#St. Augustine South

[intertexts]

made the unfortunate mistake of looking at the like google photos flashback thing & realized that the root cause of what's wrong with me currently probably has to do with the way i haven't seen the ocean in like. Four years now...

[unsolicited-opinions]

Leftist antisemitism is a symptom - American Jews and the Illiberal Left

TLDR: I think we would be wise to stop regarding leftist antisemitism only in its own context and habitually recognize it is a part of a larger issue, the rise of the illiberal left.

Why are Jews are the most reliable supporters of Liberal policies and politicians in modern American history?

Haviv Rettig Gur seems to suggest that Jews in the US, recognizing that Liberal values resulted in their (imperfect but historic) emancipation in the US, became perhaps the most Liberal people ever. They understood that US Liberal values were what made Jews relatively safe in the US, and offered them opportunities which had been denied to them everywhere else.

When previously did a head of state speak to Jews the way George Washington did?

Gur suggests that this is why American Jews have historically been so invested in the struggle of black folks in the US. When I say invested, I'm talking about facts like these:

- Henry Moscowitz was one of the founders of the NAACP.

- Kivie Kaplan, a vice-chairman of the Union of American Hebrew Congregations (now called the Union for Reform Judaism), served as the national president of the NAACP from 1966 to 1975.

- From 1910 to 1940, more than 2,000 primary and secondary schools and 20 Black colleges (including Howard, Dillard and Fisk universities) were established in whole or in part by contributions from Jewish philanthropist Julius Rosenwald. At the height of the so-called "Rosenwald schools," nearly 40 percent of Black people in the south were educated at one of these institutions.

- Jews made up half of the young people who participated in the Mississippi Freedom Summer of 1964.

- Leaders of the Reform Movement were arrested with Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. in St. Augustine, Florida in 1964 after a challenge to racial segregation in public accommodations.

- Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel marched arm-in-arm with Dr. King in his 1965 March on Selma.

- The Civil Rights Act of 1964 and the Voting Rights Act of 1965 were drafted in the conference room of Religious Action Center of Reform Judaism, under the aegis of the Leadership Conference, which for decades was located in the RAC's building.

When I was a child and asked my mother why Jews seemed overwhelmingly to be Democrats, I was told "because of FDR and the Civil Rights movement." That's not wrong, in Gur's framing, but perhaps a more shallow response than the question deserves.

In Gur's framing, US Jews realized that the promises of Liberalism, over and over, no matter how much they delivered for other peoples, did not deliver for black Americans.

Gur suggests that US Jews worked to see that change for their black co-citizens because if American Liberalism didn't deliver for black Americans what it appeared to promise to all Americans, the sense of safety, security, and belonging which Jews felt in the US was an illusion.

US Jews believed that we had common cause with non-Jewish American Liberals. We thought non-Jewish liberals believed what we believed about universal civil rights, pluralism, enlightenment values and enlightenment reason. When Jews saw the "In this House We Believe" signs on our neighbors' lawns, We felt comforted because those beliefs are also our beliefs.

We thought, for instance, that our non-Jewish friends agreed that Liberal democracies were better for human rights than any form of government in the history of human societies. We thought they agreed that religious, racial, and ethnic intolerance were social ills which needed to be fought with information. We thought they valued data, reason, and reliable sources.

Since 10/7/23, we've been learning that we were mistaken. We've seen gentiles who we thought shared our values seem to discard those values.

We saw college educated friends share antisemitic (and alarmingly familiar) conspiracy theories about Israeli puppetry of US politics and the return of Nazi and Soviet antisemitic slogans/images.

We've seen highly educated "Liberals" preach ahistoric nonsense denying that the Jewish people are from the Levant and willfully ignoring the huge swaths of historical fact which don't support their favored narrative.

We've seen friends rage against "globalists" and "Zionists," when what they mean is 'Jews'.

We've seen people who we thought were allies against all forms of racism justify their racism towards Jews as righteous through specious reasoning like 'I don't hate Jews, just the 97% of Jews who believe that Jews should have self-determination in their homeland.'

We've been told that we cannot ask them to temper their use of antisemitic tropes, because doing so "weaponizes" concerns about antisemitism to obstruct them from their righteous crusade against the most evil nation on earth...which happens to be the only Jewish nation.

Despite this, about 80% of Jewish voters voted for Harris over Trump.

I think US Jews will continue to be Liberals, because Liberal values are dear to us and aligned with our values as Jews, as a historically oppressed minority, and as Americans who see more clearly than some others the gap between the promise of American liberalism and its long-delayed universal delivery.

The problem, I think, is in how many of our former friends simply aren't Liberals any longer.

I think Jews in the US need to spend a good deal more time scrutinizing the illiberal left.

Nine days after the attacks of 10/7/23, Jonathan Chait wrote:

Writers like Michelle Goldberg, Julia Ioffe, and my colleague Eric Levitz, all of whom rank among the writers I most admire, have written anguished columns about the alienation of Jewish progressives from the far left. I think all their points are totally correct. But I find the frame of their response too narrow. They are treating apologias for Hamas as a factually or logically flawed application of left-wing ideals. I believe, to the contrary, that Hamas defenders are applying their own principles correctly. The problem is the principles themselves.

...

Liberals believe political rights are universal. Basic principles like democracy, free speech, and human rights apply equally to all people, without regard to the content of their political values. (This of course very much includes Palestinians, who deserve the same rights as Jews or any other people, and whose humanity is habitually ignored by Israeli conservatives and their American allies.) A liberal would abhor the use of political violence or repression, however evil the targets.

...

The illiberal left believes treating everybody equally, when the power is so unequal, merely serves to maintain existing structures of power. It follows from their critique that the legitimacy of a tactic can only be assessed with reference to whether it is being used by the oppressor or the oppressed. Is it okay for, say, a mob of protesters to shout down a lecture? Liberals would say no. Illiberal leftists would need to know who was the speaker and who was the mob before they could answer.

...

One observation I’ve shared with many analysts well to my left is that the debate over this illiberalism and the social norms it has spawned — demands for deference in the name of allyship, describing opposing ideas as a form of harm, and so on — has tracked an older debate within the left over communism. Communism provided real-world evidence of how an ideology that denies political rights to anybody deemed to be the oppressor laid the theoretical groundwork for repression and murder.

There have been conscious echoes of this old divide in the current dispute over Hamas. The left-wing historian Gabriel Winant has a column in Dissent urging progressives not to mourn dead Israeli civilians because that sentiment will be used to advance the Zionist project. Winant sounds eerily like an old communist fellow traveler explaining that the murders of the kulaks or the Hungarian nationalists are the necessary price of defending the revolution. “The impulse, repeatedly called ‘humane’ over the past week, to find peace by acknowledging equally the losses on all sides rests on a fantasy that mourning can be depoliticized,” he argues, calling such soft-minded sentiment “a new Red Scare.” Making the perfect omelette always requires some broken eggs in the form of innocent people who made the historical error of belonging to, or perhaps being born into, an enemy class.

But more than three decades have passed since the Soviet Union existed or China’s government was recognizably Marxist. And so the liberal warning about the threat of left-wing illiberalism seemed abstract and bloodless. On October 7, it suddenly became bloody and concrete. It didn’t happen here, of course. The shock of it was that many leftists revealed just how far they would be willing to follow their principles. “People have repeated over and over again over the last few days that you ‘cannot tell Palestinians how to resist,’” notes (without contradicting the sentiment) Arielle Angel, editor-in-chief of the left-wing Jewish Currents. Concepts like this, treating the self-appointed representative of any oppressed group as beyond criticism, are banal on the left. Yet for some progressive Jews, it is shocking to see it extended to the slaughter of babies, even though that is its logical endpoint. The radical rhetoric of decolonization, with its glaring absence of any limiting principles, was not just a rhetorical cover to bully some hapless school administrator into changing the curriculum. Phrases like “by any means necessary” were not just figures of speech. Any means included any means, very much including murder.

Both Julia Ioffe and Eric Levitz have pointed out that decolonization logic ignores the fact that half of Israel’s Jewish population does not have European origins and came to Israel after suffering the same ethnic cleansing as the Palestinians. This is correct. But what if it weren’t? If every Israeli Jew descended from Ashkenazi stock, would it be okay to shoot their babies?

The problem is much greater than leftist antisemitism. The illiberal left has become nearly as great a threat to Liberalism as the far right.

It is often the case that a movement’s treatment of Jews serves as a broader indicator of its health. It’s not an accident that the Republican Party has become more attractive to antisemites as it has grown more paranoid and authoritarian. What the far left revealed about its disposition toward Jews is not just a warning for the Jews but a warning for all progressives who care about democracy and humanity. The pro-Hamas left is not merely indicating an indifference toward Jews. It is revealing the illiberal left’s inherent cruelty, repression, and inhumanity.

I'm annoyed that it is has taken me so long to catch on and alarmed by the implications.

I am, however, very proud of my 14yo, who sums up her experience trying to respectfully disagree with leftists this way:

"They're allergic to nuance."

[untitlzd]

rich boys don't lose

top!park jongseong x btm!male reader smut

Y/n was still recovering from the blog post. Finals were closing in, and he could barely think. Then Jay started making out in the library like he owned the school—loud, shameless, acting like no one would dare call him out. So Y/n gathered what little courage he had left—and did.

a continuation of ''rich boys don't get dirty.''

warnings: dubcon, elitism, power dynamics, degrading, spit kink, rough sex, unprotected sex, no prep, drugs use, jay is bi, lowkey inspired by gossip girl

Y/n had nearly forgotten about the blog post—the grainy photo, the caption laced with venom, the slow, cold panic that followed. Not because it didn’t matter, but because something else—someone else—had taken up all the space in his mind.

Park Sunghoon.

The encounters started subtly. A shared glance across the quad. A brush of shoulders in narrow corridors. Then, more frequent. More precise. Always in places Y/n knew by heart—places he visited often, with enough routine to become predictable. And Sunghoon, for all his aloofness, was many things—but never careless.

The south wing reading room. The back alcove of the music building. The third-floor hallway that caught afternoon light just right, turning marble into gold. And—most haunting of all—the bathroom down the south hallway.

The same one.

The same stall.

Nothing ever happened when he showed up. Sunghoon never touched him. Never spoke. Sometimes he didn’t even look. But his presence filled the space like a ghost Y/n couldn’t outrun. He’d catch a glimpse of that posture—impossibly composed, sleeves rolled just so—and every nerve in his body would light up, remembering things he had no business remembering. Things he wasn’t sure he’d survive forgetting.

It wasn’t coincidence. It was calculated choreography. The kind that made avoidance impossible. Which might’ve bothered Y/n—if it didn’t already fascinate him.

