slave-camps

zorilleerrant  asked:

Can you have Cap save baby Magneto?

This actually happened in some of the cartoons! I gasped out loud when I saw it for the first time. (Go to about 10 minutes in for the full scene.) I thought I’d do something a little different, because while I love Erik in the First Class movies, I always wanted a happier ending for him…

The Howling Commandos, as a forward team focused on Hydra, hadn’t liberated many camps; the ones they had were Hydra slave labor camps, where the men were, if not well-fed, then at least not the gaunt, barely-alive prisoners they’d heard about from Red Army soldiers and Allied units. 

This camp was different; at the heart of it was some kind of lab. When Steve battered down the last reinforced door, he found a man holding a gun to the head of a young boy. 

“I’ll kill him,” the man said. Steve didn’t bother with an answer; the shield took the man’s head off before he could threaten the kid again.  

Still, in that second before death, Steve had seen the man’s finger spasm on the trigger, and felt the thickness in the air when the trigger wouldn’t move. He looked at the boy, looked at the body, and had a sense of destiny resettling itself in the world. 

“Was he the camp commander?” he asked the boy, who nodded, huge-eyed. “Commander…Shaw?”

The boy nodded again. He turned and pulled Steve’s now bloody shield out of the concrete wall like it was nothing. Then, with narrowed eyes, he floated it across to him, through the air, without touching it. 

Steve took the shield out of the air, shook off what he could, put it on his back, and said, “Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” the boy said, in trembling English.

“What’s your name, son?”

“Erik Lensherr.”

Steve had seen a lot of things in the war; nothing like this, but there had been signs of strange experiments in Hydra labs. This was comparatively harmless.

“Well, I’ll make you a deal, Erik,” he said. “I won’t tell what I saw here just now, and you help me close this place down. Then we’ll take you to HQ and get you a hot meal. Sound good?”

Erik nodded, then offered, “They knew you were coming. They destroyed all the records.” 

“Doesn’t matter,” Steve said. “Come on.”

In the convoy, bringing the prisoners out of the camp, Steve brought Erik up to the cab of the lead truck, and put him in next to Bucky at the wheel.

“Who’s this?” Bucky asked.

“Erik,” Steve said. “He’s riding with us.”

“Sprichts du English?” Bucky asked. 

“Yes,” Erik replied. “I can speak. English, German, Yiddish, some Russian. Good interpreter. I can work for Allies?” 

“How old are ya?” Bucky asked.

“Sixteen,” Erik said. 

“You are twelve,” Bucky told him.

“I’m just small,” Erik replied.

“Yeah, because you’re twelve,” Bucky insisted. “Well, we’ll make sure the folks handling the refugees take good care of y – “

“No, he’s coming with us,” Steve said. 

“What?” 

“Erik’s coming with us to HQ. We could use an interpreter. And he’s small enough to make a good spy. He’s had enough of camps, ain’t ya, kid?” he asked, and Erik nodded. 

“You wanna join the allies, huh?” Bucky asked.

“I go with Captain America,” Erik announced. 

“Yeah, that’s what I said, and now I know better,” Bucky replied, but he was grinning. “Fine, on your own head be it. Sixteen my ass,” he said to Steve. 

Steve took off his helmet and plopped it onto Erik’s head. “Sorry, got a new sidekick now,” he told Bucky, who laughed. 

Years later, when a magazine asked Erik Lensherr why he agreed to become Captain America after the disappearance of Steve Rogers, he said, “Steve took a terrified twelve-year-old Jewish kid out of a slave labor camp, gave him a helmet, and told him he had power. I believed him. Turns out he was right.” 

ALSO IMAGINE MAGNETO AS CAPTAIN AMERICA WITH THE SHIELD. HOLY CRAP. :D 

Headcanon time because there’s next to no info about Reyes and I’m Desperate: 

I was trawling through the ME wiki and came across a system in the Eagle Nebula called Amun. The system and the planets within are all named after figures or places in Egyptian mythology and history. There’s Anhur, Bast, Neith, Sekhmet, and Sobek. The system is mostly home to Batarians and humans. 

