figure out a pattern. 
Either he was right about you being dumb or your captor was really good at staying one step ahead of you.
Anyways, you have no choice but to return to him crushed and sobbing as always.
He is reading something when you collapse between his legs; ready to accept your punishment as you have learnt that hiding and denying only makes it worse. 
James isn't so bad if you follow his rules. 
He is just a kidnapper and a misogynist with dangerous reflexes. 
His face is smug as he puts the book away. You have noticed that he is not as stiff and troubled as he used to be when you first woke up here months ago at this point. 
"How was it, doll?" He loves to hear you talk about it as he bruises your ass. "Any luck?" 
Today, though, something different happens.
You don't know if it's resignation and surrender finally settling in or if you have actually started to like this life.
How James gives you a nod of approval and pats your head rewardingly whenever you follow all your rules without any trouble.
The way he lets you stay up past your bed time (yes you have one because good wives are healthy for their husbands) to read a book or watch a movie.
If you were extra good and talked to him (though he was a man of a few words) and helped him out with a little farming thing he had going on in the backyard/patio, he would even let you sleep in the following morning. 
No stress or pulling yourself through classes and tight budgets.
Just being what he considered good and then whatever you would mention briefly would be in the house within the next few days.
When he is done punishing you, you thank him and apologize according to routine. But then you hug him.
You tell yourself it is due to the sad reality that your torment is your comfort.
Has to be.
You have no choice.
And then something unexpected happens in the course of the next few days. 
While trying to make the best out of this situation, you start to notice the little things, quirks and rituals, habits and mannerisms of this man. 
How he doesn't say anything if he doesn't like a certain ingredient or condiment in something you cooked but pushes it aside to use as compost later.
The way he holds you extra tight some times when he mutters a foreign language in his sleep. 
How he stares at the scary metal arm after a long day while waiting for you to finish up dinner.
Or the way he struggles to hold himself back whenever you are in a close proximity to him because you cried once he crept his hand up your ass in a sexual way. 
You don't get him sometimes.
His morals are as mysterious as him. 
Because he kidnapped you and forced you to be his wife in a '40's way, strips you to spank and humiliate you during punishments, then bathes and comforts you in his own way of silently holding you against his chest in his arms until you calm down.
Your tears don't effect him. 
But then he refuses to touch you sexually after the one time he tried.
It takes you a while to make the most peace that you can with James, but it happens eventually because you don't have a choice.  
The loneliness starts to drive you mad otherwise.
You are helping him with his farming one day when you collapse.
James isn't happy to find out that you haven't had any of your daily water intake for the day. 
After he is sure you are hydrated, it is punishment time because caring for yourself is also a rule you are supposed to never break.
Your ass is red and seething by the time he's done. Everything is pretty much routine except that you don't sit up to apologize and maybe hug him like usual.
Not even when he pats your ass to signal that he's done.
"H- Hubby?" You sniffle as you use the endearment.
It had been a proud discovery of yours.
James always gave in a little whenever you used it.
"Yes, little mouse?" You bite your lips as your thighs tremble.
Fuck.
"Y- You say we are husband and wife…"
"What about it?"
You bite your lip as you push your ass out and towards him, letting your legs part.
"Then why don't we act like it?" James is good at concealing his emotions and showing restraint.
But he can't help the way his cock hardens at the sight your pretty red thighs reveal to him.
Your perfect pussy is glistening with your creamy arousal, the entrance of your vagina blinking to indicate its need to be filled.
Fuck. 
Though James starts off small and slow with his fingers rubbing your cunt, the night ends with him balls deep into your pussy with his length rearranging your organs.
Whatever was left of you to own for him, he does so after that night.
You cannot go on for long without having some sort of physical proximity to him.
The sex is wild and it's amazing with his stamina. 
It is also instrumental in bringing you two closer than ever. 
James opens up to you slowly, but only when you ask about it.
You had done so in the past as well. 
But since it's genuine curiosity now, he feels comfortable telling you all about it.
It is a lot for you to take in and you almost don't believe him until he shows you some of his belongings from his time.