Not that he was angry. He couldn’t even bring himself to regret what had happened. There was nothing to regret, not really. Just moments. Heat. Pressure. Teeth. The kind of memory that haunted in the quiet between tasks. And still, with everything on his plate, Sunghoon’s presence was more than just a distraction—it was a complication. One Y/n wasn’t ready to name. Not when his hands were already full with everything else.

St. Augustine’s moved on like it always did—unbothered, untouched. The uniforms stayed crisp, the secrets stayed buried, and Jake Sim remained effortlessly magnetic. He still moved through spaces like he’d designed them himself. Still touched Y/n when no one was looking. Or worse—when everyone was.

A palm resting on his knee beneath the dining hall table. Fingers trailing the inside of his wrist while they waited for class to begin. A casual brush of thigh-to-thigh in the chapel pews, held just long enough to mean something—and just short enough to deny it.

Jake never said anything about it. He didn’t need to. His attention was a performance, and he knew his lines well. But sometimes... sometimes he did more than perform. Sometimes, with just a glance or a tilt of the head, he’d make Sunghoon disappear.

Not in a dramatic way. Not like drama was ever their style. But there were moments—quiet, calculated ones—where Jake would slip beside Y/n and Sunghoon would vanish, almost as if by design. And whether that was intentional or not, Y/n couldn’t say. He didn’t dare ask.

It wasn’t that there was history between them—Jake and Sunghoon. Not that he knew of. But the air always shifted when they were near each other. Not hostile. Just… sharp. Like the static before a storm.

Jake wore charm like a second skin, polished and pristine. Every smile rehearsed. Every movement measured. Meanwhile, Sunghoon didn’t bother. His honesty was brutal, but clean. Cruel, but clear.

And Y/n? He was somewhere in the middle. Still playing both sides of a game he hadn’t agreed to join.

Y/n needed to slow down. Just breathe. Just think. But even that felt like a luxury these days.

The blog had gone quiet—not deleted, not forgotten, just… paused. Like it was holding its breath. And that silence only made things worse. Y/n didn’t know if he was a target waiting for the next blow, or if he’d simply been a pawn in someone else’s mess. Maybe he was nothing but filler content, background noise for a bigger scandal. The not-knowing gnawed at him. He hated being left in the dark. It made him feel smaller than he was.

Everyone else, meanwhile, seemed to shift gears. Slowly. Quietly. Study groups started filling faster. Even the loudest people spoke softer in the afternoons. There was an unspoken urgency hanging in the air—exams looming just ahead, like a storm everyone pretended not to see. Some students buried themselves in textbooks, hoping to impress absentee fathers or cold mothers. Others didn’t bother—they were legacy kids, already set to inherit companies or empires, tests be damned. And then there were the ones who wandered, looking just as lost as they felt.

Y/n wasn’t failing, but he wasn’t exactly trying either. He hovered comfortably in the middle—never top of the class, but never low enough to raise concern. He was sharp, capable, but too emotionally occupied to care about test scores. Studying felt like something people did when they didn’t have heavier things sitting on their chests.

Everyone had their method. Sunghoon was disciplined—quiet, focused, precise. He studied like he did everything else: with clean lines and zero room for error. Jake, on the other hand, studied people. He slipped between conversations like silk, hands always moving, eyes always scanning. He collected names and favors the way others collected grades, and somehow, it worked. Y/n didn’t mind either of them. He made conversation when necessary, nodded in the right places, offered his usual dry one-liners. He existed. And that was enough.

But there was one type of person Y/n couldn’t stand.

The entitled. The performative. The ones who acted like being born rich gave them the right to waste everyone’s time—and then dared to be proud of it.

Jay Park was that person.

In Y/n’s mind, if you wanted to live like a mess, go ahead. Get drunk. Smoke on rooftops. Hook up behind dorms. He didn’t care. But don’t do it during class. Don’t roll your eyes at professors who spent years building their reputations. Don’t lean back in your chair like the room owes you something. Don’t make a mockery of the opportunity so many others would kill for.

Jay did all of that, and more.

Just thinking about him was enough to make Y/n’s jaw clench.

It wasn’t just the eye-rolls in class, or the way he strutted into the room like time bent for him. It was the smirk he wore like it meant something. The lazy posture, the undone tie, the way his blazer always hung off one shoulder like he couldn’t be bothered to dress himself properly. He acted like he was too important to care. Like the world would adjust itself to him eventually.

But it wasn’t just Jay. Not really.

It was the name.

Jay Park, son of that Park—the one who ran an inherited Manhattan firm like it was his birthright. A firm that had been passed down like silverware, polished and untouchable. And of course, rival to Y/n’s father—who had built his empire from nothing. No legacy, no family favors. Just grit, late nights, and deals no one else was brave enough to touch.

Y/n had grown up hearing about the Parks. Hearing his father’s voice harden at the mention of them. “Inherited power is just arrogance with better tailoring.” And he knew—knew—Jay had been fed the same kind of poison from the other side. Their last names were oil and water. Their fathers saw to that.

So no, it wasn’t a coincidence that Y/n hated him.

It wasn’t personal. It was inevitable.

But God, did Jay make it easy. The way he looked at people—like they bored him. Like everything was beneath him. Like Y/n was just another nothing in a long list of things he couldn’t be bothered to care about.

And maybe that’s what made Y/n angriest of all.

Because if Jay was going to be his enemy, the least he could do was try.

But the breaking point came on a Thursday afternoon.

Y/n had only wanted a moment of silence. The second floor of the library was usually reliable—quiet, cold, steady. But when he turned the corner of the philosophy section, what he saw made his stomach twist.

Jay Park. Bent over a table like he owned it. One hand gripping someone’s thigh, the other resting beside a half-read book no one was actually reading. Their mouths were too close. Clothes disheveled. And worse—far worse—was what sat openly beside them: a small, clear bag catching the light through the window. White powder.

Nothing was hidden. Not the act. Not the drugs. Not the laugh in Jay’s throat as he leaned in, utterly unbothered by the quiet chaos of it all. A few tables away, students were hunched over notebooks, trying to survive exam season. Meanwhile, Jay was throwing away the rules like they never applied.

Maybe they didn’t. Maybe they never had.

But seeing him there, smiling like the universe owed him something—it made Y/n burn.

His fingers moved before he could think. Flash off. Angle sharp. One glance to make sure no one was watching. Click. One photo. Enough to tell a story.

And it was perfect.

Y/n stared at the screen for a second too long. The lighting was clean, natural. Jay’s face smug, high on himself and whatever else he’d taken. The bag was in frame. Clear. The composition almost felt intentional.

It reminded him of those once-a-year shots of lightning striking Christ the Redeemer. Clean. Rare. Timed down to the millisecond. The kind of photo that made headlines—respected for being both lucky and ruthless.

This was that. And he’d nailed it.

He didn’t say anything. Didn’t confront anyone. Just walked out, let the image burn into the back of his mind, and didn’t stop until he was home.

It wasn’t until later, alone in his room, that the weight of the day fully landed. The photo still open on his phone. His chest still tight. His jaw locked.

The question wasn’t if he’d send it. It was to who.

For Y/n, finding the number didn’t take long. His father’s old planner sat at the bottom of the home office drawer. Leather-bound. Tidy. Sharp. Full of names that made other people flinch.

Y/n flipped through pages until he found the one he needed. He attached the photo. No message. No context. Just the image.

There were two ways this could go.

Either Jay’s father would ignore it, like his son ignored everything else. Or he’d finally see what everyone else refused to—and fix it.

Y/n set the phone down and stared out the window. The sky didn’t offer clarity. It never did.

But for the first time in weeks, he felt like he’d done something right.

Petty, maybe.

But right.

Y/n decided to take a shower.

Not the quick, functional kind—but the kind that felt like a reset. Steam curling up the walls, the kind of heat that scalded just enough to sting. He stood there longer than usual, letting the water hit the back of his neck like it could knock the weight off his spine. It didn’t. But it helped.

Dinner was already being prepared downstairs. The smell had drifted in while he toweled his hair. Something rich. Subtle. Their personal chef always did that—never asked what anyone wanted, just made what he knew would calm the house down. Tonight, it was roasted duck. Fresh vegetables. A sauce Y/n couldn’t name but finished entirely.

He ate alone in the dining room. Quiet. Slow. He didn’t even look at his phone. For a moment, the world was still—no Sunghoon, no Jake, no blog, no noise. He allowed himself to pretend it would stay that way.

Then his phone buzzed.

Just once. Soft. Dull.

He almost ignored it. But his curiosity always knew how to bite harder than his indifference.

It was a message.

Brief. Polite. Distant.

A thank-you for what he’d sent.

And an address.

He stared at it for a while, blinking slowly, jaw tightening as the meaning landed. It wasn’t just an address. It was that address.

The Park family firm.

Sleek, corporate, laced with generational arrogance. The kind of building that made people walk straighter when they passed it. It wasn’t just a place—it was a statement.

Y/n didn’t reply.

He tossed the phone onto the bed and sat on the edge, elbows on his knees, still tasting the glaze from dinner. He thought about what the message meant. What kind of father responds with an invitation after seeing that?

It was the closest thing to gratitude he’d ever get from someone like that.

Part of him was tempted to ignore it. Pretend he never saw it. Let Jay implode on his own timeline. But the idea of walking into that firm... of sitting across from a man who might actually be willing to hold his son accountable?

That curiosity itched.

And maybe—just maybe—it was the end of something. Or the start of something else entirely.

Still, he wasn’t going with hope. He wasn’t stupid.

He wasn’t expecting peace. Or grace. Or apologies wrapped in ribbon.

But he was expecting to see Jay’s face. The tightness in his jaw. The forced humility in his voice. Y/n wanted to hear the words that had been carefully typed in the message actually spoken. Wanted to see what someone like Jay looked like when cornered.

There was just one problem.

His father could never know.

Setting foot in the Park firm would be a betrayal of the highest order. A sin. His father would rather hear that Y/n had committed a federal crime than hear he’d voluntarily walked into that building. Pride, in this house, ran deeper than blood. And the Park name? That was a red line.

But some sins were worth it.

Some betrayals were too satisfying to resist.

And if it meant watching Jay Park squirm in a chair that was never built for shame? Then Y/n would gladly commit it. Y/n put on something presentable. Neat. Sharp.

He didn’t overthink it—but there was something deliberate in the way he carried himself afterward. Like he was getting ready for something final. The weight of the moment hung on his shoulders, but it didn’t feel heavy. If anything, it felt earned.

By the time he looked in the mirror, a smile had already settled on his face.

Not polite. Not rehearsed.

Wide. Satisfied. Victorious.

Like he had already won, and all that was left was to enjoy the aftermath.

