#a plea to Christians

[mrkilroi]

Mitzvot=Commandment

[privaceyiskeytogetcomfy-18andup]

i wanna hold a sof tummy so bad rn. a round, perfect, warm thing to hold. may the lord hear my plea

[lycanr0t]

Shout out to everyone who does not celebrate christmas and/or who actively dislikes it for whatever reason but is bombarded with it anyways. We're almost through just gotta survive a little longer 😩

[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

Trust in God

1 For the leader; with stringed instruments. A psalm of David.

I 2 Answer me when I call, my saving God. When troubles hem me in, set me free; take pity on me, hear my prayer.

II 3 How long, O people, will you be hard of heart? Why do you love what is worthless, chase after lies? Selah 4 Know that the Lord works wonders for his faithful one; the Lord hears when I call out to him. 5 Tremble and sin no more; weep bitterly within your hearts, wail upon your beds, 6 Offer fitting sacrifices and trust in the Lord.

III 7 Many say, “May we see better times! Lord, show us the light of your face!” Selah 8 But you have given my heart more joy than they have when grain and wine abound. 9 In peace I will lie down and fall asleep, for you alone, Lord, make me secure. — Psalm 4 | New American Bible Revised Edition (NABRE) New American Bible, revised edition © 2010, 1991, 1986, 1970 Confraternity of Christian Doctrine, Inc. All Rights Reserved. Cross References: Genesis 26:22; Leviticus 25:18; Numbers 6:26; Deuteronomy 12:10; Deuteronomy 33:19; Job 7:7; Psalm 3:3-4; Psalm 6:8-9; Psalm 12:2; Psalm 37:3; Psalm 17:6; Psalm 63:6; Isaiah 9:3; Acts 14:17; Ephesians 4:26

[incinerator-deluxe]

do u guys think that maybe if i pray really really really hard God will give me free testosterone 4ever& ill never have to schedule one of these fuckass appointements ever again .bc i don’t think so (my understanding💡🧠&belief 🎇is that God is NOT ❌all-powerrful .just powerful in certaij ways most ly relateding to the humaj heart.& so No Free Testosterone 4 Jack .) but maybe if several other people think so Still Nothing Will Change .thatd be so aweeome though

[milesworld96]

ABSOLUTE ZERO FUCKS RIGHT HERE💀💀

[slave-of-the-lord-jesus-christ]

An Earnest Plea to Everyone Who Loves Hillsong and Bethel Music

[apocalypselog]

59 Deliver me from my enemies, O my God;

protect me from those who rise up against me;

2 deliver me from those who work evil,

and save me from bloodthirsty men.

3 For behold, they lie in wait for my life;

fierce men stir up strife against me.

For no transgression or sin of mine, O Lord,

4 for no fault of mine, they run and make ready.

Awake, come to meet me, and see!

5 You, Lord God of hosts, are God of Israel.

Rouse yourself to punish all the nations;

spare none of those who treacherously plot evil. Selah

6 Each evening they come back,

howling like dogs

and prowling about the city.

7 There they are, bellowing with their mouths

with swords in their lips��

for “Who,” they think,[b] “will hear us?”

8 But you, O Lord, laugh at them;

you hold all the nations in derision.

9 O my Strength, I will watch for you,

for you, O God, are my fortress.

10 My God in his steadfast love[c] will meet me;

God will let me look in triumph on my enemies.

11 Kill them not, lest my people forget;

make them totter[d] by your power and bring them down,

O Lord, our shield!

12 For the sin of their mouths, the words of their lips,

let them be trapped in their pride.

For the cursing and lies that they utter,

13 consume them in wrath;

consume them till they are no more,

that they may know that God rules over Jacob

to the ends of the earth. Selah

14 Each evening they come back,

howling like dogs

and prowling about the city.

15 They wander about for food

and growl if they do not get their fill.

16 But I will sing of your strength;

I will sing aloud of your steadfast love in the morning.

For you have been to me a fortress

and a refuge in the day of my distress.

17 O my Strength, I will sing praises to you,

for you, O God, are my fortress,

the God who shows me steadfast love.

[olivettheory]

Heavy Metal Is NOT Satanic. Your Upper Lip Just Stinks.

Medium Facebook Instagram Goodreads Tumblr God Bless Heavy Metal Today I want to share my personal journey exploring the contentious intersection between religion and music, particularly heavy metal. I shed light on my journey, my taste in music, and explore the hypocrisy behind fundamentalist gatekeepers condemning an entire genre as “satanic” based on subjective personal vagaries. I argue…

[littlebird95]

I have always perceived the act of kneeling in the scene where Tav undergoes the transformation into a spawn not merely as an act of submission, but as a kind of oath-taking ceremony. In D&D lore, vampires possess a lawful evil alignment, which is inseparable from strict principles of hierarchy. Astarion calls Tav his consort, emphasizing not only his power and status but also Tav's crucial role in his plans. This also symbolizes their union within the framework of vampiric hierarchy and the new life that will begin after Tav's transformation.

Consort is a title traditionally used to refer to the spouse of a monarch. In the context of a royal family, a consort does not hold the rights of a ruler but serves as an important figure in public and state affairs.

It is particularly noteworthy that it is right after the night of the turning that Astarion first calls Tav his consort, which I personally cannot see as mere coincidence unless he intentionally imbued the event with ritualistic meaning. Such wording is undoubtedly steeped in an aura of regal solemnity, which is especially remarkable for Astarion, given his yearning for grandeur and liberation from his former subordinate position.

When Tav knelt before Astarion, I was reminded of the painting «The Coronation of Napoleon» by the French artist Jacques-Louis David. The painting depicts the moment when Napoleon Bonaparte crowns his wife Josephine during the ceremony held in 1804 at Notre-Dame de Paris. Napoleon stands on an elevated platform in his imperial attire, including a luxurious cloak trimmed with ermine, as he places the crown on Josephine's head himself.

Meanwhile, in the developer's note to the animation tag for this scene in the game, it says: «Tav kneels before Astarion. Astarion stands proud before the Player. He is powerful. He is free.»

I have no doubt that Astarion was indeed imbuing this moment with a special ritualistic meaning. He wants Tav to acknowledge his supremacy by kneeling before him, as if it were an oath-taking ceremony. This is not just an act of dominance but a kind of ritual with profound cultural and historical undertones.

Undoubtedly, this scene is filled with clear eroticism, which perfectly aligns with Astarion's love for decadence and theatrics. I find this quite amusing, and I'm sure Astarion also enjoyed playing with this subtext, giving the moment a particular sexual tension and sharpness. All of this comes together in a quirky pattern, creating an exceptionally rich scene where cultural and erotic motifs intertwine.

Kneeling is a gesture that carries a variety of meanings depending on the cultural, historical, and social context. It is commonly associated with expressions of respect, submission, devotion, or acknowledgment. In a religious context, kneeling symbolizes reverence before a higher power, humility, or repentance. For example, in Christianity, people kneel before an altar or during prayer. In some religions, the gesture signifies a plea for help, mercy, or forgiveness. In a monarchical context, kneeling has been used as part of rituals such as knighting ceremonies or being admitted into the circle of royal privileges. In the feudal context of the Middle Ages, vassals knelt before their liege lord as a symbol of loyalty and submission. This act was often accompanied by kissing the hand or a symbol of authority (such as a sword or crown). In a romantic context, kneeling is a gesture symbolizing a marriage proposal, as well as an expression of respect, admiration, and love.

