#academic places cause you Have To look like you're your own supporter in those places so. whatever i will make everyone believe | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

finnlongman · 9 months

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What’s it like working in academia? I’m in undergrad right now and still trying to figure out… like… *gestures to the whole “life” thing* and I’ve really considered going into academia (maybe with a focus on medieval literature), but I’m not sure how to know if that’s really the path for me. I’ve tried to look into what academic spaces are like, but a lot of what I’ve seen is extremely vague and cynical. It feels like everyone is trying to convince me it’s a terrible choice for a career but without actually explaining what it entails in the first place.

I don't know how well I can answer this, because I don't technically work in academia – I'm about to start a PhD, which is funded and therefore kind of counts as a job, but I haven't started yet, and I haven't had an academic job before. Being an independent scholar is a great way to do research without other obligations, but unfortunately there's zero money in it, so I can't really recommend that 😅

I think one of the things that makes academia tough as a career is the lack of stable jobs, particularly in humanities (and particularly in medieval studies). There are a lot of short term, precarious contracts and a lot of people end up moving cities or even countries every year or every couple of years early in their careers, taking whatever jobs they can get. This is one of the reasons I don't think I would go into academia as a job myself; with my chronic illnesses, I need continuity of healthcare and I have moved too much in my adult life already, so I don't want to trap myself into that cycle.

In small fields particularly, it can seem like the only way to get a job is if somebody dies (or retires), and then everyone you know in that field will also be applying for the same job, so you're up against all your friends. That can be a bit of a weird vibe, I think! And when those early jobs are quite unstable and short-term and not very well paid, it can be difficult to feel like the years of study and the mountain of student debt are worthwhile, so people at this stage are often cynical and desperately warning others away from following in their footsteps.

But that doesn't mean there's no path to having a career in academia. And there are also lots of ways to do research, or teaching, without being an academic, so if that's what you want to do, I wouldn't automatically give up. Just be aware that many early career researchers are overworked, underpaid, and have moved house three times in two years and that's the cause of their dead-eyed looks...

That's probably the end of my knowledge of academic employment, since most of my friends are at the job-hunting stage or just starting postdocs and therefore I don't really know what happens after that because I haven't seen it first-hand.

I have however worked in universities, specifically in university libraries, so I have a bit of insight into how they work from the point of view of support staff. Mostly: bureaucracy. So much bureaucracy. I would say Cambridge is probably worse for this than many other places, because it is actually thirty one legally independent universities in a trenchcoat, but I get the impression all universities are fond of over complicated everything behind the scenes, and I think many people find that frustrating.

Universities are not fast paced institutions, behind the scenes: everything takes a long time to change, filtering through committees and focus groups and strategic plans and quarterly meetings. The older the university, I suspect, the slower it moves. If you like immediacy and responsiveness in an institution, academia may not be the way to go. If you like filling in a lot of forms about everything, on the other hand, well...

But I should also add, from my own experience: working in an academic library, while also not well paid, is a great way to maintain access to research materials and niche books if you want to take the independent scholar route 👀 And really gives you an insight into all the invisible labour behind every reading list, scanned document, or online resource that the academics themselves rely on for teaching.

Anyway, this was long and not very useful, but I think it's okay not to know where you're going with life yet. I took two years out after undergrad before I did an MA, having been determined that I was absolutely leaving academia for ever (lol), and then two years between MA and PhD, and I still don't know what I'll do after the PhD, but I'm not rushing it. Degrees are about transferrable skills as much as about specific knowledge, and there are lots of ways you can use them outside of academia or in adjacent paths, but crucially: you can come back. You don't have to do postgrad straight away if you're not sure whether you want to. Take a year! Take five years! Get a bunch of other jobs! Try things out!

And also, whatever plans you make, I advise you to build in some flexibility, because honestly, it feels like every other week some uni is cutting their small subjects or downsizing departments 🫤 I'm not saying it's getting harder to find academic jobs in medieval studies, but it's not getting easier at the moment, and it's worth being aware of that. If there were more jobs, and more stable jobs, I think you would encounter fewer cynics; it's the competitive instability that undermines people's joy in research and teaching.

#answered #anon good sir #academia

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catboybiologist · 8 months

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heyo, sorry if this is a bit of an uncomfortable question, but I've been thinking about it for a while. I'm really curious to know the opinion of a biologist with more experience (especially a queer one hehe)

have you ever faced any pressure like, "who even cares about your research on these weird bugs?" (a bit of a generalization on entomology, though it also kind of applies to my general interest in pursuing zoology) or "you do know you won't be making much money, right?", as well as questions like, "why don't you go in medicine? a career as a doctor is more promising, researchers barely get paid anyway"

and if you did, how did you deal with it? i guess my impostor syndrome never fails to catch up to me ahah, but it would be good to know if there's someone like this as well

Sorry I took so long to get to this! There's no way to answer this briefly, I think.

Yes, all the time. It's the curse of anyone in basic science research. Luckily, for me, I don't think that pressure has come from anyone who actually matters. Academic influences, and even my parents are very supportive of my career path (my parents maybe not so much supportive as much as "pressuring", but that's a different story). From more distant family, online, family friends, and random people I meet everywhere? All the fucking time, and its very tiring.

There's two very different issues at hand in your ask, though. The financial aspect, and the level of respect and understanding people have for basic science in the first place.

As for the financial aspect… I'm sorry. The reality is that yeah, you're not gonna make much money. But you have to ask yourself whether that's a priority for you. You'll definetly make enough money to live on, but it won't be a glamorous amount. You genuinely have to love what you do, and that can be a bit rough. But there's nothing wrong with that. There's a lot of pressure to choose the highest paying careers, even when its past the point of increasing your means. Its okay not to care. But yeah, unfortunately, no one's getting rich in field work :/

For the other aspect… that is a huge disconnect between the general public and science, and one that I think manifests in a lot of ways beyond even what you're saying. The value of basic science research is twofold. The reason most people who are passionate about the subject get into research is for its own sake- the world is cool! To me, inquiry and curiosity are one of the most beautiful things about being human, and is worth it for the simple sake of expanding our range of knowledge as a society. It's like asking who cares about some dumb painting while looking at the Mona Lisa. But, to be blunt… some people just don't see that. Which brings us to the other aspect: unseen utility. Basic science research saves the world. And that's not really an exaggeration. The example I've given so many people recently is COVID vaccines. mRNA molecules being able to cause immune reactions was a "who cares" research problem a couple decades ago… and look at us now. Oftentimes its not so one-to-one, though. For ecology, the bulk quantity of ecology research contributes to our understanding that ultimately guides how we care for the world. While its sometimes difficult to see how "those weird bugs" contribute to public policy and understanding, but "those weird bugs" alongside "those weird plants" alongside "those weird fungi" alongside "those weird rats" and whatever else, together, contribute to the net understanding of what areas need to be protected, what ecosystems are at risk, what ecosystems threaten human existence if they collapse, and how best to protect all of those. Research matters.

I'm picking nits, but neither sounds like imposter syndrome to me. In fact, I think it's kinda the opposite. I think you'll fit in just fine with entomologists, or other scientists in zoology, ecology, evolutionary bio, or whereever. A lot of them have gone through exactly the same thing that you are, from their early career interactions with friends and family to their later career interactions with the public and outreach. So in a way, I think that's your solution as well. If you take the first leap into your field, either declaring a major, becoming involved in a particular research lab, volunteering, or whatever else, you're going to start surrounding yourself with people who have undergone the same external pressures that you're facing right now. They'll intrinsically understand the value of the type of research you wanna do, and they'll also understand that not everyone sees it that way.

But getting to that level is hard. It requires persistence. But you'll get there <3

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your-divine-ribs · 2 months

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Forbidden Part 8

Words: 3.5k

Prof Van is a menace 🫣 // Y/N is in for a big surprise…

Forbidden Masterlist Main Masterlist

"I swear you'd be late for your own funeral! You said 12 o' clock... straight after your lecture!"

Lizzie stands there, hands on hips, impatient as you arrive for your lunch date more than just a little fashionably late.

"I'm sorry, I had to... go over some work... I didn't have a choice." You're still flustered after your confrontation with Van, the soothing satisfaction of Johnny's caresses ruined by his foreboding warning. But you wouldn't have it any other way. It's a contrast that thrills you.

You start to moan about all the additional work you'll have to put in to catch up after the laptop incident as you find an empty table and both sit down.