As the elevator carried him down, the silence around him only made it better. He leaned back against the wall, alone with the sound of his own quiet laughter. It bubbled up without warning—light, free, almost absurd. Gratitude, maybe. Or just the thrill of knowing something was finally tipping in his favor.

The city greeted him with its usual noise.

Manhattan didn’t pause for anyone. But tonight, it felt like it was humming just for him.

He stepped out of the building, flagged the first cab he saw, and got in without hesitation.

Gave the address.

Sat back.

Smiling.

He was going. And for the first time in a long time, he felt good about it.

After some minutes, Y/n stepped out of the cab, paid the fare, and left a generous tip. Nothing could ruin this night—not even the fact that he was willingly stepping into that miserable excuse of a firm. He walked through the glass doors like the floor wasn’t even worth touching his shoes. Every step was soaked in disdain. He wanted to yell, right there in the lobby, that they’d all be jobless soon enough—once the firm came crashing down under the weight of the owner's immature son who couldn’t even subtract properly. But he didn’t. Just thinking it was enough.

Life felt too perfect to waste time gloating. He gave his name to the receptionist with a politeness that barely masked his satisfaction. She looked up, nodded once, and motioned toward the elevator. He was cleared to go up.

Of course the office was on the top floor.

Y/n kept the smile on his face the entire way. That smug, unshakable smile that had been sitting comfortably on his lips since dinner. It hadn’t moved. He didn’t expect it to.

Outside the door, he paused. Took a deep breath. Let the calm settle again. Then, he pushed it open.

The office was minimalist. Sleek. Dimly lit by the city bleeding through the tall windows. The chair behind the desk was turned away—facing the skyline. A little dramatic, but whatever. Y/n didn’t think twice.

“Good night, Mr. Park,” he said, still carrying that thread of pride in his voice as he stepped further into the room.

The chair turned.

And Y/n’s stomach dropped.

Jay.

The smile disappeared from his face like a line of coke near Jay—gone before you even realized it was there.

Fuck.

Jay stood up slowly, like he’d been waiting for this exact moment. His grin was all teeth and poison.

“What can I do for you?” he asked, voice sugary, mocking.

Then he reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out a cracked iPhone 6, and tossed it onto the floor between them. The impact echoed.

“God, Y/n… you’re so fucking dumb,” Jay laughed, shaking his head. “Seriously. Full-on airhead.”

He took a step closer, voice rising with amusement. “You sent it to my dad’s old number. You really thought he was gonna care?”

Another laugh. Cruel this time.

“Do you honestly believe he gives a shit if I’m eating pussy instead of a cafeteria sandwich? You think he gives a single fuck what I do? Come on.”

Y/n didn’t move. Didn’t speak. He just stood there, realization crawling over his skin like frostbite.

And Jay?

Jay looked like he was enjoying every goddamn second of it.

Y/n didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

He just stared, jaw tight, the inside of his cheek aching from how hard he was biting down. His hands curled slowly into fists at his sides—not to swing, but to stay still. To stay collected. Jay wanted a reaction. He could feel it in the smugness laced through every word, every slow step closer.

Y/n wasn’t going to give it to him. Not that easily.

Jay tilted his head, watching him. Studying. Like Y/n was some strange, fragile thing on display—seconds away from cracking.

“You’re quiet now,” he murmured. “Where’s that smug little smile from earlier, huh? The one you wore in the elevator like you were walking into some kind of coronation.” He tilted his head, grin spreading slowly. ”You really thought I wasn’t watching? I saw you the second you stepped out of the elevator. Security cameras, Idiot. You walked in like you owned the place."

Y/n exhaled slowly, trying to keep the heat in his chest from spilling into his face. “You’re a piece of shit,” he said, voice low, controlled.

Jay’s lips curved, just slightly. “And yet… here you are.”

He took another step, slow and easy, the way someone does when they know you won’t stop them.

Y/n’s breath hitched—not because he was afraid. But because the space between them had thinned to something dangerous. Something charged. Something stupid.

“Tell me,” Jay said, voice dipping lower, “what exactly were you hoping to see tonight? Hm? My dad? A lecture? Maybe even some forced apology while I stood in the corner like a scolded prince?”

Y/n didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.

Jay was already closing the distance.

His tone dropped again—just enough to hum against Y/n’s skin. “Or maybe… you wanted to see me ruined. Humbled. Humiliated. Is that it?”

Y/n met his eyes, unblinking. “You deserve worse.”

Jay smiled again, but this one was different. Slower. Hungrier. “Yeah? And yet, I’m the one who has you standing here… red-faced… breath all shaky. Tell me, Y/n—are you mad?”

Y/n’s eyes narrowed, but his body betrayed him. That flicker of heat. That sharp, gut-punch pulse that came with proximity and resentment and something else he didn’t want to name.

Jay stepped even closer, close enough that Y/n could smell his cologne—something clean, expensive, and utterly infuriating.

“You wanna hate me so bad,” he whispered, leaning just slightly forward. “But you’re still here.”

Y/n opened his mouth—to say something, to insult him, to regain control—but the words never came.

Because in one sudden, precise motion—Jay spat in his face.

The air snapped between them.

Y/n flinched, barely—but it was enough.

The spit clung to his cheek, warm and humiliating. His breath caught. Every muscle in his body went still, buzzing with shock and fury and something far, far more dangerous underneath.

Jay didn’t flinch. Didn’t move back. Just tilted his head, gaze fixed on Y/n’s face like he was watching art unfold.

Then, calmly—almost softly, he asked:

“Does that turn you on?”

Y/n’s chest heaved with the inhale he tried to bury. His jaw clenched tighter, lips twitching with a dozen unsaid things.

He wanted to hit him. 

He wanted to walk out. 

He wanted to fucking stay.

Jay smirked.

“Bet it does.”

Y/n’s fists stayed clenched at his sides, but his body was doing something he couldn’t control—something traitorous.

He felt it too late. That slow, aching heat settling low in his stomach, crawling under his skin and down. It was the humiliation, the power play, the way Jay’s voice wrapped around his neck like a ribbon pulled tight. His mind screamed at him to move, to react, to do something—but his body had already responded.

Jay noticed. Of course he did.

His gaze dropped, deliberately slow. Lingering. And when his eyes found what he was looking for, his smile stretched wider—lazy and victorious. He dragged his teeth across his bottom lip, not even pretending to hide the thrill of it.

“Well, well,” Jay murmured, tone syrupy with mock affection. “Looks like you really are enjoying yourself.”

Y/n said nothing, but the flush in his cheeks deepened, throat burning as he tried to shift—subtle, defensive—but it was too late. The outline in his pants was obvious now. Clear. And Jay had already seen it.

“God,” Jay breathed, almost laughing. “Is that why you sent the picture?”

He stepped forward again, toe to toe now, voice dropping into a low, dangerous hum. “Was it jealousy?”

Y/n’s jaw clenched so tightly it ached.

“You saw me with her,” Jay continued, dragging out each word like it tasted sweet on his tongue. “Bent over the table. My mouth on her neck. My hands under her skirt. And what—suddenly you wanted to be the one moaning for me in the middle of the library?”

Y/n flinched, but he didn’t move away.

Jay leaned in, his breath ghosting over Y/n’s ear. “Did you imagine it was you?”

And then—his hand moved.

Smooth. Confident. Jay slid his palm over Y/n’s bulge, cupping him through the fabric with slow, deliberate pressure. His fingers curved slightly, like he was testing weight, testing control. Y/n’s entire body jolted—shoulders stiff, breath caught.

The contact was hot. Wrong. And it made Y/n burn.

Jay pulled back just enough to meet his eyes again—dark, gleaming, cruel. “Did you jerk off to the photo before you sent it?”

Y/n still didn’t answer. He couldn’t. His hands twitched at his sides. His chest rose sharply, but the heat in his pants pulsed harder beneath Jay’s grip—shameful and alive.

Jay smiled wider. “Yeah,” he whispered. “That’s what I thought.”

Jay’s hand didn’t move at first—still pressed firm against Y/n’s cock, like he was weighing it, owning it. Then his gaze dragged down, slow and hot, eyes burning a path over Y/n’s body.

“You know,” he muttered, voice low and thick, “for someone who pretends to be so fucking composed… you’ve got the filthiest body I’ve ever seen.”

Y/n flinched, breath catching in his throat.

Jay smiled. “Bet you don’t even know what you look like right now. All flushed and hard, like you’re seconds from begging. Like you want me to bend you over this desk and ruin you.”

His voice dropped further, curling dark around the edges. “Would you cry if I fucked you here, hm? Would that pretty little mouth still talk back if I had you moaning into the wood?”

Y/n’s fists clenched tighter—but he couldn’t deny the pulse between his legs. He hated how right Jay was. How everything in his body screamed to move, to fight, to stay.

Jay’s hand moved suddenly—down, lower, grabbing Y/n’s ass with both hands, squeezing hard. Fingers digging in like he owned it, thumbs pressing deep into muscle.

“Fuck,” he breathed, half to himself. “This ass? No wonder you walk around like a tease. You’ve probably got no idea how fuckable you are.”

Y/n gasped, hips jerking forward involuntarily. It wasn’t a moan, not really—but it wasn’t denial either.

Jay leaned forward, lips brushing the shell of his ear. “You wanna be mad at me so bad, but your body keeps fucking whining for it.”

That was it. Y/n shoved him. Hard.

Jay stumbled back a step, laughing—low and breathless, eyes shining like he’d just won a game no one else knew they were playing.

Y/n’s chest lifted and fell, fists shaking, skin burning where Jay had touched him. His cock strained hard against his pants, leaking, aching.

“Stay the fuck away from me,” he snapped—finally, voice rough, cracked open.

Jay grinned. “Oh, now you’ve got a voice?”

He licked his lips, eyes dark and hungry. “Good. You’re gonna need it when I make you scream.”

Jay moved with the cold confidence of someone who already owned Y/n —each step slow, deliberate, like he was circling something he'd already caught.

Y/n barely had time to react before Jay’s hands were on him again, gripping the front of his shirt and slamming him back against the office wall. The impact knocked the air from his lungs, his head thudding against the sleek surface. Jay’s body pressed flush against his, all hard muscle and searing heat, pinning him in place.

“You don’t get to push me away,” Jay growled, voice rough with something feral. “Not after this.”

His knee slid between Y/n’s thighs, forcing them apart, and Y/n’s breath hitched as the pressure sent a jolt of pleasure straight to his cock. He bit down on his lip, refusing to give Jay the satisfaction of hearing him break.

But Jay wasn’t having it.

One hand fisted in Y/n’s hair, yanking his head back, exposing his throat. Jay’s mouth crashed against his skin—not a kiss, not even close. Teeth scraped over his pulse point before biting down, hard enough to bruise. Y/n gasped, hips jerking forward, his body betraying him all over again.

“Fuck—!”

