#christianity is very much political. to the point where if anyone was to ever ask me what my political stance was on anything

[idylls-of-the-divine-romance]

I never said he was political. What I said was "His followers then went on to live in voluntary communism", which is an objective fact of the Jerusalem centered community of the Early Jesus Movement.

The definition of communism (lowercase c): "a form of economic organization in which private goods are held in common by a community"

Twice in the Book of Acts does it say that the "And the multitude of those who believed were of one heart and being; and not one was saying that anything belonging to them was their own, but all things were common property to them. And with great power the apostles were giving testimony to the resurrection of the Lord Jesus, and abundant grace was upon them all. For there was not a needy person among them, for all who were owners of land or houses would sell them and bring the prices of the things being sold and lay them at the apostles’ feet, and they would be distributed to each to the extent that any had need."

Now, one of my bible commentaries (NIV) would say this isn't communism because:

"the sharing was voluntary" This doesn't make it not communism - a form of economic organization in which private goods are held in common by a community. That is literally what this is.

"it didn't involve all private property, but only as much as was needed" Scripture doesn't say that, nor are their any hints or hyperlinks that suggest such. We could reason that this is an example of exaggeration to make a point (see: Solomon's wealth) but I don't really think that's necessary. It is quite possible that in fact most of the people in the Jerusalem district of the Early Jesus Movement decided that the best way to live at the teachings and message of Jesus, the Torah and the prophets, was to live together as a communal group.

"it was not a membership requirement to be a part of the church" Ofc not, which is what makes it better! This wasn't motivated by any political or economic theory, any more than Jesus' life was motivated by political philosophy: it was koinonia rooted by agape - other centered, life giving love from me to you that causes me to lay down my life for you.

(Side note: I do not think it's a coincidence that Jacob/James who was leader of the Jerusalem church wrote the way he did on wealth. It is clear that there was some sort of issue in the socio-economic reality of Jerusalem, likely centered in oppression of employees and heavy taxes as well as ethnic differences, that the early Christians were NOT a fan of).

Also all of this makes perfect sense tho. You can say whatever you want about Jesus not being political (and I won't address that because we'll need to define that word and this post is long enough) but there is something undeniable: Jesus, and also the rest of his Galilean disciples, were not a fan of people who lived comfortably on their wealth while other's went hungry. Which is incredibly uncomfortable for me (it actually put the fear of God in me a few weeks ago) but it is what it is.

Now. I am not a communist and never have been, not because the scriptures ever condemn communism, but because the human heart is wicked above all things and is irreversibly sick without the Spirit giving them a new one (see: the entire Tanakh). I do think there is a reason why when the government decides to implement communism it ends in dictatorship. Instead, I've been looking into Catholic Social Teaching and find Distributism to be interesting.

That said, I think local Christian communities can and should absolutely consider whether they wish to live communally together and what that would look like for them. And no matter what all Christians must change the way they look at their possessions.

Other Christians: Yeah I’m a Christian, but don’t worry, I’m normal.

Meanwhile, Christian Tumblr: I worship a triune God who emptied themself to become a human. He was born a poor teenager and grew up in poverty and at risk of homelessness. He was fully God and fully Human. He taught and lived in radical indiscriminate self giving love and subversive peaceful resistance of oppression. He fought the cause of the widow, orphan, immigrant, poor, and oppressed. He loved the sinner so much they left their sin and followed him, and reconciled both the government allying capitalist and the rebel freedom fighter to harmony in himself. He invites us to take his prescience into ourselves by eating his flesh and drinking his blood. My God then enthroned himself as the exalted king of the world by dying the death of a cursed blaspheming slave. He then rose from the dead and decided his first witnesses would be women, whose witness is worthless in court. His followers then went on to live in voluntary communism, to advocate radical generosity, to destroy ethnic barriers, to elevate the inherent humanity of women and the enslaved, to self identify as exiled and enslaved refugees and pilgrims, to equate God with Love, to diagnose the government as a necessary evil worth responding to with equal parts submission and resistance, and to make the preposterous claim that we conquer the world by giving our lives in self sacrificing love. In my faith, normalcy is heresy.

[queenwille]

are you pro-israel/anti-palestine?

hi, first, i appreciate you asking very politely and not assuming things.

i’ll say i’m a zionist, which isn’t an offensive word. i believe in the right of the jewish people for self determination in the form of a jewish state in the land of israel, the promised land of the jewish people.

i find calling israel, the only jewish state in a sea of muslim/christian states, an “ethostate” and mocking the jews for feeling the need in one, as very antisemitic rude and offensive. that goes without mentioning how ignorant and rude it is to claim all jews are white europeans. literally cancelling the whole rich history of the jewish people in the arab countries (which they were mostly chased out of as well).

the need to live within your given or chosen community is such a natural thing, even animals do it. for some reason, when it comes to israel and the jews, it’s wrong. before anyone starts, please let me remind you that within this very large jewish community, there are 2.5 million arabs (mostly muslim, some christian). they share equal rights, a citizenship and an israeli ID/passport. yes, even the sister of the top hamas man (who was arrested this week for having documents and money linked to hamas, a terror organization).

that being said, i am in no shape or form, nor never was i, anti palestine. i think it’s just not as simple as some people who joined the hot trend across the world see it. the state of palestine was never established for many reasons that don’t involve the jewish people. i do mean this when i say i do wish the palestinian people a safe and established land, but it’s simply not that easy. it really isn’t no israel=yes palestine. they have so many other needs other than demolishing the land of israel. their inner conflicts are very much alive to this day (google fatah/hamas conflict), their lack of actual support from neighboring countries and other reasons they have there. they’re really not at a good starting point, but no one ever talks of that. it’s just easier to masturbate to the idea that protesting in favor of demolishing israel and sending +-7,000,000 jews to fuck knows where will be enough.

let me make it clear, the fact that civilians are being killed and hurt breaks my heart. i say this knowing fully well that many took part in the oct7 massacre. generations, on both sides, being brought up with nothing but hate and fear of each other boiled up to this disaster. which is why i find the whole western pro pal movement, spreading fake news and hate and deepening the conflict, as not just offensive, but also very dangerous. for both sides (+diaspora jews). calling hamas freedom fighters and not the terror organization that they are is as dangerous to the palestinians as as it is dangerous to israelis/jews. they are given actual legitimacy for actions that are considered extremist and terror on an international level. yes, they do hide in UN protected facilities, using inocentes as human shields. and when we say the west is next, it’s not just a spicy slogan, it’s not really about the jews, but the western culture.

i am very angry of the way the hostages are being ignored or bluntly canceled (ripping off their posters everywhere). it’s hypocritical and very upsetting. i will also mention that i seriously don’t appreciate using the jewish holocaust and appropriating it’s terms and the well known generational jewish trauma and mocking it.

lastly, i would like to mention that a lot of what’s happening right now around the world just proves the need in a jewish state. being close with an army that’s main goal is protecting its people literally feels safer for jews even under missiles and terror attacks. let me inform you that the main reason that israeli casualties are lower, is the invention of the Iron Dome, operated by the IDF. It has saved thousands of civilian lives since it’s first use. no, it wasn’t hamas’ more humane ways or idk what i read. israel literally spends every last dime to keep it’s people safe, while hamas won’t even let the palestinian people have a safe hospital. instead of mocking our worries and constant feeling of being persecuted and in danger, to the point that a jewish state feels like a life or death matter, maybe try to think what you can do to change that. saying we’re delusional or closing mouths when we claim for antisemitism isn’t helping, and it sure isn’t what’s currently happening in the world and social media.

again, thanks for asking. i have so much more to say and that’s before actually going into current antisemitism or even into october 7th, i just think i’ll stop here for now. i hope this somewhat answers your question.

[metaladam]

Small little rant from me. Nothing spawned it so much as I was remembering interactions from years ago, both online and some irl!

Its rude to go up to people you disagree with and put them on the defensive! Let's say for the purpose the thought experiment I'm a hardcore atheist! I am not going to go up to random Christians or Muslims and make them defend themselves! That's just being a jack ass! In an online sense, I wouldn't comment on other people's posts and dispute their beliefs for all to see. That is an ego trip, and what you are doing when you do that is trying to show off to others how smart you are OR you are projecting a memory of someone onto someone else you have decided is similar enough to them the projection makes sense.

This does not mean you can't give your opinion. Returning to the thought experiment, there is no moral issue of me making a post on what I think of religion, in this universe where I am a extreme atheist. I can say whatever I want on my blog, style myself in whatever way I want, and make my beliefs clear on a personal level. If my words provoke responses and invite conversation from those who believe alternatively from me then I have not made a moral failing because I did not go after one specific person against their consent and force them into a dialogue.

My trans friend irl deals with this a lot. They have people approach them to discuss if they are a real woman or not. Usually when they do this they are not using crude or insulting language, but its still rude because these people are coming after someone just living their life and putting them on the spot to debate something very sensitive, treating their personhood and agency as if it were a large scale political issue to be discussed and defended. As discussed before, this is a bad faith tactic. If my friend CHOSE to go on a conservative talk show or they initiated the conversation and the other person was fine with it, that's a different thing because my friend would have chosen to put themselves in that situation.

This is true for the vast majority of issues! It could be argued that the most extreme points of view in the west, such as gender, and economic disparity could lead to a more hostile environments that can't be ignored, but these instances usually result in the expulsion or ostracization of individuals from certain communities anyway so in my mind they are just treated differently because the whole point of ethics is to maintain communities.

More or less, I am never ever going to come after someone for thinking differently then me. I won't show up in your dm's and tell you how I think you are wrong, or how I think you are living your life wrongly. Anyone who does that is just acting in bad faith.

What I will do is give my opinion if asked, and if you come to me asking what I think and what I think bothers you, you have no one to blame but yourself. Don't instigate a confrontation with me and then call me a bitter person because of what you forced me to say. You shouldn't treat anyone like that.

[coolbeanzeaglbones]

It's 4am, here's a fanfic chapter I had to finish or else I would've forgotten

Ian was still shy around everyone, but was warming up to Ricky, of all people. It was probably because Ricky had been trying so so so very hard to bring a sort of optimism to the place, “Hey, maybe he'll just let us go.” He would say, playfully shoving anyone in vicinity of shoving.