From 2176 to 2178, the system was the site of the Anhur Rebellions, a civil war that broke out when corrupt politicians and corporations basically relegalised slavery because Batarian legal slavery posed an economic threat. So, you got the mostly Batarian Na'hesit, who, ofc, wanted to keep slavery around, VS the rebels, who wanted to abolish slavery. 

WHICH brings me to my dude, Reyes Vidal. 

Firstly, we know that he used to be a shuttle pilot under the call sign Anubis, a god associated with, among other roles, guiding souls in Egyptian mythology. So ‘Anubis’ is interesting because I feel like that’s not really a name you’d use if you were everyday civilian transport. But it does sound like something you’d use if you were, say, a pilot in a war. Additionally, I have learnt that aviator call signs are given to military pilots in RL and can be inspired by things such as personality traits, historical figures, or the pilot’s exploits. 

Secondly, I think we can safely assume that he’s been in the business of smuggling, spying, and being a shady bastard for a while now. 

Thirdly, Reyes’ writer, Courtney Woods, has said that he’s in his late 20s. Let’s say he’s 28/29 and born in 2156 so he was about 19/20 in 2176. Basically, I’m fairly certain that he was alive back then. 

Fourthly, as not-exactly-good as he is, we know that he’s not a big fan of people with power who shit on people without power. 

Conclusion: Reyes Vidal was born in 2156 in the city of New Thebes on the planet Anhur in the Amun system of the Eagle Nebula. When he was 19, civil war broke out in the city after months of unrest between those who opposed the relegalisation of slavery and those who supported it. The fighting quickly swept across the entire system. 

A pretty good flier and not particularly keen on the idea of being enslaved, Reyes chose to join the rebels. He was given an N-503 shuttle and a weapon and told to get to it. 

Reyes wasn’t on the front lines and didn’t see much of the main fight. His job mostly involved smuggling supplies- food, medi-gel, ammo- across enemy lines, and if he could take out a few Na'hesit lackeys while he was at it, well, that was good too. 

During the war, Eclipse mercs found slave camps on Sobek’s moon, Heqet. He, along with others, helped to move people from Heqet to rebel-controlled safe houses. Subsequently, Reyes was given the call sign Anubis, ‘a ferrier of souls’. They really like Egyptian mythology in Amun. 

When the war ended in 2178, if you weren’t a rebel leader or dead, you disappeared into obscurity. So, after a brief stint as a rebel, Reyes Vidal was left very skilled at smuggling and very low on credits and we all know what happens seven years later.

some-kind-of-sneaky-witch-thief  asked:

The way Ulysses was built up in the plot before Lonesome Road is good?? The mention of the Twisted Hairs in the slave ledger, Ulysses' camps that look like someone lived there, the mention of his emotional reaction when he found Six was alive from the Mojave Express, him generally having a life completely separate from Six, his relationships with other characters, the fact Joshua and him mention each other, how he doesn't even have to be present in Dead Money to be important, GOD I LOVE THIS MAN

in this house we love and cherish ulysses… even if he did try to kill a bunch of people, and blamed everything on the mailman. hes still good. still good.

Feysand x Mornings

I was sad and needed fluff.  Enjoy!

You can find the rest of my fic here!

I’m always open to requests!  Just send me a ship and a number from here!




Rhys flew up in bed, reaching out next to him where to where Feyre slept.  What was that sound?   

“Feyre?”  His heartbeat quickened when he noticed that she was not there. “Feyre?”   Rhys brushed back the hair that had fallen into his face and grabbed his pants from the floor.  He had kicked them off in the middle of the night like normal, still plagued by the nightmares of the war, but now the cold was makeing him wish he hadn’t.  A flurry of thoughts flashed through his head, and Rhys leaned against the door to their bedroom as each took root, deeper and deeper.  What if she was taken?  What if she’s gone?  What if she left-?