Things drift on as smoothly for a while as the waves outside your house.
And then comes the ultimate test. 
Which decides the course of your future with him.
He is still asleep one morning when you wake up.
It isn't a usual occurrence. 
But you had introduced him to comics lately and he had been obsessed with them despite claiming that they were too childish and unrealistic. 
While he had a metal arm himself…
You adjust the quilt before getting ready for the day and heading out to make breakfast. 
It is when you realize in panic that there aren't any apples left even though James had asked you to make a grocery list (that started when he started trusting you more) and you had assured him that you had enough apples for a while.
"I am gonna get the hairbrush today, I swear to God!" You mutter to yourself as you rush through the house like a headless chicken. 
Thankfully, your garden had an apple tree so you could save yourself from a breakfast spanking at the very least.
But something standing next to the dock catches your attention before you can the apples you try to budge free from their branches.
A motorboat. 
Before you can decide what you think of it, you are standing next to it on the dock.
It has fuel and a map. The key is in the ignition.
You narrow your eyes and feel your head splitting. 
A lot goes through your mind.
Flashbacks play before your eyes.
It is almost a full circle moment. 
And then you are standing in front of James who is seated on a stool next to the kitchen counter you use for dining. 
His head is lowered as he sips on his coffee and stabs at the breakfast you prepared with a fork.
"Hubby?" Your captor freezes before he slowly looks up at you. 
The blue of his eyes is troubled. He is in disbelief. As though he wasn't expecting you to be standing here.
"There is a boat outside. Do you think someone could be–" 
"You didn't leave." His voice is heavy. 
"What kind of a wife leaves her home?"
You two just stare at each other for a while. 
No words exchanged.
Then, for the first time ever, James gets up and hurriedly closes the distance between you two, enveloping you in his arms before pushing you against the wall behind you.
"I felt so angry and wronged that I thought I could take anything because I deserved it after everything that happened to me but… I love you too much, mouse."
He has never spoken this earnestly before.
"I just realized that I do too."
James kisses you passionately before you wrap yourself around him and close your eyes blissfully. 
He tightens his own arms around you gladly.
He would have hated to end up back on square one with you had you chosen to try and escape. 
The boat would have blown up a small fuse that would have been loud enough for his enhanced hearing if someone– you, were to turn the keys in the ignition.
Yes, he wasn't expecting you to be back but only too soon.
It was a test and you passed. 
As always, James stuck to his ways and rewarded you for being such a good wife. 
By giving you a ring, a new wardrobe and a baby that was the first of many to come.
.
What do you think hAH-
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fairuzfan · 10 days
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I mentioned this before but the one thing I cannot stand is selfishness which is where a lot of zionist talking points come from even when they *are* advocating for "peace" and "coexistence" because it centers ISRAELI safety and only thinks of Palestinian safety as secondary and indecental to Israeli (ie: the only way Israelis get safety is if their Palestinian """"neighbors"""" get safety which is such a selfish way to view the imprisonment and oppression of Palestinians) but then again they publish literal thinkpieces about the guilt Israeli soldiers feel when they eat food left behind by starving Palestinians — who, again, are starving BECAUSE OF ISRAELIS WHO ARE THE OPPRESSORS — so there's no way mainstream Israeli society will ever make changes to their language they they carefully curate to not include Palestinians (Haaretz is a beautiful example of this — take a look at their editorial staff list) because they all feed into their own sense of self pity and self righteousness rather than actually uplifting the voices of the oppressed. But then PALESTINIANS are the ones in this scenario who are accused of bias because they advocate and fight for their stories to be heard. Israelis do not have to find alternative means to put out their stories — has it occurred to you why Palestinians have had to use SOCIAL MEDIA to share their stories rather than traditional networks? It's because no one gives us the time of day. So we developed our platform through social media, even on here where @el-shab-hussein has been documenting FOR YEARS the human rights abuses perpetuated by Israelis on Palestinians because we know that's how anyone learns the truth about Palestine. So when people are trying to take down tiktok specifically, it's sinophobia and also fueled in recent months by antiPalestinian sentiments.