"Oh right... the extra tuition huh?" Lizzie raises her eyebrows up comically, her smile teasing.

"What are you saying it like that for?"

You tense, on the defensive, immediately relaxing when Lizzie starts laughing, knocking you with her elbow.

"Jeez... you should see your face! I'm only teasing. You know... because it's with Van. Must be a real drag spending all that extra time with your hot History Professor."

She grins knowingly and you smile back, making a show of rolling your eyes, playing along.

"Oh god it's the worst. Especially since he had those bloody skin-tight jeans on again today. It's such a distraction!"

You both dissolve into fits of giggles, making smutty comments until Erica catches your eye as she takes a seat at the table next to you. She quickly looks away but nevertheless you clock her looking disapprovingly at your skimpy attire before she does, leaning in to whisper something to her friend, Lydia. Muted giggles drift over from their bowed heads and you feel your lips automatically pull into a sneer.

Lizzie follows your gaze, huffing as Lydia turns around to look you up and down disdainfully.

"We're not in school any more girls... grow up!"

They pretend not to hear and you tell Lizzie to shush, glad of her support but not wanting to cause trouble. You don't want Erica to look at you with that smug satisfaction the way that she does, thinking that she's better than you.

"What?" Your friend says defensively. "They're lucky I'm not saying something else... that Erica's a right bitch. She's just jealous of you, you know."

You bat away her confusing compliment and you both turn your attention to the menus on the tables, then Lizzie's off to the counter to place your order, leaving you alone to sit idly scrolling through Instagram on your phone whilst you wait.

You wonder why on earth someone like Erica would be jealous of you, with her unblemished academic record and her almost guaranteed first class honours. As far as she's concerned you're failing your degree miserably, and to be honest you're not even sure that you won't. Despite Van's interest in you, he's not promised you good grades or secretly slipped you the answers to exam questions. In fact you're pretty sure that he'll insist that you don't take any shortcuts with your studies and will still expect exemplary work from you... with the added extra curricular activities of course. A thrill shoots through you as you contemplate what his punishment might be for today's misdemeanour.

"Alright ladies, working hard I see! Don't you ever stop to take a break?"

Your head snaps up from your phone screen as you hear Van's voice, your pulse starting to race as you see him walking across the cafe in your direction. You don't think he's seen you though. He pauses by Erica's table, indicating the two girls' textbooks spread across the surface as they pick at their lunch.

Erica lets out a shrill giggle, titivating her long blonde hair as she looks up dreamily at Van. "Well, the exam's in two weeks so I want to make sure I get plenty of revision in!"

Van gives her a warm grin. "Well make sure you take a break at some point. You know what they say... all work and no play..."

"Actually we're just about to eat... if you'd like to join us! There's plenty of room!"

You smile to yourself as you watch Erica with amusement, seeing her gathering all her textbooks and papers together hurriedly, fluttering her eyelashes ineffectually at Van. He's hardly bothered. He's just spotted you sitting on the table behind, legs crossed in a modest pose even though the shortness of your skirt is anything but demure.

He wrenches his attention away to look back at Erica and Lydia, mildly flustered although he hides it well, addressing them with a winning smile. "I'd love to but I'm actually late for a meeting... despite what I've been saying it's a working lunch..." His eyes flick briefly to you. "No rest for the wicked, eh?"

The girls giggle girlishly again as he bids them goodbye, the warmth quickly draining from his eyes as they fall again on you and he nods as he passes by. "Y/N..."

"Oh... hello Sir..."

You catch your bottom lip in your teeth, giving him doe-eyes with a hint of something sultry. He shoots you a look which melts your insides and then he's gone, leaving your heart racing and your chest tight. And you're not the only one suffering from the after-effects of his presence. Erica and Lydia are over-the-top swooning like love-struck teenagers. They don't even care that you can overhear their dramatic simping.

"Oh my god he's so dreamy! Did you see his gorgeous smile?"

"Yeah, I really don't know how you concentrate in lectures! He's so young to be a professor too."

"I know, and he's always complimenting me on my work and smiling at me too. I think he kinda likes me..."

Lydia's voice raises up in obvious excitement. "Oh my god really? D'ya think he's married? And if not do you reckon he'd date a student?"

Erica shakes her head, glancing around before she answers, lowering her voice even though you can still hear every word she utters. "I have no idea but I'm pretty sure he's single... he'd never date a student though. He's much too professional for that. It's a shame though... I bet he'd be so romantic!"

You bite back a laugh, covering your mouth with your hand to hide your incredulous smile, imagining what Erica would think if she knew the real Van. The fact that whilst her and Lydia are discussing how he'd woo them affectionately with flowers and poetry, your ass is still red and bruised from his punishing slaps, his vows to discipline you further still running through your head and warming a glow between your thighs.

"What are you looking so pleased with yourself about?"

Lizzie's back, interrupting your entertainment as the girls on the next table mute their discussion until you can only hear whispers and stifled giggles.

"Ahhh nothing," you say, turning your attention towards your lunch which Lizzie has just set down in front of you. "I just heard something that made me laugh, that's all."

"If I know that look you're up to something!"

Lizzie narrows her eyes at you for a moment but it's soon forgotten as you both fall into easy chatter about your plans for later that evening.

It's probably the first time you've not over-indulged on a wild night out at the Union bar that semester. You haven't been able to get Van and the anticipation out of your head all evening, and as soon as Lizzie announces it's 2 for 1 on tequila slammers you drain your glass, make your excuses and leave, uncharacteristically ignoring her pleas and attempts to drag you back to the bar again.

You end up actually attempting to work on your history essay when you get back before giving up and taking yourself off for a long, hot, pampering bath where a strategically aimed shower head takes the edge off your sexual yearnings for the short term. It does absolutely nothing to quell your desire though... the craving for Van to satisfy you fully driving plans for an elaborate seduction as you step out of the shower the following morning and start to flick through your wardrobe.

You settle on a little flippy summer dress, the cutesy floral print giving it that hint of innocence. The racy barely there sheer red thong that you slip on underneath however is anything but. You even take extra care with your make up, perfecting the little wings on your eyeliner just right and adding an additional coating of mascara, knowing your heavily loaded lashes will accentuate your pretty eyes. A final slick of pale pink gloss and a tousle of your hair and you're ready to face whatever lesson Van has in store for you... or so you think.

As you start down the corridor towards the suite of lecture rooms you can feel your heart pounding in time with your footsteps on the hard flooring. They echo in the empty space, you being the only student there as you fulfil your promise to Van to turn up early as he'd instructed. Surely this will earn you brownie points towards some kind of divine sexual satisfaction.

You pause at the door, mentally counting down from 5 to 1 before you push gently, tentatively easing it open so you can peer inside. You were planning on bursting through, strutting inside with your head held high, showing Van your confidence, but the reality doesn't even come close. Now you're there you're a bundle of nerves, shuffling in with baby-steps as your eyes scan the front of the room.

You don't see him at first until the door closes behind you and the sound of it shutting makes you jump, causing your attention to shift to take in the whole room. He's right at the back of the lecture room, leaning against a desk, legs casually crossed and arms folded across his chest. Your throat feels tight, constricted with nerves and excitement as you look at him and see the sternness in his eyes.

"You're actually early," he states, pushing off from the desk. "This is a first."

"Well? You told me to come early," you reply, shifting your weight from one foot to the other, nervous although you're trying hard not to show it.

Your obedience earns you a smile. "So you can do as you're told then?"

"Yeah I can," you said quickly, cursing inwardly at your eagerness to please, chasing it with "...when I want to..." for good measure.

You'd wanted to play it cool, be the aloof and enigmatic temptress that Van couldn't resist, surprise him with a wilful streak which would entice him into breaking his control. It's not exactly going to plan though, you can feel the shiver of anxiety running through you as he moves ever closer, your bravery ebbing away fast. You move farther into the room, making like you're just claiming a desk to give you an excuse to look away from his challenging glare.

You heave your bag off your shoulder and you’re just starting to unload your textbooks and stationery on to the desk when you feel his presence behind you, close enough so that his body's brushing yours. You know that you have no choice but to turn and face him and you do so slowly, looking up at him with wide eyes.

"You just couldn't help yourself could you?" He raises an eyebrow questioningly, shaking his head, a mixture of disappointment and annoyance. "Right after everything I taught you... well I thought I'd taught you."

