#tw: mentions of colonization

[tlirswriting]

Martian: 

adj. Belonging or relating to the planet or people of Mars 

> In the year 2280, a young man stands in front of his bathroom mirror and runs a hand through his hair, interspersed with delicate tendrils, glowing faintly blue at the tips. 

> He hesitates for a moment, scissors in hand, before grabbing a section of hair and chopping it off, white-hot pain shooting down his spine. Unclenching his fist, he drops a chunk of dark hair in his sink, along with a few writhing sensory organs similar to catfish whiskers. Biting his tongue, he repeats the process around his head, shaking and nauseous by the time it's done. He opens his eyes, and he looks mostly Human. 

> His name is Atlas, and he is dying. 

> Atlas struggles against the artificial gravity to step into the shower without his joint braces on, grabbing onto a thick metal bar to steady himself and sinking down to a small plastic stool. The water sputters on, rinsing the blood dripping from his scalp. 

Welcome to life on Mars

[daybringersol]

Guys. Guys we can make Prime make sense. I swear. Guys.

If this can help any Prime Defenders authors out there, here's how I'm working out the problems with Prime being a different planet than Earth while still being so similar (including having french & italian-american people). Feel free to use if it's of any help and/or twist it around for your purposes; if I can save someone a headache, I'll be happy, I sure got a bunch trying to make any sense out of this.

// tw slavery mention, colonisation mention

Earth is a late-stage capitalism hellscape, and tries to colonize Prime to get away from their crumbling planet. Prime stops them, since with their superpowers, they are infinitely more powerful than humans. Earth panics and sends them workers (taken from colonized communities) as peace offerings (2073). Prime is shocked at being sent what are essentially slaves, just frees them and cuts contact with Earth. So now in every major city, there are diasporas of different human communities, who have, over multiple generations, proliferated, kept & adapted their traditions, and started getting powers. Actual artifacts from Earth are extremely rare and often passed down generations.

If we really want to work in the idea that France is its own planet, as mentioned by Bizly in one of the Rolleds (though I'm pretty sure it is a joke), we could say that french people managed to escape Earth and its climate crisis by finding an habitable planet big enough for a (relatively) small country like France, while too small for the rest of Earth.

The reason that primeans are so similar to humans is because the conditions in which the population lived to grow to this degree were similar to Earth, and thus they've evolved similarly. The reason some things have different names on Prime than on Earth, while some words stay the same (for exemple, brands) is because humans brought their knowledge of technology here, tried to remake what they remembered from Earth to make themselves at home, and some of those became popular even with primeans.

Gender as an idea is most prevalent in human communities, as most primeval languages are gender-neutral. Some primeans have decided to play with gender themselves, though they don’t always seem to really understand its rules. Story is written in english, which is one of Mark's native languages (in my fic, his dad is italian-american & his mom is quebecoise) and thus gendered language is used through the eye of Mark (works for my fic, I don't know about yours), who was raised with gender being associated to a person's perceived sex. How Mark interprets people's gender might not have anything to do with their actual genitalia or other hidden sex characteristics.

Lexicon :

Of Prime: Primeval (Adjective.)

Original prime resident (According to humans.): Prim (Noun. Plural: prims. Familiar, somewhat derogatory.)

Original prime resident (According to themselves.): Primean (Noun & adjective. Plural: primeans. Neutral. Means resident of Prime, which would include current human residents, but not used as such. Can also be used as an adjective for things related to Prime.)

Human: Human (Noun & adjective. Plural: humans. Neutral, though sometimes used derogatorily.)

[zvezdacito]

⚠️ CW: imperialism, colonization, genocide, rape mention

I honestly hate to make posts like these because the common response are Yana bootlickers invalidating my say in issues affecting me and harassing me😭

But since I've seen not much people bring it up yet. In cased you didn't know New Year's Cater is fsr in Taisho Era clothing, which was an era of Imperial Japan. Thus, fashion from that era is seen as a symbol and glorification of Japanese imperial colonization and brutalization of Koreans, Chinese and Southeast Asians.

"Twst isn't the only game that does this though, I've seen lots of other media use it as an aesthetic fashion choice! You're overreacting/trying to stir up trouble" Yeah unfortunately this, along with Nazi imagery, are still very glorified in Japanese pop culture. Purposeful or not, it being downplayed as just a cutesy Japan aesthetic in popular exported media (their soft power), helps downplay the severity of what Japan did in this era and make it easier for the government to sweep it under the rug.