Jay pulled back just enough to smirk at him, lips glistening. “That’s it,” he murmured, voice dripping with dark amusement. “Let me hear how much you hate it.”

His free hand slid down Y/n’s chest, fingers skimming over the outline of his cock through his pants, teasing. Y/n’s breath came in sharp bursts, his body trembling with the effort to stay still, to not fucking grind into Jay’s touch like some desperate slut.

But Jay knew. Of course he did.

“You’re so fucking pathetic,” Jay breathed against his ear, fingers finally undoing Y/n’s belt with practiced ease. “Sending that picture like you had some kind of power over me. Like you could ruin me.”

His hand slipped past fabric, wrapping around Y/n’s cock in one smooth motion.

Y/n choked on a moan, his hips bucking forward on instinct.

Jay’s grip tightened, thumb swiping over the leaking tip, spreading the wetness in slow, torturous circles. “Look at you,” he taunted. “Already dripping this much. You really thought you could hide how desperate you are?”

Y/n’s nails dug into his own palms, his entire body coiled tight, torn between shoving Jay off and begging for more.

Then his hand moved—fast, ruthless—stroking Y/n with a punishing grip, twisting just right on the upstroke, thumb pressing into the slit with every pass.

Y/n’s knees nearly gave out. A broken sound tore from his throat, his head falling back against the wall.

Jay watched him unravel with a smirk, his own breathing ragged, his own need obvious in the way his hips pressed forward, grinding against Y/n’s thigh. “That’s it,” Jay murmured, voice rough. “Dripping for someone you swore you’d never touch.”

Y/n’s vision blurred. His body burned. And then—Jay stopped. Just like that. His hand withdrew, leaving him throbbing, desperate, cock twitching in the cold air. His eyes flew open, meeting Jay’s darkened gaze. Jay licked his lips, slow, deliberate. “Beg,” he said. His chest heaved. The smirk turned vicious. “Or do I have to make you?”

Y/n swallowed hard, pride warring with the fire in his veins. In one brutal motion, Jay spun him around, shoving him face-first against the wall. A hand pressed between his shoulder blades, keeping him pinned as the other yanked his pants down just enough. His breath came in ragged bursts. Jay leaned in, lips grazing his ear.

“This,” he murmured, voice dripping with venom, “is what you wanted, isn’t it?” Then he spat into his palm.

Y/n barely had time to process before Jay’s fingers pressed against him—dry, rough, unforgiving. He tensed, a sharp gasp escaping him. Jay laughed, low and dark. “Too late to back out now.”

And then—

He pushed in.

Y/n’s entire body jerked, his fingers scrambling against the wall. It burned, it ached, it fucking tore—and yet, his cock throbbed, leaking against the cold glass behind him.

Jay didn’t give him time to adjust. His fingers curled, scissoring, stretching, relentless.

“Fuck—Jay—!”

Jay’s breath was hot against his neck. “Say it again.”

Y/n’s nails dug into the wall.

Jay’s free hand gripped his hip, fingers pressing hard enough to bruise. “Say my fucking name.”

Y/n’s body shook.

Jay added a third finger.

A ragged moan ripped from Y/n’s throat.

Jay’s teeth grazed his shoulder. “Good boy.”

Then his fingers were gone. Y/n barely had time to breathe before Jay’s cock pressed against him—hot, heavy, relentless. Jay didn’t ask. He didn’t wait. He shoved in—hard. Y/n’s mind blanked, vision flickering with stars. A broken cry tore from his lips as Jay buried himself to the hilt in one brutal thrust. Jay groaned above him, his grip tightening on Y/n’s hips. “Fuck,” he hissed. “Tighter than I fucking thought.”

Y/n panted, his body stretched to the limit, every nerve alight with pain and pleasure and something dangerously close to need.

Jay didn’t give him mercy

He pulled back—only to slam in again.

And again.

And again.

Each thrust was punishing, each snap of his hips driving Y/n further into the wall, further into the haze of pleasure-pain.

“This—” Jay growled, fingers digging into Y/n’s skin, “—is what you get.”

Another thrust, harder.

“You don’t—”

Another.

“Fuck with me—”

Another.

“And walk away.”

Y/n’s body burned. His cock ached, untouched, leaking against the glass. Every drag of Jay inside him sent sparks up his spine, his toes curling, his breath coming in ragged, punched-out gasps. Jay’s pace was relentless, his grip bruising, his breath hot against Y/n’s neck. “You feel that?” he panted, voice wrecked. “That’s what you fucking did to me.” Y/n couldn’t speak. Couldn’t think. All he could do was take it.

Jay’s hand slid around his waist, fingers wrapping around Y/n’s cock at last.

Y/n sobbed.

Jay stroked him in time with his thrusts, rough, perfect, maddening.

“Come for me,” Jay demanded, voice raw. “Come on my cock like the fucking slut you are.”

Y/n’s body obeyed with no denial.

His orgasm ripped through him like a live wire, his back arching, his vision going white as he spilled over Jay’s fingers with a broken cry.

Jay fucked him through it, his thrusts turning heavier and rougher., his grip bruising.

Then—with a low groan—he buried himself deep and came, his hips stuttering against Y/n’s ass.

For a moment, the only sound was their ragged breathing.

Then Jay pulled out.

Y/n’s legs gave out. He barely caught himself against the wall, his body trembling, his mind hazy.

Jay stepped back, adjusting his clothes with a smirk.

“Now we’re even.”

And with that, he turned and walked out—leaving Y/n wrecked, used, and utterly fucking ruined.

note: hey everyone! just sliding in here at the end to check on you — did we survive this chapter? barely? love that for us hehe. thank you so much for all the love, seriously. i wasn’t expecting any of it when i first started posting, and now here we are at the second-to-last chapter… kinda wild. you’ve made writing this such a fun ride, and i’m really excited (and a bit nervous) for you to see how it all ends. finale soon — rest up, hydrate, and maybe emotionally prepare a little. see you there :)

[justkissmewip]

Just Kiss Me (WIP)

DEMO - FORUM PAGE

Hello everyone! After recommendation from some people on the forum, I have finally gotten around to making a Tumblr page for my WIP, Just Kiss Me. I'm Lucky42, or Lucky, and appreciate you taking the time to read about my WIP.

*Scroll down to bottom for current updates*

Synopsis:

Your senior year kicks off with your family moving from Sacramento, California to Sherfield, a small town in sleepy South Carolina. You are able to get a scholarship to St. Augustine, an elite private school for the wealthy locals. You feel like a fish out of water compared to your coddled peers, but it's only one year, so it can't be that bad. That is, until you accidentally share a smooch with the richest kid in school, which somehow lands you on a supernatural investigation team dedicated to solving the mysteries of St. Augustine. Well, senior year is supposed to be the best one yet, right?

Features:

A choice system that focuses on developing the protagonist's personality

The ability to romance your peers in three ways: Denial, Flirty, or Shy

Three potential scholarship choices (academics, art, sports) all with their own exclusive scenes and characters

The ability to swap bodies with a literal heathen

Morality choices that flesh out how your character sees the world

The ability to influence your peers by leveraging your strongest traits

A banging cafeteria

Characters:

Alistair/Audrey Sawyer (RO):

Who: the rich, preppy kid you have the misfortune of accidentally smooching. This one mistake leaves the two of you intertwined, for better or for worse. And it’s looking like for worse.

Character post: Alistair/Audrey Sawyer

Klaus/Kristina Berg (RO):

Who: a friendly, cheerful student who is eager to please others and is always willing to lend a helping hand. He/she can often be found reading a nauseatingly cheesy romance book.

Character post: Klaus/Kristina Berg

Evan/Ebony Jefferson (RO):

Who: the insanely attractive student council president who has a reputation of being a bit of a heart-breaker. Prides his/herself on knowing every student who walks through the school’s doors. He/she seems to have taken an interest in you.

Character post: Evan/Ebony Jefferson

Darcy:

Who: a whimsical girl with a keen interest in the supernatural and a killer part-time job. Her “research” is the reason you’re a part of this mess. Thus, she’s the de facto leader of your group.

Year: Senior

Appearance: short and slim with brown hair and brown eyes. Speaks with a Southern drawl, thick compared to the rest of your classmates.

Reba: she’s crazy. But you’ll figure that out soon enough.

Progress:

03/23/2025 - 290,000 words (excluding command lines)

Prologue - Finished

Chapter 1 - Finished

Chapter 2 - In Progress

Demo word count: 130k

Let me know all of your thoughts and opinions, and thanks a bunch for your time!

[gorgiawrite]

TRAVEL TIME IN BLACK SAILS

BLUE : direct route Charles Town - Nassau

RED : route taken by Flint after having been blown east by the winds

On the way back from Charles Town (XVIII.), Flint explains to Silver that they are south of Inagua - having made a stop at Tortuga -, still on their way to Nassau because the "winds blew us east. "

THE WALRUS’S SPEED

the Walrus top speed is 7.5 knots. That speed was reached while chasing the Andromache (V.) by risking the masts’s integrity (argument between FLINT and DE GROOT, the t'gallants should not have been unfolded in that wind). With a proper carrening, that speed could be reached safely (“A clean hull means an extra knot or two in speed” in IV.), but the carreening was not completed (in IV: “A few more days, we’ll have the keel cleared and tarred and she’ll be ready to go back into the water”, but the very next day they were chasing the Andromache, as established by SILVER mentionning Randall’s amputation being the previous day).

the Walrus chasing speed is 6 knots, in favorable winds (the speed reched before risking the masts’s integrity, see above).

the Walrus average cruising speed is 5 knots (my estimate, somewhat arbitrary : I take into account the occasional slow wind and a lighter workload on deck to allow shifts for the men to rest).

Average travel time, at 5 knots :

1 knot = 1 nautical mile / h

5 knots = 5 nautical miles / h = 120 nautical miles / 24h

Nassau - Port Royal : 754 nautical miles 754 / 120 = 6,2 ; 6 days at 5 knots

Nassau - Tortuga : 539 nautical miles 539 / 120 = 4,5 ; 4,5 days at 5 knots

Nassau - Havana : 407 nautical miles 407 / 120 = 3,4 ; 3,4 days at 5 knots

Nassau - St Augustine : 511 nautical miles 511 / 120 = 4,2 ; 4 days at 5 knots

Nassau - Charles Town : 631 nautical miles 631 / 120 = 5,2 ; 5 days at 5 knots

Nassau - Savannah : 623 nautical miles 623 / 120 = 5,2 ; 5 days at 5 knots

Nassau - Boston : 1426 nautical miles 1426 / 120 = 11,8 ; 12 days at 5 knots

*The farther away, the most likely it is to wait days for the wind, or be blown off course (see map above).