Keep reading

dailymotion

Allen Ginsberg reads his poem America

America
by Allen Ginsberg (1926-1997)

America I’ve given you all and now I’m nothing.
America two dollars and twenty-seven cents January 17, 1956.
I can’t stand my own mind.
America when will we end the human war?
Go fuck yourself with your atom bomb.
I don’t feel good don’t bother me.
I won’t write my poem till I’m in my right mind.
When will you be angelic?
When will you take off your clothes?
When will you look at yourself through the grave?
When will you be worthy of your million Christs?
America why are your libraries full of tears?
America when will you send your eggs to India?
I’m sick of your insane demands.
When will you re-invent the heart?
When will you manufacture land?
When will your cowboys read Spengler?
When will your dams release the floods of eastern tears?
When will your technicians get drunk and abolish money?
When will you institute religions of perception in your legislature?
When can I go into the supermarket and buy what I need with my good looks?
America after all it is you and I who are perfect not the next world.
Your machinery is too much for me.
You made me want to be a saint.
There must be some other way to settle this argument.
I don’t want to die young.
I want to die old and unhappy.
I don’t mind dying so long as it’s not sordid.
Now Burroughs is in Tangiers I don’t think he’ll come back it’s sinister.
Are you being sinister or is this some form of playing a practical joke?
I’m trying to come to the point.
I refuse to give up my obsession.
America stop pushing I know what I’m doing.
America the plum blossoms are falling.
America I haven’t read the newspapers for months, everyday somebody goes on trial for murder.
America I feel sentimental about the Wobblies.
America I used to be a communist when I was a kid and I’m not sorry.
I smoke marijuana every chance I get - only two dollars and twenty-seven cents.
I don’t want to work, maybe too good looking for the job.
I can’t study anymore. I’ll never teach for a living.
I sit in my house for days on end without going out.
When I go to Chinatown I get drunk and never get laid.
My mind is made up there’s going to be trouble.
You should have seen me reading Marx.
The American flag is absolutely meaningless to me still just as it was in the thirties.
I won’t say the Lord’s Prayer.
I have mystical visions and cosmic vibrations.
America I still haven’t told you what you did to Uncle Max after he came over from Russia.
I’m addressing you.
Are you going to let our emotional life be run by Time Magazine?
I’m obsessed by Time Magazine.
I read it every week.
Its cover stares at me every time I pass the corner of North West Street and Montgomery Street.
I read it in the basement of the Berkeley Public Library.
Time Magazine is always telling me about responsibility.
Businessmen are serious.
Movie producers are serious. Everybody’s serious but me.
It occurs to me that I am America.
I am talking to myself again.
Asia is rising against me.
I haven’t got a chinaman’s chance.
I’d better consider my national resources.
My national resources consist of two sticks of marijuana, millions of genitals, an atom bomb, twothousandfivehundred mental institutions.
I say nothing about my prisons nor the millions of underpriviliged who live in my flowerpots.
I have very few bordellos and that’s all there is.
I have abolished the whorehouses in France and Tangiers is the next to go.
My ambition is to be President despite the fact that I’m a Catholic.
America how can I write a holy litany in your silly mood?
I will continue like Henry Ford my strophes are as individual as his automobiles more so they’re all different sexes.
America I will sell you strophes at $2,500 apiece $500 down on your old strophe as trade in and the rest of your life to pay.
America free Tom Mooney.
America save the Spanish Loyalists.
America Sacco & Vanzetti must not die.
America I am the Scottsboro boys.
America when I was seven my mother took me to a Communist Cell meeting they sold us bubkes, a handful per ticket a ticket costs a nickel and the speeches were free everybody was angelic and sentimental about the workers it was all so sincere you have no idea what a good thing the party was in 1835 Scott Nearing was a grand old man a real mensch Mother Bloor made me cry I once saw Border plain.
Everybody must have been a spy.
America you don’re really want to go to war.
America it’s them bad Russians.
Them Russians them Russians and them Chinamen. And them Russians.
The Russia’s power mad. The Russia wants to eat us alive. She wants to take our cars from out our garages.
Her wants to take our factories.
Her wants to corrupt our college girls.
Her wants to put us all in slave labor camps.
Her wants to emaciate us like skeletons.
Her wants Malenko or Buganin or somebody to be our boss.
Her wants to dictify us.
Him big bureaucracy running our fillingstations.
That no good. Ugh. Him makes Indians learn read. Hah. Him need niggers. Huh. Her make us all work sixteen hours a day. Help.
America this is quite serious.
America this is the impression I get from reading the newspapers.
America is this correct?
I’d better get right down to the job.
It’s true I don’t want to join the Army or turn lathes in precision parts factories, I’m nearsighted and psychopathic anyway.
America I’m putting my queer shoulder to the wheel.