Sudan is like this too — the news we get about Sudan are from people who are on the ground because they've largely been abandoned by human rights orgs and by news stations. We learn the most about Sudan from people like @/bsonblast and Ze on Twitter.
Then people like come on here and make fun of people who get their news from social media (which is code for "Palestinians," they always mean it as code for Palestinians) as if "professional" media takes anyone from the Global South seriously or gives them space to talk about their stories and when they DO, people say things like "hamas run media" or whatever lol like these people have never had to doubt what they see on public media before and it shows! No one takes you seriously when you say the words "islamofascist state" about Gaza when CNN publicly admits to having their content reviewed by the IOF! Hypocritical at best!
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This post used to hold a poem inspired by the Rev. Munther Isaac's declaration that "God is under the rubble in Gaza."
After a few anons and a conversation with a Jewish friend, I've decided to take the poem down because, regardless of my own intentions with it, it risks feeding the long and extremely harmful history of blood libel, because I included imagery of the infant Jesus and his parents being killed by an Israeli soldier, as many Palestinians are being killed now.
Before talking with that friend, I wrote in this response to an anon about my intentions with the poem — but while I do believe that intentions do matter, they don't matter nearly as much as impact does.
My friend helped me come to the conclusion that while the poem I wrote could be interpreted as I intended by people who already have all the context I wrote it in (see below), it could also all too easily be interpreted much more harmfully by those who lack that context — or worse, who are looking for more fuel for their antisemitism. The poem is not worth that risk, not at all.
___
Ultimately, I hold two things I believe to be true in tension:
that Christians throughout the ages have found deep comfort and encouragement in understanding Jesus as suffering in and with them. I support all Christian Palestinians who, like Rev. Isaac, experience God-with-them in this way — in this horrific time, they deserve any ounce of comfort they can derive. And them personally seeking and finding the Divine presence with them is not antisemitic.
that for Christians like myself in the USA, who live in the beating heart of Empire and Christian Supremacy, it is vital to take care in how we talk about this theology in this current situation, where the oppressors are Jewish. Providing more fuel for Christian antisemitism is inexcusable, and I deeply apologize for writing and sharing a piece that can be used in that way.
Because modern-day Israel is a Jewish state, exploring that Divine solidarity in this context comes with a great risk of perpetuating the long, harmful history of antisemitic blood libel and accusations of deicide. How do we affirm God’s presence with those suffering in Palestine without (implicitly or explicitly) adding to the poisonous lie that “the Jews killed Jesus”?
In wrestling with this complexity, I tried to write this poem to uplift both Jesus’s Jewishness and his solidarity with Palestinians. Jesus was born into a Jewish family, his entire worldview was shaped by his Jewishness, and he shared in his people’s suffering under the Roman Empire. His solidarity with Palestinians of various faiths suffering today does not erase that Jewishness. Nor does it mean that Jewish persons don’t “belong” in the region — only that modern Israel’s occupation of Palestine is in no way necessary for Jews to live and thrive there, or anywhere else in the world.
I also aimed to point out that Israel is by no means acting alone in this attack on Gaza or their decades-long occupation of Palestine. There is a much larger Empire at work, with my own country, the United States, at the helm. Israel is entangled in that imperial mess, and directly backed and funded by those forces — not because of what politicians claim, that we have to back Israel or else we’re antisemitic, but because Israel is our strategic foothold in the so-called Middle East. How do we name our complicity as our tax dollars are funneled into violence across the world, and act to end that violence?
___
I'm sorry this post isn't as articulate as I want it to be. All of this to say: I deeply apologize for any hurt my poem caused. I understand how horrific Christianity's history of — and ongoing present — antisemitism is, and how it poisons and warps so much that could have been beautiful. I'll keep educating myself; I'll keep having hard conversations; I'll keep working to uproot antisemitism in myself and my communities.
___
I'll close with a list of resources for learning about Palestine's history and getting involved.