You swallow deeply, mulling over your response. You consider lying but where will that get you? Despite him acting the way that he does you know he wants to see the bad girl inside you. He wants to coax her out so he can bend her to his will, shape her into the good girl of his fantasies. And that's the fun part... the shaping.

Your breath stutters in your throat as he leans in closer, one hand reaching behind you to grasp something off the desk but lingering there.

"It was your fault..." you finally say, allowing a small smile to stain your lips, mischievous. "You got me all worked up."

This pleases him, his grin stretching wide. His hand is still behind you on the desk and he plants his other hand on the opposite side, caging you in. You push yourself back, perching on the edge of the desk, leaning back to counter him.

"Is this what's gonna happen then, huh? Every time you don't get your own way you're gonna go running off to Professor Bond like a spoilt little brat?"

He emphasises the last word, practically spitting it off his tongue, his smile gone in instant, replaced with something wicked. Your heart rate increases as a spark lights down low in your body at the change in his demeanour.

"You know I was gonna leave Johnny out of this but I don't think I can now. He's already involved even though he probably doesn't realise exactly how deep in he is."

"Wait... what... what do you mean?" You stutter, panic welling up inside as you imagine how distraught Johnny would be if he knew you'd revealed what you'd done. "I didn't tell him... about us. He doesn't know anything."

"Oh he knows alright. He knows something's going on. I can read him like a book, see. He gets flustered... starts playing with his collar... not looking at me.... mumbling on about some random shit, trying to distract me. It never works."

Your head's scrambling now, swirling with ideas, wondering what on earth he has in mind. "What are you going to do?"

Your obvious unease seems to please him, his eyes blazing as he holds you in his gaze. "Never mind about that. First thing's first. I said you needed to learn didn't I?"

"Learn... what?"

Your voice comes out small and meek, the heat between your legs growing the more he exerts his dominance.

"Discipline..."

He pauses, drawing out the tension, and you realise you're holding your breath, releasing it with a loud exhale as he straightens up quickly and you see what he's picked up from the desk behind you. The ruler comes down hard on his outstretched palm with an almighty thwack, making you jolt, a timid whimper escaping you.

You might still be sore from yesterday's encounter but the thought of experiencing more of Van's sweet brand of punishment has wetness instantly flooding your panties.

But surely not? Not with the lecture due to start shortly. Anyone could walk in and see you.

You don't protest though, the thought of being caught actually making you even hotter, the added humiliation a huge turn on. You press your thighs together, your breathing deepening, waiting.

Van just chuckles, turning the ruler over in his hand as he watches you squirm. "You dirty girl. You love it don't you? Can't get enough of it. Bet you're dripping just thinking about it. Aren't you still sore from yesterday?"

You feel fire in your cheeks and it's not the only place. You can't hide it and you don't want to. You want this. You want his punishment. You could take it all day long.

"I am... but I... I like it," you admit, the flush spreading even more at the delight on his face.

But it's not to be. He shakes his head, amused as he tosses the ruler on to the desk behind you. He has other ideas.

"Well I'll certainly bear that in mind... but this is going to be a different lesson today. I'm going to teach you all about restraint. The fact that you can't always have what you want, whenever you want it... I don't think you're entirely familiar with that concept."

You don't answer, you just wait with baited breath, watching him closely as he reaches around to delve into the back pocket of his jeans, his hand coming back around outstretched, revealing a baffling object.

A smooth oval piece of what looks like silicone sits in his palm, almost filling it. It's tapered at one end into a curved tail. You have no idea what it is but it certainly doesn't look threatening, not harsh and unforgiving like the ruler would have been.

"Don't you know what it is?" He asks, disbelief in his voice at the puzzlement on your features.

You feel instantly small and naive, looking between Van and the object, shrinking back from the amusement that he radiates.

"No..."

He laughs again, almost condescending, enjoying your innocence. "Well you're about to find out. See... you're gonna wear this in my class. The whole time... all one hour and fifteen minutes of it."

Wear it?

Your confusion increases but not for long. It soon becomes obvious what the mystery object is as Van hitches up your dress with his free hand, quickly hooking his fingers along the edge of your panties at the crease of your inner thigh. That's when the penny finally drops.

It's a vibrator but not just any old toy. You suddenly recall attending your older sister's hen party the previous year, the rep from the sex toy company demonstrating a similar toy to this as it buzzed and vibrated in your hand via a remote control app on her phone. Your cheeks turning scarlet as you imagined someone else controlling it and using it at their whim.

"But Sir," you begin, panic starting to set in as you imagine how you'll cope in a room full of fellow students, the quiet Van demands in his classes as he delivers the lecture. "I can't..."

"Oh you can Y/N... and you will," as he speaks he moves your panties aside, stretching out the lace, his cool fingers brushing the skin underneath. "You see there's some new rules around here. You only get to come when I say so. Restraint... just like I said."

You weren't expecting this and the shock is surely written all over your face, but you don't protest or try to stop him. You just push your hips slightly forward to assist him, spreading your legs obediently as he pushes the toy against your pussy lips, sighing as the smooth surface comes into contact with your hot skin.

"That's it... good girl... just a little wider now. I don't think this is going to be a problem. You're already so wet."

And he's right. He moves the toy around your slick folds, coating it in your juices, his eyes never leaving yours as he does it, a spark of lust firing in them as he nudges it against your clit and you let out a tiny moan.

"Oh baby... you're going to be ruined by the end of my class."

And then he pushes the body of the toy quickly and firmly inside you, making you gasp at the sudden intrusion, the feeling of fullness increasing your ache. The tail of the toy protrudes at just the right angle, resting against your already sensitive clit. You're in big trouble. You just know it.

"But... I can't do this... I can't... not in front of all these people."

You can hear them now as the corridor comes to life, a steady hum of chatter and muted footsteps. They're right outside. Your heart is pounding and you feel dizzy already and nothing's happened yet.

Van doesn't say a word, he just steps back, letting go of your dress which falls back down over your thighs, a sly smile lighting up his face. He's still watching you as the first student pushes through the door, the murmur of voices increasing, and you watch him right back, see him licking the residue of your arousal from his fingertips with satisfaction.

He only releases you from his gaze as you hear Erica's voice sound out, greeting him gushingly. All you can do is step around the desk and take your seat like the other students, cringing inside as Erica takes the desk directly to your left and Benji takes the one to your right. If you'd known what Van had in store for you, you would have opted for a seat on the back row, but you're sure he wouldn't allow it. He wants you right there in front, right in his line of sight whilst he toys with you. Right where anyone will be able to witness your reactions if you draw attention to yourself. If you don't stay quiet... exercise restraint.

Fuck...

"Alright everyone, take your seats and simmer down. We've got a lot of get through today to prepare you for the exams in a few weeks..."

He's interrupted by dramatic groans from various students and he flashes one of his signature smiles across the gathering, an assurance to everyone... except perhaps you.

"Oh don't worry, we'll make it fun I promise. Of course, some of you might find it more exciting than others though..."

#forbidden #van mccann fanfic #au fanfic #vanfic #smut

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orange-orchard-system · 2 years

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I'd like to take a moment and acknowledge traumagenic systems with unconventional trauma. The kinds of trauma that people don't include in their recovery posts, the kinds of trauma that go unacknowledged in mental health discussions, the kinds of trauma that people don't seem to realize can cause a system just like more well-known and acknowledged traumas.

To systems who formed due to financial trauma – I am sorry that you've had to endure the results of not having enough. You have a right to be upset at society for failing you, and it's understandable if you're bitter that those you depended on couldn't care for you, whether it was their fault or not. Your hurt is real and I hope you're able to get to a place in life where you feel stable and secure in your finances and resources.

To systems who formed due to medical trauma – I am sorry the medical system has hurt and/or failed you. You have a right to be upset at medical professionals who hurt you or treatments that worked but still left you traumatized. Your hurt is real, even if it came from a place that was supposed to heal and help, and I hope you can find a place or person that will follow through on the promise to do that.

To systems who formed due to academic trauma – I am sorry that you weren't able to receive the education you wanted or needed without pain. You have a right to be upset at this failure of the education system for not protecting its students. Your hurt is real and I hope you're able to foster a healthy relationship with learning outside whatever caused you pain.

To systems who formed due to religious trauma – I am sorry that something that is meant to be fulfilling hurt you in such a way. You have a right to be upset with those who weaponized religion to hurt you or put pressure on you that you weren't ready to receive or able to approach in a healthy way just yet. Your hurt is real and I hope you're able to find your own path in life with or without the religion that hurt you.

