What would be the most helpful (or some of the most helpful) thing(s) someone could do (realistically) to help this cause?
We LOVE your question! Let’s break down anti-fascist work into four broad, over-generalized areas, shall we?
1) Protecting Our Communities From Bigotry
What does bigotry, fascism, racism, and hatred look like where you live? Who are the targets? Once you think about the fucked-up shit that’s been going on in your community, you’ll be able to figure out who’s been targeted by bigots. Now you know who needs your support and solidarity. Reach out to them and come up with ways to help them and/or stand with them.
Even a small act like putting up posters or distributing pins showing solidarity with these people and opposition to bigotry, sends a big message to them, to their attackers, and to other people in your community that feel the same way you do.
Example: one neighbourhood we know of in Toronto responded to a rash of alt right vandalism and racist harassment by creating lawn signs in the languages spoken there to show opposition to racist asshats.
Over 500 signs went up in the ‘hood!
2) Disrupting Fascist Activity
This is antifa’s bread-and-butter. Fascism is an utterly illegitimate and dangerous ideology that is no longer up for debate or discussion after literally millions of people have died because of it or fighting to stop it. So when it rears its ugly head once again, it is imperative to oppose, expose, and confront it immediately.
3) Building An Authentic Anti-Fascist/Anti-Racist Youth Culture
Most anti-fascists we know got started when they were young. Some of us started throwing “rock against racism” concerts or shows. We’d meet up with crews from nearby. We’d set up info tables at shows where we’d distribute information about the issues we were dealing with (and sell t-shirts & stuff to raise money). We’d make sure that racists knew they were not welcome anywhere we hung out - in the parks, at shows, in the football terraces, etc.
Finding ways to promote an explicit and authentic anti-racist/anti-fascist youth culture is one of the most powerful things we can do because the ideas we put out there and the friendships that form in that youth culture will last for decades to come.
You should also watch out for callouts for events or support from antifa crews - we regularly publish those right here on this tumblr. When you see one and it’s near by you, back ‘em up. If you’re not nearby but you know people nearby, get them out there! At the very least, send them a message of support & solidarity.
Ooooohhkaayyyy. Sit back and get comfortable this updated chapter is little over 3000 words.
Inukag college AU
I included what I had already posted before because of the added details and changes I put in so you should still read it all!
The woman fought with her umbrella as the wind threatened to douse her in the heavy sheets of rain. She watched the map on her phone as she spat her wild black tresses from her mouth. Her stomach demanded she stop somewhere dry to eat her snack, or better yet, find a restaurant. She continued on her journey by sheer willpower, ignoring her body’s needs. Stopping her in her tracks, she felt the object in her hand buzz. Her mother was checking in on her progress, wary of the weather conditions her daughter was traversing through on her search. Kagome shook her head as she continued to walk, her bare feet enjoying the small pools of spring rain lapping up at her ankles with every step. If it weren’t for the damn wind threatening to blow her over, she’d be skipping from puddle to puddle in joy. She wanted to keep her sandals dry and Koga had always said that the best traction is the skin on your heel. Perfect for wet weather.
Paris’s standing as a literary destination is legendary. The city was not only important in nurturing and inspiring the French literary canon − it was also an important centre for the European avant-garde for well over half a century. Often writers came to Paris to escape prohibition, overzealous moralism, and censorship at home. It was an exciting place to be, and the relatively cheap living costs meant that writers (especially American) had the freedom to live as they pleased.
Whether it was the Lost Generation of Ernest Hemingway, John Dos Passos, e.e. cummings, and F. Scott Fitzgerald, or the Beat Generation of William Burroughs, Jack Kerouac, Alain Ginsburg, and Gregory Corso, writers found Paris a suitable setting and fertile ground for their greatest works. We have picked a selection of books we think you should have packed for those heavenly Parisian moments when you can take a breather and sit at a sunny café terrace or lounge in a shaded park. There’s no better way to get a real feel for a city and its culture than through its literature.
Notre-Dame de Paris by Victor Hugo
It’s difficult not to allude to the great romantic, Victor Hugo, when speaking about Paris. Even if you haven’t read anything by Hugo, characters like Quasimodo are easily evoked by the popular imagination when visiting Paris’s famous cathedral. His book about Notre-Dame is said to have sparked new interest in the cathedral, which had fallen into disrepair after its vandalism during the French Revolution.