When it's brought up for popular anime like Demon Slayer by Korean, Chinese or even some SEAsian people, it's not usually heard because anime fans are so quick to shut us down or even joke about Imperial Japan being in the right despite all the cultural genocide and mass rape committed to spite us☠️ Like I said this only ends in harassment and mockery of us so I wouldn't be saying stuff like this just for fun☠️

They changed Trey's Vargas camp v-neck ingame after already releasing the promo image already so I hope they can fix this too😭

I hope if even not from me, you will at least share this information around for those who aren't aware and tell them how and why it's wrong. Hopefully if enough people bring it up they will notice and change it, if not, then at least do not roll for cater specifically ig😭 Other characters are wearing kimonos from eras without problematic implications on this scale afaik

[goalieflashflight]

Alright, I need to talk about Fred Colon. I already put this in my discord group, but I don't see much of him on tumblr.

Was it hard for Fred seeing Vimes turn to alcohol? Did Fred feel responsible? He always said that nothing couldn't be solved by a quick pint. Did he buy him his first bear huggers as a birthday gift? He knows Sam doesn't have a dad. And every boy becoming a man should share a beer with his elders. Why it might as well be a law. Then he starts seeing Vimes take to it like his old man. He is proud at first how the boy handles a drink, but then May 25th rolls around, and Sgt. Vimes is in the gutter. He is still a hell of a watchman, but once he clocks out, he clocks into drinking.

Fred thinks it isn't a real problem he doesn't do it on shift, which is a rare thing in itself. But Fred isn't as thick in the head as he is in the waist. He tries talking to Sam, telling him he won't find a woman worth it the way he is going. Vimes just kisses the bottle and tells him he already found a petite little brunette that keeps him warm while he sleeps. And it burns because Fred used to say whiskey is a woman who robs you of your sense, but at least she keeps you warm.

Fred sees Sam turn to Vimes, and it always turns his gut and makes even him pause about eating a free meal. He writes a note that night to his wife, and she tells him he worries too much. Fred knows you lead by example, so he stops drinking. He lasts half a night, which means Nobby lost the pot. He tried, but he began to sweat more so then usually and began to shake. He knew Vimes had been eyeballing him the whole time, maybe even a Nostril, and that had got Fred to 2 am. He hadn't even meant to drink he just reflexively took the beer the bartender had ready for him and took a sip. He had needed it. Vimes joined him.

[rottenappleinthebox]

Spain: Imagine going through the work of colonizing native cultures just for other countries to call your ex-colony a "second Italy"

Romano with a Best Dad mug: Sucks to suck

[local-redhead-bookworm]

I genuinely don’t understand how someone could watch Castlevania, a series where no one is morally perfect, and come away with the conclusion that “all vampires are pure evil, killing them is a mercy, and if a decent person got turned into a vampire they’d off themself”

[vampirekissingbooth]

please correct me if i’m wrong or missing something, but a term I hear a lot about native communities is that european colonizers “stole their land,” which, I understand what they mean, but doesn’t seem like the right term?

my understanding is that (at least in the USAmerican regions) for many native peoples, land did not “belong” to anyone. the terms i would use would be “pushed out of their homes” and “genocide.” maybe “fenced in,” in some cases.

[dougielombax]

So many fragile middle aged white men can’t comprehend that if their country slaughters and plunders the shit out of a country they’ve colonised and brutalised its people, that those people will then look for somewhere else to live, and then in likelihood seek refuge in the coloniser’s nation.

Seriously…

Why the fuck do you think so many Algerians and other African folks have had to move to France?!

You seriously think it’s a malicious plot by “tHe JeWs¿!” Fuck RIGHT off with that small minded antisemitic bullshit!

We both know it’s not that!

Like, what the FUCK did you expect! They’re seeking refuge in your country because you plundered and razed the shite out of theirs.

Own that shit!

For God’s sake!

Are they stupid?

It’s like they can’t comprehend the consequences of their own actions.

Fucking colonisers! I knew they were stupid but still.

Please reblog the shit out of this.

[cree-n-jewish-thoughts]

An anthropologist (Dr. Margret Mead-article) said civilization started when the first human femur ( thigh bone) was broken and then healed. That means someone had to carry that person out of danger, feed them, bathe them, make a splint, care for them, protect them from the dangers of the outside world for months...

But now, most of humanity would shoot our brethren if it meant we would survive. Funny thing is, you'd shoot them in the leg, so the enemy (let's say a bear for ex.) will take your guilt away because it actually killed the victim. Even though the shooter is to blame 99% for their demise, since that person could have had a chance if they weren't incapacitated.