To systems who formed due to bullying/peer abuse – I am sorry who have had to endure someone else's wrath. You have a right to be upset with those who hurt you or didn't step in and stop those hurting you. Your hurt is real and I hope you're able to find peace away from your tormentors with people who will always support you.

To systems who formed due to trauma from changes such as parents divorcing, moving, etc. – I am sorry that these things uprooted you. You have a right to be upset at these drastic changes, even bitter at those who caused them or who didn't support you during/after them. Your hurt is real and I hope one day you find the stability you need in life, with the ability to face natural change without worry or stress.

To systems who formed due to parents or guardians not being purposefully neglectful or abusive, but still falling short – I am sorry you didn't receive the support you needed. You have a right to be upset that you weren't given what you needed, even if they tried their best or met your other needs. Your hurt is real and I hope one day you find a support structure that's able to help you fully and completely.

And to systems who haven't formed because of these things but still endured these traumas, I hope you're able to find happiness and recovery, however that may look for you.

Just because these things aren't "as bad" as they could have been doesn't mean they didn't hurt you. Please give yourselves kindness where needed, and remember that your pain is/was real, no matter what caused it and no matter what others say.

#traumagenic positivity #traumagenic #actuallytraumagenic #trauma #plurality #actuallyplural #pluralgang #actuallymultiple #plural system #positivity #positivelyplural #nicky.txt #takashi.txt #hakoda.txt #alterisa.txt #long post #traumagenicinclusive

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poppinisperfection · 3 years

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Cool. || Peter Maximoff x Reader pt. 1 ||

Peter Maximoff x fem!human!Reader

(Y/n) is history teacher.

Requested.

Word Count: 3543

Notes: Peter acts a little strange in this, he's not being cold on purpose - so keep that in mind. Let's all presume (Y/n) is an independent woman who doesn't let an aloof guy ruin her day 💫 it's more of an introduction, so sorry if that dissapoints y'all. I hope you enjoy this extremely long piece of writing, let me know what you think. Requests are open 🙌

Taglist: @amourtentiaa @scorpionchild81

Masterlist

I flicked the indicator, as it clicked rhythmically and signaled my next turn. Grasping the steering wheel tightly, I wondered whether the direction I was heading in was the right one. My eyes drifted down to the small business card that was beginning to wrinkle from the amount of times it had been read and re-read.

‘Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters.

407 Graymalkin Lane, Salem Center, Westchester County, New York’

With a deep breath, I pushed my foot gently on the accelerator and turned the wheel - solidifying my decision. I drove down the graveled driveway as the evening sun pierced through the acres of fields and forests that dotted the landscape. This place was unlike any school I had ever seen. I had taught at various institutions of all kinds during my training, but something about this place was like something out of a fairytale or Jane Austen novel.

The old academic building grew closer as I prepared to slow down my vehicle and stop at the entrance. I peered around, trying to see if there was any places dedicated for me to park; but as far as I could tell, this was the only appropriate place for me to stop.

I pulled out my key and felt the car’s engine fade to silence. I didn’t notice how comforting the gentle grumbles of the vehicle had been until they were gone. Now, all that was left was my mind and the thousand worries that crashed around inside it. I'm not a mutant, but I often wonder if being anxious about everything is some sort of weird useless mutation that I unfortunately had.

Before I could become consumed by my menial fears, the vintage wooden doors opened up as if on cue. A man in a chair wheeled out as his familiar face smiled at me, and I was honestly quite awe-struck by his sudden appearance. I had spoken to Professor Charles Xavier on the phone before (for the job interview), and I had watched him on television a few times, but something about actually being near him was so incredible. This man changed the lives of so many people, possibly even the world.

I took a deep breath in and returned the kind smile, opening my car door and placing my feet onto the ground - the gravel crunching underfoot.

"Professor Xavier, it's so good to meet you." I spoke nervously, unsure of what I should do with my posture. Should I shake his hand? Should I high-five him? Should I bow? Okay maybe those last two were a bit far-fetched...

"The pleasure is all mine, (Y/n)." A voice rang through my head, as if it were my own thoughts speaking to me. But I recognized the voice, a smooth English accent that belonged to the world's most famous telepath.

"Incredible..." I breathed. Some might find it intrusive or freaky, but I was quite honored and honestly dazzled by his abilities. A figure appeared behind the wheelchair-bound man, distracting me from my child-like awe.

"Don't be a such a show-off, Charles." my attention turned to a tall man wearing a pair of glasses and a smart checkered shirt. "Good Evening, I'm Hank McCoy." he piped up cheerily, holding out his hand for me to shake. I absentmindedly took it, a bit starstruck by the world-renowned engineer, scientist, blue-furry man, and genius.

"(Y/n) (L/n)." I eventually spoke up, causing Hank to raise an eyebrow at my words.

“’(L/n)’? You're the new history teacher?" I nodded at his question, "Oh wow, you came so highly recommend that I presumed you'd be a bit more... experienced?" he chose his words carefully as to not offend. I know that most people picture an old greying woman who wears outdated fashion when they think of a history teacher...

"Oh, I'm young, I know." I explained with a bashful chuckle.

“Hank, you of all people should know greatness is not defined by age.” Charles turned to his colleague.

“I read that you graduated Harvard at 16.” I blurted out.

“15, actually.” McCoy mumbled humbly. Xavier gave a satisfied smile as his point was proven.

“(Y/n) here was top of her class, and I have no doubt that she’ll be a wonderful addition to the school.” the wise mutant stated, assuring Hank and giving me a boost of confidence. “Come inside, Hank can carry your bags for you, won’t you?” the professor inquired cheekily as McCoy threw him a look of slight distain.

“Somedays I wish I wasn’t born with super-strength...” the academic man shook his head - the comment laced with light-hearted sarcasm - before heading to my car and pulling out my two bags, not even giving me a chance to politely object to the offer.

“Ignore him, he’s just grumpy because he’s not on the mission.” Professor Xavier chuckled, turning his wheelchair around and beckoning for me to follow him inside.

“I only trust myself to pilot that beauty.” Hank mentioned wistfully, probably referring to his famous aeronautical creation.

“’The mission’?” I questioned with intrigue, trailing behind him and entering the grand entrance.

“The X-Men are on a routine escort mission for the President at the moment,” my attention turned away from the antique décor as I choked on my breath slightly at his words. Of course I had heard of the famous troop of mutant heroes, but it just suddenly became so real. I was living where the X-Men lived. You know, the same X-Men that saved the world from complete destruction. “I was hoping they’d be here to show you around - but duty calls.” Charles finished.

“Oh of... of course, duty...” I managed to mutter out eventually, earning a slight laugh from the Professor. He didn’t need to be a telepath to read my mind right now. I was so obviously astonished at the whole situation. I couldn’t believe that I was finally here, after months of thinking, considering, and second-guessing. I knew it was a risk, and I couldn’t even return to my parents if it failed.

Let’s just say that my folks weren’t very supportive of my decision to teach at a 'mutant mansion', as they would call it. Maybe it was stubbornness, maybe it was bravery; but I ignored their advice and became determined to come to Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngers. Now it was my only chance, since my family won't be welcoming me back anytime soon.

I followed Charles around, as he showed me all the rooms and explained some of the history as Hank make the odd comment or interjection. Most notably that the house was actually only a few years old, owing to the fact that the school had been blown up and rebuild a year ago. That was a fact that I could’ve gone without knowing. All I could do was hope that it didn’t blow up again, or at least not when I was around anyway.

"Your classroom will be right next to the library," Xavier motioned towards a pair of wooden doors that lay open for students to walk freely into, "and feel free to check out any of the books as well - I have a few secret shelves for teachers, with some unregulated research papers on pre-20th century mutations, if that sounds interesting to you?" he added with a playful smile, as I nodded my head in admiration. This place sounded like an absolute dream, and I've only been here for less than an hour.

-------

As we strolled (and wheeled) down the wooden hallways, I noticed the students disappear one by one. By the looks of it, the early night had truly set in, and the majority of children were either in their rooms studying or hanging out in a common area.

"I suppose there's nothing more we can show you until the class starts tomorrow morning, I was really hoping that the team would be back by now..." Xavier gave a short sigh and furrowed his brows slightly, "But I suppose I've prolonged your tour as long as I could. Perhaps Hank, you could show (Y/n) to her room and she can rest in preparation for tomorrow." his smile returned as he asked his colleague for another favor. McCoy nodded his head and gave me a polite smile, still carrying around my bags from earlier. Maybe he didn't anticipate the Professor giving such an expansive and detailed tour of the mansion, so the bags must've been getting burdensome at this stage.