The Flaneur by Edmund White
American novelist, Edmund White, lived in Paris for a number of years and elegantly dishes the dirt on the paradoxes of Parisian life. Filled with anecdote, fascinating history, and gossip, this is the ideal book to have on hand for those who want to scratch the surface of Paris’s polished varnish and peer underneath.
Bel Ami by Guy de Maupassant
Regarded as Guy de Maupassant’s masterpiece, this novel is set in late 19th century Paris. It tracks the swift rise of its handsome male protagonist George Duroy, from humble railway bureaucrat to one of Paris’s most wealthy and successful men. A fascinating insight into French society at the height of its economic powers, Bel Ami is a cautionary tale of immorality, greed, and fast living.
A Moveable Feast by Ernest Hemingway
Ernest Hemingway’s novel is the blueprint for any writer coming to live in Paris. His famous lines are indelibly printed on the consciousness of those who seek the romantic Paris of late night drinking and early morning writing. “If you are lucky enough to have lived in Paris as a young man, then wherever you go for the rest of your life it stays with you, Paris is a moveable feast”.
Giovanni’s Room by James Baldwin
Baldwin’s book about a young writer living in Paris during the 50s is a poignant drama with a tragic denouement. Like many African-American writers and musicians, Baldwin came to Paris to escape racism and oppression at home. His sparse prose is a sad ode to the inescapable beauty of Paris.
Nana by Emile Zola
The Parisian novel par excellence, Zola’s novel recounts the intrigues of an irresistible Parisian courtesan feted and pursued by the most handsome and powerful men of France’s Second Empire.
Père Goriot by Honoré de Balzac
Balzac, the veritable giant of French letters, consecrated a large part his oeuvre to the fictional lives of Parisians during the first half of the 19th century. His novel Père Goriot, written in 1835, follows the exploits of three principal characters whose lives intertwine: naive law student Eugène de Rastignac, the elderly Goriot, and the shady criminal Vautrin. Much of the action at the beginning of this novel takes place at the Palais-Royal.
Chéri by Colette
Sidonie-Gabrielle Colette’s novel is about an older woman’s love affair with a younger man. It is not a far cry from the author’s real life in which she led an affair with her stepson when she was in her 50s. Later in life she lived in an apartment in the elegant Palais-Royal.
Tropic of Cancer by Henry Miller
An unflinchingly candid portrayal of Miller’s “nomadic life” in Paris during the 1930s, the Tropic of Cancer still shocks for its graphic descriptions of sex.
The Autobiography of Alice B. Toklas by Gertrude Stein
Gertrude Stein wrote this novel in the guise of her lover Alice B. Toklas, it recounts the years they spent together in Paris, Italy, and England, before and after the First World War. As a first hand account of some of the people who formed Stein’s close-knit intellectual circle it is amusing and at times revelatory. Picasso, Matisse, and Ernest Hemingway all make an appearance.
Inukag college au
(Incomplete and will be posted on ff.net soon)
The woman fought with her umbrella as the wind threatened to douse her in the heavy sheets of rain. She watched her phone as she spat her wild black tresses from her mouth. Her stomach demanded she stop somewhere dry to eat her snack, or better yet, find a restaurant. She continued on her journey by sheer willpower, ignoring her body’s needs. Stopping her in her tracks, she felt the object in her hand buzz. Her mother was checking in on her progress, wary of the weather conditions her daughter was traversing through on her search. Kagome shook her head as she continued to walk, her bare feet enjoying the small pools of spring rain lapping up at her ankles with every step. If it weren’t for the damn wind threatening to blow her over, she’d be skipping from puddle to puddle in joy. She wanted to keep her sandals dry and Koga had always said that the best traction is the skin on your heel. Perfect for wet weather.
Facing the wind, as she lifted her phone to her ear, the wind picked up, the hill sloped, and the road grew slick. One second she was saying hello to her mother, the next, her foot slipped forward from under her. With a yelp, her arm flung upward and she nearly did the splits if she hadn’t caught herself midway with her other hand. Within moments she felt the sting of her palm and foot and cursed inwardly. But what her nerves had noticed instantly, was the painful twist of her ankle. She sucked in a breath. Finally stable in her awkward position she put her now wet phone back to her ear, “I’m alright. I just slipped here.”
That was an understatement. After playing volleyball in high school, she knew when she’d twisted something. It didn’t seem too bad, but there was no way a doctor’s visit wasn’t in order.
“Are you okay? You bleeding?”