Christian sensed that he was trying to be more optimistic for Ian's sake.

It was on one night when Ricky called a team meeting, “Okay, I want everyone to talk about themselves. Get to really know the team. I'll go first,” he went and stood in the middle of their makeshift meeting, “My name is Ricky Falomir, I used to live in Connecticut before my mom left, then me and my dad moved to Orange County when I was six and I've lived with him ever since.” he finished with a little clap of his hands before sitting back down.

There was a silence before Christian sighed and walked to the middle of the meeting. He began to imitate Ricky's peppy tone, “Hi, my name is Christian Jacobs, I was born and raised in Orange County and then I frickin stolen from the waterpark. See how fun this is? See how much fun I'm having?” Jimmy was trying to suppress laughter, but Ian was full on laughing, “Yes, I do see how much fun you're having, now go on.” Ricky said, his face threatening to break into laughter.

Christian cleared his throat before continuing in a more of his tone of voice, “I have an older sister and three younger brothers. I miss them.” His voice cracked on the last word and he went to sit back down.

Again, silence. Jimmy looked over to Ian, “Do you want to go first?” Ian shook his head, so Jimmy went up. He took the middle ground and began to speak, “Well, I was created by my father as farming equipment…” he was cut off by Ian raising his hand, “Yes?”

“A-are you a r-robot?” Jimmy was genuinely confused by that, “Yeah? What? How…did you not know?” 

“Well, I t-thought you w-were hu-human.” He said, “No, I'm not, anyway, I was created by my father as farming equipment, but I grew to be their son and on the day of the farmers market, someone turned me off and took me here.” he went back to his spot and slapped his knees, “You're up kid.” He said.

Ian did not look like he wanted to talk, but, being polite, stood and walked into the middle, “Hi, m-my n-name is Ian F-fowles and I ha-have an o-older brother…”

“Are you okay? You're stuttering a lot.” It was something he had been doing recently. It had gotten to a really bad point when he was trying to talk about himself.

He eventually just gave up and sat back to where he was before, staring at his hands, “So why do you wear knee braces?” Ricky asked, trying to invite him back into the conversation, “and wrist braces?” 

“Oh, um, I-i don't really re-remember the s-story, but I th-think my d-dad’s side of the f-family w-was cursed a w-while back and…” he was cut off by the unit door opening.

Everyone scrambled to get far away from the door, onto the opposite side of the unit.

It might be just me, Ian thought to himself, but that guy looks definitely bigger.

Chad looked like he had grown a foot taller in just the few hours that they hadn't seen him.

Apparently, it wasn't just him. Ricky had audibly gasped when he came into the unit. Christian flattened both of his arms to his friend's chests to keep them held back. Jimmy's eyes were wide, the slight canary blue that always came from them seemed to be exacerbated by the tense atmosphere.

Chad just sat down, didn't even bother closing the door. He put his head in his knees and just sat there, shaking.

Christian exchanged a glance with Jimmy, before grabbing Ian by the hand and motioning with his head to the door. He seemed to understand, as did Ricky, and they all cautiously moved towards the door.

They were going to all run for it as soon as they got out, screaming for help and hopefully waking up the entire neighborhood.

Christian looked to his younger friends, gave the nod and began to sprint, yelling at the top of his lungs.

A giant arm came out to stop them, hitting Christian and Jimmy in the stomach and hitting Ian in the face. Ricky had managed to duck under the arm and was still screaming, but Chad pulled him right back in, shutting the door.

The kids backed up as a unit against the wall, Ian's nose was bleeding heavily, but he was, surprisingly, not crying.

Ricky let out a whimpering noise and grabbed Ian around the shoulders, pulling him close. Jimmy held Christian's arm as his back hit the padding of the wall.

The only thing going on in Christian's mind was, oh crap, I screwed up and now all of us are going to die.

Chad came closer, his massive form a huge blackout in the darkness. He didn't say anything, he just grabbed Ian and Ricky by their wrists and dragged them to the far corner of the unit.

They both tried to kick at him, Ian was now kind of sobbing and Ricky was cussing Chad out. But it was no use.

Christian knew he had to put his leadership to work. He charged at Chad with a battle yell, jumping and grabbing his shoulders. He tried to put him in a sleeper hold. Chad paid no attention.

There was an odd rack in each corner of the unit and Chad grabbed the filthy red rag from the ground and tied Ricky and Ian up to it by their wrists.

For anyone asking what Jimmy was doing, he was panicking. Like, full blown human panic attack. He was experiencing all of these emotions at once and it was overwhelming.

He crouched down, his head covered by his arms and began to rock back and forth like a crazy person. He was crying, like real tears. They were oil or something, but it was acting like tears.

After Chad was done tying the two up, he grabbed Christian from his neck and held him by his scruff like a little kitten.

He was silent. Christian wanted him to say something, anything! Heck, he wouldn't mind being yelled at! Anything but silence. But Chad just walked over, grabbed Jimmy by his arm and led him over to the other rack, where, as he held them both down with his leg, he tore a piece of his sleeve.

He tied them to the wrack and left. It was silent except for the sounds of everyone trying and failing so hard not to cry.

Christian allowed himself to join in the crying. He didn't know how much longer they all had left to live.

[leclerced]

Oscar is so hot n it’s actually interesting that I say that! He’s not my usual type in almost any way and still I’m sweating when looking at him in pictures (pretty sure if I saw him irl I’d fucking die on the spot). What’s more interesting is also the fact that I think huge part in me liking him so much is his character. Even if I don’t know him obv his public persona is just so loveable! He’s a true gentleman, has similar sense of humour to mine, is kind of nerdy, always polite…like how can u not love him???

I had this thoughts because ofc I was having a conversation with my bestie about liking people you’re not instantly attracted to yesterday hahaha

honestly i get that w oscar because i don't have a type physically but i like smart people. i think a lot of people are physically attractive but i’m not attracted to them, if that makes sense? like george russell is eye candy but i’m not really interested in him. oscar’s definitely attractive and that’s what caught my attention but not why i actually like him. everything u said is so on point tbh.

i love oscar’s personality sm and before i rly started following him, i liked oscar bc he was cute then he said in an interview he was studying to be an engineer and said smth ab having good grades and i was drooling. instantly like oh hes smart i like him. and one of the very first things i heard ab max was an old video of christian (i think) where he was talking ab recruiting max and mentioned the other drivers he spoke to and how he was asking them about the car’s specs and they didn't know anything, and he was like, “well max knows it, why don’t you?” and idk why but that was so impressive to me, like 16/17 year old max spending his free time learning about a car he might get to drive so he can answer any questions they have? and that doesn’t even occur to anyone else? it just says a lot about him i think.

also, maxsplaining??? dont get me started. i would let that man talk for hours. i would do anything for him to explain formula one to me like yeah i get it. but i bet he could go on forever and ever ab it and i’d never get sick of it!!

[worldcylinder]

i already asked some but

down to the ark, catherine antrim's kid and we shall all be healed

i have so many unreleased tracks downloaded and all of them have the best lyrics :)

Ok, now you're just flexing :P I'll play though.

Down to the Ark: I'm going with the first refrain: And we pull down our blindfolds / Reach out for the lever in the dark / Get a sticker for our shirts / As we head into the sun / Proudly bearing the mark / Headed down to the Ark. This song is so bananas. I can't tell if it's about a Satanic cult taking over America, or if it's about how participating in liberal electoral politics is apocalyptically doomed to failure in the face of rising fascism and climate change. The image of someone voting blindfolded, then heading down towards Noah's Ark wearing an "I Voted" sticker sure is something.

Catherine Antrim's Kid: And the night wrapped me up in its long, dark embrace / I had that same expression on as that one picture of my face / Which was all anyone would ever know about me / After my visitors got done with me. These lines remind me really strongly of Tyler Lambert's Grave: Young man in a yellow tie / Hair gel in his hair / No context for the picture / Just kind of standing there. The idea of a person being crystallized down to a single photograph in the national consciousness, to the point where the photograph comes to epitomize them... There's a passage in The Lovely Bones by Alice Sebold about the murdered main character and how her school picture comes to encapsulate her for her parents. I don't remember the exact quote, but it talks about how the photo becomes how she always looked to them, "my eyes never bluer than they were in that photo" or something to that effect. I'd have to go find it again which would mean rereading half the book. The idea of this child narrator being the victim of some high-profile violent crime (murder, presumably? I'm assuming this is about a real person) and that one photo being all anyone would know about them ever again... It's a powerful concept. You don't get to pick that photo, you know?

We Shall All Be Healed: Much as I love it when JD names names, I'm going with the very end. And someday we will all never be alone again / When the sun comes up and the night has passed / We shall all be healed, at last, at last, at last. I find myself reminded of Steal Smoked Fish -- Some of you will be dead next year / I see your destinies above you / Like angels who don't love you / Let them kiss you and hold you tight. The "someday" referred to here is presumably after death, given that "we will all never be alone again." This song is more heartfelt than lyrical, and I applaud it for that. I think it's a song about grief, and about hope -- about mourning dead friends, or old friends or ex-friends who will die someday, and about having hope for them to find peace at last in the grave and beyond. We all love to hate that one tweet that's like "The Mountain Goats is just Christian rock for gay twentysomethings" but it's absolutely true, and I think this song kind of epitomizes that genuine prayerful impulse that threads through their work of, well, maybe Heaven is real. Maybe God does love us, after all. God bless all my old friends / and God bless me too, why pretend?