The spectacle-wearing teacher walked ahead of me and strolled towards the grand staircase that lead to the upstairs area (which we had previously travelled to earlier, but it's mainly bedrooms that we couldn't intrude into). I trailed my fingers along the carved bannister of the staircase, admiring the craftsmanship. Considering the school had been blown apart; this place looked as though it was straight out of a historical drama. The Professor could've went for a more modern update, like the ones you see in magazines and government buildings - but something about the simplicity of 1980s architecture just seemed cold and clinical. I'm glad they kept the historical charm alive.

"So you're really not, well, you know..." Hank broke me out of my daydreaming as he turned his head slightly and paused at the top of the steps. It took me a second to register what he was asking, but then it hit me.

"A mutant? Oh," I gave a meek smile before answering, "No I'm just a regular 'homosapien', completely boring." my sentence ended with a light chuckle at my own expense.

"Then you'll be the first non-mutant teacher here, you're making history." McCoy replied with zest as he began to walk down the hallway again.

"I thought I was supposed to teach history, not make it." I chirped from behind him, earning a snort and chuckle from the nerdy fellow (I know, I know - I'm a superb comedian).

As we passed by the student rooms, I could hear the various sounds emerging from behind their doors. One was gossiping loudly to their friends, another was blasting ABBA and singing along, and I could've swore that I heard some quiet sobs escaping through the keyhole of one door. My face fell into a frown as we passed by, and Hank paused slightly, before turning to me.

"That's Sophie Smith's room, she's homesick a lot." he whispered to me, his features showing concern. "You might have her for a class, so maybe keep an eye out if she's struggling." Hank suggested, as my heart went out for this student. I gave him a nod before we continued on our neverending journey towards my room.

Eventually, we stopped at the end of a corridor and my guide dropped my bags carefully on the wooden flooring. He twisted the door knob with one hand, and I watched as the door opened and revealed my bedroom.

"’Home sweet home’, as the saying goes." Hank uttered with a light tone. I stepped into the room and took my bags from the floor, carrying them in with me.

"It's so..." I breathed, observing the room.

"I know, we were supposed to get the curtains changed last month, but there was a mix-up and it's been dela-" he tried to explain, but I cut him off.

"Oh no! I was going to say, 'It's so perfect'." I clarified, brushing off his embarrassment at the state of the curtains (which were beautiful anyway). I stepped forward and placed my bags at the end of the bed while gazing at the beautiful room. This place was growing on me more and more with each minute that passed.

“I’ll let you get settled in for the night then, there’s a copy of your timetable on your desk - it has all the information you’ll need for classes and etcetera.” Hank gestured to the neat pile of paper sheets on the wooden desk, “There’s always food in the kitchen, feel free to eat whenever and whatever you want.” he added, as my attention turned to my empty stomach. I will definitely be visiting the kitchen after I get settled in.

“Thank you, for everything.” I beamed, unable to truly express my gratitude. He returned the smile and nodded, before shutting the door and returning to his business. As soon as his footsteps disappeared, I fell flat on the quilted bedsheets and sprawled out, giving out a pent up sigh. It was the kind of sigh that released anxiety and replaced it with assurance. From the looks of it, things were going to be alright - and there was nothing more satisfying that knowing you made the right decision.

My brief escape into my feelings was cut short, as my stomach audibly warned me that it was running low on fuel. I turned my head and looked over to the beside alarm clock, reading the time; ‘8:24p.m.’

“Hmm,” I mused as I considered my options, “I should probably read you first...” my eyes drifted to the timetable that sat untouched on the desk. My belly did not agree with this decision, as it grumbled once more. “Okay, alright... yeesh.” I placed a hand against my abdomen, trying to settle the noise. “Food first, read later.” I threw my legs over the side of the bed and resolved to make my way towards the school’s kitchen.

-------

Finding the kitchen was no problem, as the Professor showed it to me at least three times earlier. I guess he really was trying to stretch that tour out as much as possible. A few of the older students who were hanging around glanced at me as I entered the room. I couldn’t tell if they knew I was a teacher, or if they just thought I was a new student; either way, they didn’t stick around to find out. The group of teenagers grabbed their snacks and left the room once their privacy was interrupted. Honestly, I just think they were gossiping about some pop music band and didn’t want a stranger listening - so I didn’t mind their swift exit. It left me with some privacy as well, which was nice.

I noticed a small radio sitting in the window sill, and decided to switch it on to break the silence. A static noise rang out as I extended the antenna and turned the knob carefully. Soon a voice grew clearer, and I had reached a station playing something. I just let the song play out, since I didn’t want to bother with searching the airwaves for something else.

I stepped over to the pantry and surveyed the contents carefully. I was starving, but I couldn’t figure out what for. I picked up a loaf of bread and placed it on the counter, deciding it would have to be a PB & Jelly sandwich. Grabbing a plate, I began to craft my makeshift dinner. Absentmindedly, my head began to sway gently to the tune that played through the tinny radio speaker. It was one of those cheesy love songs that are always playing these days. There was something so catchy about those songs, and instinctively I began to mouth the words and drift into an MTV daydream.

My brief escape from reality faded away as I noticed a clinking noise coming from the glass and cutlery. It was almost like an earthquake, but I knew that New York was unlikely to experience that kind of disaster (well I hoped so, at least).

A bright light shone outside the window, and I stepped closer to peer out. The basketball court had opened up and revealed a massive basement beneath it. A few seconds later, a black jet descended gracefully from the dark sky and lowered itself underground while the whole mansion trembled with the power it created. I swiftly grabbed the jam jar as it almost slipped off the edge of the counter, and stared in awe.

“So that’s where they keep it...” I breathed out as the basketball court returned to its normal state, as if nothing had happened. I stood in wonder for a few seconds, still holding the jar tightly in my hands. That was probably the most of the X-Men I’d be seeing tonight. I’m no expert on presidential mission debriefing, but I presumed the team of elite heroes wouldn’t be mingling with the common folk upstairs for at least an hou-

“Ugh, this song’s a real bummer.”

I nearly jumped out of my skin as a voice suddenly quipped from beside me. My attention hastily turned to a combat uniformed young man - quickly flicking through the radio stations. I stared at him, half confused and half terrified of his sudden appearance. Slowly I began to recognize his features; silvery hair, aloof attitude, and of course, the recognisable X-Men uniform.

“Hey - you’re that guy...” I tilted my head slightly as I spoke without thinking. In a split second, he appeared at the fridge wearing an entirely new outfit, this time more casual. The music had changed to something more rock-y and alternative, matching his aesthetic. I was almost certain of it. I couldn’t remember his name, but I’ve definitely seen him with the X-Men on the news. I was almost certain of it.

“Nah, you’re thinking of a different guy.” he responded without second thought, while lifting out a can of some kind of soda. I felt my mouth contort in confusion, bemused by his comment.

“I...” my thoughts paused to phrase my words correctly, “You were just wearing an X-Men uniform, you’ve got to be him.” I managed to retort, causing the confident fellow to raise an eyebrow. With the blink of an eye, he had disappeared from my sight again.

“So, you don’t even know his name - and you’re convinced he’s me?” the silver-haired guy stated nonchalantly from behind me as he sipped on his drink. I gasped and grabbed my chest in surprise, not expecting him to sneak up behind me like that. I gave a sigh and prepared to answer the question.

“I know, I’m sorry.” I closed my eyes and wracked my brain for a moment, “Peter, right?” I sighed, finally recalling the speedy mutant’s name. I looked up at him and expected some sort of witty remark. Instead, he just stared at me for a few seconds. I avoided his gaze awkwardly and looked down at the jam jar that still sat in my hands. Clearing my throat, I placed it carefully onto the counter beside me - trying to distract from his sudden silence.

“Oh.” I mumbled at the change of topic, “I am. Only arrived here a few hours ago. The Professor showed me around earlier, with Hank, I saw all the classrooms and it was really quite-” I harped on, “I'm sorry, I'm rambling..." my voice lowered, as I watched the casual fellow open up a bag of pretzels and munch on them absentmindedly. He gave a soft chuckle at my apology.

“So, you’re new here?” for the third time, he appeared in a different location, leaving me to turn around one more time. He faced away from me, opening a drawer and surveying its content silently.