A great example is not giving money to a homeless person because "they'll just spend it on drugs." So honourable of you to ignore a fellow in need. But they are poor, therefore not your equal and must be on drugs. Not like the economy has anything to do with people being homeless. Can't buy a house, can't rent. What do you do?

We went from being civilized to unwrapping civilization and saying people are better than others.

The ultimate human design failure is human egoism. To be better than those who are different and want destruction of differences so the destructive sides beliefs are safe.

I am half Jewish, half aboriginal. My families on both sides have been oppressed, taken from their land, beaten, abused, forced into different cultural beliefs, Christians stealing people like my grandmother as a child and taking everything about her Cree culture away from here, including language. Same with Judaism for my mother's side.

And for the colonists, yes I think the land should go back to the indigenous populations, but then again, that will never happen.

How can you have a both colonial view and one of indigenous people? You don't, actually. You're just colonists. The type of people who savagely abused all of my ancestors.

Fuck colonists, fuck the "finders keepers attitude". You're also not better than anyone else.

We are all human.

[needcake]

@hetaberia-week

Day 3: university

.

.

1550,

Valladolid

He had sent him a letter with an invitation to attend the debates held in the Colegio de San Gregorio, but, as often happened with the letters he sent to Portugal, he had not expected him to respond, much less show up.

What was Spain’s surprise then, when he spotted his black-clad somber figure sitting on the last row of the audience chamber like a sinister crow, watching de las Casas argue for the fifth day straight.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” he told him honestly and excitedly, coming to find him outside of the audience chamber at the end of the day while the crowd dispersed and conversation about the day’s discussions sparked loudly all around him. Intellectuals and theologians debating amongst themselves the merits of Aristotle’s definition of the natural slave and if it could and should be applied to their American colonies. Spain felt that they had made incredible progress since the beginning of these talks, but there was still so much more that he hoped would be accomplished.

“You invited me,” Portugal said simply, his voice sounding a little too dry to Spain’s ears and he looked him over a little more carefully, squinting his eyes slightly at him, his excitement giving way to wariness.

“Did you enjoy today’s debate?” he asked guardedly, but Portugal shrugged, glancing back at the open door to the debate chamber. “Perhaps we could discuss it over dinner,” he offered, diplomatically, testing the waters. Portugal was spending more and more time overseas these days, he hardly saw him for most of the year unless it was for official business between their crowns.

“What exactly do you hope to achieve here?”

It was the way he said it, in retrospect, that made Spain angry, not the question itself. It was how it sneaked under Spain’s excitement and attacked his unguarded sensibilities, how it poked at his insecurities until they were raw and swollen and inflamed. It was the way Portugal looked at him when his eyes returned to his face after glancing at the now empty space where he had seen his best philosophers and theologians discuss the rights of their new subjects in the colonies for the better part of the last few days and speak of it as if it had no more consequence than a debate on the merits of building their churches with two or three bell towers. Suddenly he felt foolish, gaping at Portugal without response, which in turn only made him angrier.

“What do you mean?”

Portugal shrugged again, glancing around the chatting groups around them, Spain’s anger building and building the longer it took for him to make his point.

“You’re letting de las Casas argue for five straight days while his opponent only had a few hours to state his case, it seems like you’re favoring one more heavily than the other. Why have a debate at all if your King has already made up his mind? Why not just have him decree it as law?”

“Because it’s important,” Spain said, shoulders set and jaw tight, and he could see Portugal straightening his back in front of him in response to his evident rising anger. “It’s important that these are ideas are discussed and accepted, not just imposed.”

“But they’re not being discussed with the colonists, are they?” Portugal countered, leveling him a hard look that only fueled the fire growing inside Spain. “What’s to stop them for disregarding your orders?”

“Because we’ll have them arrested if they do!” he shouted, attracting the curious glanced of the nearby scholars, feeling his face heat up with his temper. “They’ll have to obey or they’ll be facing the consequences!”

"And what consequences will those be?"

He glared at him, but Portugal continued to look at him with that infuriating calm, that maddening calm that made him want to throw a punch at his serious circumspect expression, made him want to get under his skin and make him feel as exposed and hypocritical as Spain felt.

“I’ll ask again,” Portugal said, and Spain had to curl his hands into fists by his sides not to hurt him, his anger corrupting the pull he felt on the bottom of his stomach that insisted on gravitating towards Portugal, making him want to push him away instead of bringing them closer together. “What are you hoping to achieve here?”

He glared at him through tightly clenched teeth and Portugal huffed softly through his nose, glancing around.

“If you don’t have the stomach for an Empire, you probably shouldn’t have one.”