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thecyndimistuff · 1 year
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Black Panther Wakanda Forever was a beautiful representation about how people of color are pit against each other because of hurt and pain caused by colonialism and the fear of it.
Too often we treat oppression as if it is a competition. Who has suffered more, whose history was the roughest, who receives more compassion or hate from the rest of the world. And even when we try to work together often we don’t want to bend in our ways or be open in order to understand another or communicate/listen effectively to come to an agreement on how we can stand together.
In this movie, the UN and the CIA were of course a threat to the protagonists, but they truly didn’t even have to intervene directly. The mere threat of exploitation and colonization was enough to nearly drive Talokan and Wakanda into a frenzy and start fighting one another and hurting each other. And sometimes we get so caught up in the hurt and the vengeance until we’re bleeding out with our hands around each other’s throats and we pause to think “why are we even doing this to each other?”
Ultimately it’s pointless, the endless cycle of pain and hurt and for what? That’s what the colonizers want. The UN/CIA knew nothing about Talokan, but if Wakanda and Talokan had wiped each other out, they would’ve loved nothing more than to sweep up and exploit the vibranium resources left behind without having to do any of the dirty work. Shuri realized that being consumed with vengeance wasn’t going to help anybody, and the fear/threat of losing more loved ones was only going to get more people hurt. It killed Killmonger and it was killing Shuri, Namor and their people. The very people they were trying to protect. They both saw the beauty in each other’s cultures, and they knew it was worth dying to protect, but not like this. Why should they tear each other down like this when they have both fought such hardship to thrive?
Originally Talokan saw Wakanda’s act of opening their borders as a threat against themselves, but it was the fear of what the colonizers would do, and yet Talokan attacked Wakanda for it. In the end, their perspective shifted, and Wakanda also chose to respect their decision to remain a closed culture.
We celebrate each other’s differences in their cultural uniqueness, and we come together to unite over our values in order to support one other.
The only way we stand a chance against the effects of colonization and the systems set in place today is if we continue to find ways to support one another and stand together, instead of doing the work for the oppressors and tearing each other down.
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larluce · 2 months
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Arthur and Merlin travel back in time without knowing the other is from the future too AU
Tagging @virgil-wannabe since you asked for a PART 3 ;)
LINKS TO THE OTHER PARTS OF THIS AU HERE: PART1 , PART 2 , PART3 (you're here) , PART4
In "The Dragon's Call"
Arthur: (bulling a servant for the third time just so Merlin meets him again)
Merlin: (appearing out of nowhere) You, oppressor!
Arthur: (thinking) finally
Merlin: (thinking) Wait, that's not my line.
Arthur: (thinking and barely containing himself from crying, running to Merlin and hugging him and kissing him right there) He’s just as beautiful as the day I lost him 🥺🤧
Merlin: (thinking in panic) He isn’t saying anything. Why isn’t he saying anything?! 😰😖
Merlin: Is that the way you treat your servants? You are a... a prat! and...and an ass!
Arthur:...
Merlin: (thinking) please say something, please say something, please say something.
Arthur: (coughs, just realising he's been staring for too long) You're right I was being mean. My apologies.
Merlin: ... wait what? 😧
In "The Poisoned Chalice"
Merlin: (ready to use a spell to make Arthur drop his cup)
Arthur: (dropping it on purpose) Oh, clumsy of me, I droped it.
Merlin: (to himself) What? But I didn't use the spell yet. (Looks at his hands) Or did I?... Ugh, whatever (picking up the cup) Hey, Gaius! What's that? (Pointing at the flower petal inside the cup)
Gaius: It's poison! Someone tried to poison the prince!
Arthur: (faking surprise) what? Really?
Merlin: (faking surprise too) I can't believe it!
In "Lancelot"
Merlin: He would make an excelent knight. He saved my life.
Arthur: (full panic mode) what?! When?! Are you okay?!
Merlin: (confused) ...yeah? The grif-I mean, the winged beast attacked me when-
Arthur: The griffin attacked you?! (Checks him) Why didn't you tell me?! Are you hurt?!