[rotgospels]

hello! i hope it’s okay for me to ask this— no need to reply if it’s too personal or just a waste of breath.

i was wondering if you wouldn’t mind sharing when and how you realized you wanted to pursue religion? i’m 21 and i grew up catholic, though most of my knowledge/memories on it has been blocked out bc it was during a rough patch of life. even though, i still find catholicism to be very interesting— not exactly healing (yet?) but something i want to learn more about— and there are multiple times when i want to call it quits on everything else and become a nun. i know this isn’t enough reason to want to devote myself to a religion i once stubbornly opposed. but as i grow older, i recognize i just needed something to blame, so i chose god. now, the want to call it quits and join a monastery is not unending, but definitely repetitive.

also, i saw a previous anon mentioning they were a lesbian leftist and how becoming a nun would make sense. i know it’s ignorant of me to ask, but would you please explain the relationship between nunnery and leftist beliefs alongside queer identity? no worries if that’s too much to do.

i apologize for all the questions— i’m just really curious and would love to learn from someone with experience. your intelligence is evident and i hope to be as determined as you once i return to college! thanks so much!

Hello - asks like this are always okay!

It took a couple years for me to realise. I come from a family with negative experiences and preconceptions about Christianity so I resisted the pull I felt from age 18-20. I didn't have any clear moment of realisation, just a slow and steady movement towards Christ. I think God knew I needed to take it all at a snail's pace so He guided me towards different places, people, opportunities and experiences which continually revealed His presence in my life over time. A big part of this was finding the right church which accepted me as I was, who allowed me to serve and be part of their community despite - at that point - not identifying as a Christian at all.

If you feel a draw towards Catholicism and monastic life definitely listen to that; even if you think it comes from a place of 'escape'. I've met a few nuns over the years and they've always been women who have, in some sense, retreated, but are more connected to the heart of the world than anyone else I've ever come across. I'd say this is where any 'leftist' ideas comes from - as each nun lives in a local and global community together with other sisters (their networks are found all over the world). The last nun I met was a Franciscan who was extremely political due to work she'd done in the Middle East. She shared about what she'd seen and how this had radicalised and challenged her. So despite living in a convent/monastery, most nuns are active in society and abroad depending on their vocational calling.

There's actually a great book of personal accounts called "lesbian nuns: breaking silence" which outlines in its introduction the common conception that all nuns are lesbians. The authors tell us that this is because both groups fall outside of norms in similar ways (women who live and move through the world together essentially uninterested in males).

I really recommend reaching out to different orders which interest you, even if you're not ready to dive into Catholicism again just yet. I have a friend who is currently discerning the call towards this same thing, and she's been meeting up with a nun who is acting as a mentor/spiritual director for her so she can learn more as she works it out.

I hope some of this helps - there's never a rush when it comes to this kind of thing. Take your time in exploring x

[leroibobo]

a super abridged sequel about european jews (mostly ashkenazim)

to preface: the only reason i mention dna is because the origins of european jews is a /lot/ less straightforward and easy to explain than mena jewish history is. and also because z-onists mention it a lot. i think z-onists use dna as an argument that -srael isn't a settler-colonial project because:

they think dna is a valid "claim" to a piece of land, which misunderstands both the concept of indigeneity and that anyone can do/benefit from settler-colonialism despite their actual origins (see: latin american countries generally not having great relationship to indigenous communities, also see this article from decolonize palestine), and also that not everyone who's a victim of -sraeli settler-colonialism is "ethnically palestinian" (see: jerusalemite armenians)

influence from ethnic nationalism in europe which, despite what the most "enlightened europeans" will tell you, still heavily depends on how someone looks/ethnicity, and neither the grisly outcome of wwii nor anything any european countries did after ever really "solved" it (literally just ask any north caucasian their experience being a russian citizen. not to mention the treatment of romani)

there is a completely-unrelated-to-z-onism history of people denying that jewish people are the "real jews" (remember, judaism isn't a "universal religion" like christianity or islam) because the "real jews" would've converted to (insert relevant abrahamic religion here), which to z-onists ties back to their z-onism in that they see mentions of the very real settler-colonialism as this sort of thing (even if they don't tie it to religion), see point 1

most jews (overwhelmingly ashkenazi) nowadays who aren't in palestine live in america or other european settler-colonies that aren't occupied palestine where the general attitude was "judaism is a religion, not an ethnicity" because particularly ashkenazi jews in europe were very much seen as a different "race"/"ethnicity" and discriminated against for it. (europeans can tell different types of white people apart by the distance between their eyesockets.) it being seen as "just a religion" in the us was more or less a way to be safe. z-onists today don't like this because of reason 1, and to a more subconscious extent reason 3.

people who come from cultures based in "universal" religions/beliefs where anyone can convert and be a true believer (christianity and islam, for example) generally approach the topic of judaism from their own pov.

genetics can very easily slip into eugenics if you approach it from a political point of view. z-onists ultimately misuse facts for nationalist purposes, which causes people to be reactionary and use facts against them, and it becomes a whole mess of bullshit. both ashkenazi jewish and romani genetics have a history of being used, abused, and put under a microscope by europeans for a bunch of bullshit purposes (and z-onists continue this longstanding tradition today by doing it to palestinians) and i don't intend to do that here, only to clear things up.

so with that out of the way: the story in the torah of jewish origins is as much of an origin story as any other ethnic groups' at the end of the day, but that doesn't change that there is actual evidence that all "ethnic" european jews (ashkenazim, sephardim, italkim, and romaniote) descend from people who came from the middle east and converted/intermarried with locals in greek colonies/roman italy. the oldest jewish groups in europe are romaniotes (greek) and italkim (italian) - they largely stayed in the general area, though romaniotes also expanded to to the balkans and even up to what's today poland, ukraine, and western russia.

from there it gets murky. a ton of jews moved west into areas of former andalusia and the frankish empire. from there we get the "separation" between ashkenazi (german) jews and sephardic (spanish) jews. both of them eventually became "centers" of judaism on their own right and many jewish people moved back-and-forth between the middle east and europe, and between "ashkenaz" and "sepharad", and this movement between jewish populations would continue up to the 19th century. (for example: a lot of sephardim have the surname "ashkenazi" because their ancestors moved to andalusia from germany.) there were most likely other, much smaller jewish populations who moved to other parts of the continent not mentioned and eventually became ashkenazified or sephardicized (like the ones who might've spoken knaanic).

and yes, there were absolutely converts, even if eventually not that many later on (who would wanna willingly become a member of a persecuted group). according to dna testing, most of these converts were back in antiquity in italy, greece, and even north africa (see study i linked previously) with only a minimal amount were outside of that. jewish communities in both places were endogamous and - in the case of ashkenazis - eventually bottlenecked to a point where they became more or less not very genetically diverse. they sort of became their own ethnicity in a way. this phenomenon follows a common pattern of history - pretty much everyone in the world is "mixed", some more recently than others.

like every jewish diaspora, european jews assimilated to a good degree and spoke ethnolects (ladino, yevanic, etc) of the regions they stayed in, and their "ethnic" stuff was very much also tied to religion (considering how most of their european neighbors saw them, more on that later) with a "local" twist. yiddish kind of an exception to the ethnolects in a way - for one, it only developed around 1300 ce, it has a romance substrate, and it eventually gained a lot of eastern european influences as it went further east (ashkenazi culture is similarly mixed, remember, it's sort of a fusion between two jewish groups, like many mena jews becoming "sephardicized" those jews became "ashkenazified" eventually.) it was easier to keep one language and not continuously change it if you had to move from place to place.

eventually stuff like the expulsions from spain pushed sephardim out of the iberian peninsula and to other places, and the first crusades pushed ashkenazim further east. sephardim for the most part managed to stay comparatively stable in their new places of residence (not that discrimination didn't happen, or that it never happened that they had to leave for somewhere else bc of antisemitism. i detail this more in the op).

ashkenazim, on the other hand, followed a historical pattern of exiled from place > go to place that offered refuge > new antisemitic leader rose up > exiled from place. (sephardim were also in spain a lot longer than ashkenazim were in germany - large-scale jewish settlement on the rhine only began in about 800, from then to the crusades is a meager 200 years.) yes, there were times of prosperity, but there were also a lot of bad times - and ashkenazi jews had it a lot worse - probably the worst - for most of history. many of those countries didn't really see them as much citizens as the other residents, or didn't see them as citizens at all. (immigrants in europe are still a lot of the time not seen as "real" citizens even if they've been there for generations, for example turks in germany.) most were made to live separately, forced into certain jobs (jews were mostly relegated to jobs regarding money, which was seen as jobs not befitting christians, hence the merchant/greed/rich stereotype), severely restricted in movement, and forced to assimilate until and even after the jewish emancipation. (sound familiar?) antisemitism was still very much continuing after that though, at this point (since we're past the enlightenment and religion isn't as big of a thing as it once was) because of "race science".

(a good example of the forcible assimilation is ashkenazi last names - ashkenazim were some of the last europeans to get them, before which they largely used the "x, son/daughter of y" format. the germanic/slavic last names were for the most part given out by governments because a. austria-hungarian empire imposed german names bc they were german elitists and b. russian empire gave out german names just bc they were easier to give out, but also slavic bc of the assimilation, different areas generally had different attitudes about which last names they gave. this isn't unique to ashkenazim, some other jewish populations have similar last names without the ties - for example some "kurdish" jews have last names relating to kurdish tribes because they were literally from the town the tribe's name originated from, not because they were a part of the tribe.)

as a consequence, most ashkenazim did not have as much of a "tie" to their "home countries", because most not only deeply antisemitic ("semitic" to refer to jewish people originates with 18th century german "race scientists" btw), but didn't consider them citizens for a very long time. "ties" were by an large seen as a way to keep themselves safe, even if they were "genuine" ties. a good overview of this phenomenon can be seen in hannah arendt's (an antizionist in her own right) essay we refugees. this is why a vast majority also moved to the us (and other european colonies, like south africa) when they had the opportunity, and where the assimilation with whiteness/"just a religion" attitude came from. not that there wasn't antisemitism over there, but they had an opportunity to "start over" in a place where antisemitism wasn't systemic there like it more or less was/is in europe. (and, ofc, "white" ultimately ended up applying to them.)