He commended himself for keeping his composure until Portugal's dark figure had turned on his heel and disappeared down the hall, only yelling out a long string of curses after he was well out of earshot.

-

The Valladolid debate (1550-51), sometimes called the Valladolid controversy, was one of the earlier examples of discussions centered around slavery and whether or not Europeans should enslave the natives of the Americas. Despite Bartolomeu de las Casas arguing against the use of indigenous labor and the enforced conversion of the natives, his position being supported by the Spanish crown, little was done to actually enforce it and one consequence of denying colonists the use of indigenous labor was the import of enslaved labor from Africa, which was done by the Portuguese.

[this-world-of-beautiful-monsters]

And this is just a bonus one I thought of but Grace and 24 Capitalism 👁️👁️

Story is also posted on ao3!

(tw capitalism, mentions of colonialism, mentions of racism/speciesism, trauma, mentions of cigarettes/alcohol, addiction, grief, past canonical character death, identity issues, implied dehumanization, hallucinations, unreality)

It's not as if they have a problem with expense. Fuck no, of course not. They can find the cash for their fucking war machines, their stupid goddamn spaceships, their love children born on a planet where they'll never be able to breathe the air. The cash for their guns and explosives, for their dozers rolling over the ground, for pressed suits and cheery propaganda vids and everything single one of the politicians in their pockets.

And oh, they've got the money for her as well, Grace knows all about it, a special set of funds to keep their little labcoat safely in line. The killing ground school, the botany book with a Na'vi face on the cover cause it's all just wildlife, doc, remember that, the cigarettes to keep her strung out and numb, the alcohol when that's not enough.

Never enough, not for them, sure as shit not for her. Her hands shake, she's fiddling, muttering, things slipping through her hands. Focus, Augustine, fucking focus. She's only got so many cigarettes, the 3D printers only work so well (as well as they're supposed to, heh). If Max is hiding them again she's going to fucking--

Cash. Right. Money, profit, power. Expense. They'll make a body, grow it in a tank like a promise, but if shit goes down, a bloody murder on a planet she can barely remember, happening six years and a million lightyears and last week ago--well, they can't take the fucking loss, oh no, they're going to stuff in some random jackass marine, pulled off one conveyor belt and shoved onto another.

Like it's that simple. Like it's all just meat, isn't it, they all are, deep blue company logos hanging heavy over her skin, sinking into her bones until she feels it even when she's physically out of the link. Jake Sully shrugging into his brother's skin and grinning at her, Jake Sully with Quaritch's brand stamped onto his soul, Jake fucking Sully coming out of the Soul Drive upload room with jagged, defiant eyes.

There are some things that cannot be bought, Mo'at says, her hand wrapped around Grace's throat. Not enough to choke, not enough to hurt, just enough to make the point, to prove that tonight, Grace was not worth the suffocation. I had thought you learned this, if nothing else.

In a way, the rejection had been a relief. No need to try and twist everything into a knot trying to justify the application into a knot, no excuse to get shot in the head months down the line for trying to grow a rogue body on company resources. None of Sylwanin's DNA, so no watching her grow in the tank that would be Sully's, no waiting to see whatever would be left if you hooked an empty Avatar into the Tree of Souls, if you'd get something like a return or nothing, nothing, nothing...

No breath. No life. No meat, or at least not enough of it to go around, not enough bodies to go around. Just cold, hard cash and an ache in the pit of her stomach as she scratches meaninglessly, thoughtlessly, because where the hell are her cigarettes. Where the hell are her--

A hand on her shoulder and she yelps, something undoubtedly expensive slipping through her fingers and clattering to the floor.

"Jesus, Marine," she snaps, because it's Sully, of course it's Sully, standing there with a stupid look on his face and hair slipping out of his braid. Grace shoves him off with a huff. "Personal space, remember?"

She turns back to her work, eyes narrowed. A stack of bundles...shells? Grace frowns. When had she been collecting shells?

"I don't suppose you know what happened to my cigarettes," she mutters, glancing up at Sully. He's still standing there, stiller than she's ever seen him, wearing an expression she can't quite read.

"Marine?" Grace waves her hand in front of his face, but he doesn't respond. "You read me?"

He opens his mouth, but before he can say anything there's another voice, young, feminine. "Kiri?"

Grace turns her head, frowning. There's a Reef Na'vi girl walking towards them, wearing Metkayina garb–Metkayina? When had the Metkayina been visiting the Omatikaya?

"Kiri?" the girl asks, looking worried--looking at Grace. She takes a step forward and Grace automatically takes a step back, feeling something skid under her foot (sand, not soil, where's the soil, where's the ground) and she falls with a curse, Sully yelping as he lunges to catch her.