For myself, I highlight the following:

Acknowledgment of sovereignty — kneeling before a monarch symbolizes submission to the authority of the crown and recognition of its legitimacy.

Acceptance into the circle of royal privileges — in this context, the act can be interpreted as a ritual of initiation, where kneeling marks entry into an exclusive circle, granting access to the advantages and status associated with monarchy.

Astarion perceives himself and Tav as something superior to all other beings, stemming from the fact that Tav becomes a vampire. He believes that the transformation of Tav into a vampire grants them the opportunity to become "something more," elevating them to a new level. This transformation not only makes Tav a vampire but also symbolizes their entry into a special, elite category of beings who possess power and authority beyond the reach of ordinary mortals or other creatures. For Astarion, as a vampire, this means that Tav can now share in his greatness.

Astarion: You are stronger now. Better. You will thank me one day, I am sure. Astarion: You will be stronger, swifter, sharper, but you won't be different. You were already perfect before. It's hard to improve.

An expression of respect and devotion — such a gesture underscores reverence for the monarch as a divine or political symbol.

Kneeling as an act of humiliation:

In Astarion's thoughts, one can discern that he views Tav’s decision to stay with him and become his spawn as something indicative of degradation, perhaps even moral decline.

When Tav agrees to become Astarion’s spawn, it can be interpreted as a conscious act of self-sacrifice, where they relinquish equality in the relationship and willingly submit to him. This step symbolizes the rejection of personal autonomy and the acceptance of absolute dependence. Tav entrusts their life entirely into his hands. Astarion: You have given me everything. Thank you. Astarion likely perceives such a decision as a form of "degradation," believing that a normal person, from his perspective, would not make such a choice. He tries to understand why Tav would do this and concludes that Tav derives a certain satisfaction from such a dynamic, perhaps even having an inclination toward it. Narrator: But perhaps you wish to degrade yourself. And he knows it.

This explains his surprise when Tav, contrary to his expectations, asks for tenderness. It’s simply not what he anticipates. His reaction reveals confusion and forces him to reassess Tav’s motives, as such a request goes beyond the scenario he had envisioned.

Astarion: So, tell me what you desire. What can I do for my dearest pet? Player: I want you. I want your body. Astarion: You've earned it. But don't you want more - don't you want eternity? One more bite is all it would take. As for Welch's remark that Astarion "won’t respect you," this narrative only applies to the phrase "I want your body," which itself is not required in the game. This line adds an interpretative layer but is not central to all the possible interactions between Tav and Ascended Astarion.

Baudelaire Welch: He's literally looking down on you because you are someone in that situation who believes you deserve sex as a reward. He will give it to you, but he won't respect you.

In essence, the entire narrative about the sexualization parallels the scene with Araj in Act 2, where the player asks for sex as a reward for defending Astarion before Araj or helping with Yurgir's murder. And although Welch desperately tried to impose this motif in the Ascended route, limiting roleplay, it is not the only one, and far from the most obvious. There are other reasons to help Astarion with the ritual, and even he is aware of them:

Astarion: Of course I understand love. All too well. The gravest crimes committed in this world are committed for love. A hunger crueller than bloodlust.

Many also overlook that Tav's consent to become his spawn is seen by Astarion as an expression of exceptional trust and devotion. His gratitude the following morning confirms this: he sincerely expresses appreciation for the trust shown in the very first phrase he addresses to Tav. Astarion: You are so beautiful... And you will be beautiful forever. Thank you for trusting me. Moreover, trust becomes the leitmotif of his dialogues afterwards, especially when their relationship with Tav is questioned or criticized by their companions. Each time, he emphasizes that their relationship is built on this foundation:

Karlach: You know, Astarion, I'm not sure I can trust you anymore. You're… different. A bit scary, to be honest. Astarion: I have one person who trusts me completely. That's enough for me. Lae'zel: You have shared your new power with your lover, Astarion. I'm surprised - I expected you to turn your back once you got what you wanted. Astarion: Quite the opposite - I need someone I can trust. And now I know they'll never betray me.

Unfortunately, in the kiss scenes of Patch 6, the original context was lost, and the focus shifted to themes of fear and humiliation that were not present in the original dynamic with Ascended Astarion. Considering that the kiss scenes were based on the scene of Tav’s transformation into a spawn, which is almost obvious, their emotional tone was distorted. For example, initially, Tav knelt entirely of their own free will, which emphasized the intentional and voluntary nature of their decision. In the kiss scenes, on the contrary, Tav is shown kneeling out of fear, the source of which remains unclear. Throughout the game, it is never shown what consequences Tav could fear for refusing to do so. In the transformation scene, Tav can refuse and not face any frightening consequences.

It also seems illogical when Tav is frightened when Astarion grabs them by the throat. This contradicts the transformation scene, where Tav themself initiated it, asking Astarion to hurt them and even tilting their head back, exposing their neck.

Astarion: It will only hurt a bit, the pleasure will be far greater than the pain. Player: Oh, come on. Let it hurt.

In the kiss scenes, however, this dynamic, based on mutual consent, was changed to an act of violence. This further exacerbates the inconsistency, especially considering that in the original script of this scene, it was noted that both Tav and Astarion derive pleasure from what is happening.

In dialogues, Ascended Astarion also demonstrated a willingness to be tender with Tav when Tav expressed it through words. He was not solely focused on rough dominance, as was attempted to be imposed in Patch 6. This change is likely an attempt by Larian to please the audience who, without going through the Ascended route and without understanding its nuances, actively promotes the narrative of the collective majority about the cycle of abuse.

Yes, the facial expressions in the kiss animations were changed due to fan requests for the Ascended route, but the aftertaste and consequences of these changes remain.

Some players still argue that facial expressions in role-playing games should be imposed "for the sake of the great narrative," while others use game conventions, such as cyclicality of animations, to demand the return of scared expressions. However, bringing back this dynamic would undermine the story and the character that fans of Ascended Astarion have known and loved for six months after the game's release.

In my opinion, to expand the role-playing experience, it would be much more useful not to return the scared expressions as an option, but to add the possibility for the lord to use more standard kisses, similar to those in Patch 5.

It is unclear why many are convinced that the vampire lord is incapable of tender kisses with Tav when his love scene demonstrated just this tenderness, and the moment with the kiss on the hand is one of the most refined and delicate romantic episodes. In particular, the kiss on the hand, which happens after the "be gentle" option is chosen, not only emphasizes Astarion's attention to Tav's desires and his willingness to listen, but also contradicts the notion of his exclusively dominant and cold nature.

If Astarion is capable of expressing such tenderness in intimacy, why is it excluded that the same softness could be maintained in his kisses?

The kiss in Patch 6 would only make sense if, upon choosing the "be gentle… if you can" option, Astarion ignored Tav's request, and his actions were no different from those in the "let it hurt" option.

