#about the mere concept of other countries

[offslime]

ID: a tweet and quote retweet. the tweet says «I notice a lot of people who didn’t pay much attention in high school are now trying to retcon their laziness into ideological theories about “what we were never taught.”» the QRT, with line breaks indicated by slashes, says “(caps) your history teacher never told you (end caps) / *me, checks lecture notes* I definitely told you. / (C) your textbook left out- (EC) / Me: It is on page 37 and again on 54 / (C) historians never admit- (EC) / Me: We have an annual conference on this. Will you just admit already that you slept through class?” ID end.

[here-there-were-dragons]

as a general rule, on average, if americans consistently complain about a food being conceptually weird, gross, and scary, then it probably tastes amazing. or at least inoffensive.

this is because in my experience americans for the most part (give or take a few exceptions by region) think eating literally anything other than beef, chicken, bread, eggs, peanut butter jelly sandwitches, ketchup, and disgusting cloyingly artificial brown sludge soda is insurmountably weird, gross, and scary.

[askshivanulegacy]

Hey this isn't like me yelling-callout-post-NOW or anything but I was scrolling through replies on the trolley-problem-palestine post and I do want to say that I have to unfortunately be invested in US Politics as a non-US citizen because of the way these elections affect the rest of the world, culturally and politically. The US is one of the richest and most influential countries in the world and the way it decides to interact with the rest of us, where it sends money and military to, and the conversations people in the US are having even about domestic issues end up shaping the conversations that happen outside of it (trans and immigration issues for example). It's horribly unfair and I'm fuming about it always why can y'all veto shit ❤️ but uh yeah, just a minor nitpick with the influence of the elections on everyone else. I could be entirely wrong in my perception of the way things are but that's how it seems to me rn.

That post was a long time ago, so I can't remember specifically what I said about it, but I don't disagree with your ask.

My big beef (and what I typically rant about) with most of the chatter about the US elections and Palestine isn't that the elections influence other countries. They definitely do.

My beef is that all the US tumblrites are making Palestine into the one single issue ever, in the world and in the US, and they're putting on blinders to everything else.

Palestine isn't even CLOSE to being the single issue or even the most major issue. It simply is not.

And in a US election, Americans NEED to take a look at OUR issues. The issues that affect everyday life. Affordable and accessible education, housing, healthcare, LGBTQ+ issues, rights to bodily autonomy, etc., etc.

In a US election, those are the things that are the most important. In a lot of ways, those are the only issues that functionally exist, within the context of the election bubble. Yes, you can and should consider foreign policy as a factor, but it should NEVER be the only factor ... not when there are so many raw and bleeding gaps at home, and clear, obvious, and impending threats to the very lives of the people these sjw tumblrites claim to care about.

I'm saying that election time is the time for Americans to focus on America for just a minute. And when all I hear is Palestine to the exclusion of all else - all rational thought, all sense - with the conclusion being "punish Biden because he happened to be president when Israel was being a little shit," then that's when I say none of that matters.

Because the US election is not about Palestine or any other country. It's about the US.

People desperately need to remember that.

No, I don't want to put America first, and I care a lot about how we interact in the world. But by God, you don't put your own country LAST in the election that is specifically for your country and will determine how you survive ... and IF you survive. You don't throw your country and everyone in it under the bus.

We have the right to be a little selfish for our election. Not Trump-selfish, but selfish enough to have some sense for the things happening here. It's time to set Palestine on the shelf for a while - at least long enough to realize that "punishing Biden" is idiocy.

Also that Biden is not only America's best strategic option, but he ALSO happens to be Palestine's and the rest of the world's.

Honestly, I've seen more of that perspective from non-Americans, and I hugely appreciate it. I just need the actual Americans in the room to realize that 1) they need to take off their fucking blinders, and 2) their stupid little short-sighted Biden-punishment stunt will not only harm themselves but also all the other countries they seem to care about more than their own.

And I want them to start giving a fuck about the country they currently live in.

[doyoulikethissong-poll]

Madonna - Like a Prayer 1989

"Like a Prayer" is a song by American singer Madonna and was released as the lead single from her 1989 fourth studio album of the same name. Written and produced by both Madonna and Patrick Leonard, the song heralded an artistic and personal approach to songwriting for Madonna, who believed that she needed to cater more to her adult audience. Along with the parent album, "Like a Prayer" was a turning point in Madonna's career, with critics starting to acknowledge her as an artist rather than a mere pop star.

"Like a Prayer" is a pop rock and gospel song that also incorporates elements of funk. The lyrics contain liturgical words, but they have been interpreted by some people to have dual meanings of sexual innuendo and religion. "Like a Prayer" was acclaimed by music critics upon release and was a global commercial success, becoming Madonna's seventh number 1 hit on the US Billboard Hot 100, topping the Hot 100 for three consecutive weeks and also topping the charts in many other countries, including Australia, Brazil, Canada, Italy, Mexico, New Zealand, Spain and the UK. It was Madonna's fifth number 1 hit on the Eurochart Hot 100, and stayed at number one for 12 weeks.

The accompanying music video for "Like a Prayer", directed by Mary Lambert, shows a white woman being sexually assaulted and subsequently killed by a group of white men, but a black man is arrested for the crime. The video depicts a church and Catholic symbols such as stigmata. It also features the Ku Klux Klan's burning crosses and a dream sequence about kissing a black saint. Leon Robinson was hired to play the role of a saint; the part was inspired by Martin de Porres, the patron saint of mixed-race people and all those seeking interracial harmony. The Vatican condemned the video, while family and religious groups protested against its broadcast. They boycotted products by soft drink manufacturer Pepsi, who had used the song in their commercial. Pepsi canceled their sponsorship contract with Madonna, but allowed her to retain the $5 million fee.

While most TV stations banned the music video, MTV notably continued to air the video on heavy rotation. The controversies leading to her "Like a Prayer" video introduced the concept of free publicity and became a turning point where Madonna was viewed as a shrewd businesswoman who knows how to sell a concept. At the 1989 MTV Video Music Awards, the video for "Like a Prayer" was nominated in the Viewer's Choice and Video of the Year categories, winning the former. It was number one on MTV's countdown of "100 Videos That Broke the Rules" in 2005, and for the channel's 25th anniversary, viewers voted it as the "Most Groundbreaking Music Video of All Time". In addition, the video was ranked at number 20 on Rolling Stone's "The 100 Top Music Videos", and at number two on VH1's 100 Greatest Videos. In a 2011 poll by Billboard, the video for "Like a Prayer" was voted the second-best music video of the 1980s, behind only Michael Jackson's "Thriller". According to Screen Rant, "Like a Prayer" is one of the most used Madonna's songs in movies and television, most recently notably featured in the 2024 film Deadpool & Wolverine.

"Like a Prayer" received a total of 87,9% yes votes! Previous Madonna polls: #18 "Who's That Girl", #184 "Live to Tell".

[stxrvel]

injustice (3)

series summary. the holy grail of the seven men who ruled the country's entertainment used to be your friends at school. now, ten years later and between successes and failures, what reason would they have to want to come back into your life? pairing. eventually ot7 x f!reader. content. first of all, english is not my first language so sorry for any mistakes! a lot of curse words, a lot of self-deprecation and low self esteem. no proofread. this is nawt silly writing, we're diving right into the aNgSt. jumpscare? iykyk a/n. hi guys! this was a rollercoaster for me to write, but i hope it doesn't come as harsh as i think it is. pls let me know what you think in the comments!! see you next week!!

series masterlist | bts masterlist | previous | next

You had gone through a scenario like that in your head several times. A variety of moments, conversations and looks that always ended in the same unpleasant, inevitable and demoralizing way: you were forgotten by the people you loved most in the world. Only when you reached 18 would you realize how heartbreaking the dull thud of the silence of indifference was, how sharp and icy the loneliness was, how it penetrated and paralyzed your bones; but at that time, at 16, you could still convince yourself that all those things were only in your head and would always be there.

“Now that you're the last to go, you guys are much more likely to forget about me.”

“Of course not! In fact, as soon as I start earning money I'll save up to take you with us.”

Jungkook shook his head, his narrowed eyes judging you as if having insecurities was a sin. You believed his words at that moment, because being the last one still with you, 'cause you were going to graduate from school in the same year, it was the only thing you could do. Hold on to the idea that you really weren't going to be forgotten, because the mere conception of a future without your best friends was inconceivable.

“Jimin-hyung said he was going to try to call more often,” your friend went on, his eyes fixed on the bass on his lap and his important task of leaving it neat before returning it to its holy post in the school's music room. “I haven't talked to them in about three days.”

Jimin and Taehyung had left just a couple of months ago, but thanks to the opportunities opened to them with their incredible willingness, discipline and some string twitching on Namjoon's part, they had managed to get into a great academy to train and fulfill their dreams.

That also brought with it, as irreversible side effects, that your communication with them was drastically reduced. You had to constantly remind yourself and Jungkook that it was out of their control. With their future at stake, there was something for which they had to exert extreme effort and for which to sacrifice some other things.

“It's normal that they don't have as much time as they used to, Kookie.” You lowered your head, noticing the way his hands delicately handled the instrument on his legs. Since Jimin and Taehyung had left there was no time of day when you could tear yourself away from Jungkook, which is why you accompanied him to his extracurricular music lessons when you really should have been studying for the college entrance exam. “Life after school gets really hectic.”

“I've heard that college life is quieter.” Jungkook twisted his lips, wiping between the strings and his fingerprints left on the bass every time he moved it back and forth to clean it. It was an almost irresistible cycle.

“The only one at college right now is Seokjin and even about him we haven't heard much.” You leaned back against the piano, noticing Jungkook's movements pause for a moment as he surely reminisced about the few times he had been able to talk to Jin that month.

It had been two years since Seokjin had graduated and traveled all the way to the capital to study medicine. Needless to say, it was more than clear that communication with Jin would be almost nil from then on, but Jungkook always used to pout about it.

“It's just that Jin-hyung also chose a rather demanding career.” Jungkook twisted his lips, as if suppressing Jin in his head, waving the microfiber towel over the edges of the bass.

“And the others are trying too hard to carve their way through. It can be as complicated as going out to look for a job right after graduating.”

Jungkook nodded, admiring his cleaning job with a frown. He looked so focused that it caught you by surprise when he spoke again.

“You already know if you're going to college, noona? We're graduating this year.”

You blinked once, twice, three times. His nonchalant self went back to waving the towel over nonexistent smudges as you breathed in and decided not to go that route. “Will you?”

Jungkook raised his head, pausing his movements for a moment to try to analyze your gaze. With a sigh, he let out your poorly disguised way of shifting the focus of the conversation to get up and hang the instrument, glowing, on the wall of the music room.

“I don't know yet… Namjoon-hyung says he can help me.”

“Isn't it your dream, why do you doubt it?”

“I'm not sure, noona. What if I don't measure up? What if I fail?”

When your friend turned away, the mirror to his soul showed his vulnerability dancing on the edge of his eyelids. His distrust constricted your heart, a hand closing around your throat at the inner conflicts you knew Jungkook used to have and in the face of which you often couldn't do anything about because he didn't usually share such things.

“Then you try again.”

“Noona…” Jungkook wanted to grumble, it was obvious from the way his eyes moved to the ceiling, his head cocking as if he was about to give you a big life lesson on why you can't survive on motivational phrases.

But Jungkook was a softie about such things, even if he tried to hide it.

“Jungkook, you are literally a golden promise. No process is ever easy, especially in the industry you want to get into, but don't think for a second that you're going to outgrow it. You're one of the most capable people I've ever met.”

Your friend stopped his steps, when after hanging up the bass he was returning to your post in front of you, raising his head as if caught committing a prank. But the vulnerability in his eyes remained, and by the way they shone in the dim light of the room, still blinking to try to contain the emotion, you knew your words had tugged at just that thorn in his heart you were trying to pull out.

“Thank you, noona.”

“I'm just telling the truth.” You lifted a shoulder, shaking your head nonchalantly like it was no big deal, and Jungkook just let out an amused chuckle.

“You do know we'd never forget about you, right? How could we?”

-

“How could we?”

Yuna shook her head, frowning at her phone, oblivious to the way you cringed at her choice of words.

“She's bringing celebrities into the store and she want us to leave? Don't we work so well that we always take the top employee of the month spot even though it should only be held by one person? Don't we deserve that gift?”

You watched her, marveling at how after just a few seconds so many emotions could build up into an overwhelming knot in your chest. The old notes of an old piano played in the back of your head, bringing to the surface memories of when life was easier; when you thought you had it all and nothing would ever be better than that; when you thought you were enough.

“So what do you plan to do about it?” you blinked, focusing on the notation of bills in your notebook with an invisible hand squeezing your heart.

There was no use thinking about such things after so long.

Yuna pursed her lips, her expression serious and forceful. “I think we should have a sit-in.”

“We should? That sounds like more than one person.”

“Do you disagree with me?”