[whencyclopedia]

Stono Rebellion

The Stono Rebellion (also known as Cato's Rebellion or Cato's Conspiracy, 9 September 1739) was the largest slave revolt in the British colonies of North America. Led by an educated slave, Cato (also known as Jemmy), enslaved Black people attempted to flee from South Carolina to freedom in Spanish Florida but were caught and defeated by local militia.

Cato and others of the initial group of 22 were taken from the Kingdom of Kongo (modern Angola and DR of Congo), which supported a lucrative slave trade. Rulers of the Kingdom of Kongo in the 16th and 17th centuries kept a standing army of slaves, and it is thought that Cato and the others were former soldiers who had been captured after an engagement and sold into slavery.

How long Cato had been a slave is unknown, but the rebellion was later blamed on a recent influx of slaves from Africa, so it is likely he had not been enslaved long (though this is speculation). The revolt, blamed on this arrival of enslaved African soldiers, caused South Carolina to close its ports at Charleston to slave-trafficking ships for the next ten years and also led to the passage of the Negro Act of 1740 restricting slaves' lives further, prohibiting literacy among the slave population, and forbidding the freeing of slaves by their masters.

The Stono Rebellion may have inspired later revolts, including Gabriel's Rebellion (1800), the 1811 German Coast Uprising, Denmark Vesey's Conspiracy (1822), and Nat Turner's Rebellion of 1831. Even if it had nothing to do with any later uprisings, the Stono Rebellion is important in its own right as a strike against the institution of slavery and a stand for individual and collective liberty.

Background

Florida was claimed by Spain after Juan Ponce de León 'discovered' it in April 1513, and by 1559, large regions had been colonized by Spanish settlers. The English established the Jamestown colony of Virginia in 1607 and the colony of Carolina in 1663. When residents of Virginia objected to the political-social organization of Carolina – which included large plantations of cash crops such as cotton, rice, and tobacco and the political supremacy of large plantation owners – the colony was divided into North Carolina and South Carolina (the northern colony to serve as a buffer), both of which imported slaves.

Georgia was established by the anti-slavery reformer James Oglethorpe (l. 1696-1785) in 1733 and rejected large plantation farming and the institution of slavery that made it possible. To keep peace with South Carolina, however, Georgia allowed slave-catchers pursuing runaways to operate in their territory. If a slave in South Carolina wanted to escape to freedom, the only way was down through Georgia to Spanish Florida, evading slave-catchers the entire time.

Fort Mose Historic State Park, St. Augustine, Florida, USA

Ebyabe (CC BY-SA)

Florida welcomed escaped slaves, who, as long as they converted to Catholicism and served in the local militia, were granted their freedom. In 1738, Fort Mose was established near St. Augustine and garrisoned by escaped slaves, becoming the first legally recognized free Black settlement in North America. Florida sent out riders with written proclamations inviting any and all slaves to throw off their chains and make their way south to freedom.

Continue reading...

[fromthedust]

John Margolies (American, 1940-2016)

John Samuel Margolies was an architectural critic, photographer, and author who was noted for celebrating vernacular and novelty architecture in the United States, particularly those designed as roadside attractions. For almost forty years, he documented the most remarkable examples he found, publishing some of his discoveries in books and consigning the rest to an archive, which has now been purchased by the Library of Congress who, in a wonderfully gracious move, have lifted all copyright restrictions on the photographs. (see link below)

Gatorland Zoo alligator statue - Route 1, St. Augustine, Florida - 1979

Deschwanden's Shoe Repair (The Big Shoe) - 10th & Chester, Bakersfield, California - 1977

Wigwam Village #2 - office teepee and several teepee cabins - Route 31W, Cave City, Kentucky - 1979

Wigwam Village #6 - Route 66, Holbrook, Arizona - 1979

Jantzen sign - Stamie's Beachwear - Ocean Avenue, Daytona Beach, Florida - 1990

7-Up Bottling Company (two views) - NE 14 & Sandy Boulevard, Portland, Oregon - 1980

Coca Cola Bottling Company (two views) - 14th & Central Avenue, Los Angeles, California - 1977

Coca Cola Bottling Company (detail view of door) - 14th & Central Avenue, Los Angeles, California - 1977

It'll Do Motel (office) - Jonesborough, Tennessee - 1987

Joy Theater marquee - San Antonio, Texas - 1982

White Castle - Reading Road, Cincinnati, Ohio - 1980

Mammy's Cupboard (two views) - Route 61, Natchez, Mississippi - 1979

Dependable Used Cars sign - Division Street, Grand Rapids, Michigan - 1982

Stan The Tire Man statue - Broadway, Mount Vernon, Illinois - 1988

Bomber gas station - Route 99 E., Milwaukie, Oregon - 1980

World's Largest Redwood Tree Service Station (1936) - Route 101, Ukiah, California - 1991

Peach water tower - Frontage Road, Gaffney, South Carolina - 1988

Christie's Restaurant sign (cowboy shrimp) - Houston, Texas - 1983

Roadside flamingo statue - Frog City, Route 41, Florida - 1980

www.publicdomainreview.org/collection/john-margolies-photographs-of-roadside-america/

addendum: seen (not photographed) in a 2007 trip to Garibaldi/Nehalem/Manzanita Oregon — The Wheeler Inn with a wheelbarrow on the roof with a clothed female mannequin loaded into it . . .

[starswallowingsea]

I have one (1) person saying they'd like a post about different styles of lighthouses so that's what this is going to be. As lighthouses serve as aids to navigation both during the day and at night, they have to stand out from each other so every lighthouse will look unique in some form or another. On top of that, many lighthouses were built out in the water and their structures had to be able to withstand the harsh weather in the open water (which not all of them did, several structures have been washed away in particularly powerful storms and had to be rebuilt). Under the cut will be several images of various lighthouses and the different classifications of these structures.

The first type of lighthouse we'll discuss in this post is the integrated lighthouse. Wikipedia describes these lighthouses as "...a lighthouse in which the tower and keeper's dwelling are united in one structure." This refers to lighthouses on land almost exclusively, but these lighthouses take on many different appearances. There are some standard designs, such as the school house design used at South Fox Island and Copper Harbor in Michigan (below), and others are more unique in their designs.

Both of these lighthouses, South Fox Island and Copper Harbor respectively, follow a standard "schoolhouse" design in their basic structure, however to tell them apart, they were given different daymarks, such as South Fox Island's whitewashed brick compared to Copper Harbor's natural cream brick. These differences help sailors to identify which specific lighthouse they're passing by and every single lighthouse will look at least slightly different, especially if it was constructed during the golden age of lighthouse construction, generally considered to be from about 1840-1910 (and obviously lighthouses were constructed before and after this period, but these 70 years saw a huge expansion in lighthouse construction, in part, due to the invention of the fresnel lens and the ability to mass produce them in France).

Not all lighthouses constructed on land are considered to be integrated lighthouses, however. Lighthouses like the one at Cape Hatteras are simply the tower, with the keepers' quarters often being nearby to the structure, but not attached. Cape Hatteras is also one of very few lighthouses bearing a "barber pole" daymark. So far as I can tell, only three lights in the US have this daymark, including St. Augustine in Florida and White Shoal in Michigan (which we'll discuss a little later).

Pictured above: Cape Hatteras Lighthouse, North Carolina, United States // Contis Plage Lighthouse, Landes, France. Both of these lighthouses are towers detached from any keepers quarters.

These are the two most common lighthouses you'll find on land, but what about those lighthouses built on the water? Well, they're divided into a few different categories: Caisson lighthouses, Screw-pile lighthouses, and Crib lighthouses.

Let's start with the Screw-pile lights. These were some of the first lighthouses built out on the water, with their piles being screwed into the mud and sand. These are actually slightly modified from older straightpile or simply pile lighthouses, differing mostly in the shape of the structure. Straightpile lights were taller and more skeletal compared to screw-pile lights. These structures had open legs which helped alleviate some pressure from the waves crashing on the structure, literally just giving them less surface area to hit and damage.

Above: Fowey Rocks Lighthouse, Florida, United States // Chesapeake Bay Lighthouse, Maryland, United States. Fowey Rocks is a Pile Lighthouse and Chesapeake Bay is a Screw-pile lighthouse. Both types of lighthouse included a keepers quarters in the structure above the water on a suspended platform, but are not considered integrated lighthouses like their mainland counterparts.

Caisson Lighthouses were created in response to Screw-pile lights, being both cheaper to build and sturdier as a structure. These lighthouses were built on metal or concrete caissons which were screwed into the sediments, with the rest of the structure completed on top. These lighthouses weren't immune to accidents though, as seen with the Sharps Island lighthouse in Maryland, which was knocked on an angle from an ice floe in 1977 and remains at a tilt to this day. It was decommissioned in 2010.

Above: the Sharps Island Lighthouse, Maryland, United States. This lighthouse actually replaced earlier screw-pile lighthouses that were also destroyed by ice floes through the area. The keepers quarters on the last Screw-pile lighthouse was fully lifted off its legs and carried safely away by the ice floe and none of the keepers inside were hurt.

The final type of lighthouse built out on the water are the crib lighthouses. These lights were built on wood and concrete cribs, often in the Great Lakes region due to the composition of the lake beds. The first crib light was built in 1851 on Waugoshance Shoal and more lighthouses soon followed. The most striking of these crib lights is White Shoal, located near Waugoshance, which has the only red and white barber pole daymark in the United States. Both of these lighthouses are located in the Straits of Mackinac region, which has ~15 lighthouses, including several crib lights (Gray's Reef, Poe Reef, and Spectacle Reef, just to name a few).

Above: Waugoshance Shoal Lighthouse // White Shoal Lighthouse, both located in the Straits of Mackinac, Michigan, United States. Waugoshance Shoal sits in just 4 feet of water, making it very difficult to access for repairs and restoration. The lighthouse was used as bomb target practice during the second World War due to it's location inland and the fact that it had been decommissioned in the 1930s. It still retains it's iconic birdcage lantern room, one of only four that survives in the United States.

There is one more type of lighthouse to discuss, and those are skeletal tower lighthouses. Not every skeletal tower light is considered an official lighthouse for a variety of reasons, but there were a number of lights built in this style. They are very reminiscent of pile lighthouses with their open frams, though skeletal towers can be built on shore as well. They became popular due to the relative ease of construction in remote locations, and that they could be deconstructed and reconstructed if need be. One of the most famous lighthouses built in this manner is Whitefish Point, where the modern Great Lakes Shipwreck Museum is located and where you can still go and see the bell of the infamous Edmund Fitzgerald, which was the last major wreck on the lakes occurring in 1975.

Above: Two different angles of the Whitefish Point Lighthouse. It contains a central staircase in a white column. This lighthouse was not operational during that November gale in 1975 when the Edmund Fitzgerald went down, as the captain noted how inconvenient it was that the light was out in one of his final transmissions. Thankfully there has not been a major shipwreck since then, though shipping culture on the Great Lakes is a whole other post in and of itself.