Merlin: (still shocked but blushing due to Arthur's sudden attention and closeness) Ahm... you didn't ask? And Lancelot stopped the beast before it could hurt me, so you don't have to worry.
Arthur: (swallowing his guilt for not asking in his other timeline)... Right. From now on you tell when these things happen, do you understand?
Merlin: Yes, sire.
Arthur: Good. (Lets go of Merlin realizing he's being holding him for too long) Well, as thankful as I am to Lancelot for saving you, I can't knight him if he isn't a noble. That's the code.
Merlin: I know but-
Arthur: So I'll give him another job in the castle and when I'm king I'll gladly consider knighting him if he's still interested.
Merlin: (more than surprised) You will?
Arthur: (nods) Is that all?
Merlin: Yes... (smiles) thank you
Arthur: (smiles) Anytime, Merlin. (leaves)
Merlin: (looking Arthur leave with hearteyes) 😍... wait. How did he know what the beast was called?😨
In "Excalibur"
Merlin: (debating with himself if he should let Arthur fight the Black Knight this time around or let Uther do it again)
Arthur: (arriving) Merlin.
Merlin: (utterly surprised) You are here! 😱
Arthur: Of course I'm here. You thought I would withdraw? I'm not a coward, Merlin.
Merlin: No! I'm just... surprised Uther let you.
Arthur: He did try to drug me to stop me from coming. (Looks at Excalibur in Merlin's hands, recognizing it) Where did you get that?
Merlin: Oh... I just thought... you would need a new sword for this. So I asked Tom to make it for you.
Arthur: You got it made... for me?
Merlin: Yes. (Thinking) Please use it, please use it, please use it.
Arthur: (holding the sword) It's good. Thank you.
Merlin: (blushing, still not used to Arthur thanking everything he does) I'm just doing my job. There's no need to-
Arthur: There’s every need. (Touching his shoulder fondly and smiling) Thank you, Merlin. For thinking of me.
Merlin: (screaming inside)
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mochifiction · 7 months
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Not a Transformers post but Hozier released his album and no I’m not sane or okay. I wanna talk about Butchered Tongue because there’s barely any discourse about it and I am absolutely inconsolable about it. While there are a lot of elements/ central themes of Irish colonization and the preservation of Irish language and inherently history/ culture with it, as a Person of Color, I was so deeply moved. It is a song of beautiful mourning, of sorrow in the blood and scars that run through the dying of or absolute death of a language. However, it is also a celebration and expression of admiration and awe over the strength and perseverance of language and those who wield it. Every verb, noun, accent, rolling of the tongue. Every simple sound, letter, article. All of it is an act of defiance of the voice to the oppressor. It is a fibre of being healing the deep wounds inflicted by the colonizer. Every utterance screams “We are here and we are moving onward even while still bleeding.” Even then, Hozier still captivated the grief that comes with the fact that…not all cultures have that. Not every community has the ability to learn their languages. Some are gone entirely. Some stopped being passed down for the sake of survival and assimilation. The anguish that comes with a bloody tongue, one that cannot speak what it was born to utter, to scream to sing…it’s a feeling difficult to put into words. To have this song in the Circle of Violence not only brings to light the physical violence against the Irish in their colonization, but the invisible consequences of such brutality on the colonized. The murders and scarring didn’t stop at flesh. Even some languages that survived didn’t escape without scars and wounds, infused with the languages of their colonizer (ex- Tagalog having pieces of Spanish in it). This was a love letter and kiss of praise yet also a funeral dirge to those wounded by colonization, and I have never sobbed so hard over a song before. It stirred such deep grief in me that I cannot explain.
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aronarchy · 1 year
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Why we don’t like it when children hit us back
To all the children who have ever been told to “respect” someone that hated them.
March 21, 2023
Even those of us that are disturbed by the thought of how widespread corporal punishment still is in all ranks of society are uncomfortable at the idea of a child defending themself using violence against their oppressors and abusers. A child who hits back proves that the adults “were right all along,” that their violence was justified. Even as they would cheer an adult victim for defending themself fiercely.