“I'm happy with going home early, especially on a Friday, you know?”

“y/n,” Yuna came up to your face over the cash register display case, her forearms resting on the glass and her eyes so bright with determination you were sure her head could light the whole store on fire the way she was scheming and scheming, running around like her life depended on it, “we could be close to meeting the seven gods of Olympus, and you think the best thing to do is go home?”

“Just in case you forgot, I have a business to run now.” You reminded her, moving to poke her with your middle finger all over her forehead and push her away from the cash register now that a new customer had come in.

“What business should a business matter when you could meet the reason for existence itself?”

Yuna dropped onto the display case, her body sliding like jelly until only her head was left on the glass. You and the new customer watched her, her arms limp at her sides and her gaze lost. A lone tear running down the bridge of her nose.

“God, you're so dramatic.”

“Does that mean yes?” Her head snapped up like a spring, a big smile scaring the soul out of the customer who ducked behind your friend to run for their order.

“No and stop acting like that, you're going to scare away customers.”

Yuna whined, her exaggerated tantrum leading you to wiggle your feet all the way to the cellar.

“I'm offering you the holy grail, and this is how you pay me?”

The sound of her feet shuffling behind you kept your head sane. Even though his insinuations were baseless, your heart was pounding so hard you felt your ribs throbbing through your muscles and skin.

Your boss had written to Yuna that you two could leave the store early today because she had a private meeting to attend. She asked them to leave everything to Patrick, including clearing the store of customers and not to worry about paying for the shift, because there would be no discount at the end of the month. Yuna was faithfully and blindly convinced that your boss really wanted you to stay, because she spent almost ten minutes with her eyes glued to the screen almost without blinking, watching the 'typing…' appear and disappear under your boss's contact name. 'I'm sure she's debating how much confidence she has in us…', she said as her red eyes missed no detail of that important chat and that primordial moment, ending in an offended 'none!' when her last message came through.

In the same way, Yuna convinced herself that the meeting that would take place in the same place where your feet were planted was going to be attended by the seven entertainment kings of the country. The unmentionables, for all practical purposes. Where had she come to that conclusion? There was no foundation. Had your boss given any hints? None. Yuna had her head in the clouds believing she could meet her idols if she insisted a little longer.

“Would you really prefer to stand your friend up to meet seven men you don't even know for sure will show up here?”

“Well…if you put it that way it sounds like I'm doing something wrong.”

“Mmm, you just figured that out?”

Yuna dropped her shoulders as you took off your apron. Her tactics weren't going to work and it was time to give up. She half-heartedly opened her locker and stood looking at you with puppy dog eyes. You felt as guilty as if you had stepped on her tail by accident.

“Look, if I'm being honest, I doubt gigantically that Sol will tell you that you can stay if you ask her.”

“Not even for everything we've been through together?”

“She's still our boss, Yuna.”

Your friend mimicked your actions with a slower speed, her emotion draining away little by little. When her head cocked to the side, halfway through taking off her apron, you only sighed.

“The worst that can happen is I get fired, right?”

You weren't surprised that she was nevertheless willing to cross that line.

“That doesn't sound like much to you?”

“I can always write her a 'ha, ha, just joking' afterwards and get out of harm's way.”

You didn't contain the irresistible urge to roll your eyes and Yuna took that as her own signal or green light. Next thing you knew she was pulling out her phone and typing animatedly on the screen.

“I really don't think you should do that.”

“I have to try! Can I call myself a good fan if I don't do even the impossible?”

“You don't even know if they'll come.”

“I have a hunch.”

With her hand over her heart, Yuna sent the message and you feared for her life. While Sol was not at all close to the idea and conceptualization of a crazy and ruthlessly demanding boss, she did draw the line at several specific situations that they had both learned to respect. One of those was, of course, private meetings at her place. You and Yuna had set up the place countless times for Sol to sit quietly and chat with her most famous acquaintances, because her office was too formal to deal with them there, but her own home was extremely informal for the same purpose. The cafeteria served as a middle ground, the perfect place to be comfortable when talking business.

“Patrick is coming.” Yuna spoke again and by the way her eyes didn't leave the screen you could tell Sol hadn't responded yet.

“I wish you the best of luck, Yuna.”

“Thank you! Coming from you it's a blessing, indeed.”

“And why's that?”

You finally stood up, closing your locker with your strap bag over your right shoulder. You were ready to leave while your friend was still biting her index fingernail waiting for an almost impossible and inconceivable message from her boss.

“What else can I expect from the writer who blew up overnight and is soon going to be one of the New York Times bestsellers and famous worldwide?”

“Ah,” you turned your head, unable to contain inwardly the way a warmth settled in your chest; you still had a hard time accepting how things had turned out, but as long as you couldn't control the influx of orders that had to take a back seat, “smooth.”

Yuna smiled and when her eyes met yours you swore she was about to tell you one more time how proud she was of you, but her phone vibrated in her hands and the last thing you saw her eyes widen exaggeratedly before her scream shook the foundations of the store and almost the entire city.

“SHE SAID YES!!!!”

-

Arriving home unleashed immeasurable chaos.

As soon as you opened the front door, a river of books fell like dominoes, with your father's groans and your mother's screams in the background, the sound of your work echoing in your head like lightning as stomping echoed through the house.

“Seojun, I told you to be careful walking…!”The angry expression on your mother's face disappeared the moment she recognized your face, her features softening as she knew it was her daughter. “Honey. What are you doing here so early?”

“Is that y/n?” your dad's exclamation rang out from the kitchen.

“Yes!” your mom yelled back.

The welcome was nice, but things only got more and more tedious from then on. On the one hand, you had your father telling you about accounts, numbers and multiplications of how much you had to take out of your pocket to pay for the prints, how much you would make if you sold all the books you had printed and how much you would get back, and on the other hand you had your mother telling you about the countless publishers who had written to your dm's seeking to sponsor the sale of your books, taking advantage of the boom that had been generated by the phenomenon that was Kim Taehyung.

Seojun, who had decided to move back home for the weekend to help with whatever was needed, was telling you that they had had to hire five different deliverymen -three of them trucks- to be able to deliver as many orders a day as possible, while vehemently hitting your father's forearm to remind him to include that in the accounts.

Your father was in charge of everything related to money, your mother of the direct communication with customers and Seojun of the orders; everything was done by them, with Yuna's help when she was not working, with the excuse that after so many years you just had to sit down and enjoy the fruit of your sowing without any worries.

But at that moment, when they had just let go and thrown all their worries at your feet, they stared at you expectantly.

"We need a loan."

Your mother jumped in her chair. "That's what I said!"

"That's not necessary." Your father shook his head, as he surely would have done when your mother suggested the idea judging by the expression that had planted itself on her face. "Take a loan from my wallet, but don't do business with those bankers. They'll gouge your eyes out with interest."

"Or take a publisher's offer. They'll take care of all this." Seojun pointed out, his long black hair brushing his eyebrows even though he shook it nonchalantly so he could get a good look at the three of them.

"Publishers can be freeloaders too." Your mother counter-argued, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Oh, yeah? How many publishers have you signed on with to assert that?"

"Wow, careful with that tone, Mr. Lawyer." Your father pointed at your brother, while your mother only raised an eyebrow at him in response. Seojun sank into the chair, barely dragging an apology through his teeth.

"It's not a bad idea either, Dad."

His brown eyes returned to meet your gaze and you noticed the hesitation in them.

"Well, ultimately, it's your decision, honey."

Your mother squeezed your shoulder.

"I say we should listen to the lawyer."

"Hey!" Seojun frowned, straightening up on the chair. "Don't put such a big responsibility on me!"

Your father snorted. "But then weren't you comfortable a while ago giving orders and saying that I don't know what thing you had already seen it in class and that's why you knew what we had to do?"

"Dad…" Seojun elongated.

"Are you ready for such a position or not, Seojun? Tell me to start looking for another lawyer."

Your mother barely contained her laughter, only because of the offended sideways glance her own son sent her way. Laughter blossomed in your chest, too, like a big breath of fresh air in a field of flowers. You didn't know you needed that moment so badly until the tension disappeared from your shoulders as you laughed with your parents and your brother grumbled with his arms crossed.

-

A new batch of orders just went out - thank you so much for your purchases!

You looked at the story your mom had uploaded to Instagram in the solitude of your bedroom. The rest of the day was spent strategizing and planning marketing ideas that would likely lead you to ruin. In a defeated silence, you admitted that Yuna was really needed.

You had texted your friend a while ago, as the sunset was beginning to paint the sky with colors, but she still hadn't even checked her phone. Her last connection was a few minutes after you left at noon. You decided not to insist, even though you were a little curious about who had finally shown up at the store.

The best thing about that busy rest of the afternoon was that you'd been able to keep yourself busy enough to completely ignore the way you'd been whipped up by a few memories that morning in Yuna's company. A simple question had caused all that. And of course, with a heart as weak as a chick's and willpower almost non-existent, you let yourself be pulled right in that moment of loneliness into the well of memories.

“Jungkookie?”

Your voice pierced the silence and a shiver ran through your body as the darkness greeted you back. A few minutes passed after you plunged into the completely darkened room, walking tentatively and slowly inside, you heard a movement just outside the door you had just entered.

“Noona…”

You couldn't see him, but you didn't need to. The sobs that filled the room were enough to be able to guide you through that darkness, as indistinguishable as coal, and wrap your arms around his hunched figure on the floor beside the door.

The house was alone and as dark as that room the last night Jungkook would be there. Passing through the empty corridors of his house was a torment, but you could only imagine how your friend would feel in his place, unable to stop time as it slipped through his fingers.

Several times he had already told you that he didn't want to leave. You didn't think he meant it.

“They're waiting for you downstairs.”

“I know. I don't want to go, noona.” Jungkook moved his arms to wrap around your waist in a desperate grip, his erratic breathing against your neck breaking your heart. “I want to stay. It doesn't matter if I never become an idol. That's not important.”

“Jungkook…”

“I don't want to leave you…”

His halting voice was barely understandable, trying to be muffled by the jacket you were wearing that night when you went to see him off and didn't find him in the car with his parents. The heater seemed not to be a worthy opponent for that cold night.

“Jungkook, you're not going to leave me. We'll keep in touch. Why do you worry so much?”

“I don't want to be like them,” his pained voice pierced your chest; the movement of his body from the way the sobs were attacking him was almost uncontainable. “I don't want this distance.”

“Change is always hard, Jungkookie, but I promise you we'll be in touch always. I'll do my best to make it so.”

“Really?”

“Of course. I'll even come visit you as soon as I can.”

“No. I said I was going to pay for your trip.”

“See? You're not going to leave me.”

“Still I'm scared, noona. What if I'm not enough for them? What if I can't raise enough for you to come live with us?”

“You are enough, Jungkook. From the tips of your fingers to the tips of your hair, there's nothing about you that won't allow you to achieve your dreams, understand? You are destined to be a star. I know it's hard to leave behind everything you know in life, but believe me it will all be worth it. You will come out on top and you will succeed.”

“Noona…” Jungkook cried again, burying his face in your neck once more, clinging to you like the anchor that carried him to the surface of the ocean; the ocean shaped by his own tears. “I… don't… want… to… go…”

The hiccups that attacked him from his intense crying made it difficult for him to speak and you hadn't felt such pain even when the other boys left. There were tears shared, promises whispered and hugs that lasted longer than they should have, but no one had clung to your body as if they feared you were going to disappear at any moment and wanted to seize every second before the impending end.

“It's okay, Jungkookie,” you ran your hands up and down his back trying to calm his crying, trying to control your own as treacherous tears rolled down your cheeks with the darkness as your witness. “We'll meet again. You can wait for me. Then we can melt into another embrace and say how much we miss each other.”

Your phone vibrated on the bed, the notification startling you with its aggressiveness. Another vibration followed that one and then another. Turning on the screen, you found that half an hour had passed since you'd last seen the clock, and in passing you came across Yuna's name on the caller ID. You sighed, remembering the effusiveness with which she said goodbye in the afternoon and mentally preparing yourself for what was to come.

"Hey," you greeted, mildly surprised that her exclamations hadn't reached your ear first to interrupt your greeting.

"y/n, how were sales today?" her calm voice filled your hearing and a slight wrinkle implanted itself between your brows.

"Mmm, it was all good. We have several domiciliary and the prints are coming out with the deadlines arranged. With Seojun we considered that maybe taking on a publisher wouldn't be so bad, but I'm not sure yet."

You narrowed your eyes at the ceiling, shallowly biting your nails, waiting for the moment when Yuna would burst out, but it didn't come.

"Oh, yeah. We'll have to consider that. I'll go early tomorrow morning to seize the day." Yuna answered quietly, with the faint sound of things stirring in the background of the call. Surely she had just arrived at her apartment.

"Yuna?"

"Mhm?"

"How was the afternoon?"

"Oh, it was normal, really," she replied, her voice flat, as if the thought had barely crossed her mind since the moment she'd left the coffee shop. "I didn't see anyone memorable."