These are just a few examples of lighthouses, and these structures decorate the coasts of our oceans and several lakes in the world to help ships navigate the rough waters and stay safer on their journeys. I hope you learned something about lighthouses here and can appreciate the effort put into creating them just a little bit more! If you'd like to learn more about American Lighthouses, I'd recommend reading Brilliant Beacons by Eric Jay Dolin, which is where I got a lot of this information, and it includes a lot of anecdotes about lighthouses and their keepers throughout the country.

Above: Cape Agulhas Lighthouse, South Africa // Yokohama Breakwater Light, Japan. Just showing some more examples of lighthouses outside of the United States. Can you identify what types of lighthouses these are?

[scotianostra]

31st of August is the Feast day of St Aidan.

Not much is known about Aidan’s early life, it is thought he was born in Connach Ireland.

St. Aidan began his life of service on the Isle of Iona, the monastery at Iona was established by Irish monks under St. Columba, during the so-called “dark ages.” About a century later, in St. Aidan’s time, the monastery had become a major center of Gaelic Christianity and was receiving and sending monks across Europe.

By this time, Christianity in Northern England was largely replaced by the paganism of both native Britons and the Anglo-Saxon conquerors. The Kingdom of Northumbria (northern England and south-east Scotland) had just been reconquered by King St. Oswald of Northumbria. There was no Scotland or England as such back then, and no real borders Oswald brought the two Northumbrian kingdoms of Bernicia and Deira once again under a single ruler, and promoted the spread of Christianity,the North of Bernica are now part of the South of Scotland.

Oswald took back his father’s throne at the Battle of Heavenfield, where he prepared by praying before a wooden cross, legend says it was a relic of the True Cross. Next, Oswald beheld a vision of St. Columba who promised victory if his generals would be baptized. At council, all agreed to be baptized the night before and victory came to Oswald.

Oswald’s Northumbrian kingdom was small but remarkably diverse. Such was it you could hear at least four languages within the kingdom’s borders and there was a mix of church ruins and pagan sites dotting the landscape. While Christianity was initially brought to Britain by Roman saints, and strengthened by Sts. Gregory and Augustine of Canterbury, it had fallen away from the Britons with the Anglo-Saxon invasions.

When Oswald was killed in battle in 642, Aidan worked equally well with Oswin, king of Deira. Aidan preached widely throughout Northumbria, travelling on foot, so that he could readily talk to everyone he met. When Oswin gave him a horse for use in difficult terrain, Aidan gave it to a beggar soliciting alms. Oswin was angry until, as Bede recounts, Aidan asked if the son of a mare was more precious to the king than a son of God. Oswin sought Aidan's pardon, and promised never again to question or regret any of his wealth being given away to children of God. Both Oswald and Oswin are venerated in England as saints and martyrs.

Scores of Scottish and Irish monks assisted Aidan in his missionary work, building churches and spreading Celtic Christian influence to a degree that Lindisfarne became the virtual capital of Christian England. The saint also recruited classes of Anglo-Saxon youths to be educated at Lindisfarne. Among them was Saint Eata, abbot of Melrose and later of Lindisfarne. In time, Eata's pupil, Saint Cuthbert, also became bishop of Lindisfarne.

Aidan lived a frugal life, and encouraged the laity to fast and study the scriptures. He himself fasted on Wednesdays and Fridays, and seldom ate at the royal table. When a feast was set before him he would give the food away to the hungry. The presents he received were given to the poor or used to buy the freedom of slaves, some of whom entered the priesthood. During Lent Aidan would retire to the small island of Farne for prayer and penance. While there in 651, he saw smoke rising from Bamburgh, which was then under attack by the pagan King Penda of Mercia. He prayed for the wind to change, and many of the besiegers were destroyed by fire.

When Oswin was killed in 651 by his treacherous cousin Oswy, king of Bernicia, Aidan was grief-stricken. The saint outlived Oswin by a mere twelve days, dying in a shelter he had erected against the wall of his church in Bamburgh.

The first pic shows tomb of St Aidan, St Aidan's Church, Bamburgh, the second is a stained glass window depicting Aidan at the Monastic Chapel, Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, New York.

[shadowfromthestarlight]

Planning a vacation for a couple weeks from now. I'm going to take the Amtrak down to South Carolina, then go to Congaree National Park. This will be my 33rd U.S. National Park - and I'll hit it before I turn 33, so I'm staying ahead of the game in terms of visiting every national park at least twice.

Then I'm driving down to St. Augustine and staying there overnight because I want to see it.

Then I'll drive down to south Florida to visit my mom for a couple of days. I'll take her out one night on me because her birthday's in April.

I plan to try a couple of different local raw milks on the trip, too. One I can reliably get at a store near Charleston, SC that I visited on my trip there last year and I'll do it again because I love that store and want to support it, but there are a few others in Florida that I want to try, too. It'll be an adventure.

My dad will freak out that I'm not just letting him book me a flight straight to Ft. Lauderdale but I'm an adult and he will just need to deal with it lol.

And the vacation is going to be a real vacation, not a "I'm 1000 miles away but still available" vacation because as a litigator the subject matter of the work I deal with on a daily basis is very heavy and sad and I need to get away from it for a solid block of 4-5 days so that I don't have a meltdown.

So there's that.

[richwall101]

Bristol Central Library & Abbey Gatehouse

Bristol Central Library is a historic building on the south side of College Green, Bristol, England. It contains the main collections of Bristol's public library. Built in 1906 by Charles Holden, its design was influential in the development of Edwardian Free Style architecture. Holden would later go on to build the Edward VII Memorial Wing of the Bristol Royal Infirmary, giving Bristol two of its most highly regarded Edwardian buildings. The Library has been designated by Historic England as a Grade I listed building.

Top image shows the front elevation the lower image shows the rear elevation which is built in an architectural style after C.R. Mackintosh The West front of Bristol Cathedral is also visible.

The Great Gatehouse Sited beside the Central Library (Top Image) also known as the Abbey Gatehouse, is a historic building on the south side of College Green in Bristol, England. Its earliest parts date back to around 1170. It was the gatehouse for St Augustine's Abbey, which was the precursor of Bristol Cathedral. The gatehouse stands to the cathedral's west, and to its own west it is abutted by the Bristol Central Library building. The library's architectural design incorporated many of the gatehouse's features.

The sculptural decorations on the archways of the gatehouse contain early examples of the use of pointed arches in England. The gatehouse has been designated by Historic England as a Grade I listed building

[irithnova]

Notes on Anitismo - The Ancient Religion of the Philippines by Isabelo de los Reyes.

Keep in mind - this was written a while back.

Ancient Chronicles written by the Jesuit hispanic Friars state that at the that the first spaniards set foot in the Philippines from the coast of visayas to Manila there was a considerable population of Muslim converts

This was especially true for Mindanao due to conversion by Islamic  teachers from Borneo

De los Reyes argues that because of this, to find native Filipino religion at its purest, we must look to the North

Distinguishing native religion without outside influence such as from Islam, Hinduism, Christianity etc can be tricky

However he argues that the traces of Native Filipino religion can be found in the stories superstitions and advice that belong to various Filipino ethnic groups (Tagalogs, Bicolanos, Zambalenos etc)

From the South of the country in Mindanao to the extreme North like Luzon, De los Reyes argues then native Filipino religion was consistent

This religion was Anitism or the Cult of Anito, meaning souls of the ancestors.

Anitism is not a monolithic religion and hosts a broad pantheon ranging from Gods to animals, nature, elements and space.

The Philippines had its own modern spiritism and De los Reyes argues this may have been the origins of the cults of "Romanist Saints" (Catholic saints) in the Philippines. By this I think he means that Filipino spirituality influenced how Filipinos proceeded with Catholic worship.

The oldest chronicles about the Philippines can be found in various museums and libraries (such as the National Library of Madrid, Covenant of St Augustine in Manila)

We can follow these chronicles, from when the Jesuit Pedro Quirino provided news of religion in the Philippines in 1604, followed by reproductions by others like the Jesuit Colin in 1663 and others such as Fr. Morga, Gonzalez de Mendoza, Aduarte etc.

Fr Morga said that Filipinos practised Anitism in certain regions like Camarines and Cagayan.

Some traditions would say that Manila and its regions were not originally native to the island - they were from Malayan islands and other remote areas.

Before the Spaniards arrived, Islamic teachers from Borneo came to preach and interacted with the locals 

Their teachings and beliefs spread quickly throughout the Philippines 

Fr. Grijalva writes that they (Filipinos) started adopting their traditions and took on their names.

De Los Reyes argues that Spanish conquistadors' arrival/conquest was delayed because Filipinos were already familiar with various religions and beliefs and also because of the hands of Datu Lapu Lapu. What I believe he is arguing is that Datu Lapu Lapu and the previous exposure Filipinos had to different religions at first delayed Spanish influence from spreading so quickly.

Other islanders who weren't under the control of the government in the Philippines has their beliefs influenced by religious preachers who travelled to them from the Straits of Malacca and the Red Sea.

An account, dated April 20th 1572 (preserved in the archives of India) which is from the conquest of Luzon details "In these towns, closest to the sea, they do not eat any pork, which the moors taught them. But if you ask them, they say they do not know Muhammed or his law." This account was reproduced by Wenceslao Retana.

In actuality, very few Filipinos could understand/read the teachings of the Koran despite the Islamic influence.

In Filipino traditions, reverence and worship was given to nature and the elements, and this was usually consistent throughout the islands.

Native Filipino religion beliefs include elements, animals, stars and ancestors.

Filipino religion in Manila and nearby areas was a mixture or Anitism, Buddhism, Hinduism and Islam brought by the Malays of Borneo.

Vocabulary included Sanskrit and Malay terms such as Bathala, meaning Lord.

However these terms are not used in Northern provinces.

De Los Reyes argues that Itnegs and other mountain tribes conserved and maintained the purest form of Filipino religion

In the Ilocos, Cagayan, Isabela and other provinces of Northern Luzon, native Filipino religion was more prevalent 

Hindus and Buddhists converted many in Java and Malaysia.

However Muslim influence became dominant in 1478 - 60 years before the Dutch invasion.

According to Javanese legends, Hindus arrives in Java 78 years before Christ.

The first Malays came from the Minangkabau river region to establish cities in Malacca , Ojohor and Singapore in the 12th century, as per Malacca records.

In the 13th, 14th and 15th centuries, there were various Malaysian emigrations reaching the Philippines 

De Los Reyes argues that Filipinos may have also populated the islands of Malaysia, and emigrations could have originated from strong winds coming down from the North.