anonymous asked:

Can you write about Shiro's s/o getting captured and getting a prosthetic arm just like Shiro's. Also when they wake up from the cryopod they say"hey look shiro we match!" With a goofy little smile

It had been three days, there was still no sign of you anywhere. You had been taken by the galra and put into one of their slave camps, helping the Balmerans harvest the crystals. Your back ached, and your legs could barely keep your body up. You had tried to call out to the paladins in any way, but you couldn’t figure out how to get the signal strong enough. ‘Damn it… if only I was more careful on our last mission.’ You thought, trying to hide your shame and tears. You looked up at the galra watchtower, thinking there must be a signal beam up there. You finally thought you could sneak up there, or get sent in there with an injury…

After another two days, you decided to make a difficult decision. If it meant getting back to Shiro and the others, so be it. You just needed the right opening. Suddenly you saw it, a large boulder was coming down and was going to crush a young Balmeran child. You threw the child out of the way, but your right arm was crushed underneath the heavy stone. You screeched in pain, and galra soldiers sighed in frustration, knowing they now had to use their resources to fix you and keep you working. They quickly grabbed a cauterizing saw, and cut off your right arm. They took you into their watch building, and took you to the med bay. No sedation or anything, they clamped each nerve cluster to the metal arm, making sure it worked decently before you went out again.

It was your chance, your ONLY chance. Once they got the arm locked into place, you jumped up, leaping on one of the guards and taking his pistol. You shot at them to keep them away before running to find what you were looking for. Guards shot after you, gaining speed in their numbers. You made it to the top of the watch tower and locked yourself in. The office was heavily shielded with metal doors and titanium locks, but this was their base, so you gave it an hour before they got in. Your body was screaming for you to stop, with your right arms nerve bundles on fire, and the grazes from galra bullets in searing pain. You locked in the coordinates you had last seen the Altean ship, and thankfully, they were still there. You sent a video message request, praying to every god you could think of that they would answer. While you waited, you moved everything you could in front of the door, and looking for anything to ease this pain that was blinding you.

Back on the ship, shiro was pacing back and forth, while pidge was hacking every telecommunication in this quadrant of the galaxy. Allura and Coran were scouring the maps, and the rest of the paladins were doing anything else that could help. “It’s been a week… Why haven’t we found them?” Shiro questioned in worry. No one answered him. It was silent before Pidge got up with her laptop and ran over to Allura and Coran. “It’s a video message from a galra mining camp…” she said, hesitant to answer it. “Answer it…” Shiro said. Pidge took the call, to see you putting the final cupboard in front of the door. “Guys!” You breathed a sigh of relief in seeing their faces again. Shiro and the others on the other hand, were shocked at how beaten and bruised you had gotten in just a week. Your hair matted and filthy, your skin caked in blood and dirt, and your clothes torn. “Look, you can ask about my appearance and THIS,” You brought your now metal right arm to the camera before bringing it back down and finishing your search for anything useful. Your eyes stopped on a discarded handkerchief, which you used to tie off the worst of the wounds. “Later… I cant hole up here forever, I had a hard enough time sending out this message. At this rate I have about 45 minutes before the Galra crash through the door and take me away…”

All the while you were speaking, you were stockpiling any and all guns and cleaning out your wounds. “That is to say I make it that long…” At that statement, Shiro’s hands slammed on the table, “Dammit (Y/N)! We are gonna get you out of there! Just hang on!” He called out. Your body finally caught up with your injuries, adrenaline wearing off. You collapsed, barely being able to hold onto the command desk for support. “I’ll be here. I’m gonna try and hold out as long as I can…” you said before hearing the slams on the door. You quickly shut off the communication and wiped the hard drive, destroying any evidence that you had contacted voltron… You blacked out after that, no longer having any energy to fight, or even keep your body upright.

