something that I have not yet seen discussed in the punching Nazis discussion
I am a woman, and I am queer. If the alt-right got the control they wanted, I would be affected.
I am also cis, straight-passing, middle-class, and, this one is majorly important, fucking white.
Most of the pearl-clutching I’ve seen over how we can’t POSSIBLY meet hate speech with violence, we can’t sink to their level, that makes us as bad as them, etc, etc - most of that is coming from white liberals.
And the thing is, fellow white people, is that this is on us.
You know who’s preaching this Neo-Nazi bullshit? White people. Do you know where this ‘philosophy’ came from, who developed it historically? White people. Do you know who fucked up basically the entire planet, spreading our racism, our homophobia, our sexism, our religious fundamentalism like a gods-damn virus everywhere we went, from North America to Africa to Japan?
We did this. We allowed it to happen. We invented it historically, we preached it historically, and even when a lot of us learned better, we allowed this shit to grow unmolested in various corners of our society. We even let it get into our governments and houses of law.
So we don’t get to flail and wail and wring our hands. We absolutely do not get to patronisingly, hypocritically chide the various minorities who respond to the hate and oppression we created and allowed and abet with hatred and violence, as if somehow their hate and violence is unjustified. As if we didn’t start it first. As if we haven’t turned our eyes aside, again and again and again, from those in our demographics who preach and act on hatred from positions of power.
You don’t get to criticize an abuse victim for finally hitting back.
The Neo-Nazis and alt-right are our fault, and they’re our responsibility to police and get rid of, because we’re the ones who share their privilege, we’re the ones who can confront and shut them down with the highest chances of success and from the positions of most safety. These are people who demonstrably can’t be reasoned with. It’s been tried. Sure, we can change our education system to promote empathy and enlightenment, but that’s a long-term solution that won’t fix any of the issues facing us right now.
the howlies got in a lot of bar fights. you might think that the last thing a bunch of soldiers would want to do with their free time is fight people, but actually bar fights were a great stress relief. nobody really got seriously injured, and we tried to keep property damage to a minimum. (and we also almost never started bar fights, for the record. most of the time it was guys from another unit who wanted to prove how badass they were by taking on the infamous howling commandos.) so bar fights themselves weren’t that unusual.
but peggy’s bar fights…oh, they were glorious.
see, peggy never got in a fight for no reason; she was smarter than that. but when she did fight, it was truly beautiful. ive never seen a better right cross, before or since.
so one time we were on leave, sipping drinks in this english pub. the howlies were at the back table, enjoying a couple pitchers, while peggy was up at the bar, chatting with the barmaid. many of the bars and pubs back then had female bartenders–filling the gaps with the men off at war. and generally barmaids (which was what a female bartender was called back then) were the sort of girl pegs got along with–sensible, dependable, and not willing to take shit from any man. so she often enjoyed commiserating with the barmaids while we drank. she used to say she had to be free of us ‘charming gentlemen’ before she wound up blowing things up as erratically as we did. which was hurtful. our explosions were very intentional. mostly.
so peggy got to chat about the best ways to hurl drunken idiots out doors and we got to ply steve with alcohol to see how much booze it would take to make him drunk. (tragically, we never found out.)
on this particular occasion, peggy was sitting at the bar when this mountain of a man came in. and i mean huge. thor-sized. like the hulk’s pinker younger brother. and with him came a dozen or so of his closest friends, all locals. (they may also have been poorly disguised orcs. im not sure, but i wouldn’t discount it as a possibility after seeing all the nonsense ive seen) the group of them made their way up to the bar, wedged their way in, and started harassing the barmaid.
now, i don’t know what they said. peggy refused to repeat it. all i know is that one of the larger idiots said something stupid, laughed, and reached out to grope the barmaid. his hand made it about six inches from her chest when peggy’s fist broke his nose. he hit the floor like a tree falling, and the bar went quiet for a split second before one exceptionally suicidal idiot lunged at peggy.
everything went crazy. there were a good few dozen of us 107th guys in the bar, and all of us knew and adored pegs, so when the mountain-men went after her, every fine man of the 107th went after them. but it turned out that the locals defended their own, and we were pretty evenly matched for numbers. within seconds, everyone was throwing punches. bottles were thrown. dernier used a tablecloth to blind a man and threw him out a window. dumdum used one guy’s fists to hit another guy. i hurled bottlecaps at people’s eyeballs, because it’s fun.(im a sniper. we like distance) steve tried to wade through the chaos to get to peggy, but people kept punching him and then clutching their hands in agony, so he got kind of bogged down.
at the bar, peggy was demonstrating exactly why she was the 107th’s darling–because she could put a grown man twice her size on the ground in two seconds flat. she knocked out six men; seven more promptly fell in love with her.
as the chaos began to wind down, most of the locals had either been beaten down or fled, and only the mini-hulk and a couple others were left, brawling like berserkers. we were just about ready to turn steve loose on them when the barmaid handed peggy a stool. peggy took it, walked up behind where most of us howlies were still duking it out, and broke the stool over the big guy’s head.
he went down hard. the rest of them surrendered out of terror.
(and, possibly, they had also fallen prey to abruptly-in-love-with-peggy-carter syndrome. but really, who wasn’t?)
Atelier Manasse was a legendary Austrian photo studio that captured the golden age of cinema and cabaret in Vienna of the 1920’s and 1930’s. The studio, active in Vienna between 1922 and 1938, was founded by husband and wife Adorján von Wlássics (1893-1946) and Olga Spolarics (1896-1969).
Dude. Em. It's raining outside and you know Derek is trying to cuddle Stiles.
Headcanon: rain makes Derek really sappy.
If Derek Hale had a dating profile and he had to answer one of those “perfect evening” questions, the answer would be ‘sitting by the fire with a good book during a rainstorm’. Maybe it’s because he feels a literal sense of protection when it’s raining outside because he’s got a roof over his head, shielding him. It’s something tangible, something he can see he’s safe from.
After coming back to Beacon Hills and Stiles, Derek knows he not only has a partner but a pack who has his back now. Still, he can’t help but fear he’s going to lose it. Some days he’ll look at Stiles, look at this family he’s somehow managed to be a part of again, and think, “I’m going to lose this. I don’t get this.”
It’s hard for him to imagine otherwise, but when it’s raining and Stiles is there by his side (usually sleeping in his bed or researching something on the fluffy rug Derek bought) he always realises something: Stiles is another type of home (one protecting his heart). One whose structures are stable and strong and sure. Stiles let Derek in where he’s let few people, and Derek’s gotten to see rooms Stiles has shown to no one. He maybe can’t see it, can’t touch it, but Derek has a key and he doesn’t have to give it back. Even if things fell to pieces he knows he’d be allowed to keep it. That he’d always be allowed to stay.
He has a sense of relief with Stiles knowing, like the roof over his head, he’s safe. Not physically, maybe (although Stiles has saved his life more times than he can count) but emotionally. Stiles has his back. He always comes back, even when he leaves. And most importantly, when it’s raining outside? He’s always waiting with a knowing smile and a, “come on then, big guy”, rolling his eyes as Derek buries his face in his neck and listens to the rain as he breathes Stiles in.