I would also like to draw attention to the sharp contrast in Tav's facial expressions in the bite scenes, written by different writers. In Act 1, when Astarion was written only by Stephen Rooney, Tav's facial expression shows ecstasy, and this same expression is repeated in the lord's love scene, which, according to Welch, they did not write.

However, in the transformation scene, which, as Welch confirms, was written with their involvement, Tav's facial expression is noticeably different.

It’s not fear, like in the kisses from Patch 6, but the expression conveys a "problematic/kinky" mood — a term that Welch themselves used to describe this scene. This looks particularly strange in the dialogue where Tav explicitly asks to be hurt:

Astarion: Shall we have one last night together before you join me in immortality? One for the road, so to speak. Player: We shall not. I just need you to bite me. Astarion: Impatient are we? Well who am I to deny you?

This suggests that Welch’s views on "kinks" are at least debatable, and this influences how they are portrayed in the game. For example, Welch sees the transformation into a spawn as an "irreversible sex-pact/kink/form of gratification," but Tav's reaction in this scene is somewhat more uneasy than in previous episodes involving similar actions.

Both scenes are consensual, but they have a different tone simply because one of the writers condemned the player for "kinks," while the other did not.

In the cinematic context for the transformation scene, the following was stated: "You are naked and vulnerable before him." This feeling, it seems to me, is what the animators tried to convey and embody, capturing the intimacy of the moment. However, with the release of Patch 6, this message became distorted, turning into something entirely different — crude and devoid of the original subtle undertones.

In this context, I believe that the kisses from Patch 7 appear much more consistent compared to the facial expressions in Patch 6.

Especially when considering the following points:

Astarion grabs Tav by the neck solely at the player's initiative, and the dialogue clearly implies that Tav wants this.

Tav has previously reacted with obvious pleasure to similar actions by Astarion in other scenes.

I genuinely do not understand why Baudelaire Welch's contribution should be considered more significant, given that they joined the project during the later stages of the game's development. Especially when you consider that the character was originally created by another writer, who laid the foundation for his personality, story, and key traits. Prioritizing late additions that distort the original concept seems unfair and disrespectful to Astarion's creator and his vision.

At this point, I would like there to be an option in the game to kiss Astarion's hand. A hand kiss is also a symbolic gesture that conveys respect, devotion, submission, and acknowledgment of power or authority. I find this incredibly romantic, and I truly miss it. It would further emphasize the symbolism of this route.

[saywhat-politics]

Eric Beasley was arrested after he was caught semi-naked with the girl behind a strip mall in Lighthouse Point, Florida in April

They initially claimed to be consenting adults who had met online but the girl later admitted he was her ninth-grade biology teacher

He admitted to having sex with her multiple times over their six-week relationship and to kissing her during school hours

They also texted each other explicit photos

He could serve 20 years in federal prison under the plea deal

[lightsoutnaway]

Always Come Home

PAIRING: Max Verstappen x reader

WARNINGS: None

WORD COUNT: 898

SUMMARY: You and Max get in a fight when he risks his life to be a stunt driver for a movie.

“Baby, please let me in!”

Max was standing outside your bedroom door with his hand planted on the doorframe. His plea was greeted with silence. He sighed and rested his forehead against the door.

“I’m sorry,” he called—loud enough to be heard, but softer than before. “Can you just let me in so I can explain?” He stood there for a moment before you opened the door and his head tipped forward as the door was pulled away from him. He was relieved that you were willing to even look at him, but your expression wasn’t promising.

“Hi,” Max greeted. You scoffed and turned back into the room. Max followed. “I’m sorry,” he apologized again.

“I told you not to do it. I told you I didn’t want you to get hurt,” you spit. Max winced.

“I know. And I told Christian ‘no,’ just like you told me to,” Max assured you.

“Oh? Then why were you driving a stunt car that flipped over on the track?!” You shouted.

“It was safe, schatje,” Max said softly. “Nothing happened.”

“The car flipped over, Max! You knew it was going to!” You shouted. “And all for some stupid movie!”

“I really wasn’t going to do it, but Yuki had to go back to Japan for an emergency and Ricciardo and Checo are traveling,” Max explained.

“There’s still 16 other drivers on the grid! And there’s retired drivers, and F2 drivers, and actual stunt drivers who could’ve done it if you had said ‘no!’” You had never been more angry at Max. He hadn’t ever given you a reason to be angry with him. He loved you and he had never done anything to hurt you. There were barely ever reasons to be slightly annoyed with him, let alone angry.

“The studio made the deal with Red Bull,” Max tried.

“So they could’ve used a reserve driver! Or they could’ve gotten a stunt driver since it was a stunt! Which you are not trained to do!”

“I know, my love,” Max agreed. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done it. I told you that I wasn’t going to do it.” You were quiet for a moment. “I could’ve gotten hurt.” Max looked at you hopefully. When the silence continued he was about to add more to his apology but he heard you sniffle and he looked closer at you in the dimly lit room. There were tears slipping from your eyes.

“Oh no. Baby, don’t cry.” Max rushed forward to take you in his arms, feeling a rush of relief when you didn’t push him away.“Please, my love. I’m so sorry. Don’t cry. I hate it when you cry,” he begged.

“I don’t want you to get hurt,” you said as you tucked your head into the crook of his neck. Your hands gripped onto his t-shirt while he gently rubbed his hand up and down your back, the other one going to your head and cradling you.

“I know, my love,” Max replied. He had only crashed twice since you started dating, but both times you had been a wreck while you waited for the safety car to bring him back to the garage and for days after. He knew how much it scared you when he crashed. After he saw your reaction the first time he crashed he stopped driving so aggressively. The team didn’t love it, but he didn’t care. It made you happy. “I’m sorry.”

“I know,” you told him. Max’s heart lifted. Maybe you would forgive him. He turned his head to press a kiss to your forehead.

“I’m sorry I didn’t say ‘no’ when they asked me again,” he said, feeling like he hadn’t apologized enough yet.

“It’s okay, Max. I know you don’t like to let anyone down,” you said through your sniffles. Max smiled softly. He loved that you knew why he had given in.

“I love you, schatje,” Max whispered into your hair. You took a deep breath, calming yourself.

“I love you too, Maxie,” you said back. He leaned back so he could tip your chin up to look at him. He wiped the tear tracks off your face before kissing you softly. Your expression dropped for a moment when you pulled away. “I don’t want to see the movie, Max,” you told him. “I can’t watch knowing it’s you.” Max smiled at your words.

“That’s fine, baby. I don’t need to see it either.” You let a slight smile fall onto your lips.

“But you’re in it,” you said.

“I don’t need to see any movie. The best thing anyone can ever see sleeps next to me every night,” Max flirted. You rolled your eyes and giggled.

“Trying to get back on my good side?” You teased him.

“I don’t want to sleep on the couch,” Max said. You chuckled.

“That would be a punishment for me more than you. I can’t sleep without you anymore,” you admitted.

“And here I thought you started coming to every race because you wanted to support me,” Max joked.

“I do,” you said. “And I don’t want to be tired when I do it.” Max laughed. He pulled you into his chest again and kissed the crown of your head.

“You don’t ever have to spend a night without me again, schatje,” he promised. “I’ll always be with you. I’ll always come home.”