-Time Skip because I cant make a regular line indicating there’s a scene change-

You awoke in a cryopod. The door opened with a soft hiss of air. You had no feeling in your legs yet, so you just fell foreword. You were expecting to feel floor, but instead there were a strong pair of arms around your waist. Your eyes adjusted to the bright lights, and you looked up to see Shiro looking down at you. You reached up to touch his face with your metal hand, before realizing. “Hey look, we match..” you said with a giggle. Shiro looked at you in disbelief before laughing along with you and peppering your face with gentle kisses. You act like you hadn’t just gone through a week of torture.

“Don’t you scare me like that again…” he said, gently picking you up to take you to the siting room to relax. Everyone was their waiting for you. You chuckled, “I’m okay… I promise.” You assured him. Though you knew you’d have nightmares for a while after this… That’s a bridge you’d cross later.

anonymous asked:

soooo, may i ask about "hephaestion's numerous bastards card" that you mentioned...?

something really interesting is that many scholars actually believe that hephaestion’s ancestors are still alive today as a result of how far and wide he spread his seed being that he was so handsome and tall, no i’m fucking with you it’s part of a very ugly inside joke mal and i have that is embarrassing to me 

i will explain however some interesting scholarship on this: it has been claimed that a pervasive narrative in the vulgate is that hephaestion was framed by ancient historians in contrast to alexander re sexuality, three points 

1. macedonians were infamously hedonistic (excessive sex drink opium and violence, “wake up: drank” essentially)

2. alexander was a lot more interested in genocide than sex & was therefore not considered a typical manly man hedonistic macedonian, especially by his dad – it’s reductive to put modern categories on ancient sexuality but to simplify it AN EXTREME AMOUNT, DON’T go around quoting this i’ll KILL you, some scholars have settled on what we would NOW call asexuality or demisexuality 

3. roman historians (and maybe some contemporary ones – callisthenes?) were writing histories but also narratives meant to entertain (ancient conceptualization of “history” is less fact and more impression of people’s character/drama value) and a foil was needed to alexander’s prim virginal head cheerleader vibe, so they either invented or inherited an interpretation of hephaestion that depicts someone a little more typically macedonian re: hedonism than alexander, and ergo hephaestion is often seen as having more sex/drugs/rocknroll. and i mean that’s broadly true in some sense probably anyway, if hephaestion was in fact a bit more red blooded than his bf – the men on this campaign took consensually or by force as many camp followers, slaves, or refugees as they wanted to bed, and you can bet your buns that hephaestion, an average ancient dude and a product of his world, was no different than the rest re: rape. that’s just the ugly truth of it and something we’ve got to face when we study the classics.

anyway, malinna was intimating that it’s possible stateira i’s bastard who she died giving birth to was alexander’s or hephaestion’s, which is something that could also go for barsine’s bastard, given hephaestion’s apparently implicit access to alexander’s property. in any case we’ll never know – it’s not an insane intimation, and it assisted in making her point about ancient mores, but it’s not provable either. 

* opinions expressed re hephaestion’s hedonism are not my own but rather the reading of a scholar whose name i can’t remember, i’ll find the source when i have a minute to look; read it in a 4am haze of lust on google scholar

** hephaestion is actually recorded in both traditions as having been the most handsome, so, you know 

The world has been fighting for the recognition of the Armenian Genocide for years. At a time when some global politicians are once again stoking the flames of populist nationalism, as a direct descendent of survivors, my fight to Keep the Promise and never stay silent has made me a canary in this coal mine.

For the last seven years, thanks to the support and encouragement of my late friend and mentor Kirk Kerkorian, I have been inspired to tell our story of the Armenian Genocide. Our greatest challenge was how to make this film relevant to my fellow Americans. Now, with the effects of the rising nationalism — not just in this country but around the world as well — our story couldn’t be more timely as it awaits its release. The Promise is not just a tale of tragedy. It also demonstrates love, hope, the plight of refugees, and the kindness of brave individuals helping those in danger. It is inspired by the testimonies of those who survived the horrific Genocide of Armenians at the hands of the Ottoman Empire.