"Ah, so your knights in shining armor didn't attend?"

"Sadly, no." Yuna sighed, her unchanging attitude finding a little more sense in your head. She sounded more tired than anything.

You talked a bit more with Yuna before she excused herself to go about her evening routine and finally get some rest, specifically stressing to you how boring the whole afternoon had been and how every second she only thought about going home. You also told her a bit more about the ideas you and your father had half-heartedly spun as marketing strategies, but very earnestly your friend asked you not to do anything until she was there.

When her name disappeared from your caller ID, an Instagram notification popped up at the top of your home screen. The vibration felt like the pounding of a sledgehammer against wood, your sentence handed down with no chance of appeal, the blood in your veins freezing and an endless emptiness in the pit of your stomach.

jeonjungkook97 just followed you!

It was followed by the notification of a message from Yuna.

Unnie | 19:01 holy shit. jungkook just followed you on ig, right?

No fucking way. Another fucking account to block.

-

It wasn't like you couldn't deal with them. You had been doing it for about ten years. But now they just seemed to want to throw themselves in front of your face one by one and you weren't strong enough to handle that. Maybe your resolve needed to be more forceful; maybe you should be sure you hated them instead of feeling like your body was shaking and you could melt like jelly in the sun every time you felt they were one step closer to you. For a while, that was all you wanted; to find them; to be found. But now…?

The weekend was spent in a hodgepodge of managing your book sales and the seesaw of emotions you had in the face of the estranged but impactful actions of your old friends. You tried not to think about it too much; you really tried, but it was very difficult. It was easier to let the memories wash over you instead of diligently packing up the books on which you had squandered your blood and tears.

Your books, yes, that was the most important thing.

From the posts and hashtags, even though it had only been a couple of days, you could see that some people -those who had actually read the books- were already posting their opinions and reviews and you knew you had had plenty of time to prepare for that moment, but you really weren't ready to face it. You didn't know what it was; whether it was the pollen, the aligned planets, PMS, mercury retrograde… but all of those things were weighing you down too much recently and you weren't ready to hear the opinions.

And you couldn't help but keep asking yourself why? Having spent so much time, between so many experiences and so many personal changes, why now they decided that they would come back into your life? How dare they after ruining your life by completely abandoning you? Many times you wondered what was missing in you; what was never enough for them… sometimes you believed that this was how it was meant to be; just the seven of them, before you came along. It was always them seven first, then you.

Between lows and highs, between sadness and joy, you still had to keep working.

"Get rid of that face if you're not going to tell me what's wrong with you." Yuna crossed the cafeteria in front of you, picking up some glasses and plates on the table as lunchtime approached.

"I don't have any face."

"You've been in a somber mood since Saturday. You look dead."

You clicked your tongue, taking advantage of the fact that the store was nearly empty to do the math. "Don't be over the top."

"I'm just being honest and genuinely concerned about my friend, can you blame me?" Yuna reached the sink and simply left the dishes there to approach the cash register. Your eyes refused to meet hers, unsheathing a strange annoyance in the pit of your stomach.

"I'm fine," you moved the money automatically, doing the math in the back of your head as second nature, "don't worry so much."

"Ok, if you don't want to tell me about it at least try to distract yourself a little, why don't you take an extra half hour for lunch?"

"You know I can't do that."

"Sol would never know."

"I'm not going to do that."

Yuna pouted, dropping her chin onto the back of her hand. You knew she was about to fly you out of that chair the moment all the bills were safeguarded.

A whiplash of pain shot through your chest at the alternative of having to leave the cafeteria, alone, hovering with your thoughts once again, as you tried to shove the food down your throat. But Yuna happily dragged you out of the cafeteria, leaving you in the middle of the street with your little bag and lunch money, wishing you a happy break as she wandered off once more to deal with the sparse crowd of customers alone.

Maybe you should have told her you'd rather not eat than be alone, but…

That was the story of your life.

So you walked to that restaurant a couple of blocks away, where they sold the cheapest food in the area, and waited patiently while answering Yuna's messages to clear your mind.

Going through your social networks, you once again came across the cover of your books in the pre-viewing of a video and felt the bile in your throat. Let's see, you were happy. Or well, you were trying to convince yourself because you still had that bitter feeling in the pit of your stomach that wouldn't let you enjoy this blast like you should and it had a first and last name of its own. But, generally speaking, it was great that your books were selling, forgetting all the other circumstances that led to that happening.

So, standing in front of those videos, you were tormented by not being able to watch them. A self-published author should be prepared for that kind of thing. No, any author should be. Sharing your art with the world implicitly entailed confronting the world's expression in front of it. It was inevitable, of course, and it was also the energy that could start an engine or the fingers that put out the match. At that precise moment, you still didn't want to know what your destiny was.

You hated that. You hated feeling the weight of the world on your shoulders. Why was life so heavy if you had just begun to live it?

Ah, too much pondering for one lunch.

And to think this all started with an Instagram story.

Having an existential crisis because you couldn't stand dealing with the stress and pressure of the extreme demand you were having and because of mixed feelings for a bunch of idiots resurfacing after so many years was one of the last things you thought you'd have to go through that year. Fuck, or ever in your entire life.

Taehyung might have done you a favor as well as a disservice.

But that's how you spent a while longer, as you walked back to the coffee shop, the noise of the city not being enough to quell the bustle of thoughts crashing against each other in your head.

Being in the eye of the hurricane, however, didn't mean you were safe. You barely had a breath of fresh air before the eyewall hit you hard once again.

"Noona…?"

You froze a few steps away from the cafeteria. You feared not only the way you immediately recognized the voice, but the way your body froze, fear, panic and uncertainty clouding your sense.

You were in the alley behind the coffee shop. You didn't usually go in that way, but you had taken a slightly longer way back, only because you were too busy thinking about whether or not your body was up to a longer walk.

You were so close to the door that you could almost hear Yuna's voice on the other side, barely muffled by the beeping that echoed in your ears as panic took over your body.

You didn't want to turn around. Your body was having every possible negative reaction, as if it was fighting an infection, the lunch you had just shoved down your throat seeking to make its way back into your mouth and the feeling of dizziness momentarily clouded you.

Was this how you planned to react if you ever saw them again? Was this how you acted out the scenarios you imagined in your head at night when your memories went back to the last time you saw them?

The only difference between those imaginings and what was happening at that moment was that before you could prepare yourself; you knew what was coming; you had control. Now? Your legs were about to give out, the weight of your body too much to bear.

And you wanted to mock the pathetic behavior you were engaging in. You should turn around, slap him and scream at him that you never wanted to see him again. But your heart was beating and feeling and… how could you deny it anything after so many years of being neglected?

But maybe you were imagining it. The little sleep you had this weekend and all the memories you dragged from the trunk since you saw that Instagram notification must have made you crazy enough that you heard voices, his voice, anywhere… you were still near a busy street, it could be anyone-

"y/n."

And, yet…

You didn't turn around knowing what it would entail to give his voice a face, even though you could madly and frankly recall every line of its length, and you spoke harshly through your teeth even though your labored breathing made your chest heave.

"What are you doing here?"

"Noona… you're really here."

You cringed as you heard his footsteps and clutched with inhuman speed at the lock on the door in front of you.

"I asked you a fucking question: what the fuck do you think you're doing here?"

The silence didn't give you an answer, but you could glimpse it. With your patience on edge and years of emotional repression it was impossible for you to deduce how you would react in such a case, but it didn't seem too far-fetched, even if Jungkook's surprised inspiration said he didn't expect you to be so harsh and rude.

As if you cared.

—Yes you did care, in fact, that's why your heart was beating wildly against your ribs, the choking sensation increasing, the nerves on edge and the tears all over the corners of your eyes, but you had to stand your ground. After so, so long… why, why, why, why?—

"I… I…" Jungkook seemed to be having trouble finding his voice, even though in his profession the words came melodiously and easily out of his mouth. If you turned to look at him, you might have noticed that his face went from happiness to anguish with the speed a bullet goes through a field, "I wanted to see you…"

He sounded so small. The five-foot-ten-plus man, who you're sure was almost a head and a half taller than you, might as well have been a badly wounded puppy behind you. You knew from the way he spoke that he was holding back tears, but you didn't let that sway you. He didn't deserve it.

"Who gave you the right to come here?"

You didn't let him answer, not knowing if he was even going to, tightening the lock on the door you were about to walk through at any moment, bile in your throat making you fear the fall as if you were at the top of a skyscraper.

"How the fuck did you even find me?"

"Well, I-"

"I don't fucking want to know!"

You cut him off, the dryness and venom in your voice making you tremble. You were so sad, so distraught and so angry at the same time.

"And I don't want to see you. So leave."

"Noona…"

"Fucking leave, Jeon, for fuck's sake!"

You moved, almost as if by inertia, opening the door and slamming it behind you, the noise so deafening that it echoed in your ears for several seconds until you heard Yuna's footsteps approaching you and felt her arms wrap around your body.

You didn't know what she was saying, you just leaned against the door and let yourself fall, your body shaking in cry after uncontrollable cry, truly wondering how everything had gone so far; wondering how, after so many years, you still allowed them to have that power over you; a power they didn't deserve and shouldn't have.

You felt shattered in that moment, every piece of you scattered in the hold, every moment of your life replaying on its glassy, sharp edges. Even with half of you staying afloat, Yuna held you until the tears stopped flowing and with renewed resolve you promised yourself that this was never going to happen again.

Jungkook had taken you by surprise, but from now on none of them would ever catch you off guard.

-

a/n: i dont really know what to think about this chap. sometimes i like it sometimes i dont. i guess thats just how it works. pls letme know what you think! thank u for all the support! <3

tag: @rinkud @futuristicenemychaos @pastelpeachess @parapiop7 @kokoandkookie @midiplier @thunderg @lizzymizzy-blogg @ladymorrie @butnotmontana @lovelgirl22 @jjeonjjk7 @aurorathi @ot7stansthings @kunacat @borahaetelevision @mylovingstars @ghostlyworld @talyaaas-blog @slowlyshycomputer @jjk174 @maynina @saintomie @damn-u-min-yoongi @juju-227592 @yoongznme @queenbloody @leeeeeeeeeeeeeeeesworld @zippaur @v4ksk4tz @kookierry @idk179634 @canarystwin @elliott-calls @devilzliaison

[whencyclopedia]

The Bright Ages: A New History of Medieval Europe

"The Bright Ages" dispels the common myth that the Middle Ages were dark, backward and brutal. The book weaves a new history of the Middle Ages, examining over a 1000 years from the 5th to the 16th centuries, arguing that the "Dark Ages" are a modern ideological myth and that the Middle Ages were far more luminous, tolerant and diverse than they are commonly believed to be.

Each chapter of the book examines key developments in time and space across Medieval Europe, starting and ending in Ravenna, Italy. It covers:

the late Western Roman Empire

the Byzantine Empire,

the Goths,

Anglo-Saxon Britain,

the Franks,

the Vikings,

France,

the Black Death,

the Crusades,

Christian-Muslim-Jewish relations in Spain,

the Caliphate,

Hildegard von Bingen,

monastic orders,

the Golden Horde,

the Black Death

and much more.

The book centers on several compelling arguments that are not commonly considered when thinking of the Middle Ages.

First, the authors argue that the Roman Empire did not fall in the Middle Ages. The so-called "fall" of the Western Roman Empire was not understood by medieval people to be an end to the Roman Empire. It was merely a shifting of the centre of power from Rome to Constantinople. In the medieval mind, the Roman Empire was alive, powerful and respected (until it finally fell at the very end of the Middle Ages in 1453). Equally, various rulers in the Middle Ages claimed a connection to the Roman Empire to justify their rule.

Second, the book argues that the Middle Ages were far more diverse and interconnected than most people believe. People moved freely and frequently between countries and cultures, both within Europe and between Europe, Africa and the Middle East. With them came ideas, knowledge and goods. The idea that, during the Middle Ages, Europe contained "purer" nations is an ideological fantasy conjured by nationalists:

Throughout the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, imperialist European powers and their intellectuals (often the forerunners of, or scholars in medieval studies themselves!) sought a history for their new world order to justify and explain why whiteness –a modern idea, albeit with medieval roots– justified their domination of the world. They found the proto-nations of the Middle Ages useful as a past to point to for their modern origins, pointing to both medieval connections to Greece and Rome and the independence and distinct traditions of medieval politics. These modern thinkers used the fiction of Europe and the invented concept of "Western Civilization" as a thread to tie the modern world together.

Third, the book highlights at several points that power was less concentrated in male authority than commonly believed. Throughout the Middle Ages, women held positions of power and their power is attested in medieval primary sources. Abesses could be superiors of monks, kings wrote to Hildegard von Bingen for advice, Leif Erikson's sister led an expedition in Newfoundland, and some Queens were responsible for the Christianisation of kingdoms, to cite a few examples.