The first Spaniards found the son of Lakandula, King of Manila, when they went to Borneo.

The emperor's master of ceremonies from Japan (Mr Fujita) argued that emigration likely came from the north and that Filipinos may have some relations to the Japanese.

According to Geographers and Historians of the Mariana Islands, what De Los Reyes calls the "know it all Spanish" - had no idea about interesting ruins found in Oceania, one of which was a prehistoric statue that was being held in the British museum.

He argues there may be hidden megaliths, artefacts, and remnants of lost civilisation in the Philippines, as seen in various locations such as : Butacan caves, Pangibalon Hill, Madias de Iloilo and Nasso.

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings stands on the dunes at Crescent Beach, Florida

Many don't know she also had a beachfront home south of St. Augustine. She and Hemingway met for the first time at a bar south of St. Augustine Moby Dick .

The story has been told often that Rawlings recognized Hemingway and had the bartender give him a note. "Are you Hemingway?" He wrote back, “Only if you’re Rawlings.” Rawlings first rented the oceanfront property in the summer of 1939 from its original owner, Ralph Poole, a founding partner of Marineland. By September, Rawlings was so smitten with the peaceful oasis and its sweeping views of both the Intracoastal and the Atlantic, that she purchased the property, sandpapered Poole’s name off the mailbox, and painted a droopy, black inked “Rawlings” in its place. After purchasing the cottage, Rawlings split her time between her new home and the orange groves of Cross Creek that first brought her to Florida from New York in 1928.

Photo from the George Smathers Library at the University of Florida.

(Old Flagler Beach)

[heritagebrowser]

Sint-Servaasbasiliek in Maastricht

(Pictures 1-5) The Mountain Portal (dutch: Bergportaal), Latin: Porticus montis, also called Mountain Gate or South Portal, is an early Gothic statue portal in the Basilica of St. Servatius in the Dutch city of Maastricht. In fact, the portal consists of a vestibule with three richly decorated walls at the southwestern Mountain Gate. The Mountain Portal is seen as an important link in the development of the Gothic church portal. The sculpture dates from the late 12th and early 13th centuries, making it the earliest example of Gothic sculpture in the Netherlands (Low Countries).

The first phase of construction was probably around 1170-80, after which construction probably stopped for some time, continuing shortly after 1200 and completing around 1215. In the meantime, plans had changed and it was decided to enlarge the portal using the already existing parts, which led to a somewhat forced result. There was also probably a change in the iconographic scheme: the older representations seem to point to a Marian portal; the later on a Christ or king's portal. The original portal consisted of the Marian representations on the lintel and tympanum, and the two inner archivolts. The lower parts of the side walls also appear to belong to this construction phase. The later extension consisted of the two outer archivolts, combined with an increase in the gate passage. In order to achieve a unity of style, the portal was painted with a blue-gray paint, traces of which were found on all parts.

(Pictures 6-8) exterior of the westwork of the church. The core of the monumental westwork of the St. Servatius Church was probably constructed during the first construction phase of the Romanesque church, but underwent a major renovation in the twelfth century. The heavy coal sandstone substructure has a rectangular plan with a slightly protruding middle section. The three horizontal facade zones decrease in height towards the top and are equipped with saving fields with round arches. In the upper zone there are round-arched windows with partial columns. In the course of the thirteenth century, the chimney walls or supporting arches were probably added, which extend over the street of Sint Servaasklooster. The northern and southern west towers (with nineteenth-century slate roofs) date from the same period. There have been several middle towers between these two towers over the centuries.

(Pictures 9-10) The so-called double relief on the westwork altar (ca. 1150-60) indicates by its shape that it was intended for the westwork from the beginning: the shape of the altar corresponds to the ground floor of the westwork; the two parts of the relief reflect the architectural structure of the imperial lodge in the westwork. The whole is a reflection of Augustine's Civitate Dei ('city of God').On the upper, semicircular panel, Christ hands the key of heaven to Peter and the key of Servatius to Servatius. The lower, rectangular panel depicts the Virgin Mary with the Child Jesus in a mandorla, held by two angels. The mandorla and other parts of the relief were once decorated with precious stones.

[brookstonalmanac]

Holidays 2.20

Holidays

Adult Support & Protection Day (Scotland)

Ansel Adams Day

Battle of Salta Day (Argentina)

Blessed Wulfric’s Day

Bean Planting Day

Bun Day (Iceland)

Clean Out Your Bookcases Day

Day of Heavenly Hundred Heroes (Ukraine)

Deadpool Day

Ectodermal Dysplasias Awareness Day

FFA Alumni Day

FFA National Day of Service

Flying Car Day

Futurism Day

Great American Spit Out

Heart Recovery Awareness Day

Hoodie-Hoo Day (Northern Hemisphere)

Hotel Elevator Day

Hunter S. Thompson Remembrance Day

International Cat Day (Mexico; South America)

International Day of Cameramen & Photographers

International Day of Commemorating Air Crash Victims & Their Families

International Ectodermal Dysplasias Awareness Day

International Lego Classicism Day

International Pipe Smoking Day

International Urogynecology Day

Johnny Cash Day (Los Angeles)

Kurt Cobain Day

Metropolitan Museum of Art Day

Missing Day

Mystery Science Theater Day

National Comfy Day

National Day of Solidarity with Muslim, Arab and South Asian Immigrants

National Handcuff Day

National Leadership Day

National Whistleblower Reward Day

Native Agents Day

No Politics Day

Orbit Day

Princess Alice Day

Psychology Day

Rih Day (a.k.a. Rihanna Appreciation Day)

Society for Psychical Research Day

Student Volunteer Day

Thank You Plant Medicine Day

Trans Men and Transmasculine Day (Brazil)

Toothpick Day

Una Asteroid Day

Women in Blue Jeans Day

World Day of Social Justice (UN)

Food & Drink Celebrations

Clam Chowder Day

National Cherry Pie Day

National Muffin Day

Nature Celebrations

Dogwood Day (French Republic)

Kalmia (Great Hope; Korean Birth Flowers)

Love Your Pet Day

Independence, Flag & Related Days

Bardo (Declared; 2020) [unrecognized]

Castacia (Declared; 2018) [unrecognized]

Chinland (from UK, 1948) [unrecognized]

Malacca Independence Proclamation Day (Malacca, a.k.a. Melaka, Malaysia)

Prussia Disestablishment Day

Statehood Day (Arunachal Pradesh; India)

Statehood Day (Mizoran; India)

3rd Thursday in February

Energy Saving Day (Italy) [3rd Thursday]

Gator Nation Giving Day (Florida) [3rd Thursday]

Global Information Governance Day [3rd Thursday]

Introduce a Girl to Engineering Day (a.k.a. Discover Girl Day) [Thursday of National Engineers Week]

National Conductive Education Day [3rd Thursday]

Switch Off Thursday (UK) [Thursday of Go Green Week]

Theater Thursday [3rd Thursday of Each Month]

Thirsty Thursday [Every Thursday]

Three for Thursday [Every Thursday]

Thrift Store Thursday [Every Thursday]

Throwback Thursday [Every Thursday]

Turkey Thursday [3rd Thursday of Each Month]

World Anthropology Day [3rd Thursday]

World Cholanglocarccinoma Day [3rd Thursday]

Weekly Holidays beginning February 20 (3rd Week of February)

National Chip Week (thru 2.26) [UK]

Festivals On or Beginning February 20, 2025

Bahrain International Garden Show (Manama, Bahrain) [thru 2.23]

BlendFest on the Coast (San Simeon and Cambria, California) [thru 2.23]

Dublin International Film Festival (Dublin, Ireland) [thru 3.2]

FARE Idaho Field to Fork Festival (Boise, Idaho)

Georgia National Rodeo (Perry, Georgia) [thru 2.22]

Limassol Carnival (Limassol, Cyprus) [thru 3.2]

Marbleseed Organic Farming Conference (La Crosse, Wisconsin) [thru 2.22]

Newport Seafood & Wine Festival (Newport, Oregon) [thru 2.23]

New York Farm Show (Syracuse, New York) [thru 2.22]

Simplot Games (Boise, Idaho) [thru 2.22]

Slamdance Film Festival (Los Angeles, California) [thru 2.26]

South Beach Wine & Food Festival (South Beach, Florida) [thru 2.23]

St. Augustine Spanish Food & Wine Festival (St. Augustine, Florida) [thru 2.22]

Whooping Crane Festival [thru 2.23]

Wintergrass Music Festival (Bellevue, Washington) [thru 2.23]

Feast Days

Adopt a Goblin Orphan Day (Shamanism)

Day of Tacita (Goddess of Silence; Ancient Rome)

Don’t Think About Elephants Day (Pastafarian)

Eleutherius of Tournai (Christian; Saint)

Eucherius of Orléans (Christian; Saint)

Francisco Marto and Jacinta Marto (Christian; Saint)

Frederick Douglass (Episcopal Church (USA))

I.G. Farben Day (Church of the SubGenius; Saint)

Levitation Day (Pastafarian)

Lucretius (Positivist; Saint)

Mr. Can You Guess (Muppetism)

Nine Waves Day (Celtic Book of Days)

Pierre Boulle (Writerism)

Sadoth (Christian; Martyr)

Scleucia and Ctesiphon, with 128 companions (Christian; Martyrs)

Tacita’s Day — Day of Silence (Pagan)

Tyrannio, Zenobius, et al., in Phoenicia (Christian; Martyrs)

Ulrick of England (Christian; Saint)

William Rimmer (Artology)

Wulfric of Haselbury (Christian; Saint)

Lunar Calendar Holidays

Chinese: Month 1 (Wu-Yin), Day 23 (Geng-Shen)

Day Pillar: Metal Monkey

12-Day Officers/12 Gods: Destruction Day (破 Po) [Inauspicious]

Holidays: None Known

Secular Saints Days

Ansel Adams (Photography)

Ivan Albright (Art)

Robert Altman (Entertainment)

Lauren Ambrose (Entertainment)

Charles Barkley (Sports)

Walter Becker (Music)

Pierre Boulle (Literature)

Kurt Cobain (Music)

Cindy Crawford (Entertainment)

Jan de Baen (Art)

Phil Esposito (Sports)

J. Geils (Music)

Ellen Gilchrist (Literature)

Kelsy Grammar (Entertainment)

Mike Leigh (Entertainment)

Richard Matheson (Literature)

Elie Nadelman (Art)

Trevor Noah (Entertainment)

Sidney Poitier (Entertainment)

Rihanna (Music)

Lew Soloff (Music)

Justin Verlander (Sports)

Jimmy Yancey (Music)

Lucky & Unlucky Days

Taian (大安 Japan) [Lucky all day.]