In fact, the term “genocide” was created by Polish lawyer Raphael Lemkin in 1944, in referencing the Armenian experience and the Holocaust. However, denialists and human rights abusers have created revisionist arguments to throw up a smokescreen and deny the application of the word to the very events that defined it. Let that sink in for a moment…or 102 years worth of moments. However, the narrative of the Armenian Genocide is not only about its 1.5 million victims or the hundreds of thousands of Greeks and Assyrians who were murdered. Just as important are the Genocide’s nearly half a million survivors, whose cautionary tales of targeted raids, suppressed rights, mass deportations, starvation, concentration and slave labor camps, and mass killings reverberated in places such as Germany, Bosnia, and Rwanda, and continue to echo today within the refugee camps of those now fleeing South Sudan, Myanmar, and Syria.

Keep reading

good kind of evil

So, I may have written a shance overlord fusion. Maybe. 

And there’s a chance, that if it exists, it’s pretty much completely fluff with Lance being unable to control himself or his feelings around Shiro-the-human that he just saved from a halfling slave camp and blurts the first things that come to his head.

So, pretending you’re interested in that idea, and that it would likely be 1,082 words, rated G, and if had a link to read, would be this one…

Well, here’s a short snippet of what it would be like?

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Yes I love fighting lessons headcanons. Especially when they lead to either hurt/comfort or character A fussing while character B insists they're not a child, which I can totally see with Flint and Thomas tbh "I know how easily people can be hurt, I've spent the past 10 years hurting people" "And I've spent them being hurt, I can handle it, James" whoops I made it sad :(

owwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww
you made it sad anon why.
Imagine James’ face when Thomas says that though. I bet he kept apologizing to him about how he didn’t save him, how he let it happen and all that.
Thomas of course dismisses it every time, because hell it wasn’t James’ fault and even if he tried to save him, he wouldn’t be able to and he would have gotten himself hurt or worse and Thomas much prefers to stay in the plantation or even Bedlam, than James dying.

There are crimes of passion and crimes of logic. The boundary between them is not clearly defined. But the Penal Code makes the convenient distinction of premeditation. We are living in the era of premeditation and the perfect crime. Our criminals are no longer helpless children who could plead love as their excuse. On the contrary, they are adults and they have a perfect alibi: philosophy, which can be used for any purpose—even for transforming murderers into judges.
Heathcliff, in Wuthering Heights, would kill everybody on earth in order to possess Cathy, but it would never occur to him to say that murder is reasonable or theoretically defensible. He would commit it, and there his convictions end. This implies the power of love, and also strength of character. Since intense love is rare, murder remains an exception and preserves its aspect of infraction. But as soon as a man, through lack of character, takes refuge in doctrine, as soon as crime reasons about itself, it multiplies like reason itself and assumes all the aspects of the syllogism. Once crime was as solitary as a cry of protest; now it is as universal as science. Yesterday it was put on trial; today it determines the law.
This is not the place for indignation. The purpose of this essay is once again to face the reality of the present, which is logical crime, and to examine meticulously the arguments by which it is justified; it is an attempt to understand the times in which we live. One might think that a period which, in a space of fifty years, uproots, enslaves, or kills seventy million human beings should be condemned out of hand. But its culpability must still be understood. In more ingenuous times, when the tyrant razed cities for his own greater glory, when the slave chained to the conqueror’s chariot was dragged through the rejoicing streets, when enemies were thrown to the wild beasts in front of the assembled people, the mind did not reel before such unabashed crimes, and judgment remained unclouded. But slave camps under the flag of freedom, massacres justified by philanthropy or by a taste for the superhuman, in one sense cripple judgment. On the day when crime dons the apparel of innocence—through a curious transposition peculiar to our times—it is innocence that is called upon to justify itself. The ambition of this essay is to accept and examine this strange challenge.
—  Albert Camus, The Rebel (1951) - 1

519: Outlaw

I don’t want to talk about the Gor books.  I don’t think I need to talk about them – there’s plenty to mock in Outlaw without going into its source material.  Anyway, if I were going to talk about them I’d have to read them, and everything I’ve ever heard about them tells me that I definitely don’t want to do that.  They sound like a Fifty Shades of Grey for basement-dwelling misogynist nerd stereotypes.