[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

Guard us, Lord, from being Christians who love to learn but hate to change.

Matt Smethurst

[fuqnia]

Golden Glow and Quiet Truths

kyle broflovski x reader insert

(❁´◡`❁) | [A/N] hii, this is my second oneshot that's apart of my ficmas! this is also on ao3. ❤️❄️🎄

(❁´◡`❁) | Warning(s) : none

(❁´◡`❁) | Synopsis : At Kyle’s Hanukkah celebration, [y/n] learns about his traditions and shares a quiet, heartfelt moment under the warm glow of the menorah.

The Broflovski house was buzzing with warmth and life, a stark contrast to the frigid snowdrifts piling up outside. Inside, the menorah’s golden light flickered on the table, casting soft, wavering patterns on the walls. Laughter and conversation filled the air, Sheila’s booming voice rising over the din as she directed traffic between the kitchen and living room. The scent of frying latkes mixed with the tangy sweetness of applesauce and the faint aroma of pine from the small Christmas tree Sheila insisted on keeping for “their Christian friends.”

You hovered near the doorway, a drink in your hand, unsure where to plant yourself in the chaos. Kyle had been insistent about inviting you to his family’s Hanukkah party. His words—half invitation, half plea—still echoed in your mind: “It’s no big deal, really. My family would love to have you there. I’d love to have you there.” You couldn’t say no. Not to that earnest look in his green eyes, not to the nervous way he fidgeted with his sleeves when he asked.

Now you were here, a little overwhelmed but oddly at peace, watching the scene unfold. Ike was at the table, enthusiastically explaining dreidel rules to a group of adults who didn’t stand a chance against his enthusiasm. Kyle’s dad, Gerald, was cracking a joke in the corner, earning polite chuckles. And there was Kyle himself, standing by the menorah, his green ushanka askew as he helped his mom arrange candles for the blessing. He caught your eye for a moment, offering a small smile that made your stomach flip, before turning back to his task.

“You okay?” came a voice beside you.

Kyle had appeared at your side, so close you could feel the warmth radiating off him. His hair was slightly mussed from the hat, and the glow of the menorah danced in his eyes.

“Yeah,” you said with a faint smile. “It’s really nice. Your family knows how to throw a party.”

Kyle chuckled, glancing at the crowded room. “My mom loves an excuse to go all out. Hanukkah, Thanksgiving, Arbor Day—you name it.”

You laughed softly, and his expression softened as he watched you. “I’m glad you came,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant.

“I’m glad you invited me,” you replied. “It’s… warm. Feels like a real home.”

Kyle looked like he wanted to say something more, but instead, he gestured toward the table where Ike was still commanding his dreidel game. “Want to play? I could teach you. Ike’s ruthless, though, so fair warning.”

“Sure,” you said, following him to the table.

The Broflovski dining table was a whirlwind of festive energy—plates of latkes and brisket, half-empty glasses of sparkling cider, and a small pile of chocolate gelt coins stacked neatly in the center. But as the party hummed around you, you found yourself seated across from Kyle, the rest of the room fading into background noise.

“Alright,” Kyle said, setting a small wooden dreidel in the middle of the table with a faint clink. “You said you’ve never played before?”

“Never,” you admitted with a sheepish grin, leaning forward to inspect the dreidel. The menorah candles flickered nearby, casting a warm glow over the two of you. “So, be gentle. I don’t want to embarrass myself.”

Kyle chuckled, the sound warm and soft. “Don’t worry. I’ll walk you through it. It’s pretty simple, I promise.”

He picked up the dreidel and turned it slowly between his fingers, the Hebrew letters catching the light. “This is the dreidel,” he explained. “Each side has a letter: Nun, Gimel, Hei, and Shin. They stand for ‘A great miracle happened there.’ It’s kind of a reminder of the Hanukkah story.”

You nodded, your gaze flickering between the dreidel and his face. He looked so at ease, his green eyes bright as he spoke, and you couldn’t help but feel a warmth that had nothing to do with the candles.

“So,” he continued, placing the dreidel back on the table. “The goal is to spin it, and whichever side it lands on determines what you do. Nun means nothing happens. Gimel means you take the whole pot. Hei means you take half, and Shin means you add a coin to the pot.”

“Got it,” you said, picking up one of the shiny chocolate coins from the pile. “And we’re playing with these?”

“Yep.” He pushed a small handful of gelt toward you, his fingers brushing yours briefly. The touch sent a jolt up your arm, and you glanced at him, catching the faintest hint of a blush creeping up his cheeks. “Alright, you go first.”

You picked up the dreidel, gripping it awkwardly. Kyle watched with an amused smile as you gave it a spin. It wobbled uncertainly before clattering to a stop on Shin.

Kyle winced dramatically, his hand flying to his chest. “Oof. Tough start. Add one to the pot.”

You rolled your eyes playfully as you tossed a coin into the center. “Great. Off to a stellar beginning.”

“Hey, it’s all about the technique,” Kyle teased, picking up the dreidel with practiced ease. His fingers moved deftly, giving it a smooth spin that sent it twirling across the table. It landed on Gimel, and he smirked as he scooped up the entire pot.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you groaned, throwing your hands up. “You’re a professional. I didn’t stand a chance.”

“Not my fault I’m naturally gifted,” he said, tossing a coin in the air and catching it with a grin. “Alright, your turn. Let’s see if you’ve learned anything.”

You narrowed your eyes, picking up the dreidel again. “Oh, I’ll show you.”

As you leaned forward to spin it, Kyle reached out to adjust your grip. “Wait, like this,” he said, his hand brushing over yours to position the dreidel. His touch was warm, steady, and lingered just a second longer than necessary. Your eyes met, and the noise of the room seemed to fade, leaving just the two of you in the soft glow of the menorah candles.

“Got it?” Kyle asked, his voice quieter now.

“Yeah,” you murmured, your heart beating faster as you gave the dreidel a spin. It twirled across the table, wobbling slightly before landing on Hei.

Kyle grinned. “Half the pot. Not bad.”

“Finally,” you said, scooping up your share with a triumphant smile. “I’m catching up.”

Kyle chuckled, his gaze lingering on you as you added the coins to your pile. “Told you it wasn’t so hard.”

The game continued, the pile of gelt shifting back and forth between you as you took turns. But as the rounds went on, you found yourself less focused on the dreidel and more on Kyle—the way his lips twitched into a smile whenever you teased him, the way his hands moved so sure and steady, the way his green eyes sparkled under the golden light.

At one point, your hands brushed again as you reached for the dreidel at the same time. Neither of you moved immediately, your fingers overlapping for a moment that felt far too long yet far too short. Kyle cleared his throat, pulling his hand back quickly, his cheeks turning pink.

“Your turn,” he said, looking down at the table with a sheepish grin.

You spun the dreidel, your chest tight with something you couldn’t quite name. As it twirled and clattered to a stop, Kyle leaned closer, his shoulder brushing against yours. The touch sent warmth blooming through you, and when you glanced at him, his face was so close you could see the faint freckles scattered across his cheeks.

The dreidel had landed on Gimel, but the game didn’t matter anymore. Not really. Kyle’s gaze met yours, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. The room around you seemed to fall away, leaving just the two of you bathed in the soft glow of the candles.