Finally, the book argues against the connotation of the term "medieval" signifying "backward". In fact, the authors show that even though religion played a more central role in society than in the modern era, the Middle Ages was a humane society concerned with what is moral and good, despite the cruelty that occurred in this era like in any other. The epilogue suggests that European colonisation represented the real "dark ages" by recounting a debate about whether the natives of the New World could be considered human and what rights the Spanish crown and landowners had over them.

Overall, The Bright Ages paints a new picture of the Middle Ages filled with nuance and diversity. Unlike popular Medieval tropes, the Middle Ages were far more complex and less dark than we commonly believe. The myth of the "Dark Ages" is a modern one, and to truly understand, we must dissociate from it.

Matthew Gabriele is a professor of history at Virginia Tech, and David Perry was a professor of Medieval History at Dominican University. The book is written with the general public in mind and is easy to read. Each chapter is engaging and many of them refer to key events in Medieval history that most readers would be familiar with. However, a reader with no knowledge of Medieval history might find the book hard to follow.

Continue reading...

[the-garbanzo-annex-jr]

By David de Bruijn

Many are shocked, wondering how this could happen in the Netherlands.

To me, their bafflement is what’s shocking.

I grew up in The Hague, where real and abundant antisemitism, from epithets in the street to physical threats to the community’s safety, was part of our daily life. As a young boy, I vividly recall how The Hague's football hooligans—viciously opposed to Ajax, Amsterdam’s “Jewish” team—walked the streets under a banner reading “We’re hunting for Jews.” (Indeed, for my entire life, football stadiums in my home country have been filled with lurid chants like “Hamas, Hamas, all the Jews on gas!” and “My dad was in the commandos, my mom was in the SS, we like to burn Jews, because Jews burn the best.”)  

In high school, second- or third-generation Moroccan kids would point and hiss “Psst, psst, that’s a Jew, that’s a Jew!” as they passed by on their bikes. 

But most impactful were the myriad security measures our community had to undertake. Seen from the front, The Hague synagogue is not recognizable, two thick green doors presenting a closed facade to the street. Behind these doors are glass doors that open only once additional permission is given. All the windows are made of bulletproof glass. A permanent police post guards the synagogue. In Amsterdam, the Jewish primary school has even more dystopian levels of protection, hidden behind several layers of metal spikes and fencing. From the outside, the view of the school is entirely closed off. (Even as I write this, I feel uncomfortably conscious of not revealing any sensitive security details.)

Self-protection was a constant—and to me, natural—part of Jewish life. Leading youngsters to a summer camp in northern Friesland meant bringing a dedicated security team and, when possible, keeping quiet the fact that it was Jewish children gathering here. 

Violent, antisemitic assaults have become increasingly regular occurrences. In May, a student at the University of Amsterdam, a young man, was assaulted by a protester in a keffiyeh, struck in the head with a wooden plank. In August, a statue of Anne Frank was defaced—for the second time—with anti-Israel graffiti. Today, walking around with a kippah in the Netherlands is an act that requires bravery.

As the situation worsened over the years—motivating some, including me, to move, others to adjust, and so many to worry—one of the most painful aspects was the way the Jewish community was gaslit. Dutch society repeatedly told its post-Holocaust Jewish remnant—and itself—that “never again” was not merely a concrete promise, but a core concept of modern Dutch morality. However, the dominant culture of the country’s immigrant communities has proven manifestly hostile to that worldview—and to Jews. 

For the North Africans living in Holland, the dominant Jewish story of the twentieth century is not Auschwitz, it is Israel, which in their distorted conception is an illegitimate, one-directional criminal enterprise directed at an innocent population. Nor—and this is crucial—is this merely an attitude about a conflict. They believe it is the crime of the twentieth century, conferring ultimate guilt on the Jewish people. “Palestine” is a phrase felt to carry the gravity of “Holocaust,” grotesquely inverting the perception of the Jewish experience.

For Holland’s Jewry, this reality has been palpable for decades. Yet nothing—no politician, no policy—has altered this reality. In the aftermath of every single violent attack—as will most likely be the case now—the political answer has been a room-temperature broth of subsidies, youth centers, dialogue forums, visits to Islamic pensioners clubs, and interfaith dialogue.

So it did not surprise me when international media outlets, like The Associated Press and The New York Times, covered this widespread attack as if it was the unfortunate, but perhaps expected, result of the Israeli fans’ conduct before and during the match, such as reportedly taunting Ajax fans with inappropriate slogans. Further, the AP wrote, the attack followed a Palestinian flag being “torn down from a building in Amsterdam on Wednesday,” and the rioters were angry because “authorities banned a pro-Palestinian demonstration near the stadium.” The Times originally pinned the attack on differences over sport and on taunts, as “violence tied to a match between Dutch and Israeli teams,” and reported that “the tensions in the hours leading up to the violence” was in part caused by “one man [being heard] saying in Hebrew, ‘The people of Israel live,’ while others shout[ed] anti-Palestinian chants using expletives.” (The Times has apparently stealth-edited its reporting numerous times since publication.)

In other words, if all you read were the initial reports, you might think that the Israelis started it, or at least had it coming.

What the reporters and media fail to understand is that this was an attack on Israeli football fans, but not one carried out by football hooligans. The Ajax team is itself Jewish friendly—fans of Amsterdam’s Ajax are affectionately (and sometimes not-so affectionately) referred to as “super Jews,” and Ajax is understood as the “Jewish team,” so it would make little sense that Ajax supporters would attack Jews or Israelis for their ethnicity—even if they are fans of an opposing team. 

No, this was straightforward: According to the accounts of witnesses and victims, it was an attack by immigrant, Muslim communities against Israelis and Jews.

[flagellant]

I remember you being something of a scholar on christian theology. I have a question if you don't mind. My tumblr is full of people clowning on american conservative catholics that are angry that the pope basically fired that bishop in Texas, and the tumblr posters saying "lol u disagree with the pope that makes you disagree w/ god's word" or "that makes u a protestant" etc etc.

And while I do enjoy dunking on the trad caths, I think I heard at some point that the pope isn't always talking with his authority as god's most special boy on earth. That most of the time he is just being a human and therefore could be wrong/make errors. Not that I care about the jerk bishop losing his job, but I'm curious, how do we know when the pope is or is not talking with the authority of God backing him up? Does he have to say a special phrase at the start and end of the speech, or hold both hands up above his head, or something?

Okay so what you're referring to here is actually the concept known as papal infallibility, which is one of my favorite pieces of Catholic canon for one very simple reason:

You learn about it as being essentially the Pope is God's most special boy on Earth and what he says is always directly spoken to him from God and therefore is infallible. And if you are like me when you first hear about this concept, you will immediately get trapped in shower arguments for the rest of your life fantasizing about calling the Pope homophobic and arguing for the Catholic church to please stop being so goddamned homophobic all the time.

This is when you learn that papal infallibility is much more fallible than it is made out to be, and this is basically the source of the issue with Strickland, Torres, and any other Bishop that Francyman has decided to give the boot. See, papal infallibility isn't merely a divine play-pretend godmode button, it's a complex and intricate place within theological debate and Vatican hierarchical bureaucratic structure.

Without going into too much of a in-depth explanation, another way to think of papal infallibility is that it's essentially the Holy Roman Catholic version of the President of the United States declaring an executive order that bypasses the Senate. Infallibility is used for similar reasons--it's got a semi-strict set of rules attached to its usage, which means that the Pope is not constantly infallible, but rather that the Pope as God's chosen elect on Earth therefore commands His greatest attention, which allows the Pope direct intercession and communication with God on paths that the Church as a body should walk.

There are usually supposed to be bureaucratic machinations for dethrocking or deposing a bishop, much of which is directly connected to confirming and providing direct evidence for certain crimes that the Holy See would consider too serious to allow him to continue serving in his position. But the Pope is the divinely elected God-Emperor Best Favorite of Oily Josh and his Daddio Self, so generally speaking when it comes to the Pope, there's always the option baked in for him to say "Fuck you I'm the Pope and you're going to do what I say without precedent".

This is the core of the issue for the current Strickland debacle--there might not be hard-and-fast written rules stating that Strickland can be removed from office through traditional means, but Francis doesn't approve of what he's preaching and using his office for since it's causing the minorest of itty-bitty issues with his principled stance of being The Pope That Liberals Might Vaguely Not Hate As Much. So he's functionally exercising a form of papal infallibility by skipping over procedures and etiquette to tell Strickland "Fuck you I'm the Pope and you're going to do what I say without precedent", and Strickland is going "But I thought you would only do that to bishops who belong to brown countries :(", and here we are.

[pikahlua]

In regards to your post on Izuku’s self sacrificial traits, how do you think the dark hero arc plays into this? I thought the point of it was to sort of pull his self sacrificial nature back a bit with the whole “you can’t do it on your own” and “don’t kill yourself for the cause” thing. They don’t have to be mutually exclusive, i get that “bakugou looks up to Deku’s self sacrificial nature as a positive trait he doesn’t have” and “Deku should rely on others and not hurt himself” can both coexist. But they also give mixed messages narratively. Is one not condemning it while the other puts it on a pedestal?

THANK YOU!!! For taking the bait.

I've been ranting about this theme a bit because, from what I can tell, it might be the biggest point MHA is trying to make to answer the question "What is a hero?" Because of MHA's length, the points of the argument have been rather spread out. I think people's understanding of the argument has been distorted by the length of time between the points. Overthinking is the enemy here.

But really, why are people coming away from MHA with the message "Heroes shouldn't sacrifice themselves"? The message is coming from somewhere. The problem is it's probably coming from a conflation of concepts. What is self-sacrifice? That's the question that gets at the root of the problem here.

In the west, "sacrifice" has negative connotations. "Something is lost." "Someone suffers for the sake of a goal." "Someone gives up something." The focus is entirely on the pain experienced by the one sacrificing.

But the point MHA is trying to make is that there's a difference between "suffering loss" and the sacrifices a true hero makes. Izuku isn't a remarkable hero because he's willing to destroy himself at the drop of a hat. The focus is not on his drastic behavior but on the recipients of his drastic behavior. The point is, sacrifice for the sake of sacrifice is meaningless, but sacrifice for the sake of others, well, now we're getting somewhere.

It's the "for the sake of others" part that matters here. Izuku is a hero because he cares for others, because he wants to save others, and what he's willing to sacrifice to accomplish that is merely the measure of his conviction, of his heart.

The quality of self-sacrifice is a core trait measured just to gain enrollment at UA, the most prestigious hero school in the country. Self-sacrifice is fundamental to being a hero. Do you really think the point of the MHA story is to demonstrate how self-sacrifice is a bad thing, that heroes shouldn't sacrifice themselves? Do you think the rest of Class 1-A wouldn't be willing to sacrifice themselves should the need arise so long as it's in order to save someone?

The difference between Izuku and the rest of the world, at least at the beginning, is that he is sensitive to calls for help. He is able to perceive those in trouble that others cannot perceive. Others get confused by the context or are not in a constant state of listening for cries for help. Others cannot always tell when is the right time to act or if acting is the correct choice. Izuku never wavers in the face of such questions. He always acts, because he cannot help but act. It is who he is. It's his nature to be this way. And this is the spirit that slowly influences his classmates and the rest of society, this is the spirit Katsuki fears and later comes to emulate, this is the ideal Izuku admires in his hero All Might for which he always strives.

Heroes want to save, but some of them just don't know how--and Izuku teaches them how. Izuku teaches them that, for true heroes, to save others is more important than anything else they could ever want. It is more important than their self-perceived weaknesses, than their egos, than their desires for vengeance, than their small-time dreams, no matter how noble or justified or important any of those things might be. To be called a hero, one must be prepared to risk it all.

These are the traits Hero Killer Stain wishes to promote in society. These are the qualities he exonerates from assassination. A person who lives for the sake of "service to others" is the sort of person who has more right than anyone to "cling desperately to life." Society needs such people, and for that very reason such people need to stay alive. This is the collectivist ideal. If everyone is concerned for the well-being of others, then everyone is looking out for everyone else. If you're ready to save others and risk yourself to do so, others will risk themselves to make sure you make it out alive too, and thus everyone is protected. If you do end up perishing due to self-sacrifice, it is a tragedy, not self-determination, but then your actions still protected the whole, and the whole will continue to protect everyone in it to the best of their abilities because your self-sacrifice was appreciated and the spirit of your goodness carries on in others.

But that's a whole lot of waxing poetic about self-sacrifice. I did acknowledge that people are picking up a critical message. Where then is the criticism?

It comes from Shouta Aizawa.

Aizawa is the major proponent of rationality in this case. Self-sacrifice = good is not the end of the philosophy. It is as you say, something must balance it out.

People often think Aizawa's philosophy boils down to "I don't want heroes to be self-sacrificial," but that's not actually what he's saying. Aizawa's philosophy is to make the distinction between self-sacrifice and self-destruction.