this is also why z-onism is super duper ashkenazi. because of [ashkenazi] history, they saw any attempt at "assimilation" as futile because it'd just happen again, and being a "jew" and another "nationality" were mutually exclusive because they were always just jews at the end of the day according to european governments throughout history. the diaspora/diasporic cultures were also something they saw as inherently tied to oppression. (and not palestinian/sephardic/mizrahi ones, which combined with orientalism led to appropriation. nothing wrong with wanting to abandon elements of your culture, or maybe your culture altogether - i think we all do to different points - but the contradictions and power here are pretty obvious.) the initial z-onists likely saw colonialism as a way to "liberate" themselves, and thought the problem was having "left" in the first place, similar to what happened with liberia.

ofc though, like liberia, they'd been living in europe for 1,000 years and were approaching it from a very eurocentric/essentialist and eventually "terra nullis" pov. (and the contemporaneous, reactionary yiddishist movements were largely the same (except without the third one) and never (and still don't, sorry to any yiddishists reading this) addressed the real problem.) many european jews initially disagreed with z-onism (it was europe who was wrong after all, as arendt stated in we refugees) but eventually because of a bunch of historical circumstances, here we are today.

so, ironically, the very thing that managed to keep ashkenazim safe in european colonies (and white-er sephardim too, ftr, the first jews in the americas were sephardic and there was even a few in the confederate government) ended up oppressing palestinians. from a jewish (as in generally jewish, this spread to jews of all stripes nowadays) z-onist's pov, "indigenous people" were who considered their ancestors alien and exiled them over and over, so why should they care about another "indigenous people" saying the same? or, more recently (and in a huge bout of cognitive dissonance), they're also "indigenous" to palestine, and rulers of other places throughout history didn't think they were "indigenous" to whatever countries they ended up in, see the list of reasons i gave at the beginning of this post...

of course, this is combined with the whole colonizer-fear-of-retribution thing and can't be seen standing on its own. (not so much for people repeating this rhetoric from, like, the us but that's another thing.) but liberating palestine and fighting against antisemitism are not mutually exclusive. we can't go back to the social relations of the past at this point, which is why imo we need one democratic state.

some notes on specifically "middle eastern" (mashriqi + iran, caucuses, and turkey) jewish communities/history:

something to keep in mind: judaism isn't "universalist" like christianity or islam - it's easier to marry into it than to convert on your own. conversions historically happened, but not in the same way they did for european and caucasian christians/non-arab muslims.

that being said, a majority of middle eastern jews descend from jewish population who remained in palestine or immigrated/were forced (as is the case with "kurdish" jews) from palestine to other areas and mixed with locals/others who came later (which at some point stopped). pretty much everywhere in the middle east and north africa (me/na) has/had a jewish population like this.

with european jews (as in all of them), the "mixing" was almost entirely during roman times with romans/greeks, and much less later if they left modern-day greece/italy.

(none of this means jewish people are or aren't "indigenous" to palestine, because that's not what that word means.)

like with every other jewish diaspora, middle eastern jewish cultures were heavily influenced by wherever they ended up. on a surface level you can see this in things like food and music.

after the expulsion of jews from spain and portugal, sephardim moved to several places around the world; many across me/na, mostly to the latter. most of the ones who ended up in the former went to present-day egypt, palestine, lebanon, syria, and turkey. a minority ended up in iraq (such as the sassoons' ancestors). like with all formerly-ottoman territories, there was some degree of back and forth between countries and continents.

some sephardim intermarried with local communities, some didn't. some still spoke ladino, some didn't. there was sometimes a wealth gap between musta'arabim and sephardim, and/or they mostly didn't even live in the same places, like in palestine and tunisia. it really depends on the area you're looking at.

regardless, almost all the jewish populations in the area went through "sephardic blending" - a blending of local and sephardic customs - to varying degrees. it's sort of like the cultural blending that came with spanish/portugese colonization in central and south america (except without the colonization).

how they were treated also really depends where/when you're looking. some were consistently dealt a raw hand (like "kurdish" and yemenite jews) while some managed to do fairly well, all things considered (like baghdadi and georgian jews). most where somewhere in between. the big difference between me/na + some balkan and non-byzantine european treatment of jews is due to geography - attitudes in law regarding jews in those areas tended to fall into different patterns.

long story short: most european governments didn't consider anyone who wasn't "christian" a citizen (sometimes even if they'd converted, like roma; it was a cultural/ethnic thing as well), and persecuted them accordingly; justifying this using "race science" when religion became less important there after the enlightenment.

most me/na and the byzantine governments considered jews (and later, christians) citizens, but allowed them certain legal/social opportunities while limiting/banning/imposing others. the extent of both depend on where/when you're looking but it was never universally "equal".

in specifically turkey, egypt, palestine, and the caucuses, there were also ashkenazi communities, who came mainly because living as a jew in non-ottoman europe at the time sucked more than in those places. ottoman territories in the balkans were also a common destination for this sort of migration.

in the case of palestine, there were often religious motivations to go as well, as there were for some other jews who immigrated. several hasidic dynasites more or less came in their entirety, such as the lithuanian/polish/hungarian ones which precede today's neutrei karta.

ashkenazi migration didn't really happen until jewish emancipation in europe for obvious reasons. it also predates zionism - an initially secular movement based on contemporaneous european nationalist ideologies - by some centuries.

most ashkenazi jews today reside in the us, while most sephardic or "mizrahi" jews are in occupied palestine. there, the latter outnumber the former. you're more likely to find certain groups (like "kurds" and yemenites) in occupied palestine than others (like persians and algerians) - usually ones without a western power that backed them from reactionary antisemitic persecution and/or who came from poorer communities. (and no, this doesn't "justify" the occupation).

(not to say there were none who immigrated willingly/"wanted" to go, or that none/all are zionist/anti-zionist. (ben-gvir is of "kuridsh" descent, for example.) i'm not here to parse motivations.)

this, along with a history of racism/chauvinism from the largely-ashkenazi "left", are why many mizrahim vote farther "right".

(in some places, significant numbers of the jewish community stayed, like turkey, tunisia, and iran. in some others, there's evidence of double/single-digit and sometimes crypto-jewish communities.)

worldwide, the former outnumber the latter. this is thought to be because of either a medieval ashkenazi population boom due to decreased population density (not talking about the "khazar theory", which has been proven to be bullshit, btw) or a later, general european one in the 18th/19th centuries due to increased quality of life.

the term "mizrahi" ("oriental", though it doesn't have the same connotation as in english) in its current form comes from the zionist movement in the 1940s/50s to describe me/na jewish settlers/refugees.

(i personally don't find it useful outside of israeli jewish socio-politics and use it on my blog only because it's a term everyone's familiar with.)

about specifically palestinian jews:

the israeli term for palestinian jews is "old yishuv". yishuv means settlement. this is in contrast to the "new yishuv", or settlers from the initial zionist settlement period in 1881-1948. these terms are usually used in the sense of describing historical groups of people (similar to how you would describe "south yemenis" or "czechoslovaks").

palestinian jews were absorbed into the israeli jewish population and have "settler privilege" on account of their being jewish.

they usually got to keep their property unless it was in an "arab area". there's none living in gaza/the west bank right now unless they're settlers.

their individual views on zionism vary as much as any general population's views vary on anything.

(my "palestinian jews" series isn't intended to posit that they all think the same way i do, but to show a side of history not many people know about. any "bias" only comes from the fact that i have a "bias" too. this is a tumblr blog, not an encyclopedia.)

during the initial zionist settlement period, there were palestinian/"old yishuv" jews who were both for zionism and against it. the former have been a part of the occupation and its government for pretty much its entire history.

some immigrated abroad before 1948 and may refer to themselves as "syrian jews". ("syria" was the name given to syria/lebanon/palestine/some parts of iraq during ottoman times.)

ones who stayed or immigrated after for whatever reason mostly refer to themselves as "israeli".

in israeli jewish society, "palestinian" usually implies muslims and christians who are considered "arab" under israeli law. you may get differing degrees of revulsion/understanding of what exactly "palestine"/"palestinians" means but the apartheid means that palestinian =/= jewish.

because of this, usage of "palestinian" as a self-descriptor varies. your likelihood of finding someone descendent from/with ancestry from the "old yishuv" calling themselves a "palestinian jew" in the same way an israeli jew with ancestry in morocco would call themselves a "moroccan jew" is low.

(i use it on here because i'm assuming everyone knows what i mean.)

samaritans aren't 'jewish', they're their own thing, though they count as jewish under israeli law.

[itskatepaddington]

The New Black

Trigger warning: death, grief

Dad, I promise you I’m not wallowing in it anymore. Or at least I’m trying not to. And it’s almost my birthday, and I’m headed for Paris for a few days, and it is a nice experience after all, so I’ll call mum and M (she wants to go and I’ll take her there one day, cause that’s what older sisters do) when I get there. I promise I’ll enjoy it in a very wobbly way x

If this helps anyone at any point, that probably answers the question of why I wrote it.

I’m lying, somewhat. It is for me, too, after all.

I didn’t really have to wear mourning. First of all, I was abroad. Besides your friends, seldom does anyone really give a damn in a big city. I don’t think anyone asked me why my wardrobe rarely seemed to have any colours beyond black and muted colours later. In the Western world, where it used to be a ritual, the symbolism of it has been lost: beyond just a stylish colour, it means little. Even the mention of wearing mourning would probably make people a little bit confused. Announcing that choice would be an instant comparison to something a Victorian widow would do. 

But in the small town I come from, many people still look to their neighbours and still follow the old customs that spring from Christianity. I was raised Catholic, but I consider myself an atheist now. And to be clear: I don’t miss organised religion. Ever since I was a teenager growing up in a small Polish town, I questioned the part it played: for me as a woman and someone who wanted to get an education that involved science, and in public life. And this is where I landed. I understood what it meant to people historically - especially as a Pole - and I respected other people’s beliefs. Its continued dominance in Polish culture and politics is a complex and thorny topic, well worth another essay by someone better versed in history and sociology than I am. It can feel hard to explain your stance to people who haven’t seen or understood it sometimes, but that’s some context for you. 

That aside, it wouldn’t be too scandalous not to wear mourning. The habit started disappearing with the older generation. But as I hurried through the high street to buy dark clothes for the funeral and my visit, I asked my mum about the ritual.

“Six months of mourning,” she said, “and then another six of half-mourning.”