“Looks like you win this round,” Kyle said softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Yeah,” you replied, your heart pounding. “I guess I do.”

The party was finally starting to wind down, the once-bustling Broflovski living room now quieter as a few remaining guests mingled and chatted in the background. The menorah candles had burned lower, their flickering light casting soft shadows across the room. You and Kyle sat at the dining table, the remnants of your dreidel game scattered between you. Chocolate gelt wrappers glimmered like forgotten treasure, and the faint hum of conversation filled the air.

Kyle leaned back in his chair, tapping a wrapper idly against the table as he gave you a look. “Okay, but seriously, how did you manage to land on Shin six times in a row? Statistically, that should be impossible.”

“I’m just that unlucky,” you replied with a grin, stacking your small pile of remaining gelt. “Or maybe you rigged the dreidel.”

Kyle snorted. “Yeah, because I clearly have nothing better to do than rig a children’s game for a party my mom guilted everyone into attending.”

“It’s not a children’s game,” you shot back, laughing. “It’s cultural. And I’m learning. Be nice.”

He rolled his eyes, but his lips twitched into a reluctant smile. “Fine, fine. I’ll give you that. But you’ve got a long way to go before you’re dreidel champion material.”

“Oh, is that a title now? Dreidel champion?” you teased, leaning forward. “Do you get a medal for that, or just a lifetime supply of gelt?”

Kyle chuckled, shaking his head. “Okay, point taken. I’m dropping it.”

But as the laughter between you faded, a new kind of silence settled in. Kyle fiddled with the foil wrapper in his hand, twisting it into a small, misshapen ball. His gaze darted to the menorah, then back to you, his usual confidence giving way to something more uncertain.

“So,” he began, his voice quieter now. “How are you liking the party? Not too overwhelming?”

“It’s been great,” you said honestly, leaning your elbows on the table. “Your family’s amazing, Kyle. Your mom’s a little... intense, but in a good way.”

Kyle groaned, covering his face with his hand. “That’s the understatement of the century. Intense is her default setting.”

You laughed, but his comment made you notice the faint tension in his shoulders, the way he seemed to retreat into himself for a moment. “It’s nice, though,” you said softly. “To see how much she cares. And honestly? I’ve had a really great time.”

Kyle’s shoulders relaxed slightly, and he offered a small smile. “Good. I was kind of worried you’d hate it.”

“Why would I hate it?” you asked, tilting your head.

“I don’t know,” he muttered, glancing down at the table. “It’s not exactly the most exciting party ever. And it’s Hanukkah, so it’s not like it’s... I don’t know, cool.”

“Cool?” you echoed, raising an eyebrow. “Kyle, it’s been amazing. I don’t need it to be ‘cool.’ It’s meaningful. That’s what matters.”

His green eyes flicked up to meet yours, and for a moment, he looked almost stunned by your words. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, like he was searching for the right thing to say.

“Are you okay?” you asked gently.

“Yeah,” he said quickly, straightening in his chair. “I just... I don’t know. I guess I’m glad you came.”

“I’m glad I came too,” you said with a smile. “This has been one of the best nights I’ve had in a while.”

Kyle’s cheeks reddened slightly, and he looked away, muttering, “You’re way too nice to me, you know that?”

“I’m just being honest,” you said lightly, leaning closer. “What’s with you tonight, though? You’ve been acting a little... off.”

“Off?” he repeated, his voice rising slightly. “I’m not off. This is just my normal, neurotic self.”

You grinned. “You’re always neurotic, but this feels like another level.”

Kyle groaned, burying his face in his hands. “God, you’re relentless.”

“Maybe,” you teased, nudging his foot under the table. “But you love it.”

For a moment, he didn’t respond, and you wondered if you’d pushed too far. But then he sighed, dropping his hands and looking at you with an expression you couldn’t quite read.

“Fine,” he said, his voice quieter now. “You want the truth?”

You nodded, your chest tightening as he hesitated.

Kyle took a deep breath, his fingers twisting the foil ball again. “I’ve been thinking about this all night. Hell, I’ve been thinking about it for weeks, and I wasn’t going to say anything because I thought it would ruin everything, but... I can’t not say it anymore.”

Your heart raced, the weight of his words sinking in. “Kyle... what are you trying to say?”

He looked up at you then, his green eyes bright with a mix of nervousness and determination. “I like you. A lot. Like, way more than I probably should. And I’ve been trying to act normal, but it’s been driving me insane because every time I see you, I just...”

He trailed off, running a hand through his hair. “God, this is so stupid. I sound like a total idiot, don’t I?”

“No,” you said quickly, your voice trembling slightly. “You don’t. Not at all.”

Kyle’s gaze softened, and he let out a shaky laugh. “I just—being around you makes everything better. Even when I’m stressed, or my mom’s driving me crazy, or Cartman’s being a jackass... you make it all easier.”

Your chest ached at the sincerity in his voice, and you reached out, covering his hand with yours. “Kyle, you’re amazing. I don’t know how you don’t see that.”

He blinked, his cheeks flushing. “You really mean that?”

“I do,” you said softly, your thumb brushing against his knuckles. “And for the record? I like you too. A lot.”

A wide, relieved grin broke across his face, and for a moment, he looked like he couldn’t believe what he’d just heard. “You do?”

You laughed, nodding. “Yeah, Kyle. I do.”

Kyle hesitated, his green eyes searching yours again, his nervous energy palpable. “Can I... would it be okay if I kissed you?” he asked softly, his voice trembling just slightly, a mix of hesitation and hope laced in his words.

Your heart swelled at the question, your chest tightening with the weight of the moment. His vulnerability was so raw, so earnest, that it made your breath hitch. Slowly, you nodded, your voice barely a whisper. “Yeah, it’s okay.”

Kyle exhaled shakily, relief flickering in his eyes as he leaned in, moving cautiously like he was afraid to break the fragile space between you. The air felt thick with anticipation, every second stretching as you watched him close the gap. When his lips finally brushed against yours, the kiss was soft, tentative, like he was testing the waters, unsure of where this might lead.

His hand came up to cup your cheek, his touch warm and careful, and the gentleness of it made your heart ache. The first press of his lips was light, a whisper of a connection, but it lingered, drawing you in deeper. There was a sweetness to it, a quiet kind of awe, like he couldn’t quite believe this was happening. But beneath that sweetness was something else—something more urgent, a need that simmered just beneath the surface.

As the kiss deepened, Kyle’s fingers threaded into your hair, anchoring you closer. His other hand settled hesitantly on your waist, his grip firm but uncertain, as though he were afraid to overstep. You could feel his breath, warm and uneven, mingling with yours, and it sent a shiver through you that made you lean into him instinctively.

He kissed you like he was trying to pour everything he couldn’t say into this one moment—his longing, his uncertainty, his quiet devotion. There was an innocence to it, a hesitance that spoke to how deeply he cared, but there was also a quiet hunger, a sense of want that made your heart race.

Your hands found their way to his shoulders, gripping the soft fabric of his sweater as though grounding yourself against the overwhelming rush of emotion. His lips moved against yours with a careful intensity, each touch more deliberate than the last. It wasn’t rushed; it wasn’t chaotic. It was deliberate and full of feeling, a perfect balance of sweetness and need.