"Being self-sacrificing isn't the same...as being suicidal. Many kids confuse the two. So I'll give them what they want. A 'death,' so to speak."

The hallmark of heroic self-sacrifice is that it's done for the sake of others. Self-destruction is different; it is for the sake of the self. Some people would take the chance to mask their self-destruction as self-sacrifice by looking for a way to die while saving others. That's not the point of heroic self-sacrifice. Self-sacrifice is a last resort. You save a person in trouble because you care about preserving their well-being no matter the cost, but some sacrifices are not in balance. Say someone is trapped in a room and you want to get them out, and you have a battering ram and a bomb. Should you strap a bomb to your body and explode open that door to let the person out? Wouldn't that be a heroic sacrifice to save someone? No! It's certainly a sacrifice, but it's not a heroic one. You should act to preserve ALL well-being, including your own. Use the damn battering ram.

Consider the circumstances at play in the quirk assessment test. Izuku was ready to sacrifice his entire arm, his physical constitution, for the sake of demonstrating his power. What does Izuku incapacitating himself achieve were Aizawa to let him do so? It would merely be to prove his strength to someone. No one is at risk here. No one needs saving. Izuku has no person to receive the good will of his self-sacrifice.

"Whatever you were planning...it would have inconvenienced those around you."

"You're totally useless after saving just a single person."

Self-sacrifice is still a sacrifice, which means it has costs and consequences. Who loses because of self-sacrifice? Many people. The person who sacrifices themself loses their life or well-being, which, if others asking for help are worth saving because you believe all people are equal, then you are also worth saving and in just as much need of help. Additionally, your loved ones are harmed because they care about you. And the rest of society suffers because it was better for having you in it; you can no longer save anyone else. To save the most people possible, a hero should strive to survive. A hero should strive to win.

Taken all together, you get the philosophy that allows Katsuki's team to triumph during the Joint Training Arc, which was the entire point of this match. Note how all the above logic is summed up quite succinctly by the gremlin himself.

Katsuki is dedicated to winning the match and leads the charge, but that puts him at risk of being targeted. However, he's willing to be in that vulnerable state because he trusts others to save him. That's what empowers him to put himself on the line. His goal is a complete victory, which means that self-sacrifice is considered a loss. There are costs and consequences, and heroes should do their best to mitigate them. Katsuki is doing everything in his power to reduce the necessity of self-sacrifice, but not because he thinks self-sacrifice is bad. He thinks needless self-sacrifice is bad, and so he strives to eliminate the need for it.

But that means he does acknowledge that there are times self-sacrifice is necessary. He's grown up afraid of Izuku's heart because Izuku demonstrates how easily self-sacrifice comes to him, and that puts Katsuki on the spot. Katsuki doesn't know if he is capable of self-sacrifice. Because he's so competent and strong, he's never noticed a need for sacrifice in his life. He's never had to demonstrate self-sacrifice, and if that's such a fundamental part of being a hero, Katsuki doesn't know if he really is a hero at heart.

But as I mentioned above, the reason he never had a chance to display self-sacrifice as a trait is because he lacked the ability to tell when people need saving. He looks around and sees a bunch of people who are wasting their potential. He thinks some people who seem to ask for help are much more capable than they behave.

Note how Katsuki failed his hero license exam. If Katsuki had stuck around the triage center and fought Gang Orca when he showed up, Katsuki likely would have passed. But Katsuki decided to forego battle to run around and save people. And hilariously enough, the bystanders who dock Katsuki points point out that Katsuki correctly identified them as low-priority targets to save. He's pretty good at figuring out who DOESN'T need saving. They end up docking him points because of his inappropriate tone, which is possibly the funniest way they could have said "Well you're technically right but also holy crap you're bad at this."

And that's the point. Katsuki knows saving people is important, and he perceives Izuku is the absolute best at it. Katsuki is constantly looking for a way to compete with Izuku in this realm because he has to. Katsuki wants to be the best, and to do so he has to improve in this area. Izuku pisses him off because he is extremely adept at perceiving calls for help from those who truly need it, and Katsuki notices every time Izuku is faster on the uptake. It happens at the sports festival with Shouto, which is why Katsuki considers the sports festival a loss.

Katsuki does get better at this, and that's what allows him to eventually get his hero license. Think of his behavior during the school cultural festival, where he sees his classmates trying to appease their peers out of guilt. That's people pleasing. That's ego. Katsuki won't have any of it. From his perspective, if Class 1-A wants to make sure everyone has a good time, then everyone means everyone. Class 1-A has to enjoy the festival too, and the best way to do that is to throw a badass concert. By enjoying themselves and being proud of their well-earned accomplishments, by thriving, Class 1-A demonstrates to their peers how to best win against all those tragedies that tried to bring them down. Self-deprecation for the sake of appeasing others' ill will when that ill will is unjustified is just self-gratification. It's just a way to stop feeling guilty, but the only purpose that serves is to debase yourself. Class 1-A didn't do anything wrong to the other classes, so Class 1-A does not need to atone to them. Self-sacrifice in this case brings no benefit to anyone. Instead, the classes should all be thriving together.

All of these lessons converge in the Dark Deku arc. Others express worry for Izuku's behavior because they see him as engaging in self-destruction. They want him to rest, but Izuku perceives there are people in need of help, so he can't help but save them. And not everyone condemns Izuku's behavior.

Kudou encourages it.

The problem at play in this arc is the question of power. Izuku has power, which means he is capable of saving people. And many people are in need of saving. How many people can one finite Izuku save? That is the question he is set to answer. He is facing the same question as All Might, but All Might's example was to save people while he was losing One For All. All Might had a finite amount of power that he was going to lose in time, so he decided to spend that dwindling power on saving as many people as he could. That would be the more virtuous use of his finite power.

But All Might's flaw was in rejecting the help of others when others were capable of helping him. Izuku falls into the same trap. He thinks he has to save people alone because he's the only one capable of it.

This is Kudou's spoken caveat. "Inaction is not an option," so yes Izuku needs to be acting in this moment. "That said...if there's anything that could bolster Izuku Midoriya now, it would be..."

The answer is not merely "friends." We are given the answer that Izuku needs friends at first, but this is a special type of friend. Izuku needs friends who "share his resolve," who "can match his pace...and keep running alongside him." Izuku needs comrades (nakama)! He needs friends who want to save just as much as he does. He needs friends who are just as capable as he is. That's why Class 1-A has to first demonstrate their capabilities to Izuku so that he can be convinced.

Katsuki doesn't criticize Izuku's ideals either. In fact, he openly praises them.

All Katsuki is saying here is "You're doing the right thing. Saving people, even at cost to yourself, is the right thing. We want to help. We can help. Don't reject us.

"Don't pay a price when you don't have to."

tl;dr

In a collectivist society, the ideal is that everyone looks out for each other, thus is everyone protected.

Self-sacrifice has costs to the self, to one's loved ones, and to society. The price paid must be worth the good achieved.

The virtue in self-sacrifice is that it is done when necessary for the sake of others. Anything less is self-destruction, which is harmful to society.

Heroes have a duty both to be prepared to self-sacrifice and to mitigate the need for self-sacrifice.

Rejecting the help of others who are capable of helping is to reject the collectivist ideal.

Izuku's self-sacrifice is virtuous BECAUSE IT IS FOR OTHERS' SAKES. Izuku's self-destruction and rejection of help from others are what the story criticizes.

Izuku Midoriya's nature represents the ideal of self-sacrifice because of his innate desire to save others, and Katsuki Bakugou recognizes that trait as core to being a hero and thus admires Izuku for it--but he's also afraid he doesn't have that trait for a large chunk of the story. Izuku's journey to accepting the help of others, Katsuki's journey to discovering his self-sacrificing spirit, and their mutual admiration of each other all provide the perspective for the audience to understand this ideal: heroes are those who live in service of others.

[alloalouette]

It’s pretty clear that the men in my life, even the ones who oppose trump, think it’s just going to be another shitty four years filled with “stupidity”, merely.

They genuinely do not comprehend the immediate threat to safety and mortality this new era is to women, to any person who is non-white and non-conforming to conservative christofascist nationalism.

They can still go about their lives relatively unscathed if they don’t say much and just make it through what they perceive to be four years of drudgery. As much as they are concerned, and care about me and the other women in their lives, they have not grasped the deadly seriousness of the situation.

They genuinely have not perceived the future that will come soon and, once things are set in motion, will decline with extreme rapidity. Just like with roe v wade: there one day, gone the next, and life-saving care just vanished all over the country and women started literally bleeding out in parking lots.

Open misogyny and assault will become the normative social behavior, more than it already is in online right spaces, because the punishments will be few or dismissed entirely.

Men who secretly are intrigued by or even love the idea of controlling and harming women will behave with what appears to be “mob mentality”—once it is permissible they will let it all out of hiding. Just as we saw ugliness we did not dare to believe existed in family and friends come out unhindered and without shame during the first term, we will be shocked, just as we were then, at the way trump et al. will have changed, broken, people we thought we knew. The same will be true for any person with social privilege turning on anyone they deem beneath them, unworthy of dignity or safety or care.

The legal frameworks that in that past would have kept men like trump, Fuentes, Elon, and everyone they are shouldering up with from doing what they already have done to arrive at this moment—frameworks that should have been used to prevent this, their integrity having already been crippled by not being applied to stop him et al. from advancing—those remaining scaffolds of decency he is going to dismantle swiftly.

In every instance of autocracy and fascism throughout history, again and again is the shock and awe at how rapidly democratic norms, public institutions, and acceptable human behavior just unraveled.

Do not — DO NOT — imply to women, to non-white and non-conforming people in your lives that the next “four years” are going to “suck”. If that is your belief, your feeling, your impulse to say or think, hush.

Read project 2025, thoroughly.

Watch Walsh, Fuentes, and those adjacent to them, to hear their glee at owning women, at controlling and ruining, at smashing their faces into brick ceilings (gloating in their abuse and suffering, and their delight at being the hand that delivers it metaphorically and literally).

Listen to the people who are terrified. Fucking remember what trump did in four years when it was a “fluke” and everyone with a shred of decency left was scrambling to hold everything together through tenuously and wide-spread grasping fingers, futilely in many cases. Fucking remember.

Read Sarah Kendzior, Jared Yates Sexton, Heather Cox Richardson, Dave Troy, and anyone they retweet or quote. These are historians and analysts, experts in political history, especially fascism and autocracy. They are the ones running out of the mines shouting that all the canaries are dead. Pay attention.

If you want to know what to do next, start reading Octavia Butler, George Jackson, James Baldwin, and expand from there. Start listening to indigenous people and reshaping your concept of social bonds, social cohesion, and how we survive this.

It’s not how you think, men in my life. It’s not how you think, those of you who think this is reactionary and extreme. Indigenous communities that are still here today have survived every empire, for good reasons. Learn them. Learn from them.

For the rest of us, and those of you who make the inward journey and meet up with us, cultivate resistance. It begins in your heart and mind. Existence is resistance. Joy is resistance. Empathy is resistance. Anything that supports freedom for others (which will always come back to you), is resistance. Get after it.

[galaxygolfergirl]

And we’re back folks! With another batch of rough fan art featuring Queen Anna and powerless Elsa this time.

For this design for Anna, I noticed another post that some people didn’t feel that her regal gown from the epilogue in Frozen 2 really fit her style, so I tried to emulate the colors and rosemaling from her coronation dress in the first movie, while also keeping a sense of maturity in this look having grown into this role. She’s not as impulsive or fiesty anymore, now tempered with responsibilities but still conveys her warmth and compassion as a competent ruler. Still, in comparison with her sister, she is not without her insecurities, as running a country doesn’t come without a fair amount of stress, which she hides from Elsa out of fear of not being good enough.

Now as for Elsa losing her powers, I’m sure a lot of people have hypothesized about if she had an adversesary that could wield fire powers. I have made concept art of that before in the past, but I want to try and draw that digitally first before I show you guys. In this instance, I would imagine that Elsa has faced off against this adversary, and lost, and that enemy has weakened her powers to a state where she is unable to manipulate snow and ice and thus it dramatically alters her appearance. Her hair turns brown, like her mother’s, the clothes that she fashioned for herself would lose their icy appearance and revert to normal civilian clothes (or at worst, disappear, making for an awkward scenario), and the loss makes her weak and sick. She would have to learn how to rehabilitate herself for the next round in the story, but this change would almost certainly traumatize her since she’s just learned how to accept herself and her powers.

Lastly, with my idea for Hans to return in this story, I can’t imagine that Anna would be all that enthusiastic about seeing him again. My idea is that he has some insider information about the adversary that they’re facing in the story, whether it be the Southern Isles, or this fire wielding villain that Elsa loses against, they somehow have to rely on him for assistance. His motivations could be entirely selfish, “merely an enemy of my enemy is my friend situation” and he only agrees to help to stick it to this adversary (probably the Southern Isles). Nonetheless, it would make for some interesting dialogue and dynamics to see how they would react to each other.