That meant wearing all-black for half a year, then introducing different muted colours half a year later. One last mark of respect. A way to keep that memory alive. 

“I don’t think he would want you to wear mourning, though,” she said immediately. 

“I know,” I said, and I wore black throughout my stay. It was a way to pay my respects; it was something everyone recognised at this time, in this place where everyone had known me since I was a baby.

But my yearning to keep that ritual didn’t hit until a little later. With my mum and sister, I decided that returning to work as soon as possible would be best. You get restless easily, my sister argued. Better to keep yourself busy, my mum said. I kind of wanted to start doing things, and a lot of them, again. I didn’t want to think too much. But when I returned home, I was in my own space with my very own thoughts once again. Not ideal for someone whose anxiety can send them beyond the edge.

Funerals are for the living, not for the dead, and in 2020, hundreds of people were deprived of that. If we got to say goodbye, it probably was under severe restrictions. That meant fewer stories from the community and with them, opportunities to commemorate the person and to share the heavy load of grief. In many cases, we were all grieving some losses. The world we knew spun out of control, we were stripped of certainty, and rules seemed to have changed on a whim according to what the economy dictated. 

At the time, it was still rather hard to see other people. I abode. It was important, and I for one knew what it was like to have an immunocompromised family member. And truth be told, I developed a bit of anxiety around getting sick. For most of that time, I had a bubble with my friends who lived nearby - it was a thing that often saved me from going completely insane. I worked remotely and saw my other friends over Zoom, in parks, or in restaurants with outdoor seating. But none of my friends here had ever met dad. They’ve heard stories. They knew he played a huge part in who I became. They understood he was a complex but wonderful person. And this is why I am so grateful for having them in my life, especially at that period of time. I thank them for trying to make me feel less shit or just listening. But I had things I had to work through alone. 

As a stereotypical older kid who’d always received a fair share of responsibility, I’m of the people who dislike being a burden and will run from that feeling, even if that assumption may be entirely imaginary. And that’s why I was so desperate to find a way to soothe the pain on my own. Blunting it in usual ways worked for a time, but a deep cut straight through the heart refused to heal cleanly. It did its own thing. It broke through the stitches to dry up on its own to do it all over again. And I failed to understand the process.

We don’t externalise our grief as much anymore. The disappearance of certain rituals may be a sign of it, and mourning is a perfect example of that. When I was looking for my own answers, I discovered that this entire set of rules was slowly dropped in the UK after the first world war - because in the face of suffering on such an unprecedented scale, working through that many losses proved difficult. You’d want to package it up and hope it doesn’t spill through the cracks, after all. I totally believe that statement. After all, I’m of the generation that didn’t get time to process much of what keeps on constantly going on, too.

We get a short window to deal with grief in a simple, externalised, shared way. Much of it is a haze filled with paperwork and simply facing the realisation that the person you loved will never walk through the door or pick up the phone again. As a society, we talk about it quickly and quietly: in condolences, then in confusion when the person seems a little overwhelmed for longer than we expected them to. 

The grieving want it to be over, but also feel the need to keep and cherish the presence they miss. And the people around them often don’t know what to say. Those who understand that nothing will make it worse and come to you with open arms even if they may not completely get it, those who bring you parcels of food, those who keep trying and call you to do your walk up the hill and talk about nothing in particular - they’ll help. You may end up being hurt and disappointed by people who failed to say anything at all, maybe because of that lack of words that everyone kept mentioning just around the funeral time. But several months in, silence is heavy, rings in your ears, and becomes an ultimate disappointment. You feel like you’re being mentally flogged during holidays and anniversaries. Father’s Day is a mess, with the innocuous adverts in shop windows becoming torture by a thousand cuts. Even happy events like birthdays have a staggeringly blue undertone to them. 

And then, fewer people remember. You need rituals, even if they’re devoid of meaning for others.

But where to find them? Coming up with those while bandaging up my heart to keep it from bursting at the stitches clearly wasn’t working. So I scoured the internet articles to find answers. I picked up that grief book by Sheryl Sandberg. Reddit, of course, cause that’s where we all go for bullshit lived experiences. But a lot of what I discovered seemed to rationalise this unreasonable, shape-shifting, ever-encompassing and overwhelming weight that just wouldn’t budge and move into the neat frames I prepared, understood and was ready to put it into.

Even some ways of dealing with pain involve measuring it using arbitrary scales or timelines. Doesn’t everyone know about the stages of grief? I know them by heart now: denial; anger; bargaining; depression; acceptance. It’s one of these concepts from pop psychology familiar to many people. I was aware of them before I was thrown into the abyss of my thoughts. 

But no one told me that grief was like a vortex with the power to suck out all the energy you throw at it. The more you feed it, the stronger it becomes. If you get lost in the peaceful waters of feeling nothing at all and swim a little bit too far into it to cool down, it shows you an undercurrent so strong that it could drown you if you let it. Or, as many have described it, maybe it feels more like a tidal wave that comes and goes, not a diagram of stages that is clean-cut and separated from the last neatly parcelled bundle of emotion you experienced.

All the notion of stages had ever accomplished for me was leading me to constantly compare myself to where I was on the scale. Was I just a dysfunctional exception from everyone else’s pristine grieving processes? Why don’t I have my shit together?

When was I going to be productive and fully functional again? Why do I feel depressed? What are the chances these are my hormones - it felt like the denial stage last night? Why did I want to punch everyone in the throat for a week? Wasn’t I meant to be in the bargaining stage already? Why did I find some bullshit excuse to berate someone who didn’t deserve it? Why was I feeling suspiciously good and distracted at this music festival my friends took me to? That feels wrong. 

And when will it stop hurting when I least expect it?

I’m trying to keep a volcano from erupting, and I don’t know how long I can deal with that force. Will it go to sleep quietly, or tear through whatever I’ve got going on at the minute?

Cue the rituals. When everything is uncertain, not even your behaviour when you try to keep it under control, or even your beliefs moulded and challenged in fits of rage, you so desperately yearn for some kind of a constant. Something you can return to that is stable while everything else seems to be like a mess. This is how I made the decision to, or rather gradually slipped into the idea to wear mourning. It just made perfect sense. 

I stuck to black clothes most of the time, to begin with. Even if we’re thankfully far from the eighteenth century and no one would see any deeper reasons for me dressing in one colour, it was meaningful for me. It honestly didn’t matter if no one else saw the point in it; it was that one thing that I was in control of, and it seemed like a relatively healthy way to express what I was feeling amongst constantly coming up with a sleeve of ideas that kept me far out of dealing with my emotions healthily. It kept that memory with me a little longer. And at the back of my head there was this assurance I could quietly withdraw it when I felt ready. My emotional crutches were propping me up in an uneasy mess that I was still trying to make sense of - especially since melancholia and anger still happened just as often.

And so I was performing my open secret for myself in plain sight, externalising my pain to the entire world without a single person being actively aware of it. I was wearing my heart on my sleeve, silent, unnoticed.

It continued for a while. With time, I started giving myself exceptions - on days I felt better, for example. And I started welcoming that change, too. When I returned to my wardrobe after a while, I felt I found joy in getting dressed up once again. It used to bring me a lot of joy pre-2020, and maybe I can find my way back there. 

Mortality is inevitable, unquestionable and final; yet the pain doesn’t get any smaller if you’re aware of it and comes back in waves months after, with more warm tinges than these blue ones as time passes by . Faced with grief we always sought solace in rituals and stories to give ourselves hope. And even if we’re disconnecting it from any philosophical framework, having this ritual helped me. Because in the end, I'm only human who looks for constants and answers.

[victoriavmw82]

When You Fudged Up On The First Day

Do you have that one person in your life that always has to be right? Even when they aren't right they make themselves right. Do you have a real life Nemasis? Have you ever been hurt by other Christian's? Have you ever let someone get to you, to the point you come to the end of yourself? Have you ever had someone hate you without all the facts? Has anyone ever spread rumors about you and though they aren't true, they become true because of who believes them and spread them? If so this story is for you.

One thing I have always liked about the movie Love Actually is that I could identify with the girl that rolled the snack cart around the prime ministers office and other stuff. The reason being is much like her I worried if I had made the right impression upon people.

I have many wonderful memories of serving in ministry, however I also have memories of heart ache and disappointment in my fellow colleagues. I was warned before I moved to the country how social politics worked I had never let it phase me being that I grew up in a large city. I much had the attitude, "Bring It!" and well one day, they brought it. I have many theories why things happened the way that it did but one thing was for sure it was a tatic used to shut me up and break my spirit and make me feel like I didn't belong in a world where you are supposed to belong, right?! Or do we really?! That's a topic for a whole other day though.

The phone rang it was late into the night I had just gotten off from my job at the time The Butcher Shop a local favorite. I worked in the back Bakery and my job was very physically and mentally draining for me.So I was used to coming home much like a zombie eating, and falling asleep either while eating or watching a movie. One time I fell asleep on the phone with my biological mother🤦🏻‍♀️😂🤣she was pissed, to say the least. So the phone rings and I'm thinking it's my best friend needing a ride to work or the grocery store as her rides were always bailing on her. But nope much to my surprise the asshole had waited till he and his wife and their friends were having some fun to continue the bullshit from the previous day.At first I thought it was my phone stalker ironically enough who had one night called my number by accident and, well, just kept calling every so often I guess to liven my dead ass phone up🤷🏻‍♀️I do not know, but we had this thing were we bantered each other back and forth,then they would hang up. They usually called back, acted like they weren't there and then they were done for a couple months 🤣😂 They did not believe that the person they were trying to reach was not at that number. This time it was different, I recognized the voice and right off the bat I charged in with a comment about them being tech savvy. They immediately got offended and came at me with a slut comment. Now for some reason everyone in the community thought I was a hoe, the stuff that would get back to me......I mean, who needs to sleep around when your living vicariously through the imaginations of the people around you, it was definitely more interesting then my actual boring life. I had, had it rough been through some things so when it came to that, I didn't let that phase me......I had been hearing it my whole life so to speak. I came from abuse, got left in abuse and walked right into some more, bless my heart, I just had the wrong kind of luck so to speak, it was like the tear jerker that never ended the kind that goes into details about one character for pages or a whole chapter rather.

