The Teacher Ultraman

Havent been on tumblr much lately, been running around helping students with their encampments

breek warmup

Enjoy your date!

While the 1950s are seen as the 'boring' decade next to the 60s this is a bunch of bullshit:

Korea was every bit as confrontational as Vietnam, it just lasted 3 years instead of 25 and ended in a stalemate the USA pretended was a victory when it wasn't. The Civil Rights Movement secured some of its biggest gains and some of the big crises in this era as well. Eisenhower did not see the Brown vs Board ruling coming, and was deeply unhappy that in appointing Warren Burger to the court that he did not get a safe Republican conservative, he got the classical high tide of social justice rulings from the Court.

Brown Vs. Board was the first major step, as opposed to all the smaller victories that went before it, to cut into segregation at its heart. By challenging education, long seen as one of the major local, state, and federal strongholds of Americanism, it hit the system right where it would have no choice but to notice the hit.

Within a year it would be followed by the Montgomery Boycott, by the rise of SNCC and the SCLC, and by the expansion of the Civil Rights movement into the cause of the kind of ongoing turmoil that would lead to the rise of Richard Nixon.

The Stop Cop City movement has sought to prevent the expropriation of part of the Welaunee Forest for the development of an 85-acre police mega training center: a model town to prepare the state’s repressive arms for the urban warfare that will ensue when the contradictions of their exploitation and extraction become uncontainable, as they did in 2020 after the APD murdered Rayshard Brooks.  That murder, and all those that came before, were the lodestars of the Black-led movement during the George Floyd uprisings; their demands were no less than the dismantlement of the entire carceral system. Unable to effectively manage or quell the popular street movements, the Atlanta Police Foundation set out to consolidate and expand their capabilities for surveillance, repression, imprisonment, armed violence, and forced disappearance. One result is Cop City, which has been racked by militant sabotage, land occupation, arson, and popular mobilizations, in an attempt to end the construction and return Atlanta to its people.  As the Atlanta Police Foundation was unable to contain the 2020 Black rebellion, so too have they been unable to quell the resistance against Cop City. The press reports that the project is hemorrhaging money and is mired in delays and difficulties. For their part, the city, the state, and the federal government, have in turn employed every tool in their power to destroy the movement. Last week, the Georgia State Senate passed a bill to effectively criminalize bail funds in the state; RICO charges have been contorted to target networks of support and care that surround the fighters; and last January, APD assassinated the comrade Tortuguita in cold blood while they rested in their tent in the forest. It is clear that Stop Cop City represents one of the conjunctural spear tips for expanding the existing systems of counterinsurgency that span Africa, Asia, and the Arab world.  Today the system’s belly rests atop Gaza, whose rumblings shake the earth upon which we walk. Through its Georgia International Law Enforcement Exchange (GILEE) program, the APD has sent hundreds of police to train with the Zionist occupation forces. And in October 2023, after Tufan al-Aqsa, the Atlanta Police Department engaged in hostage training inside abandoned hotels, putatively intended to “defeat Hamas,” in an advancement of tactics for the targeting of Black people. With every such expansion, the ability of counterinsurgency doctrines to counteract people’s liberation struggles grows. The purpose of counterinsurgency is to marshal state and para-state power into political, social, economic, psychological, and military warfare to overwhelm both militants and the popular cradle—the people—who support them. Its aim is to render us hopeless; to isolate and dispossess us and to break our will to resist it by any and all means necessary. This will continue apace, unless we fight to end it. Stop Cop City remains undeterred: on Friday, an APD cop car was burnt overnight in response to the police operation on February 8; yesterday, two trucks and trailers loaded with lumber were burnt to the ground. An anonymous statement claiming credit for the former, stated: “We wish to dispel any notion that people will take this latest wave of repression lying down, or that arresting alleged arsonists will deter future arsons.”  As the U.S. government and Zionist entity set their sights on the Palestinian people sheltering in Rafah, as they continue their relentless genocide of our people in Khan Younis, Jabalia, Shuja’iyya, and Gaza City, the Stop Cop City movement has clearly articulated its solidarity with the Palestinian struggle. They have done so with consistency and discipline, and we have heard them. Our vision of freedom in this life and the next requires us to confront and challenge the entangled forces of oppression in Palestine and in Turtle Island, and to identify the sites of tension upon which these systems distill their forces. This week, as with the last three years, the forest defenders have presented us one such crucible.