Now, like I said, this is all hypothetical. This is more fanfiction and fanart than anything else, you don’t have to agree with it, but this is just a fun exercise in thinking what could happen in the next two movies. I hope you enjoy what I’ve done. Kristoff is coming up next!

[queenofapeacefuldawn]

An Analysis of SPY × Family Chapter 99

Manga spoilers, and a very long post ahead!

I'd like to preface this with saying that all of this is my own analysis, and I'm not very smart at these things, so take this with a grain of salt!

This chapter was extremely heavy: with Henry realising his feelings for Martha, and how it echoed the main theme of this story: how war destroys relationships and how innocent civilians are forced to enlist out of fear for their families' safety.

The chapter starts off, continuing off the cliffhanger of the last chapter— it turns out to be a false alarm, but Martha leaves her feelings for Henry unsaid.

She begins writing letters to Henry, and they keep a regular correspondence to substitute for their tea parties--

The war continues to grow dire, and Martha's squad hasn't been given any combat training, yet, they're forced to go to the front lines, under the pretext of "serving your country" and "keeping your family safe".

Henry is obviously shocked and scared for Martha when he finds out she's on the front lines, but we never get to hear his thoughts with the introduction of this fucking bitch-

🤓☝️ lookin ass--

In this chapter, we get to see Donovan's own ideals, which are shown through his argument in the debate. Interestingly, Donovan is almost the same age as Demetrius is in the present-day. (At least, that's what I'm assuming-- Henry mentions being in charge of the middle schoolers, and Demetrius is a middle-schooler.)

He claims,

I have a couple of thoughts about this. First,

"I know that solving differences with dialogue and weapons is ideal". The phrasing of this is interesting, because it kind of sounds like he doesn't believe in that-- he just knows that solving differences with diplomacy instead of war is 'ideal', but does he really believe in that? I don't think he does-- and, his own definition of 'peace' is definitely... ambiguous. What does he think 'peace' is? Subjugating other countries with his own power?

He already has a strange concept of humanity and other humans' own ideals-- he believes that, at our core natures, human beings are liars. That the only thing we're capable of is war and destruction.

This is also very similar to his own ideals that we see in modern-day. He doesn't care about either of his sons, as he says, they are essentially strangers to him. And, you might have raised them (though with Donovan, "raised" is a stretch), you might be their own father, according to him, he will never truly know his sons. Which is why he doesn't even attempt to understand them. His own ignorance for human nature and for others around him is really what makes him a failure of a father-- we are never truly born "knowing" others. Yet, every day, we make an attempt to learn the people we care about-- and isn't that a little of what love is? Take the Forgers-- they are three strangers to each other, each concealing their own natures from the others. They're all liars, and yet, they're making an effort to heal; they're learning to love and they're learning to learn about the people around them, the people they care about.

This is his flawed ideology. In his world, humans are strangers-- humans are nothing to each other, they're always hiding their true intentions from each other. Humans can't be trusted-- humans don't trust each other, which is why war and destruction and pain is all humanity is capable of.

But it's really not. SxF's message is of how three strangers--- three orphans of a war they were forced to partake in--- come together and form a home. Yes, they are liars, yes, they're hiding their true intentions, but they're making a home for themselves, a home where one can be safe, where a young girl, who's experienced horrors no child should, can feel safe and in her mother's arms.

Which is why I think Donovan's ideology is so flawed--- and how beats of it echo in the modern-day SxF story, especially when Twilight meets him.

Yes, by mere dialogue, reaching a mutual understanding is idealistic, but the most important thing is to not stop seeking to understand each other.

Humans are flawed, humans are selfish, humans are kind--- there's a debate on whether, intrinsically, humans are good or bad. We're all given different cards to play with, but really, it's up to us to decide on our faith in humanity.

It seems like Donovan has a wholly negative view on humans--- we can never know each other's true intentions, and it's with this doubt that humans wage wars--- it's with this doubt that humans lie and kill and cause destruction.

It's because of this doubt that Desmond is planning a war himself.

Martha writes Henry a letter, and she talks about a dream where all the students are holding hands, circling Henry. She can't join them because her hands are filthy--- maybe it's guilt? Maybe she's feeling guilty, maybe she feels like she can't join the others because her hands are stained with blood.

She's scared. She's regretting joining the front lines. Her only solace is the letters from him. The only way he knows she's alive is the letters from her.

I feel like another story would have taken a turn, making Henry regret his own feelings for Martha because the war had torn them apart. Instead, Henry realises his own feelings and his own wants too late-- and it becomes the last letter he gets from her.

It feels like an extra gut punch, as in the beginning Martha was embarrassed to call him "beloved", but now, he's calling her beloved, and he misses her so much. He cares for her so much, and doesn't know how she is.

All he can think is---

His hands are stained with ink. The nib of his pen is almost breaking. Ink is bleeding onto the page. In Martha's dream, her hands are stained with blood due to her desire to protect Henry and her country. In Henry's reality, his hands are stained with ink due to his desire for Martha to come back, be with him again. The Soldier and the Scholar, each trapped in their own Hell.

Henry finds out that Martha's squad has been killed. Their lives were a "sacrifice" for their country. This is blatant propaganda, and, he feels they're sullying her memory by mythologizing her; by using her life, using her death as a way to snare more students into a violent and hopeless and painful battle.

He speaks out. He's punished.

He's been brutalised so much, that he needs to wear a monocle.

We learn more about Donovan's and Henry's own ideals. Donovan gives up on people who've disappointed him-- people who he deems as fools. Henry doesn't believe in that. He believes that everybody deserves to not be given up on--- every body deserves a person in their own corner.

Towards the end of the chapter, Henry's forced into a marriage by his father, believing it's "for the best", because the soldier he was waiting for never came back to him.

We cut to "Somewhere near the East-West border", to a home with a fireplace. Martha is just opening her eyes, and is severely injured.

This definitely isn't a safehouse or military barracks or a military hospital.

A home with a family, or at least a person, with a fireplace and a chopping block for firewood.

This place is also near the sea,

which makes me think it's somewhere near the south. (If I'm remembering the map correctly).

Edit: The map is faithful to irl Germany, which means the sea is to the north, not the south. Sorry for the discrepancy before!

I'm thinking someone rescued Martha while she was injured, and brought her to their place to rest and recuperate--- which is why she's presumed dead, and why Henry wasn't ever given closure.

The next chapter is no doubt going to be explosive--- the 100th chapter. I feel like this arc will segue into something bigger, something more heart-wrenching and painful (I don't know how that's possible, but I trust Endo-sensei.)

---

Thank you for making this far and reading this whole thing! I hope you enjoyed, and I hope I wasn't annoying with my hatred for Donovan lol.

Also, on a more light-hearted note, I explained the plot of SxF to my dad, and he's intrigued and wants to read the manga. I'm planning on showing him the first ep of the anime, to see if he likes it. I feel like he will.

[moongothic]

So a few weeks ago I ran into this, old, old Crocodile meta post from 2015, the OP of which hasn't been active on Tumbr (at least on that account) since 2018. And this post (along with some of the OP's other posts) has been living in my head rent free since then.

There was just something there about seeing these old meta posts, completely detached from the current state of the story, the fandom and the Crocodad Propaganda... It just made for a truly refreshing read, but they also had such great observations about Crocodile I hadn't even thought about or noticed*, and somewhat most importantly... validating my own feelings/observations about things I've been kind of afraid to vocalize myself lest I apper completely delulu. Like I dunno I do worry sometimes if I'm just reading into things too much just to make massive reaches to get The Reading of the character that happens to support the Crocodad theory specifically, instead of trying to get a more objective reading instead. So seeing someone else make either those exact same or similar observations nearly 10 years before I did is so validating, and really just made me want to discuss some of those things.

*(Like this whole post about how "DON!" is often used to add emphasis and show the true beliefs of characters, and how Crocodile doesn't really say things with a DON!, almost like his heart isn't in most of the things he does or says. I dunno it was such a good read)

Sidenote: I do want to quickly comment that I don't agree with the OP on some of their readings about stuff, and more importantly, due to the age of the both the original posts and the OP not being active anymore, I didn't want to, like... Treat them as if they just posted it recently and interact with the posts as such. (I dunno, when people go digging through my decade old main blog and start reblogging shit I posted in like 2014 it just. I dunno, it's just kind of uncomfortable. Like you're allowed to browse my past but I wished people let my ancient cringe stay in the past. But that's just me) Like for example I feel like OP has a fundamental misunderstanding what being "trans" really even means (thus I don't agree with their take on trans Croc), but again, OP's take is old and so I don't want to hold it against them. They could have grown since then and come to better understand what being trans means, and regardless of that they don't have to buy into the theory either. And I absolutely do not want anyone to start trying to pester them about it or anything (again, they posted these things nearly 10 years ago), regardless of if they're still active or not. But yeah, that's why this is a whole separate post rather than a reblog with commentary.

So OP in their post speculated how in this moment (chap 206), based on the face he makes and the serious look he gives to Luffy, Crocodile seems to find the idea of someone being willing to die for someone else's sake absolutely incomprehensible, as if he's trying to wrap his head around the mere concept. That, or he used to know what it was like to hold someone/something that dear to you, but has long forgotten what it was like

Rereading this arc a while back I couldn't help but to take notice of this panel too and that unusual, somber(?) look on Crocodile's face. But because I'm a Crocodad Truther, of course I couldn't help but to feel that this was a face of recognition, of Crocodile understanding Luffy exactly in this moment, that willingness to do anything for a loved one. Especially because I have been speculating Crocodile might've been doing all of this with the goal of nuking the World Government out of orbit to protect his long lost baby boy (it's just that he simply finds Luffy's insistence on protecting this random ass princess from a random ass country he has zero ties to ridiculous, as opposed to like, doing all of this to protect immidiate, close family)

So again, despite the different reading it is validating as hell to see someone else think this panel in particular was odd. But the more I thought about it, I did kind of start leaning towards OP's reading. Now this one was originally pointed out by opbackgrounds, how in this scene (chapter 196) while Crocodile is meant to be laughing and mocking the royal guard for "throwing their lives away" to protect Cobra, he isn't actually smiling. We don't even get to see his full face with his eyes blacked out, so we don't get to see Crocodile's true feelings in this scene

And that does kind of reframe what he says in the second panel. For a long time I wondered if the implication was that Crocodile does actually value people's lives more than he lets on (especially with his seeming willingness to blow up a million people in a violent, orchestraded coup), just having a "small sacrifice for the greater good" kinda outlook (as we know, casualties can't be avoided in war, Croco and Luffy both agree on that) (where as I would IMAGINE Dragon having a more "no sacrifices, we have to save as many people as possible" kinda principle)

But now, looking at these two moments together, and knowing Crocodile has trust issues for unknown reasons, there is also that option that, perhaps... No one has ever shown that kind of loyalty towards him, a willingness to follow him to the grave or support him, to stay by his side? And if so, maybe, in these two scenes, Crocodile does recognize that kind of deep loyalty and trust and love, and has to cope with the fact that he has and may never experience it himself, that he's doomed to be alone, surrounded only by people who "respect him" out of fear (something that could be extra painful while knowing someone had just recently betrayed him by leaking his info to ruin his plans/after figuring out it was Robin, his very literal partner in crime. Like talk about rubbing salt into a wound).

And y'know, that is an extremely sad reading and I feel so bad for my poor little meow meow (that man needs a hug so bad), but also that doesn't really add to pushing The Crocodad Agenda, which is very unfortunate. Especially because I feel like between the two readings, Crocodile recognizing loyalty no one will ever show him (and being hurt by the fact) feels like a more comprehensive and simple reading, than if one is about him showing he doesn't fully believe in what he's doing is right and the other about him relating to Luffy on a deeper level.

But then, as OP pointed out in their post, for the entirety of page 2 of Chapter 207 while Luffy is keeling over from the poison finally kicking in, Crocodile looks like he's fully letting down his walls to express genuine relief, as if the those beliefs Croc had carried and convinced himself were true were just confirmed

What're his beliefs again? That trust in others is worthless, and you can not afford to have ideals if you're weak, great strenght being the only thing that allows you, if not straight up justifies you, in doing whatever you please? Now, maybe it's just me, but if Crocodile was showing relief here over his belief that trusting others is worthless after being reminded time and time again of the love and loyalty the Strawhats have for each other and the Alabastan kingdom has for everyone in it (etc)... I dunno, I feel like that would be kind of weak, if that's where Crocodile's internalized beliefs were wavering. But if Crocodile's whole Utopia-plan had been about destroying the WG to protect his baby boy (and release the whole world from the WG's oppressive rule while he's at it) at whatever cost, while he deep inside knew what he was doing was fucked up beyond belief... Yeah, Crocodile trying to convince himself what he was doing was "justified" would make sense. Him having his beliefs potentially even waver a little bit through out this whole ordeal would make sense. Crocodile in this moment experiencing relief that what he had told himself was the righteous would make sense.