I didn't like the dude, mainly cuz from the first moment he met me he was judging me with his eyes, the way he shook my hand to the way he realesed his hand from the hand shake.The way he acted fake to me infront of his dad, the way he made sexual advances above my head that I ignored and played dumb. I actually acted like I thought he was for real talking about a clarinet when I really knew what he was asking me and it just sickened me. At that time that's all I knew is that I was like this bond servant going from one dude to another being abused. I over looked the way he was always touching his friends wife shoulder, I grew up in the church I knew whatever you thought you saw or saw......you kept your mouth shut and you acted like you didn't see it or hear it, if you knew what was good for you. I knew there was more to "them" by the way she treated me in private when she took me places and how she twisted things I said around trying to get him to hate me even more.....she knew I had caught his attention unwillingly. Most would think it a dream come true, however I saw right through the wool and what was actually there enough to know it was a nightmare.

My hunches were confirmed when his mother invited me over one time and brought her son up even though that was a subject that was supposed to be off limits. She insisted that we had a past which insulted me, she presumed that my best friend was jealous of her son which would imply that she thought I had liked him and she mentioned that her son was a bully and that in a round a bout way him bullying me and his friends was because he actually liked me and she had known and had favored it more than his present marriage for reasons I can not say. I was sickened.

Back to that night, he was amused with himself that I knew and so he asked me in french if he could suck my cunt and lick my pussy and eat me out since I was acting like one. He was not banking on the fact that for whatever reason I knew exactly what he said and heard it like I was hearing English being spoken to me and said, "No, hell no!" In so many words. The jerk was actually shocked I had rejected him. I could hear his wife and her friend laughing in the back ground, that just made him more mad and everytime I hung up he called back. We played a game on the phone, not by choice because he threatened, It was confirmed it was him, cuz he brought a suitcase to church the next day, just like the deal was in our deal or no deal game. I repulsed obviously, left right after church. Nobody ever heard that part of the story or the fact his worker was the one who gave me his number after refusing to do his job and call and made me do it knowing I was right that it would be me who got in trouble. Nobody ever heard that part ,that for thirty minutes at the first fall fest he and my best friend went MIA for thirty minutes his brother looking for him and me her and years later before a picture was posted she described in detail a tattoo on his body that you wouldn't see unless he wanted you to ... which in the picture he's revealing his tattoo. It always gets twisted that I was the one doing all the calling and harassing, when it was actually the other way around and he kept tabs on me for months after.

I go to another church and this guy finds out about all that and he uses that for his advantage; I was accused of having an affair with the worship leader and he was accused of the same; I was in discipleship program and when I defended both of us rightly so and said that the incidents being acused of were false because I was at work or with this person or serving I was called a liar. That instructor twisted the facts to them protecting her falsehoods and rumours told to her and the fact she was covering up she had been dating a guy and lying about it and making stuff up about me to get me out. By the time my friend attempted to help me fix the problem and lay down the law of I'm not putting up with anymore shit the story had been twisted. They never knew I and he was actually accused of having affairs with each other and flirting. I never once did anything to suggest that, nor did he. I have always thought that's the real reason I was asked to leave because he didn't want to defend my honor like I had his, he used what he had already heard about me and made it look like to everyone....that this was a round two thing.

Interestingly enough Professor M after that has not spoken to him again and they don't do business with each other anymore🤔🧐 curiously enough. Makes you wonder.

When asked one time, before I could ask what I was going to ask he answered and said everything that covered what I was basically going to ask and it offended him to his core that I would even think they spoke.

The truth was, I sent copies of text messages anytime I ever messaged "MJ" I never was alone with him and was always accompanied by another female or someone else. Always! He always put me on speaker phone. At the time we were supposedly friends like family 🙄ya.

I allowed him in like a brother and when he didn't have my back and his wife turned on me knowing I hadn't done nothing but defend myself against lies and then wouldn't let me speak to them the truth and what had been said and just believing lies over me, that hurt. I let her speak to me like I was nothing and he as well like I was nothing. Such snobs and a half.

Sometimes, I wish I could fix my timeline and make it right much like in The Avengers. But then I wonder once people know the truth and you realize that the person you put so much faith in screwed up big time would it be enough for them to recover. Most people want the antagonist to be punished and go through righteous hell, me I'm like no no I've been through the hell and trust me you don't want it....even if it's just. I'm like can we just call a truths?!🤷🏻‍♀️🧐🤷🏻‍♀️

The truth is that one person changed my life forever so many bad things happened to me as you clearly saw in third half of this blog, but at the same time I had some good things happen as a result of that event. I no longer just go to church and just take what the person says at face value gosple truth, I actually do the research and open my bible. It made me not want to have sex so while most people in their mid 20s go through that phase... Ya no I was safe and so I look at it kinda like birth control 😂🤣I did not sleep around, I instead tuned into the Victoria gossip channel and laughed at the shit people thought I did. I stayed away from the Desperate House Wives of such and such🤣😂 I eventually quit hating them.

I can already guess what your wanting to know, "Did I ever actually like him?"

The answer is, "no" I never did he reminded me too much of the guy I was best friends with my whole life which means I know what their demons are. He made me want to kill myself and I was almost successful, because of the rumours, lies, making up stuff etc. He never apologized abusive behavior or bullying is not attractive. No. To believe second hand knowledge like it was the gospel truth is beyond me and not even try to research it.

If he ever apologized to me or reaped what he sowed in how he treated me I'm not sure my reaction. But one thing is for certain if you can't love yourself who in the hell else is gonna love you?! So be good and be good to yourself!

[scripttorture]

What would you expect from the public, including minors, when torturing someone in public is done, especially when it's a public spectacle and people actually come to watch. Is liking to watch torture a thing in this case? My story is a medieval/steampunk fantasy by the way.

Well Anon, this does still happen today. It happens in the country I grew up in and consider my home. So… my first suggestion is to throw out the implication that this is a weird historical thing the world doesn’t have to deal with any more. Because it is still very real. And if you get any kind of success with your story there’s a good chance some of your readers will have experience with this.

 It’s also significantly more complicated then ‘liking’ or ‘disliking’ so let’s unpack this a bit.

 I’ve never actually seen anyone maimed or executed. But as a kid of around 9-10 I knew kids my age who had. We used it as a sort of… pissing contest basically. Kids would brag about it to show how hard they were, in the same way we’d stuff chilis into our mouths and see who could last longest.

 It’s one of those bizarre kinds of ritualised self-harm that you end up performing in order to cope with awful things.

 Because witnessing this kind of stuff is harmful, to adults and children. It can leave people traumatised and displaying some of the symptoms I write about here.

 But, however old the characters, if they grew up somewhere where this is the norm then I absolutely guarantee they understand showing opposition is dangerous. They know their responses to these displays of brutality and power are used as a proxy for their loyalty and worthiness by the state.

 And boy if you are in any way outside the norm, if you are queer or the ‘wrong’ ethnic group or faith, then the pressure to conform here is so much more intense.

 I lived in Saudi, my home town is Dhahran. My parents are from opposite ends of Europe and they tried to raise me Christian. I still spent a lot of my teenage years unpacking stuff I’d absorbed about public executions, amputations, whippings etc.

 From the kids I knew growing up (anecdotal evidence no matter how empassioned) I’d say the ‘normal’ responses to witnessing this kind of state violence are varied. Kids would get nightmares, start showing signs of mild anxiety disorders or depression. They’d become moody, angry and generally unhappy. Which they’d sometimes take out on other people.

 But I can’t remember anyone ever explicitly linking it to what they witnessed. They’d try to hide this stuff. Some of them would double down on justifications for state violence (seemed pretty common.) They would, above all, deny there was a problem.

 Because admitting to mental illness made you ‘weak’ and admitting to doubts about state violence made you a ‘traitor’. Which is a pretty risky thing to label yourself (even by implication) when you live in a state that publicly mutilates and murders people. (Note the author’s bias as a committed pacifist may be showing.)

 As you may have noticed Anon, I still carry a significant amount of anger on this particular subject. This bottled vitriole is not directed at you or your story idea but at the states and politicians who make sure this brutality continues. It’s about the fact that I can remember a nine year old girl matter of factly talking about beheading at a birthday party.

 Stepping back from the personal side of things for a moment we know from studies of PTSD and trauma survivors generally that witnessing violence can lead to lasting psychological symptoms. Including PTSD.

 PTSD specifically is more likely when an individual is directly effected (ie physically hurt). But repeated exposure to traumatic events, including witnessing violence, makes the manifestation of long term symptoms more likely.

 So a character that has seen dozens of these attacks is more likely to develop a long term mental health problem then a character who has seen only one. Regardless of age.

 We can’t predict which individual symptoms an individual witness will develop or indeed when a witness might develop them. We just don’t know enough about how these things happen yet.

 Having said that, the possible symptoms for witnesses are pretty much identical to the possible symptoms for torture survivors (link above.) I’d advise against using chronic pain for witnesses unless you have a clear idea of an underlying cause; it seems (anecdotally) to be more common in people who directly experienced violence.

 If you decide to use insomnia there’s a masterpost on sleep deprivation here.

 For mental health problems like depression, anxiety etc remember there are physical symptoms as well as symptoms related to mood. Characters who are trying to deny they have a mental health problem might focus overly on physical symptoms. Depression can cause nausea, vomiting and tiredness/lack of energy which might be mistaken for disease. Anxiety can cause chest pain and shakes.

 Circling back let’s talk about some of the phrasing in this question for a moment. Because ‘choose to watch’ misunderstands the way states use these public displays of violence.

 Attendance and witnessing of public executions and torture is often enforced. Sometimes overtly and sometimes more tacitly. Because the point of these displays is to hammer home the power of the state. That doesn’t work if people can easily choose not to go.

 Here’s an example of what that overt and tacit enforcement looked like back home.