Keep reading

This makes my skin crawl

Hello there, fellow tumblrs!

I’m just gonna go out there and say this right now: I’m gonna rant about Cultural Appropriation and how stupid it is to think that it’s a hatecrime. So if you’re an SJW, just go ahead and read this, I don’t care what you think.

For starters, let’s get into who I am. I’m a white, cishet male from Sweden, with finnish and russian roots (The latter’s pretty far back though). With that out of the way, let’s get into why I think people going out and saying X Race can’t go wear Y Race’s Clothing and so on is a stupid and childish idea that should’ve been abolished long ago.

For those of you fortunate souls who have not heard of what Cultural Appropriation is, let me tell you what it means. It’s basically when members of one culture steals the traditions, foods and art from another culture and “Appropriates” it into their own. Pretty simple, yes? Well, not exactly. Because the SJW party, and anyone who really supports this idea of making it illegal is using the term wrongly, for starters. Just because I, a swedish, white man decide to dress up like a native american doesn’t mean I’m appropriating their culture. I’m not physically preventing them from wearing their clothing or practicing their beliefs. But that’s what the SJW’s want you to believe that you’re doing. In a sense, they want a sort of “Copyright” system for cultures and traditions, which is very hard to enforce.

Okay! Now you know what it is, and what it affects, let’s take a look at how this would affect EVERYONE! And of course, why I think branding it as racist is the stupidest and most (ironically enough) racist fucking idea to ever grace tumblr, or whatever other places you may go to.

Let’s play with the thought that for some reason this idea was accepted into an international sociey. Consuming basic things like Beer, Pasta, Thai Food and Saké  etc. would be considered to be xenophobic by SJW standards, which to me is a preposterous idea. I’m not taking these away from you by eating or drinking any of it, ye? I mean, you can drink just as much Saké as I can. Now taking or placing the credit on some other culture entirely can cause problems, that I will admit. Like saying for instance that Vodka comes from Germany, when it is in fact a Russian drink, to make a ludicrus example. THAT is actual appropriation. But if I sit down, and wear something non-religious, like say a kimono or get myself some sick dreadlocks or cornrows, that’s not appropriation, as I’m not claiming or taking it away from the culture it comes from. That’s me appreciating that culture, unless I’m really making a mockery out of it, I.E Making something similiar to that of a blackface about it. Then it’s racist.

Calling cultural sharing racist is a silly notion. We’re all humans, in the end. We are all the same, regardless of where we are from, or where we go. If I wanna go dress like an ancient egyptian pharaoh for halloween, let me do so without screeching like a god damn harpy. I’m not doing it to be mean. I’m doing so because it’s a cool and creepy aesthetic which works very well for a halloween atmosphere. An ancient, mummified royal sounds pretty interesting and cool to me. I love the egyptian history, as it’s so rich and different from the culture of Surströmming (which is fucking disgusting, may I add) Kräftskivor and so on that I grew up with. Is it so wrong to reach out and try new things, if only for just a little bit? I love Thai food, I love Pasta and Babootie (That’s a south-african dish, by the way. Freaking amazing stuff. Try it out.) I’m not gonna throw a hissyfit because people wanna dress up as Vikings for some holiday or wear Thor’s hammer as a piece of Jewelry.  

And don’t come and say that Whites have no culture. We have a very rich culture spread across multiple countries in Europe. I’ve already stated a bunch of examples of white culture above. Scottish garb, beer, wine, rum, vodka, knighthood, classic fantasy, sci-fi, the foundations of your liberalist ideas come from France even for christ’s sake. The list goes on and on! And before you say that white cultures can’t be appropriated, you blatantly stand by that disgusting double standard that it only applies when whites does it, and no one else. White cultures have been oppressed in the past (Sure, by other whites, but oppressed nontheless) but that doesn’t mean that it doesn’t exist or hasn’t existed in the past. Want a current day example? Look at Ireland. It’s arguably one of the most oppressed white societies in modern day. Want something less recent? Look at the Nazi Holocaust. Jews were being hunted like animals and put into slave camps. I am pretty sure that whatever oppression your race has been through, it’s not been NEARLY as bad as what the jews have gone through over the millenia. And they are white… for the most part anyway. Now, if some of you out there want to adopt some scandinavian viking culture, go ahead. I’m not gonna be offended if you wanna drink mead or dress up like a lanky, black viking, or what have you. And you shouldn’t be offended either when someone respectfully dresses up in your culture’s clothing, or eats traditional food which has it’s origins from wherever else. It’s childish and stupid. You’re getting angry over something that should be positive. Making the world more aware of what other cultures bring only makes us less racist. By separating cultures from oneanother, we’ll only breed more xenophobia. The less we have to do with eachother, the more we’ll start to resent oneanother. Of course, there are other causes for racist and fascist behaviours than just being separated from another culture.