(11 Feb 24)

National Lawyers Guild, Stop All Cop Cities: Lessons For a National Struggle (video, 1 hr 45 min)

"People don't have parlours anymore, that's kind of a problem. Where, WHERE, am I supposed to do my tricks?"

The Hillbillys: A Book For Children

from Appalachian Movement Press

Sacheen Littlefeather (Apache/Yaqui/Ariz.), the Native American actress and activist who took to the stage at the 1973 Academy Awards to reveal that Marlon Brando would not accept his Oscar for The Godfather, has died. She was 75.

Littlefeather died at noon Sunday at her home in the Northern California city of Novato surrounded by her loved ones, according to a statement sent out by her caretaker. The Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences, which reconciled with Littlefeather in June and hosted a celebration in her honor just two weeks ago, revealed the news on social media Sunday night.

Littlefeather disclosed in March 2018 that she had been diagnosed with stage 4 breast cancer, and it had metastasized in recent years. Brando had decided to boycott the March 1973 Oscars in protest of how Native Americans were portrayed onscreen as well as to pay tribute to the ongoing occupation at Wounded Knee, in which 200 members of the American Indian Movement (AIM) faced off against thousands of U.S. marshals and other federal agents in the South Dakota town. Speaking in measured tones but off-the-cuff — Brando, who told her not to touch the trophy, had given her a typed eight-page speech, but telecast producer Howard Koch informed her she had no more than 60 seconds — she continued, “And the reasons for this being are the treatment of American Indians today by the film industry … and on television in movie reruns, and also with recent happenings at Wounded Knee.” Littlefeather’s remarks were met in the building by a smattering of boos as well as applause, but public sentiment in the immediate aftermath of her appearance was largely negative. Some media outlets questioned her Native heritage (her father was Apache and Yaqui and her mother was white) and claimed she rented her costume for the ceremony, while conservative celebrities including John Wayne, Clint Eastwood and Charlton Heston — three actors who had starred in many a Western — reportedly criticized Brando and Littlefeather’s actions. As she was becoming an indelible part of Oscar lore, Wayne “was in the wings, ready to have me taken off stage,” she told the Los Angeles Times in 2016. “He had to be restrained by six security guards.” 

Regardless, nearly 50 years later, the Academy issued her an apology.

“The abuse you endured because of this statement was unwarranted and unjustified,” then-AMPAS president David Rubin wrote to her in a letter dated June 18. “The emotional burden you have lived through and the cost to your own career in our industry are irreparable. For too long the courage you showed has been unacknowledged. For this, we offer both our deepest apologies and our sincere admiration.”

Although Brando’s stunt had the intended effect of renewing attention on Wounded Knee, Littlefeather said it put her life at risk and killed her acting career, claiming that she lost guild memberships and was banned from the industry. (In addition, the Academy subsequently prohibited winners from sending proxies to accept — or reject — awards on their behalf.)

“I was blacklisted — or, you could say, ‘redlisted,'” Littlefeather said in her documentary. “Johnny Carson, Dick Cavett and others didn’t want me on their shows. … The doors were closed tight, never to reopen.”

Littlefeather managed to appear in a handful of films (The Trial of Billy Jack, Johnny Firecloud and Winterhawkamong them) before she quit acting for good and earned a degree in holistic health from Antioch University with a minor in Native American medicine. Her work in wellness included writing a health column for the Kiowa tribe newspaper in Oklahoma, teaching in the traditional Indian medicine program at St. Mary’s Hospital in Tucson, Arizona, and working with Mother Teresa on behalf of AIDS patients in the Bay Area. She would go on to serve as a founding board member of the American Indian AIDS Institute of San Francisco.