When Kyle finally pulled back, his breathing was ragged, his cheeks flushed a deep red. His gaze darted away for a moment, as though he were processing everything that had just happened. Then his eyes found yours again, wide and filled with an almost childlike wonder.

“I... I’ve wanted to do that for a while,” he admitted, his voice shaky but soft, a quiet confession that made your chest ache.

You couldn’t help but smile, your own heart pounding in your ears. “Me too,” you whispered, your voice barely audible as you reached up to brush a stray strand of his hair out of his face.

“Whoa! Ew! Gross!”

The spell shattered abruptly as Ike burst into the room, standing in the doorway with an exaggerated look of disgust.

“Seriously?” Ike said, throwing his hands up in mock horror. “This is so cringy. Do you guys practice this stuff or what?”

Kyle jerked away from you like he’d been electrocuted, his face burning a shade of red you didn’t think was possible. “Ike! Go away!”

“No way,” Ike said, smirking like the devil himself. “This is pure comedy gold. Mom’s gonna love this.”

Before Kyle could lunge for something to throw at him, Ike darted out of the room, his laughter echoing down the hall.

Kyle groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Oh my God. I’m going to kill him.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound soft and warm as you leaned into him. “Good luck with that. But for the record? Totally worth it.”

Kyle let out a long-suffering sigh, but his arm slipped around you anyway, pulling you closer to his side. “Yeah,” he muttered, his voice quieter now, a small, shy smile tugging at his lips. “It was.”

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Idol Worship.

Pairing: Yandere!Devil x Reader (Christianity).

Word Count: 1.0k.

TW: Consensual Sex, Size Difference, Implied (Past) Injury To Reader, Mentions of Blood, Mentions of Scarring, and Themes of Religious Trauma.

The path to His throne was paved with salt and brimstone.

Smoldering rock burnt into the soles of your feet like ember, taken fresh from the heart of the fire. Living corpses, their rotting flesh deteriorating further with ever fraught breath, laid motionless on either side of the crumbling archway, their milky eyes watching your every stumbling movement. The air was heavy with smoke and sulfur, but the buzzling of unseen insects, the stench of the decay – that was all kept in your peripheral. It was meant for someone else, someone whose crimes were far more violent and far more damning than your own. Your fate was elsewhere.

The ascent was made no easier by your anticipation, the steps carved from black onyx and made steep enough to warrant your immediate and self-inflicted dehumanization, to force you to your hands and knees in your effort to scramble upward – ever upward, as if you hadn’t yet had enough of the blinding sky. Rough granite tore into the skin of your palms, but the agony was minimal, a shadow something greater that would not numb you to more intentional agony. The heat, too, was distant, rolling over you in tender waves and seeping under your skin to coil around your ribs, to weave in and out of ragged tears in your mutilated veins. Something snapped inside your chest as you finished your climb, fresh blood washing over your aching throat, but any pain you might’ve felt faded away as a great hand descended from the clouds of smog and ash, His calloused fingertips digging into your waist, your stomach as He took you up and placed you, gingerly, on His silk-clad thigh. His touch lingered, a thumb running over your scalp as He spoke. “Oh, my glorious one,” His voice was deep and flat and beautiful. “What have they done to you?”

Anything they could. Everything they could. Your body was still plagued with the phantoms of it, the frigid cold of steel and iron against flesh and bone. You tried to speak, but your voice was gone, muted by means beyond your own. You frowned, more frustrated than you were surprised, but He did not share in your disappointment. “They are sons of the Most High, for he is kind to the ungrateful and the evil.” After a beat, He added, “I will not be so forgiving.”

His hand began to pull away, but you scrambled after of it, latching onto His wrist in a futile effort to hold Him that much closer. An airy chuckle fell from Him unmoving muzzle – His golden, slit-pupiled eyes remaining focused on some distant point as He took you into His hold once again, lifting you first to His own height. For the first time, he moved in earnest – tilting his head forward and resting his forehead against yours. “The reason the Son appeared was to destroy the Devil’s work, for the thief comes only to steal and destroy.” His breath was cool against your skin, even as anger seeped into His tone. “And now, instead, you are asked to forgive and comfort him, so that he will not be overwhelmed by excessive sorrow.”

It was more of a croak than a proper plea, hoarse and fractured at all the wrong angles. Still, you managed it, your own small hands pressed into the swell of His palm. “Please, my lamb.”

He seemed to catch himself, inhaling sharply as He shook His head. “My apologies, I forget my audience. You are altogether beautiful, my love; there is no flaw in you.” You nuzzled closer to Him, and He allowed you a moment of solace before pulling away, straightening Himself to His most dignified stature. “We have been separated for no short time. Tell me, will you not gratify the desires of the flesh?” A note of humor, a forked tongue allowed to skirt gingerly over your neck. “Will you not allow me to show the length of my devotion?”

You didn’t need to answer, it was a given that you would. His delicate tongue ran over the lacerations on your calves, your thighs - smearing dried blood and soothing open wounds. It flicked upward, lapping at the twin scars on either side of your chest, then the bruises painted across your collarbones, around the base of your throat. His hand shifted, wrapping around your waist, His hold firm and steady as He lowered you onto his length. There were other options – as many shapes and variations as a lustful heart could dream of – but His cock was among His most impressive features. The shaft alone matched your arm in length and your midriff in girth, and yet, it pierced you without resistance, filling you to the brim before He was so much as half-sheathed inside of you. Your knees pressed into his lap, your hand grasping for purchase against his broad chest, but you felt no fear, nor was your exertion necessary in the face of His willingness to serve. He let out a raspy breath, allowing His head to lull back as He thrust gently into you from below. “Earthly one, glorious one,” The pet name fell from His lips like milk and butter and honey. “We will lead each other astray. We will be the force by which the greatest love is defined.”

A growl of a moan as your walls clenched around Him, a sharp snap of His hips. “We will be bound together in perfect harmony,” His hand found the underside of your chin, tilting your head back with only the upmost delicacy. “And those who try to separate us will face only the most just of retribution.”

Your eyes met His, that wonderous gold melting into softened mortality. Where there should have been revulsion, there was only warmth, only light. Foolishly, for a moment, you allowed yourself to scorn the shine of the heavens, to loathe all things that were not Him.

You allowed yourself to believe that you would need nothing else, not so long as His gaze fell upon you.

[mariacallous]

The New York Times once dubbed the Princeton professor Robert George, who has guided Republican elites for decades, “the reigning brain of the Christian right.” Last year, he issued a stark warning to his ideological allies. “Each time we think the horrific virus of anti-Semitism has been extirpated, it reappears,” he wrote in May 2023. “A plea to my fellow Catholics—especially Catholic young people: Stay a million miles from this evil. Do not let it infect your thinking.” When I spoke with George that summer, he likened his sense of foreboding to that of Heinrich Heine, the 19th-century German poet who prophesied the rise of Nazism in 1834.

Some 15 months later, the conservative commentator Tucker Carlson welcomed a man named Darryl Cooper onto his web-based show and introduced him to millions of followers as “the best and most honest popular historian in the United States.” The two proceeded to discuss how Adolf Hitler might have gotten a bad rap and why British Prime Minister Winston Churchill was “the chief villain of the Second World War.”