Even those “child rights advocates” imagine the right child victim as one who takes it without ever stopping to love “its” owners. Tear-stained and afraid, the child is too innocent to be hit in a guilt-free manner. No one likes to imagine the Brat as Victim—the child who does, according to adultist logic, deserve being hit, because they follow their desires, because they walk the world with their head high, because they talk back, because they are loud, because they are unapologetically here, and resistant to being cast in the role of guest of a world that is just not made for them.
If we are against corporal punishment, the brat is our gotcha, the proof that it is actually not that much of an injustice. The brat unsettles us, so much that the “bad seed” is a stock character in horror, a genre that is much permeated by the adult gaze (defined as “the way children are viewed, represented and portrayed by adults; and finally society’s conception of children and the way this is perpetuated within institutions, and inherent in all interactions with children”), where the adult fear for the subversion of the structures that keep children under control is very much represented.
It might be very well true that the Brat has something unnatural and sinister about them in this world, as they are at constant war with everything that has ever been created, since everything that has been created has been built with the purpose of subjugating them. This is why it feels unnatural to watch a child hitting back instead of cowering. We feel like it’s not right. We feel like history is staring back at us, and all the horror we felt at any rebel and wayward child who has ever lived, we are feeling right now for that reject of the construct of “childhood innocence.” The child who hits back is at such clash with our construction of childhood because we defined violence in all of its forms as the province of the adult, especially the adult in authority.
The adult has an explicit sanction by the state to do violence to the child, while the child has both a social and legal prohibition to even think of defending themself with their fists. Legislation such as “parent-child tort immunity” makes this clear. The adult’s designed place is as the one who hits, and has a right and even an encouragement to do so, the one who acts, as the person. The child’s designed place is as the one who gets hit, and has an obligation to accept that, as the one who suffers acts, as the object. When a child forcibly breaks out of their place, they are reversing the supposed “natural order” in a radical way.
This is why, for the youth liberationist, there should be nothing more beautiful to witness that the child who snaps. We have an unique horror for parricide, and a terrible indifference at the 450 children murdered every year by their parents in just the USA, without even mentioning all the indirect suicides caused by parental abuse. As a Psychology Today article about so-called “parricide” puts it:
Unlike adults who kill their parents, teenagers become parricide offenders when conditions in the home are intolerable but their alternatives are limited. Unlike adults, kids cannot simply leave. The law has made it a crime for young people to run away. Juveniles who commit parricide usually do consider running away, but many do not know any place where they can seek refuge. Those who do run are generally picked up and returned home, or go back on their own: Surviving on the streets is hardly a realistic alternative for youths with meager financial resources, limited education, and few skills.
By far, the severely abused child is the most frequently encountered type of offender. According to Paul Mones, a Los Angeles attorney who specializes in defending adolescent parricide offenders, more than 90 percent have been abused by their parents. In-depth portraits of such youths have frequently shown that they killed because they could no longer tolerate conditions at home. These children were psychologically abused by one or both parents and often suffered physical, sexual, and verbal abuse as well—and witnessed it given to others in the household. They did not typically have histories of severe mental illness or of serious and extensive delinquent behavior. They were not criminally sophisticated. For them, the killings represented an act of desperation—the only way out of a family situation they could no longer endure.
- Heide, Why Kids Kill Parents, 1992.
Despite these being the most frequent conditions of “parricide,” it still brings unique disgust to think about it for most people. The sympathy extended to murdering parents is never extended even to the most desperate child, who chose to kill to not be killed. They chose to stop enduring silently, and that was their greatest crime; that is the crime of the child who hits back. Hell, children aren’t even supposed to talk back. They are not supposed to be anything but grateful for the miserable pieces of space that adults carve out in a world hostile to children for them to live following adult rules. It isn’t rare for children to notice the adult monopoly on violence and force when they interact with figures like teachers, and the way they use words like “respect.” In fact, this social dynamic has been noticed quite often:
Sometimes people use “respect” to mean “treating someone like a person” and sometimes they use “respect” to mean “treating someone like an authority” and sometimes people who are used to being treated like an authority say “if you won’t respect me I won’t respect you” and they mean “if you won’t treat me like an authority I won’t treat you like a person” and they think they’re being fair but they aren’t, and it’s not okay.