"Cool." he replied simply, placing a few more pretzels into his mouth.

"Cool." I repeated gently, trying to decipher his aloofness. This 'Peter' was blunt, distant, and almost cold. It was as if I had offended him somehow. I stared at my surroundings for a brief moment, before deciding to get off of the wrong foot.

"I'm sorry if I was rude earlier; or was it that I couldn't remember your name?" I tried to find the reason for his indifference, wringing my hands with nerves. Peter raised an eyebrow and scowled slightly at my question.

"Rude?" he asked with a shocked tone.

"Yeah, I thought I offended you?" I explained.

"Nah, nah, we're good." he shrugged my theory off and zoomed over to the bin, throwing the crumpled wrapper in it. "I gotta go now, X-Men stuff." Peter turned to me and excused himself. I gave a soft 'oh' in surprise, and held out my hand for him to shake (just a teacher habit, I guess).

"Nice to meet you anyway, Peter." I smiled at him. The silvery guy just stared at my hand and then looked back up to me - but for some reason, avoided my eyes.

"Cool." he said again, before disappearing from sight; leaving me standing there, alone, holding my hand out for no one. Slowly I lowered my wrist and cleared my throat.

"Cool..." I said to myself, still entirely confused by the interaction. My attention quickly turned to the change in music. The radio suddenly shifted from the grungy tunes, back to the end of love ballad that I was listening to earlier. He must've changed it back. I tilted my head and stared at the little radio in the window, listening and thinking.

Maybe he wasn't as cold as I thought. Maybe I'll try and get a better conversation from that silver-haired boy tomorrow. Maybe I'll get that handshake from him. Maybe.

Still, the only thing that matters right now is that I eat that PB&J sandwich.

-------

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sylvielauffeydottir · 3 years

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Hi I just saw your post about Israel and Palestinian. I don't know if you're the person to ask or if this is a dumb question but I was wondering if anyone has considered starting a second Jewish state? I was wondering because there's a bunch of Christian countries so why not multiple Jewish ones.

Sorry if I'm bothering you and Thanks for your time.

That’s actually a pretty interesting question. I am going to apologize right now, because I essentially can’t give a short answer to save my life.

I’m not a ‘Jewish Scholar,’ so while I can speak with some authority about the history of Zionism, I definitely couldn’t speak about it with as much authority as others. I mentioned in at least one of the posts I have written about the history of plans for a ‘Jewish state’ when Zionism was originally being proposed, and I can kinda of track the history of Zionist thinking for you if you are interested, though essentially it’s just about arguing where to go. But there are better scholars for this than me, so I would recommend Rebecca Kobrin, Deborah Lipstadt, Walter Laqueur … idk. Maybe just read some Theodor Herzl, honestly. With all of that said, I can speak with some authority about the post-war history of this in the Middle East. So let’s go.

In post-war times, there has really only been one serious discussion of an alternative Jewish state, as far as I know. And actually, this is part of why I find it so ironic that people are campaigning so hard to be “anti-Zionist” and to express views like “anti-Zionism” in their activism, because the Jews in Israel who are most anti-Zionist are actually the settlers of Palestinian territories, who want to secede and form a “Gaza-State” called Judeah. There's a great book about this called The Deadly Embrace by Ilana Kass And Bard O'Neill, if anyone is interested. Anyway, most of those people, who are largely Haredim (the Ultra-Orthodox Jews, though some of those settlers are semi Orthodox), have essentially been waging a “culture war” about what it means to have a Jewish state and what the identity of that Jewish state should look like basically since the 1980s.

There is a really good article about this that you can find right here written by Peter Lintl, who is a researcher at the Institution of Political Science for the Friedrich-Alexander Universitat. I’ll summarize it for the lazy people, though, because it’s like 40 pages. Just know that this paragraph won’t be super source heavy, because it is basically the same source. Essentially, the Haredim community has tripled in size from 4% to 12% of the total Israeli population since 1980, and it is probably going to be about 20% by 2040. They only accept the Torah and religious laws as the basis for Jewish life and Jewish identity and they are critical of democratic principles. To them, a societal structure should be hierarchical, patriarchal, and have rabbis at the apex, and they basically believe that Israel isn’t a legitimate state. This is primarily because Israel is (at least technically, so no one come at me in the comments about Palestinian citizens of Israel, so I’ll make a little ** and address this there) a ‘liberal’ democracy. Rights of Israeli citizens include, according to Freedom House, free and fair elections (they rank higher on that criteria here than the United States, by the way), political choice, political rights and electoral opportunities for women, a free and independent media, and academic freedom. It is also, I should add (as a lesbian), the only country in the Middle East that has anything close to LGBT+ rights.

[**to the point about Palestinians and Palestinian citizens of Israel: I have a few things to say. First, I have recommended this book twice now and it is Michael Oren’s Six Days of War, which absolutely fantastically talks about the ways in which the entire structure of the Palestinian ‘citizenship’ movement, Palestinian rights, and who was responsible for governing Palestinians changed after the Six Days War. If you are at all interested in the modern Middle East or modern Middle East politics, I highly recommend you read this, because a huge tenant of this book is that it was 1967, not 1947, that caused huge parts of our current situation (and that, surprisingly, a huge issue that quote-on-quote “started it” was actually water, but that’s sort of the primary secondary issue, not the Actual Issue at play here). Anyway, I’ve talked about the fact that Israel hugely abuses its authority in the West Bank and Gaza and that there are going to be current members of the Israeli Government who face action at the ICC, so please don’t litigate this again with me. I also should add that the 2018 law which said it was only Jews who had the natural-born right to “self-determine” in Israel was passed by the Lekkud Government, and I really hate them anyway. I know they’re bad. It’s not the point I’m making. I’m making a broader point about the Constitution vis-a-vis what the Haredim are proposing, which is way worse].

To get back to the Haredim, basically there is this entire movement of actual settlers in territories that have been determined to belong to the Palestinian people as of, you know, the modern founding of Israel (and not the pre-Israel ‘colonial settler’ narrative you’ll see on instagram in direct conflict with the history of centuries of aliyah) who want to secede and form a separate Jewish state. They aren’t like, the only settlers, but I point this out because they are basically ‘anti-Zionist’ in the sense that they think that modern Zionism isn’t adhering to the laws of Judaism — that the state of Israel is too free, too radical, too open. And scarily enough, these are the sort of the people from whom Netanyahu draws a huge part of his political support. Which is true of the right wing in general. Netanyahu can’t actually govern without a coalition government. Like I have said, the Knesset is huge, often with 11-13 political parties at once, and so to ‘govern’ Netanyahu often needs to recruit increasingly right wing, conservative, basically insane political parties to maintain his coalition. It’s why he has been so supportive of the settlements, particularly in the last five years (since he is, as I have also said, facing corruption charges, and he really can’t leave office). It would really suck for him if a huge chunk of his voters seceded, wouldn’t it?

Anyway, that is the only ‘second Jewish State’ I know about, and I don’t think that is necessarily much of a solution. I really don’t have the solutions to the Middle East crisis. I am just a girl with some history degrees and some time on her hands to devote to tumblr, and I want people to learn more so they can form their own opinions. With that said, I think there are two more things worth saying and then I will close out for the night.

First, Judaism is an ethno-religion. Our ethnicities have become mixed with the places that we have inhabited over the years in diaspora, which is how you have gotten Sephardi, Mizrahi, Ashkenazi, and even Ethiopian Jews. But if you do actual DNA testing on almost all of the Jews in diaspora, the testing shows that we come from the same place: the Levant. No matter how pale or dark, Jews are still fundamentally one people, something we should never forget (and anyone who tries to put racial hierarchy into paleness of Jews: legit, screw you. One people). Anyway, unlike other religious communities, we have an indigenous homeland because we have an ethnic homeland. It’s small, and there are many Jews in diaspora who choose not to return to it, like myself. But that homeland is ours (just as much as it is rightfully Palestinians, because we are both indigenous to the region. For everyone who hasn’t read my other posts on the issue, I’m not explaining this again. Just see: one, two, and three, the post that prompted this ask). This is different from Christians, for example, who basically just conquered all of Europe and whose religion is not dependent on your race or background. You can be a lapsed Christian and you are still white, latinx, black, etc right? I am a lapsed Jew, religiously speaking, and will still never escape that I am ethnically Ashkenazi Jewish.