Everybody remember's Doflamingo's speech from Marineford, about how history is written by the victors and its them who decide what is right and what is wrong- the winner becomes "justice" itself. Vegapunk kind of called back to this concept during his broadcast too, and yeah, Crocodile did kind of introduce us to it back in Alabasta. If he had won, he would have been "justified" in what he had done, because it'd be him who'd be deciding what's right and what's wrong.

Now I don't really have anything else to add to that post in particular (though I absolutely love the reading on the Crocodile vs Robin part and now that I've read it I can't unsee nor disagree with it), but OP did make a separate post speculating about some of design decisions Oda made regarding Crocodile, starting with discussing the logo for Baroque Works. And they pointed this out

Bro wrote this in 2015, they have no idea, oh my god, dude had no clue whatsoever

So quickly looking that one up and yeah, wings have sometimes been used to represent the sun (most commonly with the sun, as a winged sun?) and yeah, that actually has a lot of meaning in the current state of the series re: God of Liberation the Sun God Nika. But what's more is that this is actually the SECOND time we're actually finding a way to link Crocodile to sun-symbolism, the other being Crocodile being a reference to the Egyptian god Sobek (protector god, god of military, go to Wikipedia), who has an alternative form (/fusion with Ra) called Sobek-Ra, where he is a sun god. And what was Crocodile trying to do in Alabasta if not falsely "liberate" the country from its original rule. Also worth noting is that seemingly the winged sun was most commonly used in Egyptian iconography, so if Oda ever did research Egyptian mythology for inspiration in Alabasta (which, considdering the sheer amount of Stuff in the story as a whole is more than likely), then it is very possible he could have read about the winged sun and used it intentionally.

But what I do find interesting is that, yeah, wings kinda are a symbol one would considder "heroic" or related to "freedom". And, as I have been going on and on about, if Crocodile's ultimate goal in creating his funny little "utopia" was to overthrow the World Government and "free" the whole world of their rule. Like. That really lines up with the whole symbolism with the sun and the liberation and the freedom and shit, like. Why does it line up so neatly good dear god

I dunno how to end this post, these were just a few little things that I had been thinking about after coming across OP's blog and, yeah, just wanted to discuss them.

Again, OP hasn't been active for years, but if they did suddenly come back please don't bother them or god forbid harrass them/try to get them to change their mind about trans Croco. Just don't start shit, please.

End of post byeeeeeeee

[icycoldninja]

Hello :) hope you’re having an early spoop-tackular month full of treats or tricks ∩^ω^∩

I love your writing and had something that has been tickling my peewee of a brain—ya know bouncing about the noggin’.

Many eons ago I discovered that when I get angry, frustrated, scared, or excited I put on my good ole country accent since where I live it’s full of southerns AND northerners. So basically I can be a distinguished fellow one moment then mere seconds later become a hillbilly bent outta shape because someone forgot my Diet Dr. Kelp while ordering pizza from the Krusty Krab

imagine the Sparda boys with their s/o that is known to be really, really sweet to everyone but when the s/o gets super upset or angry she full throttle her southern accent and it always throws people off guard 💀

YOU ARE PERFECT AND AMAZING TYSM FOR KEEPING MY HEART IN LOVE WITH DMC. WELL WHAT I MEAN IS THANK YOU FOR THE MOTIVATION.❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

I AM! OK, first of all, THANK YOU SO MUCH! I know this took like a century to post and I hope you forgive me for that. Enjoy!

Sparda boys + V x Reader with a southern accent headcannons

¤ Dante ¤

-Normally, you sound as average as average can be. No one thinks there's anything odd about the way you speak.

-Dante honestly couldn't care less about accents anyway, what you say is the same, regardless of how you pronounced it.

-Except for when you get angry and fly off the handle, cursing and shouting like the ol' hillbilly you sort of are.

-Dante absolutely loses it, laughing so hard he almost pees himself. While such a reaction is understandable the first time, it just doesn't make sense that he continues laughing after the 50th or 60th time.

-Shows you off to everyone at gatherings and parties, always asking you to say a joke or something in your accent.

-It's nice to have all the attention and surprise people like that, but you get tired of doing it after a while. One can only hope Dante will get tired of it too.

■ Vergil ■

-Vergil is largely indifferent to the way you speak.

-Or so he thought, until one day you got mad at something and started screaming like a true Southerner.

-He was convinced you had become possessed by a demon of some sort and was ready to drive it out of you, when you snapped back to your usual self and started talking normally again.

-He couldn't believe what he just heard, and after mentally debating it, decided to pretend it never happened and tell himself he imagined the whole thing.

-When you do it again a few days later, he is forced to accept the fact that your accent is real, and worst of all, that it's funny.

-Now he has to cover his face with his book whenever you blow your stack or everyone will see him grimacing to hold back laughter.

□ Nero □

-Nero never thought anything was suspicious about you at any point, why would he, anyway?

-He knew you were from the South, since you told him, and while he did wonder why you didn't sound like most southerners, he chalked it up to familial influence or something and left it at that.

-Needless to say, Nero was pretty confused the first time he heard you go off like that.

-He thought you were doing it to be funny, but realized this was natural after hearing it a few times.

-He thinks you sound like Nico and can't wait for the day when you both get upset over something and start aggressively jabbering at each other.

-You and your funny way of talking are cute in Nero's eyes, but that's about it. He's just not one to care for silly things like that.

● V ●

-Since V has only arrived on earth recently, he is doing his best to learn about the workings of the world.

-He was familiar with the concept of accents and dialects, sure, having been around Nico for a while, but when he met you, he never thought you'd be one of those individuals with a distinct accent.

-You were pretty normal until Griffon made a particularly hurtful comment that you decided to return. All of a sudden, your accent kicks in and you start scolding that bird in true Southern momma fashion.

-V was stunned for a moment, then was quickly reduced to laughter because the whole exchange was hilarious.

-When you demanded to know what the hell he was laughing about, he just kept going.

-You eventually gave up and left him to his devices because there was no point in trying to understand his mind.

[h0lyfrypan]

comforting satoru in the months after the night parade of a hundred demons. you are a former classmate, who graduated alongside satoru and shoko. despite being shot down for months, you persist on trying to comfort him.

mourning, character death, no dialogue, implied satosugu if you squint. ur both not ok. i wrote this because i rely on dialogue too much. it's super short!

Satoru had changed—there was no doubt. After the Night Parade of a Hundred Demons, something inside him broke for good. Both of you had quietly hoped Suguru would return, that somehow he could avoid punishment. That day never came, despite years of waiting, and now it never would.

You vividly recall the day your cell phone rang, breaking Satoru's usual pattern of self-reliance. He was a natural at almost everything he tried (it seriously was a piss off), but on the other end of the line was a broken man. He didn’t need to voice the words; you had an innate understanding. It was always that way between you two. You knew Suguru was gone.

Satoru Gojo had a knack for keeping people at arm's length. He was 'the Strongest,' and he didn't appreciate how you could always sense when something troubled him. Your eyes softened when you were alone, the subtle checks to ensure he ate, and your consistent efforts to reach out—through letters, texts, or in person. You knew his Infinity would hinder you, but you persisted. With every brick he placed to build up his walls, you were on the other side with your own set of tools; a determined demolitionist.

The period after was a blur. Was it days? Weeks? Months? Time seemed meaningless as you sat in the morgue with Shoko, the only other person who truly comprehended what Satoru might be going through—but she was mourning, too. After all, you were once classmates and friends. The way she chain-smoked in silence, her lack of words mirrored yours. Occasionally, Satoru joined you both, but he and Shoko only discussed business. He didn't engage with you- and Shoko just wasn't as emotionally attuned as you, and that was okay, you’d never hold that against her. Everyone plays different roles in this world.

It was a while before you truly heard from Satoru again. He had a way of presenting himself as fine, radiating happiness—especially in front of his students. He engaged with them, laughed, stirred up mischief, yet emotionally, he maintained a distance. It concerned you that no one else seemed motivated to try and reach him. Perhaps they weren't as naive as you, believing they could break through. His request for you to watch his house for a few days puzzled you. It seemed unnecessary; surely he could afford to hire someone. Nonetheless, you agreed.

His apartment was cold, barebones, and modern. It suited him—a man rarely at home. Just a space for sleep when he wasn't teaching or battling curses across the country. Old clothing lay strewn about, a few dishes scattered. The ambiance felt solitary. You wondered: was he truly living, or merely existing?

Hours passed, time an elusive, unreachable concept lately. Being here for a few days justified sorting his clothes into the hamper and doing some dishes. There was nothing better to occupy your time, and he might appreciate the gesture. While rinsing cups in hot, soapy water, your mind wandered. Perhaps if you'd been closer to Suguru, you might know how to help Satoru now. Maybe Suguru could have shared the secret, but likely there was none. Suguru wasn't you, and you weren't him. Their bond was special, something you couldn't grasp. That wasn't necessarily bad, though it felt so—Ouch! Your hand under the scalding water snapped you out of that train of thought (maybe for the best).

Cold water relieved the small burn. You searched for bandages around the apartment, not eager to rummage but forced by the forming blister on your finger. As you explored cupboards and shelves, thoughts circled back to Satoru. While tending to your wound on the couch, a question arose: did Satoru always feel this way? When 'the Strongest' is down, who's there to pick him up?

Grieving for Suguru lately made you furious. Did Suguru not comprehend Satoru's willingness to let him return? That Satoru would have done anything to anyone to ensure his safe return to Jujutsu Society?  Suguru's flawed philosophies often left you contemplating and upset. Blaming a dead man for everything was too easy, but unjust.

Surveying the showroom-like apartment, your frustration grew and you teared up. You weren't Suguru, you weren’t strong– but maybe you were strong enough to lift Satoru—if only he allowed it.

Satoru had convinced himself there was no one else. Back in high school, he accepted it. There would never be anyone like Suguru Geto—no one coming close to understanding the weight he bore. To be a weapon before a human, a tool with a face, a means to an end. Yet, you persisted. He detested (perhaps a strong word) how you saw through him, how deeply you cared.

In truth, he wanted that. He just wished it didn't feel so vulnerable. He wasn't meant to be vulnerable—or that's what he felt. He appreciated every ignored text, every rejected hug, every lunch left on his desk at Jujutsu Tech, but fear overwhelmed him. How did you see through him so effortlessly? How could he be sure you wouldn’t leave?

He resented himself for not letting you in. He wanted to, truly, but the walls he built didn't just bar others out; they trapped him too. Coming home to find you asleep on the couch, curled up, blanketless and tear-stained, changed something. Maybe it was your unintended display of vulnerability, the secluded setting, or his own exhaustion. The reason mattered little.

With care to be quiet, he slipped into his bedroom, retrieving the comforter from his bed—the sole blanket in the apartment—and gently draped it over your sleeping figure. Kneeling by your side, he gently wiped away the tear stains from your cheek. It had been a long time since he allowed himself to touch you, or anyone for that matter. His breath caught when you stirred, your eyes meeting his. For once, you were unobstructed by any blindfold or infinity.

Without hesitation, you shifted from the cushion, pulling him into your arms, guiding his head to rest against your neck. He loathed this—knowing you understood his unspoken desires, yet grateful he didn't have to verbalize them. This vulnerability was taxing enough. He reciprocated, wrapping his arms around you.

And then, he cried.

It felt awful, comforting, almost amusing. Only a few silent tears fell before he composed himself, easing into your embrace as best he could from their awkward position. He almost chuckled at himself—for all the fear he harbored about opening up, finding such reassurance in your arms made it seem absurd. Shifting slightly, he settled back on the couch, intertwining both of your limbs and enveloping both of you in the blanket.

As you moved to speak, he gently hushed you with a finger to your lips. You understood, as you always did—this wasn't something he wanted acknowledged aloud. Bodies pressed together, his head nestled against your chest, holding onto you so tightly it felt as though you might meld into one. He was utterly exhausted.

Time remained elusive, now for a different reason. Your fingers combing through his soft hair, the sweet scent of his shampoo lingering in the air. The rhythm of your breathing and heartbeats creates a tempo for this rare and peculiar intimacy. For the first time in ages, perhaps since high school, Satoru didn't feel like 'the Strongest’. He felt painfully human, finding safety in your embrace.

This apartment, that was never quite a home, suddenly felt like one in your arms.

[theblissfulstars]

The Hoodoo That You Do

Hoodoo first and foremost is a closed practice.

Within a western audience, the concept of a closed practice can be rather challenging for many, as it runs entirely contrary to the notions we are brought up believing surrounding religion in the West.

Socio-culturally, religion in the West has evolved under the mantle of Christendom. This evangelizing religion characterized by its soteriology(savior ideology) , ease of access, and proselytizing habits is open to all, radically so. All you need is to accept Christ as your personal Lord and Savior, and live righteously according to the Bible to secure eternal salvation. In many respects, Christianity uniquely conquers the mystery religions of old, characterized by their distinctive intimacy with the divine, secrecy and ritual, and subverts it, by making it universally open to all and actively telling you about it.