Via The Hollywood Reporter

Blessed Mornings | Marshall Mathers

masterlist

summary: three years after marshall’s rehab you both wake up to a peaceful morning reminding you how lucky you are

pairing: fem! reader x marshall mathers/eminem

words: 600

It was quiet when you had awoken from your sleep, the sound of Marshall’s breathing in your left ear as you slowly batted your eyelids. The moment you opened your eyes you were happy. Extremely happy and proud like watching a baby take its first steps without their mother. They were in total control and when babies realise they're in control of their own movements, well that is something many wish to witness. It was April 20th, 2011. Three years. Three years in which you could’ve started waking up alone to an empty bed, only the memories of your love keeping you company instead of your love.

You tried removing Marshall’s arm from your waist, wanting to make breakfast and bring it to bed. It was a special day and a special day called for special treatment. But you should’ve known that escaping a sleepy Marshall was impossible. As soon as you lifted his arm, he snaked it back around your waist with a deep groan, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck as his warm breath ricocheted off your skin.

‘Em baby, I was trying to make you breakfast,’ you whispered, stroking his head as you realised that you weren’t going to be able to leave.

‘Please stay here.’ His quavering voice softly erupted.

‘Fine,’ you said, knowing you wouldn’t have been able to say no anyway. ‘At least loosen your grip so I can turn and you can lay on my chest.’

Without protest Marshall withdrew his arm from your waist and supported himself with his other arm and waited for you to turn your body, his head falling onto your chest, nuzzling his head back into a comfy position, his arm over your waist again. You continue to gently stroke his hair as you cradled him, slowly falling back asleep for a little while longer.

When you woke up again, Marshall was reluctant to let go of you but was promised his favourite pancakes so he eventually let go of you, reminding you how bad he just wanted to stay in bed and cuddle.

In the kitchen you got all the ingredients you needed and started mixing the pancake batter, making sure to have a few pancakes with chocolate chips. As you plated the stack, Marshall came through the door, his torso no longer bare but draped in a long sleeved shirt and a pair of sweatpants.

‘These look incredible as always,’ He came up towards the counter, sliding the plate towards him.

‘Wait!’ You half yelled, grabbing the can of whipped cream and bent over the table to start adding the cream on top of the pancakes, spelling out the number three. ‘Happy three years, Em. I’m so so proud of you and I’m so happy you’re still alive and that I get to wake up every day knowing you’re still with me. Three down and many more to go.’

‘I don’t deserve you.’ Marshall pulled you into a tight hug, so tight you could feel your heartbeat transfer to his chest. ‘I love you so damn much.’

‘You deserve me. Just as I deserve you.’

‘Shit man, you’re gonna make me cry.’

‘Thank you for being here.’ You kissed him, feeling his uncertainty through his body. He hated being vulnerable and hated crying especially in front of other people.

‘I fucking love you.’

‘I fucking love you too.’

I think the funniest way for Commander Fox’s Illegal Activities to be discovered is in the middle of a high stakes con off world. Posing as a war profiteer looking for business opportunities with the Separatists cause he’s trying to get the receipts for the purchase of the clone army hoping that it will lead him to the person who orchestrated the whole war (he knows the whole thing is a sham, and refuses to play along).

Fox has troopers hidden nearby just in case, snipers on the roof, slicers already in the security system. The mark is already on the hook. Everything is going great until he makes eye contact with Cody across the room.

Cody and Obi-wan suck in to hopefully get information about Separatist troop movements. Cody sidles up to Fox and refuses to leave so Fox has to work around him. They have two very different goals but the same target and have to work together to get it.

Obi-wan came up with the plan ten minutes after seeing the party. Fox has been building his reputation in the criminal underworld as a ruthless mafia leader since he became Marshal Commander and has been planning this specific con for weeks. Cody and Obi-wan are playing Tic Tac Toe while Fox is playing 6D chess.