"Easy," he says, but his hands are shaking. "Easy. Fuck. Okay." She can feel his pulse pounding, she can feel his panic gathering, she can feel the world moving and shuddering around her, she can feel everything, and she knows that--she knows--

"Reya, go get my mom and dad," Sully says, his voice taut, and there's the slap of feet against sand as the Metkayina girl runs. The slap of feet, and the thudding of waves, the howling of wind in the trees. Blood grubbing as Sylwanin heaves for air, as Tom Sully chokes out, as Neteyam--

--Neteyam--

Not enough bodies to go around. Not enough bodies, too expensive to look back, too much.

"Kiri." Sully's got his hands on her face, cool against her skin. Five fingers, strong and callused, resting lightly around the corners of her eyes. "You gotta breathe, Kir."

She can't. She's choking, she's choking on her first cigarette, she's choking on her own blood, she's choking on every lie she's ever swallowed with eyes sewn shut. She's choking on Sully's hand wrapped around her throat like a bad dream, like a memory.

"I've got you," he whispers, pulling her close. "You're not leaving us, Kir."

Kir. Kiri. Little atokirina. Little miracle, little secret, little liar, little ghost…

Over his shoulder she can see Tom Sully and Sylwanin (only it's not them, she knows this, she knows this just enough to wish she didn't) running her way. They're shadows, running, looking for the blood stolen from their veins; they're shadows, running, come to make sure she pays every single of her debts.

[cage-cat-yt]

Some random anon said I was a bad person because I was Christian :( no context, I think all I did was say on a random post

"lol I'm a queer neurodivergent Christian"

But like guys can we not say people are bad people that deserve to die strictly because of their religion? Like if you're gonna be mean to someone be mean to them about their character or actions lol

Anyway tea of the day I'm gonna go write fluffy fluff fanfic (shirtless men edition)

Also also if anyone knows songs similar to I can't decide by Scissor Sisters please recommend, I'm making a playlist for my oc Saro Margossian and his whole thing is happy melody and disturbing lyrics (one song I added was Choke by I DON'T KNOW HOW BUT THEY FOUND ME)

[keepscrollinghun]

British Daily Mail: "Hamas raped men as well as women during October 7 attack: Investigators reveal how sex assault victims were tied up, stripped and mutilated as Israel launches its 'biggest ever criminal investigation".

Every accusation is a confession

@af3irmhawaii

@propagandavstruth

[quasi-normalcy]

I do find it interesting that they’ve reached the point in American movies where they can depict European colonizers in the 18th and 19th centuries as being straight-up evil, so long as they’re not Anglo-American colonizers.

That’s why both Prey (2022) and The Revenant (2015) feature subplots about diabolical Quebecois fur traders raping and murdering their way across the continent.

[imajuststealthat]

Last night I went and did TikTok’s homework, since I couldn’t sleep:

So, since horror movies have a history of talking about social issues that regular media tends to ignore or skip over for at least a few years; I decided to make the underlining theme of Zepotha the erasure of marginalized communities, the forced integration into what is seen as “proper” by colonials through Native American “boarding schools”, and non-binary/gender-fluid people not being understood.

Warning: this is a horror movie

Our main character can be called Malinalli (name pending) or something similar (I don’t have TikTok, I don’t know what names they are using. She lives in Zepotha, a small town in the middle of nowhere where only shapeshifters live (can only turn into people). Some, like Malinalli, shift all the time; while there are those that tend to spend more time in one skin. (Added for the meme of “you look like x person!” to have a stronger punch, I mean there are 32 Lolas and 6 Jakes who represent the same character but look different). Malinalli in particular wears a set of white shirt and pants, but everyone wears white so it can contrast with the red blood when the killing starts.

At the end of the first act of the movie, after getting to know Zepotha, a shady government body of men in black uniforms show up at midday and start killing the civilians.

[we get a shot of the bodies in the field getting stepped on]

Malinalli (I seriously need to change the name) is now on the run.

We see her slowly shift less and less.

She finally stops running around sundown, her white clothes have been covered in so much blood and mud that they’re almost as dark as the attackers’. As the last rays of the sun dies, she kills one of the men and takes his skin and his clothes.

Until this point Malinalli has been everything else, woman, men, black, asian, latino, but never a clearly blond white man.

She is no longer herself, she is… him now.

And will probably always gonna be in order to survive

[laylanatorseventeen]

Well I lived. Good news and bad news. Good news is I do not have cancer or anything like that. Bad news is that my colon apparently is totally normal so they don't know what the FUCK is wrong with me