This line of thinking regarding "closed practices" can also be difficult with many western minds that have had extensive influence from movements such as the “New Age” movement, which seeks to bring together unrelated material spiritual identities under one umbrella.

Many people in the “New Age” movement have been largely influenced by the writings of the Theosophical society, which were some of the first writings on Dharmic religions available to a broad audience in accessible languages in western countries. This means that many of these individuals ideologically do not believe in the idea of culture since they eschew the cover of self, many believe we reincarnate across familial lines, species and even galaxies, fall prey to solipsism and claim that they themselves are the only real thing that exists, therefore everything is open to them, or purport an intrinsic universal connection through the Jungian collective consciousness that makes all things open to them. Having a unique gnosis dependent on your religious affiliation is normal and expected, using it to harm others is not.

Similarly, Christianity undermines the concept of ethnic religions and cultural religions which are predicated upon being born into them, or having immediate access into certain respective belief systems for validity in practicing them. Finding Divinity in the Christian tradition has nothing to do with where you were born, who you are or how you were brought up, but rather, is entirely up to ideology, practice, and a consistent theme of universalism.

However, as stated prior, due to ethnic and cultural religions being experiential, they are much more tied to a way of life, being, and a contextual identity in order to operate within the cosmological framework. This can be ancestral; do you descend from the founders of the tradition, are you connected by blood in some significant way in recent history? Land-based, i.e venerating a particular river, mountain, cave etc. And lastly, communal, do you speak the liturgical language of the religion, do you eat the same foods, do you understand the offerings? Many ADRs fall into the aforementioned pattern above. Many Hougans and Manbos will tell you that there are Lwa(Intercessory divinities in Vodou/Voodoo) that can only be summoned on Ayiti, making it a uniquely land based practice, and while in Santería, Boromú, an Orisha associated with the desert,and dryness, all but disappeared in lush and tropical Cuba. Most, if not all religions do start as ethno-religions, and many of them still have vestiges of these ideas present within them, and despite the open and universal evangelism of Christianity, even its spiritual practices fall into some of the land specific beliefs and functions mentioned previously.

It is in this contextualization of land, self and identity, that we begin to understand Hoodoo as not merely a “folk magic” practice, but a Magico-Religious tradition uniquely conjoined with the cosmological spiritual experience of Soulaani people in the United States. Hoodoo, like many American ADRs, is plantation religion, and as with the mentioned ADRs above, Vodou and Santería respectively,is syncretist in nature and a highly Africanized interpretation of the Christian faith which was violently enforced upon the enslaved.

Hoodoo historically is a belief system that was foundationally built as a form of resistance to European oppression, violence and abuse. With an emphasis on ancestor veneration, figures such as Nat Turner, Harriet Tubman and Frederick Douglass are heralded as elevated community ancestors, whilst figures such as High John The Conqueror, a mythic African king who could outfox any Slaver or false master, is deigned a powerful, worthy, and venerable Spirit.

The cosmology of Hoodoo, while being deeply Christian, is Animistic in nature and boasts a large host of Land and Place spirits with whole identities and person-hoods. Some of these spirits are “Elevated Ancestors” similar to the saints of Orthodox and Catholic traditions, while some of them are entirely natural in origin such as Simbii or Samunga.

Hoodoo, similarly to the American south from which it originates, exists equally in a Protestant and Catholic context, and also incorporates Native American wisdom and land knowledge into its Theological foundation because of Indigenous admixtures in Black populations, and vice versa, as can be seen by the Florida Seminole tribe with it's high afro-indigenous population to this day and many more.

With its context, it is no wonder that people feel that Hoodoo is an open practice, by its very origin, it is an act of black labor, meaning, it's meant to be exploited. All black labor, be it intellectual, physical, emotional or in this case, spiritual, is an open and free resource that can be cheerfully parasitized from by a broader audience, without acknowledging its history, origins or foundations. This unfortunate reality extends even beyond the Black American experience and universally unites the Black diaspora in imperialist or colonial states worldwide. When researching the origins of certain foods, dances, customs and ideas, it will be difficult to find the genuine full hearted acknowledgement of the enslaved and their contribution to broader knowledge and culture, this is the case in Latin America as well in both material and spiritual culture.

The colonial state chooses what is “Everyones” or rather, “American” and what is “Black” at any given time, and can choose to revoke and review these designations at will. A particularly clear example is Jazz music.

What once started as the herald of reefer madness, debaucherous devil music and depravity, has become the backdrop of urban luxury, sophistication and wealth. This is of course after the domestication of jazz at the hands of predominantly white musicians, who made it more palatable to the broader audience and it's popularization among the rich and famous.

Another example is soul food. What many consider to be “southern cuisine” is uniquely Soulaani in origin, however, due to the overall positive reception, accessibility and good reputation of soul food it became subsumed into the greater American identity not as a black invention, but an American one.

Similarly, Hoodoo received much of the same treatment in the late 80s- 90s. Instead of the lowbrow superstitions of slaves, Hoodoo was rebranded as a distinctly American “hodgepodge” practice, meant to appeal to aesthetics surrounding pastoralism,the rustic rough and ready, and a peculiar edginess, ethnic enough to bite but close enough to home not to leave a scar, after all, Hoodoo was never African according to Ross, and Hoodoo “Authorities” such as Yronwood “The earliest usage of the word “hoodoo” is connected with Irish and Scottish sailors, not African slaves, and may be a phonetic pronunciation of the Gaelic Uath Dubh (pronounced hooh dooh) which means evil entity or spiky ghost. In the mid 19th century, cursed, abandoned “ghost ships'' were called hoodoo ships or were said to have been hoodooed.”(2021,Ross).

The ability for the colonial machine of the U.S to change and claim things from being one thing, and subsume it into a greater American identity without any of its former history, or identity, is one of the things that makes colonial nations so distinctly villainous in the continued exploitation of marginalized identities. Such as Britain's National dish being Chicken Tikka Masala without even acknowledging the incredibly dark history of the East India Company and its dark impact on the whole of the Indian subcontinent. This consumption of identity is the reason why the black American appears to be “without culture”, and why Black Americans themselves can occasionally feel bereft of a unique identity. Often noted by others across the Black diaspora, Black Americans are often the butt end of everyone's jokes from the Caribbean, Latin America and Africa itself. This “stateless” identity sometimes displayed by Black Americans is by design by the colonial state, and a symptom of religious displacement and spiritual abuse at the hands of said colonial powers.

This powerful and calculated form of psychological warfare and its effects can be seen in the likes of Hebrew Israelites who claim to be the original Jewish diaspora, Kemetics who claim to be the original Egyptians and those who claim to be the original Native Americans. This speaks to a desperate longing to belong to something that goes back centuries, that is ancient, and worthy and powerful, none of them wanting to claim the legacy of slavery and its ramifications. With many Black Americans struggling to accept the lived history of chattel slavery, who will proudly embrace this “plantation religion”?

With these contributing factors, Hoodoo can come across as being either a failed attempt at reconnection conceived in the minds of desperate African Americans, a made up ahistoricism (as is often asserted in the case of Voodoo in Louisiana) or a genuinely all American folk practice open to all with no authority, order, or true history.

In fact, referencing a broader global view of African Americans, their customs, practices and identity,a global audience inverts the name into American Africans. A culture and identity that is a product of the eurocentricity and whiteness around it. America appears to be the land of “The Whites” and a “Second Europe” in public perception. However, many of these narratives come from individuals who have either; A. Never set foot in America or B. Decided that they would base all their perceptions off of an experience they had on a trip they took to Greeley Colorado in 2009, and movies. Neither of these are accurate as the American identity is not homogenous.

Hoodoo, while originating in the American South, is a land-based spiritual practice. Subsequently, it has evolved tremendously as it made its way Westward and North among the black diaspora itself. All spiritual practices, particularly land based practices, are beholden to regionalism. Regionalism is the antithesis of homogeneity. It is reflexive to categorize the gamut of all things with “American” origins as one homogenous mass, but this is both intellectually and materially disingenuous. All ADRs are regionalist, and this alone creates a dramatic difference in said practices.

Take for instance the various emanations of Palo, with four major denominations, Monte, Kimbisa, Briyumba and Mayombe. These four distinct Theological traditions evolved separately, largely in part because of geographical differences and different leadership. These seemingly subtle differences evolved overtime into hallmarks of an identity in how each sect handles spirits, the spirits they venerate, language(s) used, and major beliefs pertaining to cosmology and world structure. Notice however that all of these originated on the Island of Cuba. Cuba is roughly 750 miles long and 60 miles wide, driving from Denver Colorado to Billings Montana is 693 miles and takes around 10 hours to drive, while it typically takes only one hour to drive around 60 miles. The variety of spiritual beliefs in one tradition in a stretch of 750 miles is profound, and this isn't even taking into account the other traditions on the island, so why would we expect it to be different in the United States?

Which leads me to the question, what is the Hoodoo you do? Do you know its region, its history, its spirits? Just as there isn't a generic “Palo” tradition, or a Generic Vodou/Vudú/Voodoo, which also boast a robust number of lineages, most notably Tcha Tcha and Asogwé, there is not a “generic” Hoodoo, and the question becomes less about whether or not it's closed(it is), and more about it's cultural relevancy. The Hoodoo of a third generation New Yorker is going to look wildly different from the Hoodoo we see from a third Generation Californian, and let's add a caveat, the Hoodoo you see from a third generation Californian in the Bay area is going to be different from the Hoodoo from a Los Angeles Hoodoo, because of admixture, geography, and exogenous and endemic cultures in the region. In that same vein of inquiry, do you draw your lineage from the Baptist tradition of Churches, AME, Catholic, African American Spiritual tradition? All of these differences make for a different practice, and different structure.

Among the variations and differences in the Hoodoo tradition of the U.S also comes differing and various cultural attitudes to Hoodoo itself. In the broad Americas(the Caribbean and LATAM Included) the practice of banning and criminalizing Black and Indigenous spiritual practices was incredibly common and could be as dire as even leading to an individuals death “After emancipation, many countries in the Western Hemisphere passed new legislation attempting to suppress the religious practices of the formerly enslaved under the guise of “civilizing” their populations. Countries like Brazil, Jamaica, Cuba, and Haiti enacted laws that prohibited persons from engaging in “superstitious” rituals, fortunetelling, vagrancy, and similar practices. In the United States, African American herbalists and sages (whom the media described as “voodoo doctors”) were also arrested for providing medico-religious and divination services. However, once again, the U.S. government deployed generally applicable laws to suppress these practices; they did not craft new legislation to target the “superstitions” of the formerly enslaved. These individuals were charged with contravening laws against obtaining money by false pretenses, mail fraud, practicing medicine without a license, and related offenses.”(Boaz, 2017). Because of this, black America did their best to disassociate with “superstitions” and “barbaric” customs to avoid further discrimination and being targeted. If you went up to a black elder and asked them what “Hoodoo” was, they'd probably slap you in the gums and call down Holy Ghost fire upon you and yours. It wasn't until 1996 that the American Indian religious freedom act was codified into law after years of indigenous communities enduring the same discrimination as Black ones for alternative spiritual customs and traditions could finally safely practice their own religious and spiritual customs without fear, and these attitudes still linger in both communities respectively.

With all that being said, the question remains. Why must it be Hoodoo that you do? Were you adopted into a family that lovingly shared it with you from the time you were young to now? Did you break bread with these people, do you fight for their liberation with every breath? Do you really think being black in a “past life” grants you access to the trauma you most likely care very little about in this present one?

Magico-religious folk customs are a dime a dozen, many, open! Some closed. Hoodoo however, is contingent upon the social memory of slavery, oppression and a fight for justice. When putting the spirits to work, do you do so with a spectral whip in your hand, and the entitlement to Black bodies and Souls of those who came before you? The joy of learning and spiritual specificity is that you can find a practice you resonate with out of the multitudes that litter the masses of the American continent that may be socio-culturally relevant to you. Such as Italian stregheria which is prominent in some parts of upper Appalachia and New York, Ozark and Appalachian granny magic, Cajun Traiteur, Spanish American Brujería of the Southwest (as in SPAIN),Pennsylvania Dutch Braucherei, there are even Cunning folk practices associated with the Mormon church and Utah. Some of these despite being of European American Origin, are also closed because they are experiential.These are all uniquely American in nature, this is excluding places outside of the U.S who also have a multitude of open mystical practices, such as Ancient Egyptian Heka, or Hellenic Göetia, none of them with the baggage of Indigenous and Black trauma as an aesthetic.

Ultimately, everyone will do what they want and that's just a fact of life, I however hope this helps you stop and think of the damage you do to your Black and Brown siblings whose ancestors died for the right to pray to a God that looked like them when you insist on the right to access to BIPOC labor spiritually,mentally and physically.