Second, I think you raise a really good point about other religious states. There are many other religious majority states in the world (all of these countries have an official state religion), and a lot of them are committing a lot of atrocities right now (don't even get me started on Saudi Arabia). I have seen other posts and other authors write about this better than I ever could, but I am going to do my best to articulate why, because of this, criticism of Israel as a state, versus criticism of the Israeli Government, is about ... 9 times out of 10 inherently antisemitic.

We should all be able to criticize governments. That is a healthy part of the democratic process and it is a healthy part of being part of the world community. But there are 140 dictatorships in the world, and the UN Human Rights Council has condemned Israel 45 times since 2013. Since the creation of the UN Human Rights Council, it has has received more resolutions concerning Israel than on the rest of the world combined. This is compared to like … 1 for Myanmar, 1 for South Sudan, and 1 for North Korea.

Israel is the world’s only Jewish majority state. You want to talk about “ethnic cleansing” and “repressive governments”? I can give you about five other governments and world situations right now, off the top of my head, that are very stark, very brutal, very (in some cases) simple examples of either or both. If a person is ‘using their platform’ to Israel-bash, but they are not currently speaking about the atrocities in Myanmar, Kashmir, Azerbaijan, South Sudan, or even, dare I say, the ethnonationalism of the Hindu Nationalist Party in India, then, at the very least, their activism is a little bit performative. They are chasing the most recent ‘hot button’ issue they saw in an instagraphic, and they probably want to be woke and maybe want to do the right thing. And no one come at me and say it is because you don’t “know anything about Myanmar.” Most people know next to nothing about the Middle East crisis as well. At best, people are inconsistent, they may be a hypocrite, and, whether they want to admit it to themselves or not, they are either unintentionally or intentionally buying into antisemitic narratives. They might even be an antisemite.

I like to think (hope, maybe) that most people don’t hate Jews. If anything, they just follow what they’ve been told, and they tend to digest what everyone is taking about. But there is a reason this is the global narrative that has gained traction, and I guarantee it has at least something to do with the star on the Israeli flag.

I know that was a very long answer to your question, but I hope that gave you some insight.

As a sidenote: I keep recommending books, so I am going to just put a master list of every book I have ever recommended at the bottom of anything I do now, because the list keeps growing. So, let’s go in author alphabetical order from now on.

One Country by Ali Abunimah Rise and Kill First: The Secret History of Israel's Targeted Assassinations by Ronen Bergman Kingdom of Olives and Ash: Writers Confront the Occupation, edited by Michael Chabon and Ayelet Waldman The Girl Who Stole My Holocaust: A Memoir by Noam Chayut If a Place Can Make You Cry: Dispatches from an Anxious State by Daniel Gordis Israel: A Concise History of a Nation Reborn by Daniel Gordis The Deadly Embrace by Ilana Kass And Bard O'Neill Like Dreamers: The Story of the Israeli Paratroopers Who Reunited Jerusalem and Divided a Nation by Yossi Klein Halevi Antisemitism by Deborah Lipstadt Six Days of War: June 1967 and the Making of the Modern Middle East by Michael Oren The Yom Kippur War: The Epic Encounter That Transformed the Middle East by Abraham Rabinovich One Palestine, Complete: Jews and Arabs Under the British Mandate by Tom Segev Hollow Land: Israel's Architecture of Occupation by Eyal Weizman

#ask #jew tag

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bytheanchorarchived · 5 years

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I need you to know this, because I care. Think about who defends you right off the bat and who doesn't. Think about who gets involved when you need someone without even showing many signs and who wait until it's about them or waits until they can gain something from it, pay attention and think about who's there for you to play hero and make themselves look good and who's actually there for you. You're smart and it's not hard to see that the anon hate is coming from within your circle of friends.

“Dear noonie,

I was hoping you’d be feeling better today, but you know? That’s okay. Life, recovery, and health, all sometimes take us to a road of two steps forward and four steps back and that’s more than normal. What matters is that the other way around is also true! And sometimes we go through something and realize we gave four steps forward without all the effort from before, because the truth is we are always growing even when it might seem that we’re stuck, we just need a little more time to realize it.

Remember how I mentioned there might be places online to talk or get help? I’m sure there’s hundreds of them, and we definitely need discretion and caution when choosing somewhere to talk, and if you find yourself in doubt, always trust your gut instinct over everything else. But in just a little quick mindful research I found a couple things,

loveisrespect a site that offers knowledge, support, and help towards abusive romantic relationships, and assault, and is lgbtqa+ inclusive.

“Highly-trained advocates offer support, information and advocacy to young people who have questions or concerns about their dating relationships. We also provide information and support to concerned friends and family members, teachers, counselors, service providers and members of law enforcement. Free and confidential phone, live chat and texting services are available 24/7/365.”

supportline is an uk organization that offers free, anonymous support through phone calls, email, or post to anyone of any age who needs someone to listen, or is specially struggling with depression, anxiety, abuse or feeling isolated.

“SupportLine provides a confidential telephone helpline offering emotional support to any individual on any issue. The Helpline is primarily a preventative service and aims to support people before they reach the point of crisis. It is particularly aimed at those who are socially isolated, vulnerable, at risk groups and victims of any form of abuse. SupportLine is a member of the Helplines Association. SupportLine also provides support by email and post.”

chattoapotato is a place for if you just want someplace to talk to ordinary people who are going through or have been through the same things you are. you can talk to someone on specific topics that range from academic / career problems to anxiety, sexuality, phobias etc. you can talk and someone who’s been through it can listen and give an input if you like. (this is not for crisis moments!) - (they are also currently having some technical difficulties due to heavy traffic but working hard to fix it soon)

“Our vision is to reduce the social stigma that is attached to self-help.We understand everybody wants to remain incognito when dealing with personal problems. Chat to a Potato is a safe place for you to be 100% honest and 100% yourself.”

befrienders is for when you need more critical life-saving help. they are a charity with services to educate, inform, help and most of all connect helplines from all over the world, and they can help you find with one click, the closest free help to you anywhere in the world, as well as contacts and places you can call to if you’re feeling specially down.

“We value giving a person the opportunity to explore feelings which can cause distress, the importance of being listened to, in confidence, anonymously, without prejudice and we value that a person has the fundamental decision about their own life.”

Maybe talking isn’t your thing, and I get that too. There are also levels in the types of help we might need (though I’ll always, always recommend therapy for everyone) and ways in which you can improve your mental health by things you can do, daily, yourself. One of them, is meditation. I wonder if you know there are endless ways in which meditation can improve your state of mind and your health and happiness, and I can talk about that too if you like.

I thank your worries about me, but I assure you I’ve got plenty of help, and should I need it, I am more than ready to go to my therapist if I need counselling or a relationship evaluation as I do always. You are completely free to spend more of your time on yourself, because working on our own happiness, and being kind and caring for ourselves is really all we can do towards a better world.

Sincerely,

Your concerned friend.”

#anon letters #Anonymous #𝕣𝕖𝕡𝕝𝕚𝕖𝕤 ↬ the best people in life are free (mun)

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berletus-blog · 5 years

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Best Plastic Surgeon NJ – Berlet Plastic Surgery

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tragicbooks · 7 years

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Something to keep in mind next time you're getting your wanderlust on.

I left Canada to travel the world for a year. A generation earlier, my father escaped Vietnam in a small boat. Don’t take your freedom of mobility for granted.

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In August of 1983, at the height of the international humanitarian crisis in the aftermath of the Vietnam War, my father leapt onto a boat headed for the Gulf of Thailand — an escape he had already attempted 10 times before.

"If we’d stopped, they would shoot," my dad told my sisters and me, referring to the cảnh sát, or police. We looked at my mother, incredulous. She was nodding emphatically.

This tenth time, my father was lucky. Their boat managed to evade the Việt Cộng at every checkpoint; soon, they were out at sea. For two days, my father waited in the open waters that had already swallowed the lives of those brave enough to go before him. But again, he was lucky. Their crew was spotted by the knightly Chevalier, and the Frenchmen brought my father to safety at the Singaporean shore.

My father waited in a camp while Western deities deliberated his fate. Switzerland staked a claim, but he didn’t accept their offer; English was already difficult enough to learn, let alone German or French. Eventually, he was flown across the world and dropped off in Toronto, a cold, foreign city he would try his best to make his new home.