(https://soycrates.tumblr.com/post/115633137923/stimmyabby-sometimes-people-use-respect-to-mean)
But it has received almost no condemnation in the public eye. No voices have raised to contrast the adult monopoly on violence towards child bodies and child minds. No voices have raised to praise the child who hits back. Because they do deserve praise. Because the child who sets their foot down and says this belongs to me, even when it’s something like their own body that they are claiming, is committing one of the most serious crimes against adult society, who wants them dispossessed.
Sources:
“The Adult Gaze: a tool of control and oppression,” https://livingwithoutschool.com/2021/07/29/the-adult-gaze-a-tool-of-control-and-oppression
“Filicide,” https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Filicide
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apollos-olives · 3 months
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hello! If this question is too personal, please feel free to ignore. I’m writing an informative essay on the Palestinian experience under occupation (college English final) and I just wanted to ask this.
As children in Palestine (or outside of Palestine, but born to Palestinian parents), are you raised with the knowledge of the hatred and disdain of the Israelis towards the Palestinians or would you say that Palestinian parents “shelter” (for lack of a better word that I can think of) or attempt to “shelter” their children from the pain of the Israeli’s hatred? I would assume that protecting the emotions and minds of the children would be somewhat impossible to do, but I would appreciate if you could provide some insight into this and also how children deal with the mental toll of being under occupation or knowing that their people are not free. My apologies if this is question is insensitive, please feel free to ignore and delete this if you feel uncomfortable. Thank you!
we, as palestinians, are raised with the complete knowledge that zionists hate us. there is no "hiding" that fact. when you live under an occupation, you know it. you feel the effects of it. you see it every day. one of the very first things i've been raised to learn is that i am a person who majority of the world hates. and you genuinely cannot hide that. even though we were, and are, children, we have to face the truth immediately. we are an oppressed people. our parents do not hide this from us. it would be cruel if they did. we deserve to know that there is a better life for us than this, and we deserve to know what is happening against us. you cannot hide the effects of oppression and occupation. we will learn about it whether someone tells us or not.
because of this, palestinians raise their children to be extremely educated. palestinians are some of the most highly educated people in the world. we become educated when we're young and continue to become more and more educated as we grow because that is what we believe will set us free. the newer generations must have knowledge to fight back. the children are the future, as we all know. the sooner we are educated, the sooner we can start fighting back against oppression. that is why we urge other people to become educated, so they can help us fight against oppression as well. oppression cannot be hidden from us. we must learn to notice it wherever we go, in order to end it. that is why palestinians do not hide away their children. of course, we love our children and we try to ease the pain for them as much as possible, but the pain is our real life. our suffering is part of our fight, our identity. and we are fighting for a day where our suffering will never have to be permanent part of our identity again. we want to protect our children, but we cannot protect them against a world that wants them dead. we cannot do it alone, so we need people to step up and stand with us, in order to raise our children without them having to know the suffering we've endured.
being a child living under the occupation is difficult. you make friends one year, you lose them the next year. you finally manage to get out of palestine, and suddenly you're never allowed to go back in. you see posters on the wall of every city, full of faces of the people who were martyred by the hands of the oppressors and you pray to god that your face isn't going to be on there next. you are constantly surrounded by death and suffering. palestine is beautiful. our culture is beautiful. we constantly try to appreciate our beauty. but we cannot just do that without also facing the reality. we are an oppressed people. we know this. we see this. we feel this.
being a child living in the diaspora is also difficult. seeing how everyone around you can go on with their day, all smiles and laughs, not knowing your family in palestine were just killed the other day. seeing the media twist the narrative and make up lies about you and your people. being wary of everyone around you because you're not sure if they're a zionist or not so you have to hide your identity and who you are. watching as your people are massacred on tv while you're sitting there in your living room from a continent away, shaking with fear because "what if that was me?"
we know zionists hate us. this is the first thing we learn. we cannot hide our children from this truth, because that would only harm them more than it would protect them.