But here’s a good example of how a racist mind could be born. Let’s say for instance that you live in a society where just recently some green-skinned humanoids immigrate. You’ve had absolutely zero interaction or experience with them before. And the first thing you see is one of them robbing and stabbing one of your own before running away. The Human brain likes to put things into categories, or stereotypes for easier management. That way, when you see something new, you make a new “file” which you can easily access later with information you’ve gathered regarding this paticular subject. This very fact has been proven several times in psychological studies. So after seeing this man commit this crime, you, subconsciously, start to think that perhaps all green-skinned men are somewhat into crimminal behaviour. This isn’t necessarily true, but since you have only this bit of experience with this alien race, you of course start treating them according to your experience. It’s not that hard to grasp, really.

So, the main cause for racism is indeed ignorance. Ignorance we would breed by separating us from oneanother, and only hanging out with our own. Why do you think the whites saw themselves as superior to the other races when we first met? Because our culture at that stage was more advanced and perhaps civilized due to the opportunities we’ve had, that others may have lacked. We didn’t know much about these new people and as such, we began to think that we were superior, and started bossing around with the poor blacks, which was a horrible thing to do.

If any form of Cultural Appropriation became a punishable crime worldwide, it would have the REVERSE effect of what you self-proclaimed ”Social Justice Warriors” want. Because with that, you would create “Culturally Isolated” societies, where eventually people would get racist. I get it, I get where you want this to go. A Racist-free society, yeah? Well, Racial and Cultural segregation is not the way to go. As I discussed earlier, racism is grounded in ignorance and fear of another race, which gives birth to the hate and what have you. If we shut cultures away from eachother, it would only reinforce that fear and ignorance, which is not what we want, yes? So why not open our doors instead, let people in and allow them to understand why your culture dresses up the way they do, why it’s food is so significant… Our international society would be so much healthier if we could all just embrace our differences and allow anyone to partake in whatever they want, so long as it’s not Physically or economically hurting someone else. I’m sorry if your feelings are hurt, but this bullshit makes my skin crawl. I hate having people tell me what I can and cannot do because of my skin color, sexual orientation or gender. And so should you.

And that’s why I think treating Cultural Appropriation as racism is stupid. I don’t see any racists indulging in other cultures. Do you? Did the KKK have dreadlocks? Do white supremacists wear Burkas? NO! They pushed away that, because it belonged to a culture they hated and believed themselves to be superior to. Appropriating another culture isn’t racism. It’s preventing that racism.

anonymous asked:

Imagine the first time James wears Thomas' shirt after the reunion. It's not as big on him anymore, because he is bulkier and more muscly than he used to be, but he loves it still. And then imagine Thomas, who has grown skinnier probably (with the exception of his arms), wearing James' shirts. And when he does, he sleeps soundly for the first time in a long time.

Okay but I imagine that James wouldn’t want to leave Thomas for one second after they have escaped from slave camp. But well, they eventually have to go back to normal.
James doesn’t want to leave him cause what if something happens and he is not there to protect him??? Thomas tries to assure him it is fine, he will be fine. James of course is reluctant and doesn’t want to take the risk. He does knows that eventually they will have to though. Thomas suggests that that first time, they should wear something of each other when they are apart, just so they wouldn’t really be alone. So James wears Thomas’ shirt and Thomas keeps that scarf Flint had on his belt. And it’s better that way.