Like my father, I, too, have crossed continents and traveled far from home. At 20, filled with wanderlust, I embarked on a trip around the world. I visited a friend in Israel, toured ancient temple ruins in Myanmar, interpreted for doctors in Vietnam, interned at an NGO in Phnom Penh, partied in Siem Reap, partied some more in Koh Phangan, bathed in the Ganges river, practiced yoga at an ashram in Rishikesh, and taught English to monks in exile in Dharamshala. I went to many places far and foreign. I met new people, ate new foods, and learned new things.

But the circumstances that led to my travel, as opposed to my father’s, could not be more different.

My father, a Vietnamese army doctor turned political dissident, crossed the Pacific Ocean because he had no choice. My father traveled to escape a regime where enemies and academics were sent to ruthless "reeducation" (i.e. prison) camps. He had to leave behind his homeland, a country where kids walking home from school, including my mother growing up, knew to run into neighbors’ homes and hide under their beds when Cobra choppers and jet fighters and banana helicopters arrived overhead; rockets and grenades and explosives were about to be next.

Just one generation later, I had a powerful Canadian passport in my pocket and disposable income at hand. My travel was a choice.

One morning last year, I woke up and opened my laptop to see that an acquaintance — let’s call her Elizabeth — had posted on Facebook to encourage her virtual friends to seize the day and travel the world. Elizabeth, a recent American University graduate and a former sorority sister, was still high off a "transformative" trip to Indonesia earlier that year, a trip that mainly entailed hopping from one island to another, drinking cheap cocktails, and riding on exotic elephants (or at least, that’s what I gathered from her pictures). Life-changing indeed.

No one contested her point of view; an outpouring of likes and comments validated Elizabeth’s motivational status update. Even I found myself nodding my head in agreement. Change the world, and it’ll change you!

It’s so easy to forget that others may have had to make immense sacrifices to do something you’ve come to see not only as a rite of passage, but indeed, a right in itself.

Is travel a right? In the strictest legal sense of the word, I suppose you could argue "yes." The right to mobility is enshrined in Article 13 of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, which asserts that "everyone has the right to leave any country, including his own, and to return to his country." In the United States, the freedom of movement is protected in the United States Constitution, and in the 1958 Kent v. Dulles decision, Justice William O. Douglas opined, "Travel abroad, like travel within the country … may be as close to the heart of the individual as the choice of what he eats, or wears, or reads. Freedom of movement is basic in our scheme of values."

Everyone should have the right to travel, but, of course, that doesn’t hold up to reality.

For one, not everyone can afford it. My eight-month trip was paid for by two years of disposable income saved from my part-time campus job. Halfway through, I managed to squander all my own money, but I was lucky; my parents swooped in to finance the rest of my journey of self-discovery. Because of them, I was able to continue living my life-transforming, resume-padding life abroad. Thanks, Mom and Dad!

In any case, our carefully curated Instagram grids, full of lush Airbnb homes and landscapes with the ever-trendy "fade" filter applied, seldom mention how much the plane ticket to Byron Bay cost or who’s financing our Alternative Break to Myanmar (yes, my parents paid for that too). Instead, we use hashtags like #blessed, #wanderlust, and #35mmfilm and call it a day.

There’s also the opportunity cost of traveling. I wasn’t in a rush to start earning money, but many college students are. Over 70% of all "gappers" come from families whose parents have an estimated annual parental income of over $100,000. Case in point: At my ultra-altruistic, ultra-worldly, ultra-expensive alma mater, the average student’s family income is $107,753.

Besides the cost of travel, remember that this "right" is granted only to those who own an actual passport — and the nationality associated with your passport can determine whether foreign borders will invite you in or shut you out.

For many, the notion of traveling probably conjures up images of white sand beaches, modern skyscrapers, or pastel-colored colonial architecture as well as feelings of leisure, self-discovery, adventure, and hope.

But for millions of others, traveling comes with the credible fears of embarrassment, rejection, and even death.

According to various accounts, an estimated 200,000 to 400,000 Vietnamese boat people drowned at sea by the time the United Nations resettlement efforts ended in 1996. My father and his siblings were among the luckiest to have, quite literally, made it out alive.

Shortly after arriving in Canada, my penniless father (a doctor in Vietnam) went job hunting. An old family friend in Vietnam had told him to answer "yes" to every question in every interview. A pizzeria owner asked him if he knew how to make pizza, and my father, who had never seen a pizza before in his life, enthusiastically answered "yes." He was hired and, needless to say, fired a couple days later. My mother, also a doctor back in Vietnam, humbly spent her first couple of years in Toronto working in an electronics factory.

When my mother and her family arrived in Toronto as sponsored immigrants, they were reunited with their siblings, who had weathered the trip by boat six years earlier. The family of seven spent the years shortly thereafter sharing a two bedroom apartment.

While the teenage kids passed their days in high school classrooms, the adults worked their way toward becoming doctors, pharmacists, and engineers again. Although most of their education and retraining was supported by scholarships and loans from the Canadian government, everyone worked long hours and extra shifts at factories and restaurants in order to make ends meet. At their jobs, they endured not only laborious pain, but constant discrimination as well.

As a medical resident, my mother was examining a young boy’s ear when his mother angrily eyed her and pulled her son away. The boy’s mother asked for the doctor, even after my mother had already introduced herself as the doctor. The woman then exclaimed that she wanted another doctor, and kept insisting until the attending physician — an older white man — came into the room and to my mother’s defense.

But my mother knew not to cause a scene and remained silent. In fact, my mother’s had a lot of practice with staying quiet and obedient; the sassy, mouthy woman I know now had learned very quickly back then to keep her head down and her mouth shut when the white folks volleyed racial insults at her from across the factory assembly hall.

Welcome to Canada, they said.

My parents came to Canada with nothing but the clothes they wore on their backs; when I traveled, not only did I carry a fancy Osprey backpack and a snazzy Nikon camera, but also access to Canadian embassies as well as the comfort of knowing that when I was bored with "finding myself," I could always come home.

My father, on the other hand, relinquished his Vietnamese citizenship when he traveled to Canada. He believed in his heart that leaving meant saying goodbye to home forever.

With my perfect English and universally recognized North American accent, doors opened up to me on my travels that would have remained closed for others. “She’s American,” locals would exclaim to each other, wide-eyed, when I opened my mouth to speak. At first, I would try to tell them that I’m actually a Canadian studying in the United States, but it all got too confusing; anyway they didn’t really care about Canada, so after a while I just stopped trying.

Everywhere I went, people seemed to be obsessed with America.

I discovered that being treated like royalty isn’t uncommon when you’re a “Westerner” traveling abroad. Conversely, my parents’ accounts of hardship, discrimination, and sacrifice aren’t unusual for non-Western immigrants and refugees.

The next time you embark on a big adventure, remember that you carry much more than what’s in your bags. Remember that in your wallet, you carry the dollar, against which most other currencies in the world are matched. Your thin passports represent how lucky you are to travel visa-free to 166 countries. Your voice projects a widely recognized version of the world’s most universal language.

In light of today’s unfolding refugee crisis, remember that not everyone has your freedom of mobility.

This story first appeared on The Development Set and is reprinted here with permission. This is a shortened version of the original piece.

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socialviralnews · 7 years

Text

Something to keep in mind next time you're getting your wanderlust on.

I left Canada to travel the world for a year. A generation earlier, my father escaped Vietnam in a small boat. Don’t take your freedom of mobility for granted.

<br>

"If we’d stopped, they would shoot," my dad told my sisters and me, referring to the cảnh sát, or police. We looked at my mother, incredulous. She was nodding emphatically.

But the circumstances that led to my travel, as opposed to my father’s, could not be more different.

Just one generation later, I had a powerful Canadian passport in my pocket and disposable income at hand. My travel was a choice.

It’s so easy to forget that others may have had to make immense sacrifices to do something you’ve come to see not only as a rite of passage, but indeed, a right in itself.

Everyone should have the right to travel, but, of course, that doesn’t hold up to reality.

But for millions of others, traveling comes with the credible fears of embarrassment, rejection, and even death.

Welcome to Canada, they said.

My father, on the other hand, relinquished his Vietnamese citizenship when he traveled to Canada. He believed in his heart that leaving meant saying goodbye to home forever.

Everywhere I went, people seemed to be obsessed with America.

In light of today’s unfolding refugee crisis, remember that not everyone has your freedom of mobility.

This story first appeared on The Development Set and is reprinted here with permission. This is a shortened version of the original piece.

<br> from Upworthy http://ift.tt/2nwVkFD via cheap web hosting

#Upworthy

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