Hitler tried “to broadcast a call for peace directly to the British people” and wanted to “work with the other powers to reach an acceptable solution to the Jewish problem,” Cooper elaborated in a social-media post. “He was ignored.” Why the Jews should have been considered a “problem” in the first place—and what a satisfactory “solution” to their inconvenient existence might be—was not addressed.

Some Republican politicians spoke out against Carlson’s conversation with Cooper, and many historians, including conservative ones, debunked its Holocaust revisionism. But Carlson is no fringe figure. His show ranks as one of the top podcasts in the United States; videos of its episodes rack up millions of views. He has the ear of Donald Trump and spoke during prime time at the 2024 Republican National Convention. His anti-Jewish provocations are not a personal idiosyncrasy but the latest expression of an insurgent force on the American right—one that began to swell when Trump first declared his candidacy for president and that has come to challenge the identity of the conservative movement itself.

Anti-Semitism has always existed on the political extremes, but it began to migrate into the mainstream of the Republican coalition during the Trump administration. At first, the prejudice took the guise of protest.

In 2019, hecklers pursued the Republican congressman Dan Crenshaw—a popular former Navy SEAL from Texas—across a tour of college campuses, posing leading questions to him about Jews and Israel, and insinuating that the Jewish state was behind the 9/11 attacks. The activists called themselves “Groypers” and were led by a young white supremacist named Nick Fuentes, an internet personality who had defended racial segregation, denied the Holocaust, and participated in the 2017 rally in Charlottesville, Virginia, where marchers chanted, “Jews will not replace us.”

The slogan referred to a far-right fantasy known as the “Great Replacement,” according to which Jews are plotting to flood the country with Black and brown migrants in order to displace the white race. That belief animated Robert Bowers, who perpetrated the largest massacre of Jews on American soil at a Pittsburgh synagogue in 2018 after sharing rants about the Great Replacement on social media. The Hebrew Immigrant Aid Society, the gunman wrote in his final post, “likes to bring invaders in that kill our people … Screw your optics, I’m going in.”

Less than three years later, Carlson sanitized that same conspiracy theory on his top-rated cable-news show. “They’re trying to change the population of the United States,” the Fox host declared, “and they hate it when you say that because it’s true, but that’s exactly what they’re doing.” Like many before him, Carlson maintained plausible deniability by affirming an anti-Semitic accusation without explicitly naming Jews as culprits. He could rely on members of his audience to fill in the blanks.

Carlson and Fuentes weren’t the only ones who recognized the rising appeal of anti-Semitism on the right. On January 6, 2021, an influencer named Elijah Schaffer joined thousands of Trump supporters storming the U.S. Capitol, posting live from House Speaker Nancy Pelosi’s office. Eighteen months later, Schaffer publicly polled his hundreds of thousands of Twitter followers: “Do you believe Jews disproportionately control the world institutions, banks, & are waging war on white, western society?” Social-media polls are not scientific, so the fact that more than 70 percent of respondents said some version of “yes” matters less than the fact that 94,000 people participated in the survey. Schaffer correctly gauged that this subject was something that his audience wanted to discuss, and certainly not something that would hurt his career.

With little fanfare, the tide had turned in favor of those advancing anti-Semitic arguments. In 2019, Fuentes and his faction were disrupting Republican politicians like Crenshaw. By 2022, Fuentes was shaking hands onstage with Representative Marjorie Taylor Greene and dining with Trump at Mar-a-Lago. In 2019, the Groyper activists were picketing events held by Turning Point USA, the conservative youth organization founded by the activist Charlie Kirk. By 2024, Turning Point was employing—and periodically firing and denouncing—anti-Semitic influencers who appeared at conventions run by Fuentes. “The Zionist Jews controlling our planet are all pedophiles who have no regard for the sanctity of human life and purity,” one of the organization’s ambassadors posted before she was dismissed.

In 2020, Carlson’s lead writer, Blake Neff, was compelled to resign after he was exposed as a regular contributor to a racist internet forum. Today, he produces Kirk’s podcast and recently reported alongside him at the Republican National Convention. “Why does Turning Point USA keep pushing anti-Semitism?” asked Erick Erickson, the longtime conservative radio host and activist, last October. The answer: Because that’s what a growing portion of the audience wants.

“When I began my career in 2017,” Fuentes wrote in May 2023, “I was considered radioactive in the American Right for my White Identitarian, race realist, ‘Jewish aware,’ counter-Zionist, authoritarian, traditional Catholic views … In 2023, on almost every count, our previously radioactive views are pounding on the door of the political mainstream.” Fuentes is a congenital liar, but a year after this triumphalist pronouncement, his basic point is hard to dispute. Little by little, the extreme has become mainstream—especially since October 7.

Last December, Tucker Carlson joined the popular anti-establishment podcast Breaking Points to discuss the Gaza conflict and accused a prominent Jewish political personality of disloyalty to the nation. “They don’t care about the country at all,” he told the host, “but I do … because I’m from here, my family’s been here hundreds of years, I plan to stay here. Like, I’m shocked by how little they care about the country, including the person you mentioned. And I can’t imagine how someone like that could get an audience of people who claim to care about America, because he doesn’t, obviously.”

The twist: “He” was not some far-left activist who had called America an irredeemably racist regime. Carlson was referring to Ben Shapiro, arguably the most visible Jewish conservative in America, and insinuating that despite his decades of paeans to American exceptionalism, Shapiro was a foreign implant secretly serving Israeli interests. The podcast host did not object to Carlson’s remarks.

The war in Gaza has placed Jews and their role in American politics under a microscope. Much has been written about how the conflict has divided the left and led to a spike in anti-Semitism in progressive spaces, but less attention has been paid to the similar shake-up on the right, where events in the Middle East have forced previously subterranean tensions to the surface. Today, the Republican Party’s establishment says that it stands with Israel and against anti-Semitism, but that stance is under attack by a new wave of insurgents with a very different agenda.

Since October 7, in addition to slurring Shapiro, Carlson has hosted a parade of anti-Jewish guests on his show. One was Candace Owens, the far-right podcaster known for her defenses of another anti-Jewish agitator, Kanye “Ye” West. Owens had already clashed with her employer—the conservative outlet The Daily Wire, co-founded by Shapiro—over her seeming indifference to anti-Semitism. But after the Hamas assault, she began making explicit what had previously been implicit—including liking a social-media post that accused a rabbi of being “drunk on Christian blood,” a reference to the medieval blood libel. The Daily Wire severed ties with her soon after. But this did not remotely curb her appeal.

Today, Owens can be found fulminating on her YouTube channel (2.4 million subscribers) or X feed (5.6 million followers) about how a devil-worshipping Jewish cult controls the world, and how Israel was complicit in the 9/11 attacks and killed President John F. Kennedy. Owens has also jumped aboard the Reich-Rehabilitation Express. “What is it about Hitler? Why is he the most evil?” she asked in July. “The first thing people would say is: ‘Well, an ethnic cleansing almost took place.’ And now I offer back: ‘You mean like we actually did to the Germans.’”