Premieres

Africa Before Dark (Ub Iwerks Oswald the Lucky Rabbit Disney Cartoon; 1928)

The African Queen (Film; 1952)

Aquamania (Goofy Disney Cartoon; 1961)

The Barber of Seville, by Gioachino Rossini (Opera; 1816)

Candy (Film; 1969)

Cat Meets Mouse (Terrytoons Cartoon; 1942)

Columbo (TV Serties; 1968)

Dating Do’s and Don’t: How to Be a ‘Mr. Good Date’ (WB Cartoon; 2005)

Drag-a-Long Droopy (Tex Avery Droopy MGM Cartoon; 1954)

The Duff (Film; 2015)

Eight Days A Week, by The Beatles (Song; 1965)

Euro Trip (Film; 2004)

Felineous Assault (Herman & Katnip Cartoon; 1959)

Felix the Cat Stars in Stripes (Felix the Cat Cartoon; 1927)

Follow the Fleet (Film; 1936)

Follow the Swallow or The Inside Story (Rocky & Bullwinkle Cartoon, S3, Ep. 153; 1962)

Freddy the Freshman (WB MM Cartoon; 1932)

George Harrison, by George Harrison (Album; 1979)

Give It To Me Baby, by James Brown (Song; 1981)

Go Now, by The Moody Blues (Song; 1965)

The House That Cat Built (WB Tom & Jerry Cartoon; 2021)

How the West Was Won (Film; 1963)

Instant Karma, by the Plastic Ono Band (Song; 1970)

Little Brown Jug (Fleischer/Famous Screen Song Cartoon; 1918)

The Magnet Men, Parts 1 & 2 (Underdog Cartoon, S1, Eps. 41 & 42 1965)

The Mail Pilot (Aesop’s Film Fable Cartoon; 1927)

Metropolitan Museum of Art (New York Museum; 1877)

The Milkman (Ub Iwerks Flip the Frog Cartoon; 1932)

Moose Hunters (Disney Cartoon; 1937)

On A Roll (WB Tom & Jerry Cartoon; 2021)

Pa & Ma Have Their Fortues Told (Keeping Up with the Joneses (Gaumont Cartoon Comedy Cartoon; 1916)

Piano Concerto in E-flat Major, by Rudolph Ganz (Piano Concerto; 1941)

Playtime for Rollo or Rest in Pieces (Rocky & Bullwinkle Cartoon, S3, Ep. 154; 1962)

The Popcorn Story (Columbia Favorites Cartoon; 1958)

Robot Chicken (Animated TV Series; 2005)

Sixth Column, by Robert A. Heinlein (Novel; 1949)

So Big, by Edna Ferber (Novel; 1924)

Sofia the First (Animated Disney TV Series; 2015)

Still Alice (Film; 2015)

Stop in the Name of Love, by The Supremes (Song; 1964)

Symphony No. 4 in Eb Minor, by Anton Bruckner (Symphony; 1881)

There You go, by Pink (Song; 2000)

This Old House (Home Improvement TV Series; 1979)

The Threatening Storm (Hearst-Pathe News Cartoon; 1918)

Veronica, by Elvis Costello (Song; 1989)

Welcome to Mooseport (Film; 2004)

What’s Going On, by Marvin Gaye (Song; 1965)

Wild Wife (WB MM Cartoon; 1954)

Woodpecker Wanted (Woody Woodpecker Cartoon; 1965)

Today’s Name Days

Corona, Falko, Jacinta (Austria)

Lav, Lea, Leon (Croatia)

Oldřich (Czech Republic)

Eucharias (Denmark)

Ardi, Hardi, Hardo, Kardo, Meinhard, Meino (Estonia)

Heli, Helinä, Heljä, Hely (Finland)

Aimée (France)

Corona, Falko, Jacinta (Germany)

Leon (Greece)

Aladár, Álmos (Hungary)

Eleuterio, Eros, Otokars, Otomars, Silvano, Smuidra, Ulrico, Vitauts (Italy)

Otokars, Otomārs, Smuidra, Vitauts (Latvia)

Eitvydė, Leonas, Visgintas (Lithuania)

Halldis, Halldor (Norway)

Euchariusz, Eustachiusz, Eustachy, Leon, Ludmiła, Ludomiła, Ostap, Siestrzewit (Poland)

Leon (Romania)

Lívia (Slovakia)

Eleuterio, Jacinta (Spain)

Vivianne (Sweden)

Svitlana (Ukraine)

Aimee, Alaric, Alarica, Alarice, Aimee, Ami, Amy, Amya, Cyd, Cydney, Desmond, Sid, Sidney, Syd, Sydnee, Sydney, Ulric (USA)

Today’s National Name Days

National Kurt Day

Today is Also…

Day of Year: Day 51 of 2025; 314 days remaining in the year

ISO Week: Day 4 of Week 8 of 2025

Celtic Tree Calendar: Nuin (Ash) [Day 23 of 28]

Chinese: Month 1 (Wu-Yin), Day 23 (Geng-Shen)

Chinese Year of the: Snake 4723 (until February 17, 2026) [Ding-Chou]

Coptic: 13 Amshir 1741

Druid Tree Calendar: Pine (Feb 19-28) [Day 2 of 10]

Hebrew: 22 Shevat 5785

Islamic: 21 Sha’ban 1446

Julian: 7 February 2025

Moon: 50%: 3rd Quarter

Positivist: 23 Homer (2nd Month) [Lucretius)

Runic Half Month: Sigel (Sun) [Day 15 of 15]

Season: Winter (Day 62 of 90)

SUn Calendar: 21 Gray; Seventhday [21 of 30]

Week: 3rd Week of February

Zodiac:

Tropical (Typical) Zodiac: Aquarius (Day 2 of 30)

Sidereal Zodiac: Aquarius (Day 8 of 30)

Schmidt Zodiac: Capricorn (Day 26 of 27)

IAU Boundaries (Current) Zodiac: Aquarius (Day 4 of 23)

IAU Boundaries (1977) Zodiac: Aquarius (Day 5 of 24)

[whencyclopedia]

J. R. Giddings' Account of the Dade Massacre of the Second Seminole War

The Dade Massacre (also given as the Dade Battle, 28 December 1835) was the opening engagement of the Second Seminole War (1835-1842) between Euro-American forces and those of the Seminole, Black Seminole, and runaway slaves who had found freedom among the Native Americans of Florida. Of the 110 men of Dade's command, 108 were killed.

Dade Massacre Site Illustration

Unknown Artist (Public Domain)

Major Francis L. Dade (l. 1792-1835) was ordered by General Duncan Lamont Clinch (l. 1787-1849) to march his men from Fort Brooke to reinforce the garrison at Fort King and chose a slave named Louis Pacheco, owned by one Antonio Pacheco of a nearby plantation, as his guide. Louis, who secretly had close ties to the Exiles (runaway slaves from the Carolinas, Georgia, and other slave-holding states), Black Seminoles, and Seminoles, alerted them to the route Dade would take to Fort King and suggested the perfect place for an ambush.

Louis' plan worked as envisioned and almost the entire command, including Dade, was killed in the attack. The casualties for the Seminole alliance were three killed and five wounded. The Dade Massacre and the ensuing Second Seminole War were a direct result of the Indian Removal Act of 1830 and the common practice of slave-hunters from the United States kidnapping former slaves, Black Seminoles, and freedmen for enslavement on US plantations.

There was no formal victory declared at the end of the Second Seminole War, and no treaties were signed. Many of the Seminole, Black Seminole, and former slaves were able to negotiate relocation to Indian Territory (modern-day Oklahoma), while others were forcibly removed, and still others never surrendered and remained in Florida.

One of the most detailed accounts of the Dade Massacre comes from the famous abolitionist Joshua Reed Giddings (l. 1795-1864) of the US House of Representatives in his book The Exiles of Florida: or, The Crimes Committed by Our Government against the Maroons, who Fled from South Carolina and other Slave States, Seeking Protection under Spanish Laws, published in 1858. Giddings' account is based on an earlier history of Florida, which drew on interviews with members of the Seminole forces that ambushed Dade in December 1835.

Joshua Reed Giddings

Matthew Brady (Public Domain)

Spanish Florida, Tensions, & Second Seminole War

The region that became Florida was claimed by the Spanish after Juan Ponce de León landed there in April 1513. Between 1539 and 1559, Spanish settlements developed, displacing the indigenous peoples who included the Creek and the Pensacola nations, but trade was established, and Spaniards married Native Americans of various nations, and, in time, also former slaves who had escaped from bondage in the Thirteen Colonies.

In 1738, Fort Mose, near St. Augustine, was established and garrisoned by escaped slaves who were granted freedom and citizenship in exchange for their defense of the region against encroachments by the British colonists to the north. Fort Mose became the first legally recognized free Black settlement in North America.

Spain encouraged slaves in the Thirteen Colonies to flee to Florida, and many did so, along with an influx of Chickasaw, Choctaw, Muscogee Creek, and Yamasee citizens, some of whom broke off from the larger Creek bands to settle on their own, and these became known as the Seminole, whose name may be derived from the Creek for "runaway" or "outcast." Some Seminole intermarried with former slaves and established their own communities of Black Seminoles. These various groups lived and traded with each other until Spain lost Florida to the British in 1763 after the French and Indian War (1754-1763). The British then established themselves in the region and encouraged their citizens to settle there.

A Seminole Woman

George Catlin (Public Domain)

The Seminole sided with the British during the American Revolutionary War (1775-1783) and, afterwards, Spain was able to retake Florida, and it became a haven for runaway slaves and Native Americans fleeing Euro-American persecution. General Andrew Jackson led troops into Florida to break up these enclaves of African Americans and Native Americans in the First Seminole War (1816-1819). After Jackson became President of the United States, he issued the Indian Removal Act of 1830 to forcibly relocate the Seminole (as well as many other Native peoples of North America) to Indian Territory west of the Mississippi River. Pressure on the Seminole to comply with this led to the Second Seminole War, which also encouraged one of the largest slave uprisings in US history as the Seminole resistance inspired slaves on plantations in the Carolinas and Georgia to fire the fields and flee to Florida.

The event that set the Second Seminole War in motion (though not the cause of the conflict) was the Dade Massacre of 1835. To the Seminole, Black Seminole, and free Blacks of Florida, the Dade Massacre was a great victory, and leaders like Chief Osceola of the Seminole (l. 1804-1838) and John Horse of the Black Seminole (also known as Jean Caballao, l. c. 1812-1882) looked forward to many more. To the US authorities, however, the Dade Massacre was simply proof that the Native Americans had to be removed from Florida along with any of their allies. Osceola died in captivity in 1838, but John Horse was able to lead his people to Oklahoma and then, when US authorities refused to honor their agreement, on to Mexico.

Major Francis Dade's Death

Jesse Olney (Public Domain)

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