 Tacit enforcement came from the timing and placement of executions and amputations. They took place on weekends, when almost everyone was off work. They were carried out in major towns and cities, where the population density was higher. The venue was typically on a main thoroughfare close to important sites. Which ensured a high volume of people would be in the area when the execution took place, whether there was due to be an execution or not.

 So picture the town or city this is taking place in, in your story. When are the public holidays? Where are the markets? Where are the most popular religious venues? At what time will the most people be in these areas?

 All of that will tell you where an execution or public torture is likely to take place. Because if you set this shit up in eye sight of the place most people buy food, at the time when the most people are out, you get witnesses.

 Whether they want to be witnesses or not.

 Overt enforcement, on the low end of the scale, means having officials among the crowd pushing people towards the scaffold. At home this seemed to be targetted towards children and people who were judged as ‘other’. Different races to the majority, people who might have been read as a different religion, people who might have been read as queer etc.

 This is because the message is ‘This could be you.’

 I know practices in other countries have sometimes gone beyond this. Police or armed officials will sometimes go out and gather a crowd of witnesses by just… approaching people on the street and demanding they attend.

 This approach requires quite a bit of man power and is not practical or necessary in every setting. In most cases setting things up in the right place and time is enough to ensure a large number of witnesses.

 What I’m trying to illustrate here is that a lot of people will see this stuff without having made a conscious choice to do so.

 And making a conscious choice to see it… well it does say something about the character but not in the way you’re thinking.

 Because these displays are all about the power of the state. Witnessing them, responding to them is performance and it’s a performance of state loyalty. You can’t expect someone to give their true opinion on public displays of violence when criticism or voicing ‘dislike’ could lead to them being targets of violence.

 Basically if you’ve got characters going to see this stuff regularly then it’s worth asking why they feel the need to display their loyalty in this way. Sometimes it’s because they really really believe in the state. But often… they’re compensating for something.

 Wrapping up I think it’s important to note there’s often a difference between what people say about this stuff versus what they actually feel. And that’s because these things are explicitly political and explicitly about the power a state has over it’s subjects.

 The way individuals respond to these things in public and what they say about them in public effects how they are treated. Sometimes it comes with obvious legal sanctions. Even if it doesn’t… these displays are entirely about reminding people the state can kill them.

 And it doesn’t actually discourage crime or civil disobedience but it does create a climate of fear and hostility which permeates daily life.

 Think about why the state is insecure about their power. Think about how your characters live with that background radiation and whether it feeds into cultural ideas around things like martyrdom or nobility of suffering.

 Remember that there is a difference between public and private life. Existing in these kinds of brutal states often means having quite a sharp distinction between them. This can create very strong bonds to those the characters trust. It can also create a big difference between private and public personas.

 If you’re writing a world where public torture and executions are happening there’s more going on then just individual character’s reactions. You are saying something about the world, the ruling class and the politics of the area.

 Take the time make sure you know what you want to say.

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Disclaimer

[taephilia]

temporary fix

pairing: kim taehyung x fem!reader

genre: smut, demon/angel au (demon!taehyung, angel!reader)

word count: 2,084

warnings: sexual content (fingering, thigh grinding, hickeys), alcohol consumption, religious themes (specific to christianity), corruption kink if you squint, pov switches

a/n: i posted this on tae’s birthday but tumblr is annoying and didn’t let this show up in the tags so ahaha this is a repost :-)

You don’t know what’s gotten into you lately. The elders believe you’re just going through a late bloomer type of rebellious phase. Your friends think you’re just getting restless because of all of the, what they deem, ‘boring’ humans you’ve had to watch over for the past few centuries. You don’t know what it is but what you do know is that it feels like an itch you just can’t get rid of. It continues to come back and you’re constantly scratching at it, wondering when it will finally go away.

The bass from the music sends a thrum through your veins that you’ve never experienced before and the taste of the drink in your hand makes you grimace but the warm feeling you get in your chest urges you to continue drinking. The amount of heat produced from hundreds of bodies crowded together in one building is enough to cause sweat to run down your back and the smoke floating above everyone’s heads makes the air feel even heavier (whether it’s from these ‘vapes’ that you’ve heard so much of or smoke machines, you’re not sure). You’ve never understood why the mortals would willingly wait in absurdly long lines just to be in a club like this for hours whenever you looked down on them from the heavens. But now that you’re here on Earth, blending in with the humans and experiencing it for yourself, you now see that it’s a thrill like no other.

A hand on the small of your back makes you pause during your way back to the dance floor and when you look up, you’re met with the darkest, most beautiful eyes you’ve ever seen. Even in the dim lighting the stranger’s eyes look deep enough to drown in—and it almost feels like you are until they step closer to you and you realize that their eyes are not the only thing beautiful about them. When you refocus, you realize that the beautiful eyes belong to an equally beautiful man with an even more beautiful smile. A smile that’s directed right at you.

“Hey there, angel,” the man greets you, and even with the loud music and shouting, his low voice is clear as day to your ears. “Wanna dance?”

The pet name sends a shiver down your spine and it feels like your head’s about to fall off your shoulders from how eagerly you’re nodding. The handsome man pulls you on to the dance floor and presses his body close to yours, his hands resting on your waist as he helps you dance to the rhythm of the music. If it weren’t for the jarring bass, you definitely would have been able to feel just how hard your heart is pounding in your chest from his proximity and touch. He spins you around so that your back is up against his chest and when you feel his lips press a kiss into the bare skin of your shoulder, you find yourself wondering if this is what it felt like when Eve took that first bite of fruit from the Garden of Eden all those millenia ago.

Taehyung is bored. Humans are just so painfully mundane and predictable; the rich taking from the poor just to stay rich, officials arguing over politics and ethics and good and evil, middle-class people working themselves almost to the point of exhaustion and then consuming absurd amounts of alcohol just to relax. It’s old news, a cycle that they say they’ll break out of—even Taehyung himself said it when he was a mortal centuries ago. So he understands that need to stand out, to seek glory and free the human race from its metaphorical chains. But he’s a demon now and all humans seem to show him is that no matter how much they try to fight it, there will always be a small part of them that will reject the breaking of the cycle. And so it continues; sex, drugs, crime, war. He’s watched empires rise and fall, had roles both in the spotlight and in the shadows, and yet nothing ever changes. It’s comical at this point.

Besides, as much as Taehyung complains about these unfortunately dense humans, they’re the ones that keep him powerful. As long as he keeps bringing back souls or converting people ‘to the dark side’, he can continue to live this eternal life of luxury. Because hey, he’s a demon now so what does he care about breaking the human cycle?

He’s been enjoying his night at his favorite club so far, the large amount of alcohol that he’s already consumed only producing a buzz in his body but the sinful energy tonight is enough to make him feel like he’s drunk. But then something happens; a moment of clarity appears, like a beacon of light passing right by him, and when he looks up, he sees her. An ordinary human to any other ordinary human looking but to his well-trained eyes, he can just make out the very faint light from the halo hovering above her head. The clothing adorning her body only accentuates her innocent-looking features and before Taehyung can even process what his body is doing, he’s making his way over to her and his eyes remain glued to the halo above her head.

Taehyung hopes that by the end of the night, he’ll be able to watch it disappear.

You think you’re getting drunk. You’re not particularly sure since you’ve never had alcohol before but you definitely don’t feel the way you felt at the beginning of the night. But the thrum in your veins could also be because of the handsome man’s hands on your body. Taehyung, he had told you when you asked him his name. When you repeated it back to him, the way it effortlessly rolled off your tongue felt right. Taehyung stays at your side the entire night, offering endless drinks and endless energy to continue dancing with you, and the smile never leaves your face.

Your eyes begin to feel heavy and your body doesn’t feel the same as before but you can’t say that it feels bad, especially with the way that Taehyung’s lips feel on your neck right now. His grip on your hips is tight and when he shoves a leg in between yours and presses his thigh up against you, you experience a feeling of pleasure like no other and can’t help but to throw your head back and gasp.

“Does that feel good, angel?” Taehyung asks lowly in your ear as his hot breath fans out across the side of your face.

All you can do is whimper and nod in response. You want to ask him to do it again, to make that tingling in your body happen again, but the thought of asking for such a thing is enough to bring a warmth to your cheeks. What would the other angels think if they saw you in such a compromising position?

The pleading look in your wide eyes is enough to make Taehyung’s dick twitch in his pants. The crowd is pressing in on the two of you from all sides but Taehyung can’t even bring himself to shove them away. All he can focus on is the feel of your body in his hands and the whimpering sound that he wants to hear again and again. He kisses along the side of your neck, varying shades of red appearing soon after and making him smirk at the possessive marks. You’re like putty in his hands and Taehyung knows that it won’t take much more to push you over the edge and get you right where he wants you.

“Why don’t we go somewhere a little more private,” he suggests, chuckling when you eagerly agree and allow him to lead you to whatever destination he had in mind. That destination being a private bathroom in the back of the club. The guards didn’t even blink an eye when the two of you walked past, perks of having a binding contract with the club owner.

Your hand wraps around his wrist before pulling him towards you, your lips on his in an instant as he picks you up and places you on the counter of the sink. Taehyung shoves the skirt that you’re wearing up your thighs so that it bunches at your hips, the fabric of your underwear on full display—along with your desire that’s soaking through it.

“Please Taehyung, want you to make me feel good,” you beg in an airy whisper. Your grip on his shoulders tightens when he squeezes at your inner thigh and Taehyung has to squeeze his eyes shut to contain the low growl that he was about to let out.

His cock is leaking in his pants but Taehyung pulls away, running his thumb along your jaw before it catches on your bottom lip that’s jutted out in a pout. “Give me a second, angel, I gotta lock the door,” he says as he turns the lock. “Wouldn’t want anyone walking in on us, right?”

When he turns around, he’s greeted by the sight of your parted legs and hooded eyes, your knuckles turning white from just how hard you’re gripping the edge of the counter. Taehyung’s never been to Heaven but if he had to guess, he would guess it feels a little something like this.

He can’t wait to see your fall from grace.