“Many Americans are learning that WW2 history is not as black and white as we were taught and some details were purposefully omitted from our textbooks,” she wrote after Carlson’s Holocaust conversation came under fire. The post received 15,000 likes.

Donald Trump’s entry into Republican politics intensified several forces that have contributed to the rise of anti-Semitism on the American right. One was populism, which pits the common people against a corrupt elite. Populists play on discontents that reflect genuine failures of the establishment, but their approach also readily maps onto the ancient anti-Semitic canard that clandestine string-pulling Jews are the source of society’s problems. Once people become convinced that the world is oppressed by an invisible hand, they often conclude that the hand belongs to an invisible Jew.

Another such force is isolationism, or the desire to extricate the United States from foreign entanglements, following decades of debacles in the Middle East. But like the original America First Committee, which sought to keep the country out of World War II, today’s isolationists often conceive of Jews as either rootless cosmopolitans undermining national cohesion or dual loyalists subverting the national interest in service of their own. In this regard, the Tucker Carlsons of 2024 resemble the reactionary activists of the 1930s, such as the aviator Charles Lindbergh, who infamously accused Jewish leaders of acting “for reasons which are not American,” and warned of “their large ownership and influence in our motion pictures, our press, our radio and our government.”

Populism and isolationism have legitimate expressions, but preventing them from descending into anti-Semitism requires leaders willing to restrain their movement’s worst instincts. Today’s right has fewer by the day. Trump fundamentally refuses to repudiate anyone who supports him, and by devolving power from traditional Republican elites and institutions to a diffuse array of online influencers, the former president has ensured that no one is in a position to corral the right’s excesses, even if someone wanted to.

As one conservative columnist put it to me in August 2023, “What you’re actually worried about is not Trump being Hitler. What you’re worried about is Trump incentivizing anti-Semites,” to the point where “a generation from now, you’ve got Karl Lueger,” the anti-Jewish mayor of Vienna who inspired Hitler, “and two generations from now, you do have something like that.” The accelerant that is social-media discourse, together with a war that brings Jews to the center of political attention, could shorten that timeline.

For now, the biggest obstacle to anti-Semitism’s ascent on the right is the Republican rank and file’s general commitment to Israel, which causes them to recoil when people like Owens rant about how the Jewish state is run by a cabal of satanic pedophiles. Even conservatives like Trump’s running mate, J. D. Vance, a neo-isolationist who opposes foreign aid to Ukraine, are careful to affirm their continued support for Israel, in deference to the party base.

But this residual Zionism shields only Israeli Jews from abuse, not American ones—and it certainly does not protect the large majority of American Jews who vote for Democrats. This is why Trump suffers no consequences in his own coalition when he rails against “liberal Jews” who “voted to destroy America.” But such vilification won’t end there. As hard-core anti-Israel activists who have engaged in anti-Semitism against American Jews have demonstrated, most people who hate one swath of the world’s Jews eventually turn on the rest. “If I don’t win this election,” Trump said last week, “the Jewish people would have a lot to do with a loss.”

More than populism and isolationism, the force that unites the right’s anti-Semites and explains why they have been slowly winning the war for the future of conservatism is conspiracism. To see its power in practice, one need only examine the social-media posts of Elon Musk, which serve as a window into the mindset of the insurgent right and its receptivity to anti-Semitism.

Over the past year, the world’s richest man has repeatedly shared anti-Jewish propaganda on X, only to walk it back following criticism from more traditional conservative quarters. In November, Musk affirmed the Great Replacement theory, replying to a white nationalist who expressed it with these words: “You have said the actual truth.” After a furious backlash, the magnate recanted, saying, “It might be literally the worst and dumbest post I’ve ever done.” Musk subsequently met with Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu and accompanied Ben Shapiro on a trip to Auschwitz, but the lesson didn’t quite take. Earlier this month, he shared Carlson’s discussion of Holocaust revisionism with the approbation: “Very interesting. Worth watching.” Once again under fire, he deleted the tweet and apologized, saying he’d listened to only part of the interview.

But this lesson is also unlikely to stick, because like many on the new right, Musk is in thrall to a worldview that makes him particularly susceptible to anti-Jewish ideas. Last September, not long before Musk declared the “actual truth” of the Great Replacement, he participated in a public exchange with a group of rabbis, activists, and Jewish conservatives. The discussion was intended as an intervention to inoculate Musk against anti-Semitism, but early on, he said something that showed why the cause was likely lost before the conversation even began. “I think,” Musk cracked, “we’re running out of conspiracy theories that didn’t turn out to be true.”

The popularity of such sentiments among contemporary conservatives explains why the likes of Carlson and Owens have been gaining ground and old-guard conservatives such as Shapiro and Erickson have been losing it. Simply put, as Trump and his allies have coopted the conservative movement, it has become defined by a fundamental distrust of authority and institutions, and a concurrent embrace of conspiracy theories about elite cabals. And the more conspiratorial thinking becomes commonplace on the right, the more inevitable that its partisans will land on one of the oldest conspiracies of them all.

Conspiratorial thinking is neither new to American politics nor confined to one end of the ideological spectrum. But Trump has made foundational what was once marginal. Beginning with birtherism and culminating in election denialism, he turned anti-establishment conspiracism into a litmus test for attaining political power, compelling Republicans to either sign on to his claims of 2020 fraud or be exiled to irrelevance.

The fundamental fault line in the conservative coalition became whether someone was willing to buy into ever more elaborate fantasies. The result was to elevate those with flexible approaches to facts, such as Carlson and Owens, who were predisposed to say and do anything—no matter how hypocritical or absurd—to obtain influence. Once opened, this conspiratorial box could not be closed. After all, a movement that legitimizes crackpot schemes about rigged voting machines and microchipped vaccines cannot simply turn around and draw the line at the Jews.

For mercenary opportunists like Carlson, this moment holds incredible promise. But for Republicans with principles—those who know who won the 2020 election, or who was the bad guy in World War II, and can’t bring themselves to say otherwise—it’s a time of profound peril. And for Jews, the targets of one of the world’s deadliest conspiracy theories, such developments are even more forboding.

“It is now incumbent on all decent people, and especially those on the right, to demand that Carlson no longer be treated as a mainstream figure,” Jonathan Tobin, the pro-Trump conservative editor of the Jewish News Syndicate, wrote after Carlson’s World War II episode. “He must be put in his place, and condemned by Trump and Vance.”

Anti-Semitism’s ultimate victory in GOP politics is not assured. Musk did delete his tweets, Owens was fired, and some Republicans did condemn Carlson’s Holocaust segment. But beseeching Trump and his camp to intervene here mistakes the cause for the cure.

Three days after Carlson posted his Hitler apologetics, Vance shrugged off the controversy and recorded an interview with him, and this past Saturday, the two men yukked it up onstage at a political event in Pennsylvania before an audience of thousands. Such coziness should not surprise, given that Carlson was reportedly instrumental in securing the VP slot for the Ohio senator. Asked earlier if he took issue with Carlson’s decision to air the Holocaust revisionism, Vance retorted, “The fundamental idea here is Republicans believe not in censorship; we believe in free speech and debate.” He conveniently declined to use his own speech to debate Carlson’s.