Everything goes to shit when an old enemy tries to kill Fox and one of his Corries shows up out of no where and snaps their neck. It devolves into a shoot out and Fox steals the safe with all the financial documents and they escape in Fox’s ship and his men argue about who killed more people while Fox decodes the documents and traces the bank accounts while dodging questions from Cody.

Yanqing x GN!Reader⎢But I’m so ‘eepy

Word Count⎢1300

Genre/Tags⎢SFW, fluff, Reader is a big introvert and is sleep deprived, shopping dates, PDA, written and posted before game launch⎢Crossposted on AO3

You stifle another yawn as Yanqing drags you around. You’re holding hands, fingers laced together. He walks ahead of you, loud joy in his steps. He’s almost always sporting a smile in public, but the happiness radiating off of him right now is something else. He forced you out of your room today, and though you love his presence, your social battery can only last so long. At this point, you’re practically dead weight he’s carrying on his own.

Yanqing is an energetic young man, extroverted, optimistic, though perhaps a bit naive. He enjoys anything that has to do with swords the most such as taking care of them, training, competitions. He’s also a big spender on his hobbies, always ending up begging his father –or even you– to finance his basic needs. Many people are aware of who he is due to all that, and also the fact he’s the lieutenant. 

You are the opposite. An introverted soul, sleep deprived, fond of staying inside. You tend to stay up far too late into the night, kept up by good video games, and bad decisions. “I can still play, like, fifteen minutes more”, cue three am beeping on your alarm clock after hours passed unnoticed. You could count on one hand those aware of who you are too. First General Jing Yuan, the leader of the Luofu himself, then an unnamed accountant, whose existence only matters for a single reason (your pay), and Yanqing himself. Perhaps Marshal Hua might count as well as she knows about everything, but you never met her personally. 

Yanqing is the only person able to drag you out of your room for more than an hour, and the only person able to drag you out outside at all. Perhaps ‘drag you out’ is too strong a word as you always consent to going out with him, but your mood is a bit sour from your dead social battery and the fatigue in your body. As far as you’re aware, everyone on the Luofu market street has dubbed you “Yanqing’s sleepy partner” (You can’t really blame them, it would be quite awkward to ask “so what’s your name?” while your self-proclaimed knight in shining armor is right by your side). You have a very “cat and dog” personality contrast that makes people laugh, opposites attract or so they say. 

.

Yanqing pulls you forward amidst the crowd. “Finally, we’ve arrived at the Artisanship Commission!”

You take a moment to take in the sight. The sun is high, barely two in the afternoon, and illuminates the red city radiantly, this shop as well. The view is beautiful, yes, but honestly your mind is so jaded, it’s hard to grasp reality. Hopefully this is the last stop for today, Aeons know you won’t survive if you don’t get your afternoon nap. You hear Yanqing's voice and– oh he’s talking to a vendor, nevermind. They seem to know each other, by the way they laugh at least. 

You look over to the swords on display. They’re all impressive, a vast range of different colors and sizes. The one you like best is mainly clear blue and has a yin-yang on its guard, it looks pretty though perhaps a bit heavy for Yanqing? The second one is thinner, it’s mainly black with white and blue accents. It would look good in his hands. The one beside it is ew full-gold yellow, and though the color is less than attractive, the details forged on it are stunning. 

You don’t notice the vendor handing Yanqing a sword. He lifts the hand you’re holding, and looks at you curiously. You let go sheepishly to which he only smiles. The vendor giggles. Ah, embarrassing. 

You space out once more while Yanqing listens with grand attention to the explanations about the ki-controlled attacks the sword can perform. You’re kind of staring at him as he tests the sword through different movements, touching the blade with the tip of his finger. It looks alright, but the swords on display are prettier. He hands it back, the vendor leaves for a moment, and comes back with another. The same happens, and again, and again, and you feel your legs more and more. Trying not to yawn becomes harder and harder.