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diaday333 · 5 months
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Prayers to the Gods for the Palestinian people.
Keep sharing, keeping protesting, keep b0ycotting, but your prayers also have power, not just for yourself, but for others too. The Gods weep as we do at this injustice. They are just as angry as we are. The Gods will always care about injustice. Remember Xenia.
Also ! Anyone can use these, feel free to change the prayers to fit any other gods!
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To Apollo and Artemis to protect the young in Palestine
To lovely Artemis and Apollo, protectors of children, please give your grace to the children of Palestine.
Please let them have as many joyful moments as possible— even if it's their last.
Watch over them and protect them all the way into to their final seconds
Avert evil and harm from them as much as possible
Grant them the peace of seeing their siblings and caretakers, even if it's the last time
Let them know the joys of being a child, even if it's fleeting Let them play, sing, dance
Grant them joy and grant them peace and then extend that joy, comfort, and beauty into their afterlives/ next lives, so that they won't know this fear and sorrow again.
Love and protect the children of Palestine as they are as precious as any other
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To Ares, most unbreakable
To Ares, most unbreakable, whose courage and strength are as unlimited as he is
Please extend that same fortitude and strength to the Palestinians
Οβριμος (strong, mighty) make it so that their strength and courage never runs out
Αδάμαστος (unconquerable, indestructible) make it so they wont die without a fight, that as much as the oppressors think they have complete power of them, they never will
Τειχεσιπλητης (stormer of cities, walls) make it so they break out of the hell they've been forced it
Λαοσσοος (he who rallies people), make it so the people unconditionally come to their support
Beloved Ares, you are as kind as you are destructive Save your grace for the Palestinians, for you weep as much as we do for them.
But unleash your wrath on the oppressors and murderers
Make it so they never have another day of peace
That the blood on their hands stains everything they touch, polluting their lives, and so it may never wash off
Δεινος (terrible, fearsome), show them no mercy.
Ares, saviour and protector of people, protect and love the Palestinians as you do.
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To Athena defender and savior of people
To Athene, defender of cities
She with the most wisdom, hold them with you under your unbreakable shield
Σωτειρα (savior) please save them from the unyielding bombs and rubble that many are buried in
Αλαλκομενηις (protector) protect them always, for they are as precious as any other. Protect them while alive and after they're gone, protect their legacy, their story
Παιωνια (healer), help them use their limited medical supplies to save as many as they can. Protect the doctors and any healthcare workers, so that they may help as many as they can
Protector, Saviour, defender, please save the Palestinian people, their home, and their legacy.
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To Zeus, savior and most merciful
To Zeus, most high, extend your endless kindness and grace to the Palestinian people.
Σωτηρ (savior) please save the Palestinian people, for their lives are as precious as any other.
For they have a culture, story and history as rich as any other.
Λαοιτης (of the people) make it so they are never forgotten and while some deem them unworthy of living, make that known to the people that that is untrue
Ελευθεριος (of freedom) make it so they will know freedom and will not be under siege any longer
Τροπαιος (turns to flight, defeats), instill in them the fighting spirit they need, and the spirit to live, so they can expel the oppressors from their land.
Παλαμναιος (punisher of murderers), make it so the oppressors can’t get away with their crime, that they never can escape from their own actions
Επιδωτης (giver of good), make it so they can find as many moments of peace and slight escape as they can, no matter how fleeting it is. Whether it be sitting with a loved one or getting a sip of fresh water, give it to them.
Θεος Αγαθος, (the good god) you as much as the other Gods teach us Xenia (hospitality, friendliness basically), to hold it close to our hearts, to hold people close to our hearts. We know you are as just as angry as we are, and we know you mourn with us. And just like you, we will let no injustice pass
No one should stay silent about this or any other injustices. Speak up, protest, share, and pray
(Also please excuse any spelling, grammar, and other errors,, I did read over it but yknow)
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