“No.” She replied through a painful hiss. She wasn’t lying. “Just stings.” She added as she managed to rise and get past the slick moss, favoring her ankle. No reason to worry her mother who was nearly ten hours away and could do nothing to help.
“Well, catch the bus and try again another day. I know we don’t have much time left, but that doesn’t mean you can’t try again on a dry day.”
She hung up after agreeing with her. The bus stop was more than a few blocks ahead though. Careful with every step, she traversed the pavement slowly, heading towards the first place to stop to her left. It was an apartment complex, but one she’d never seen when she’d searched online.
As she looked for the sign that would lead her to the office, she read, “Taisho Terraces”
What an odd name. But as she hobbled past parked cars, she glanced at the buildings and suddenly found it fitting. Every apartment had its own roof deck. The buildings were very fancy, reminding her of a roman style architecture. How she wished she could see how they looked in the warm sun.
Focusing back to the task at hand, she spotted the words ‘office’ straight ahead and limped over.
Just a few more steps….. she gripped the railing and with one arm, lifted herself up the first step, then dragged her favored leg up the second. It took twice as long as it normally would.
Finally at the platform beneath the a roof, she slid her umbrella down and shrunk it, shaking the drops off. Using the thing as a sort of crutch, she gripped the door handle and twisted, a crack of warmth emanating from within.
“Touga’s out! Come back la-” the boy was hit with the smell of wet human, and he peeked around the corner from the break room. There stood a tangled sopping young girl dressed in dark capris and a green t-shirt with no shoes and a black bag hanging long down her side. He didn’t know what to say. He knew not how, or why any human would even want to come-
“Erm. Can you help me?” She took a step and wobbled. At that, he noticed the smell of blood, and he was before her in blur, his hands firm against her chilled arms.
She shot a confused look at him, and took in his features. Ball cap, white hair, angled jaw line, dark thick eyebrows and …….. intense deep-set golden orbs the color of the gods. She blushed prettily at his proximity and good, albeit unusual, looks. Kagome didn’t mind the distraction from her suddenly inflamed ankle.
“You’re bleeding.” He stated. Though he was inwardly surprised that she hadn’t even sucked in a startled breath at his appearance.
“I am?” She lifted her palm, and noticed he was right. She had been bleeding after all.
He gave a sigh, knowing she was going to freak out at this, but he was too impatient to rummage around for the first aid kit.
She froze as she felt a warm calloused hand cup the back of her own. She relaxed after a moment, thinking that he was nearly inspecting it. Still….
But she didn’t have time to think further before a warm pair of lips met the heel of her palm with a slight sting at the contact.
He felt her stare and smelled her fear, but didn’t dare meet her eyes. His tongue met her flesh and he nearly groaned at the taste of sizzling blood, barely registering the fact that she had spiritual powers and a gasp from the young woman.
Despite her physically frozen state, her mind was running miles a minute. Was this some sort of sick kinky thing? She imagined his tongue traveling down her wrist and arm, inching closer and closer-
She creaked her eyes open, her mind’s eye searching her hand for pain. When finding none, she flexed it tentatively and opened her eyes wider at her perfectly flawless palm, not a nick of torn skin nor blood.
Drawing her hand to make a fist between her breasts, she glanced up shyly at her healer. His expression was devoid of emotion other than one cocked eyebrow, as if to say, well what did you expect idiot?
“Um. Thank you?”
He harrumphed, “You’re still bleeding.” And she immediately thought of her foot, but continued her stare at the unusual man before her.
Was it just her, or did his nose just twitch?
Gathering her wit, she waved her hand at him shooing-ly, “It’s just a scrape. No biggie!”
“I can’t have you making a mess on this carpet.” She heard him groan in annoyance, before she was swept off her feet, her forgotten umbrella falling to the blue carpet with a quiet thump.
Having only been carried this way twice before, the last time so long ago and by someone she now heavily disliked with a passion, she took comfort in the familiarity of the heat of another’s skin at her back and side, her arm reflexively around her healer’s neck as she was hurried across the room.
It ended all too soon as she was set down but she internally reprimanded herself for getting touchy-feely with someone she just met. She didn’t even know his name for christ’s sakes! @artistefish@keichanz@kuddle-cakes@inunanna its not done yet but here ya go!
Steaming mammoth Hot Springs, Yellowstone National Park - among the highest energy of the hot springs in the park and highest heat flow sites, the terraces are made of carbonate minerals (most of the other hot springs in the park flow through silicate minerals and precipitate silica sinter).