Your interest is peaked when the vendor brings him the sword with the yin-yang guard. They talk about the features again, he moves it a bit. He hums, does bigger movements, it seems he likes this one too. You rest your head against his shoulder “I like this one.” 

He shifts his head slightly. “Really?” 

“Yeah. It’s pretty and it goes well with your outfit. You should take a dark gray scabbard to go with it.” 

Yanqing hums. He looks at the sword one last time before handing it back. “Alright, I’ll take two, and two dark gray scabbards.” 

The vendor looks very surprised, but happily obliges. They shuffle, occupied in preparing his purchases. Your partner sports a smile on his face, his happiness showing through his proud stance. You don’t fight your yawn this time, and close your eyes. You open them soon after at the sound of a pathetic whine and your name however. Yanqing’s face is contorted in dread. You’re a bit confused about what is wrong, your mind foggy— oh. 

.

His wallet is completely empty. 

You laugh loudly, which makes him even more embarrassed. “Hey, come on! How am I supposed to pay now? And I already said I was taking it home too…” But it only worsens your fit. You grip onto his arm to not fall. The vendor comes back, and Yanqing hastily hides the hollow pouch. He looks at the vendor worriedly as you continue laughing against him. 

“You two are adorable together. Mind repeating your joke?” The vendor smiles at you both. 

“Yeah, thank you. Uh.” Yanqing let out an embarrassed laugh as he scratched the back of his neck. 

You recover enough to hand your credit card to the vendor. “He forgot his money at home.” Yanqing stutters as the vendor snorts. You’re handed back your card, and your partner receives his new swords. He carries them with his left arm while his right hand is occupied, as he refuses not to hold hands with you whenever you are out. 

You walk together for a bit, saying nothing. He’s not dragging you everywhere like before anymore, thankfully. The sun is still high, but at least forty minutes have passed, if not more. Yanqing is the first to break the silence, “You should name it, the sword. But it’s important so you should think deeply about it, yeah?” 

You hum, your mind occupied by other priorities. You pull him in a direction. “Nap time.” 

“What?!” He’s taken aback, clearly confused and in shock. “No way I’ll let you name it that!”

You pull him again and— push him to sit on a bench? He’s still lost, looking at you for clarification. He’s by the far side while you go sit in the middle. He’s about to ask more when you suddenly lay down. Your head goes to rest on his lap. “Nap time, wake me up in one hour or if it starts raining.” 

Yanqing opens his mouth and closes it, still confused although now flustered. “Really? Right here, right now? I thought you disliked being in public.”

You hum a bit, shifting, making yourself comfortable on the hard bench. It would take longer than one hour before getting sunburned right? So this is probably fine. Between the sun high in the sky, the soft breeze, and the comfort of Yanqing, you don’t think you’ll have much trouble resting in public. “Bed is too far, and I’m so ‘eepy.”

He huffs, although there’s a smile on his face. “Alright.” 

The Farmer's Daughter 6

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Walter Marshall

Summary: You notice a peculiar change in a family friend. (short!reader, sorry size kink is out)

Part of the Backwoods AU

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You stand at the counter, waiting on the pharmacist to fill the script. Walter stands close, perusing the shelves beneath the pick-up window. You doubt he’s in the market for cough drops or nasal spray but there isn’t much to distract you.

You check the list as you slide your bag to the crook of your elbow. You chew your lip and think. While you’re here…

“Um, I’ll be right back, okay?” You say to him. He arches a brow curiously at you. You offer a soft smile, “just gotta grab something before I forget.”

He nods and paces back and forth, hands behind his back. You head down the center aisle and dip down the next. It’s close to the middle of the month and you’re running low. You search for the familiar package. Usually you get it at the grocer so you’re not familiar with the arrangement here.

You find your brand and stare up at it on the top shelf. Of course. You get on your toes and reach, grasping the shelf for balance as you teeter. Another hand snatches up the package you vie for and you turn in embarrassment as the tall blond man holds out the feminine pads.

“There you are, little one,” Thor proclaims.

You take the pads and lower your eyes to the floor, “thanks.”

“Not to worry,” he assures, “I used to fetch the very same for my sister. No need to be ashamed of your womanly needs.”

“Um, well, sure,” you giggle nervously, “I appreciate it.”

You wave the package then stop yourself and push it behind your back. You shrug and gnaw on your lip, “I… I’m just waiting for a prescription, so I should…”

“Heard about your dad,” he says, “sorry to hear it. You’ll give him my regards.”

“Yeah,” you eke out, “sure will, thanks again.”

You spin and trot away. How awkward was that. Thor’s always friendly but the last thing you need is him picking out your pads. Oh, you should’ve thought of that before you decided to add to the list.

As you look up, you find Walter waiting at the end of the aisle, watching you as you keep the package hidden behind you.

“Oh, hey,” you greet him, “got what I need.”

“Here,” he holds out the small paper bag with the pharmacy’s logo, “everything alright?”

“Sure,” you answer, trying to shake off the tingle in your cheeks.

“What did Odinson want?”

“Just asking about dad,” you shrug.

“Mm,” he grumbles.

You take the bag and move it to conceal the label on the pads. Walter’s eyes flick down at the movement but he doesn’t say anything. He raises his gaze to look over your head. You turn to watch Thor as he gives a half-wave with three fingers and struts away.

“Anyway, I’ll just pay for my stuff and meet you outside?” You face Walter again.

He’s quiet as he glares down the aisle. He’s like a statue. You’re not even sure he heard you.

“Walt?” You squeak.

He winces and looks down at you, “I didn’t know you were friends with him.”

“I’m… Everyone knows Thor,” you chime.

He shifts on his feet as his jaw ticks, “I’ll be outside.”

You sidle out of his way as he steps past you. You step back up to the counter as Bessie smiles at you. You hand over the package and dig in your purse. You pay without chattering as she offers the same condolences as everyone else you’ve run into. 

You ask for a bag and flip out, exhausted already. It’s supposed to be an escape but the stares and the soft tones just remind you of what you’re running away from. Walter stands by his truck as he waits for you. He stills himself as you approach.

“Everything okay?” He asks.

“Yep,” you reply meekly, “onto the grocery store.”

He bows his head in acquiescence. You could walk the block down to the store you suppose but you’re not thinking that far ahead. You just want to be gone.

He follows you around to the passenger’s side, again opening the door before you can. You toss the bag on the seat and reach for the interior of the door. Before you can haul yourself up, he has you around the waist, lifting you up onto the metal step. You let out a strained squeak and grasp onto the seat before sliding into it.

His hands graze off of you and he hovers, just for a moment, before he shuts the door. You look down as he lumbers around in your peripheral. You hug yourself, touching your sides where he gripped you. He touches you a lot.

You sit up as he climbs in the other side and shake off the thought. He’s just being helpful. After all he’s done, you owe him a million thanks.

He starts the engine and pulls away from the curb. He drives silently down the road and you sink down into the seat as familiar faces pace by, strolling down the pavement. Why did you think this was a good idea?”

He rolls into the dirt lot behind the grocery store and you’re quick to jump out before he can reach you. Your purse drops onto the ground as you stagger. He shuts the door before you can as he grunts.

“Careful,” he warns as he grabs your arm and pulls you straight.

“I’m good,” you snatch up your purse and lift your ankle to roll out the kink in your achilles. 

You cross the lot as he trails behind you, a towering shadow at your heels. You enter the front doors and wave to Alison, the cashier on first shift. She greets you with a grin and flips the page of the magazine opened before her till.

Walter lurks behind you as you take out the list again. You don’t need too much. You go to the stack of basket and he snakes around you to claim one first.

“Got it,” he says.

“Thanks,” you murmur and smooth out the creases in the list.

“Honeydew,” he says, “right?”

You glance up at him then over at the rows of produce. You nod and turn away, heading for the mountain of melons. Again, he’s close behind you. Like a big, grumpy dog. The thought makes you laugh and you peek over at him. You could definitely see him growling like one.