Taehyung’s lips feel too good on your neck. His hands feel too good on your body. He feels too good. Your head is spinning and your heart is pounding and you feel like you can’t breathe because he’s just so close and every bite and squeeze is just too much. Your hands roam around his body, across his broad shoulders, down his toned torso, and land on his hard cock. Even through his jeans it feels warm and just the thought of touching it is enough to make your mouth water.

There’s a voice in the back of your mind telling you to stop what you’re doing, that this is sacrilege, that you can’t turn back if you don’t stop right now—but you don’t want to stop. You want Taehyung to make you see stars, one’s that even God cannot make but he can. His lips detach from yours and you hear him laugh when you chase after them. You want him to keep kissing you, the feeling that you get from it is unlike anything else.

One of his hands slides down your body and lands on the fabric of your underwear, his fingers beginning to rub circles into your clit and you jerk at the feeling. The tingles in your body are stronger than before and the voice in your head telling you to stop gets louder but it’s drowned out by the loud moan that leaves your lips. When you look up at Taehyung, the positioning of his head in front of the bathroom light makes it look like there’s a halo of light surrounding him. But when your eyes meet his, what you see makes you grow cold.

There’s a devilish smirk on his face and a daunting aura surrounding him but his black eyes trigger your fight-or-flight instinct. The voice that was screaming at you in your head is loud, so loud, and you’re wondering if it was a trick of the light but just like that, his eyes are normal.

Two of Taehyung’s fingers enter you and your back arches, your chest pressing against his as he pumps them in and out of you. His gaze is concentrated on you as your face contorts in pleasure, your legs shaking as he brings you to euphoria. His thumb rubs circles into your clit while his other hand shoves your shirt down so that he can lick at your chest. The amount of stimulation is enough to bring you to the edge very quickly, your breath quickening as you approach your orgasm.

When Taehyung looks back up at you, he knows that his eyes are black again but you don’t even notice because your own are closed in bliss. You’re so cute. Taehyung is glad he decided to go out tonight.

“Where is your God now, pretty angel?” he mumbles against your collar, and if you hear him, you give no indication. He has you now. He can’t wait to watch your pretty wings burn.

“Go ahead and fall for me, love.”

[st-just]

Got a theory on how socialism went from “working class idpol” to “PMC idpol”, while still claiming to be the former?

There is, as they say, a lot to unpack here.

So first of all, calling socialism ‘working class idpol’ isn’t necessarily wrong but a) phrasing it like that makes me physically cringe and b) it’s really pretty reductionist. The official Marxist doctrine isn’t that the proletariat is especially virtuous or enlightened or deserving, its that it’s exploitation is necessary to the functioning of capitalism, meaning that as capitalism becomes ever more universal workers will have both the means and motive to overthrow it. Though, like, not to say that there isn’t a lot of ‘working class idpol’ in there. If you want to get all Early Christian Heresy about it, I think that got denounced as I want to say Workerism at some point? Something like that.

(Though, like, the period of early Soviet history where people’s class histories was explicitly taken into account in court when determining how harsh a sentence to give them is just very funny in terms of ‘American conservative fever dreams that turn out to have actually happened’. I have a weird sense of humour. Though come to think of it Ascribing Class is actually a pretty useful read in terms of how identity is socially constructed and assigned from on high).

But honestly, well socialism has always been for the working class, the critique that it’s actually by a bunch of genteel delinquents cosplaying as revolutionaries is basically as old as the term. Like, ‘came from a well-to-do family, radicalized when they joined an illicit reading group in school and found Marx’ is basically a cliche of early Bolshevik biographies, and the closest to industrial labour quite a lot of them got was volunteering to teach night schools for the actual proletariat. Like, it was something of an embarrassment for a while the degree that the movement of the working class was actually composed almost entirely of professional revolutionaries and radical intelligentsia – the creation of a socialist labour movement was a deliberate and conscious project which took a decent amount of time to really work, with many (many, many, many) failures along the way. (Too radical and anti-religious and feminist and internationalist for the salt of the earth working types, you understand)

But anyway, all that’s mostly tangential, mostly to say that lawyers and teachers being strident Marxists isn’t even close to new. To at least approach answering your actual question – okay, with apologies to Barbara Ehrenreich, I really feel like ‘Professional-Managerial Class” as a term has gotten so warped by The Discourse that it’s actual use is fairly limited. Like, the Wikipedia article somehow includes ‘teachers’ and ‘nurses’ as central examples (even leaving aside accuracy if you’re a serious socialist on I feel like preemptively disavowing one of the only halfway vital sections of the American labour movement is anathema on a purely tactical level). A lot of the use is just, well, vulgar identity politics  – imagining class divides based on culture and affect rather than material circumstances. And to the people the term is actually useful for – wait, have you seriously met many managers or corporate lawyers who call themselves socialists? Like, seriously? I mean, I guess so did Louis Napoleon, but I wouldn’t exactly call him central to the movement.

Alright, sorry, I’m being intentionally obtuse, here. So to answer the question I think you’re asking-

The contemporary boost in the prominence of socialism (in the discourse and in terms of number of publications, if nothing else) has been largely driven by the downwardly mobile children of relatively comfortable parents, both white collar workers and yes, of the professional-managerial class. Due to shifts in economics, culture, and government policy over the last several decades, they overwhelmingly at least attempted to get a college degree. Generally speaking, they were radicalized at least as much by the fact that the system that supported their parents has singularly failed to do so for them as by any particular points of history or theory. Once a significant number in various social circles and cultural scenes were genuinely radicalized, it just became a generally fashionable or acceptable stance to strike, and a useful vocabulary for anyone with even vaguely compatible issues or interests to articulate themselves in.

The natural and inevitable consequence of this is that the modern, western iteration of the socialist movement (such as it is) is generally expressed in the cultural vernacular of people raised as comfortable, liberal children of the American dream, or people directly reacting and responding to that culture. It also means that the focuses and idiosyncratic neuroses of the movement are going to have at least as much to do with the culture as with the ideology – such is human nature, unfortunately.

[sapphicknightaesthetic]

Prompt #2: The winds call me back to you

Ireland had proved to be more than Eivor had bargained for. She sailed home on the wind-tossed sea, wondering if the trade routes, outposts, and alliances she forged would prove to be worth it in the end, compared to their exorbitantly high cost. She remembered Barid’s eyes, soft but desperate, pleading with her to ensure  King Flann’s allegiance with his last breath, paired with an intensity of his love for his son. He had built a thriving city all so that Sichfrith could prosper...

“...Valhalla need not be a place, Eivor. It can be a legacy…”

She thought about her own legacy. Her intention had always been a life dedicated to fighting for honor, for the glory of her people, for some measure of peace where she no longer needed to pick up her axe to defend them at every turn. But is that what England had given her? She had spent much of her energy and immense skills at the whims of others with political aims and goals, not always aligning with her own. She had placed more than one puppet king on a throne, often needing to choose between the better of two evils. Was this honor? Was this a legacy worthy of entrance to Valhalla? 

Eivor felt exhaustion roll through her like the tide, filling every crevice. She felt unsure of her place in the world, and just needed the comfort of home. Of Randvi. That was her raison d'être, as Estrid would say. Her reason for being. If she fought for the betterment of her clan, if she made connections and alliances to ensure their safety, that was all that mattered. She shook the sad cobwebs from her mind, determined to have a genuine smile for her wife when she returned. She leaned against the firm wall of the longship, and fell into an uneasy sleep.

Birna shook her shoulder. “Come on Sunbeam. Home time.”

Eivor’s eyes fluttered open, she blinked sleep back to its void. “Have we docked?”

“Not yet. We’re just around the bend.”

“Thanks for waking me, Birna.”

“I’m so glad to be rid of Ireland! Those Druids were something else, eh? Giving decent Pagans a bad name.”

“Mmmm.”

“Eivor, I don’t mean to pry. But you spent a lot of time with that red haired witch...what’s her name…”

“Ciara. I did. What’s your question, Birna?”

“I’m just wondering if you made any Druid magic of your own in that wet bog of a land?”

Eivor rolled her eyes. Birna knew full well she hadn’t, though this question seemed to pop up after every major journey they undertook. Eivor had tried to tell her multiple times that she would never be unfaithful to Randvi, that she could not bed anyone for the sake of it if her heart wasn’t in it. The concept had been lost on Birna, and so the questions had persisted. 

“You know I didn’t.”

“I’m just checking. You do have a type, Sunbeam. That red hair burns like fire.”

Eivor grinned ruefully, shook her head, and turned to look at their surroundings. They were just passing the trined point in the river that led to Grantebridge, the ruins of Duroliponte looming to the Southeast. One more bend and they’d be home. She wondered if Randvi would be there waiting; she had sent Sýnin ahead with a note. The evening was well on its way, Randvi might even be asleep. She pictured their bed, warm and soft, furs piled on top of them as they snuggled together, limbs entwined. More and more, this was what she wanted. The return home was always worth it, and was always something she looked forward to, but lately she no longer wanted to return, she only wanted the simple everyday fact of her and Randvi together, because she had never left in the first place.

She watched, wistfully, as the crew lowered the sails and started rowing, this part of the river too narrow to traverse safely. Her heart rate increased as the Raider’s hut roof became visible, growing closer with each stroke of the oars. She felt a swell of pride as more of her village emerged from the lowland fog. Her village . She had built this place from almost nothing, discarded hovels of canvas and sticks. Sigurd may have claimed it as theirs, but Eivor had been the one to turn it into something to be proud of, something worth protecting. She leapt to the back of the ship’s tail, standing on a ledge. “...Valhalla need not be a place, Eivor. It can be a legacy…” This was her Valhalla, and it would never be complete without the person at it’s centre, at its heart. 

Eivor realized then that while she was proud of Ravensthorpe, Ravensthorpe, much like her former idea of Valhalla, was only a place. Randvi was her true home. She’d go wherever Randvi was, without question. Their love, with all of its storied history of waiting, longing, and hiding, was her legacy. She saw copper hair, cloaked against the oncoming chill of the evening, waiting like a beacon between the posts of the village entrance.

The ship glided silently up to the dock, and Eivor immediately leapt off, running as fast as her exhausted legs would carry her. She grabbed Randvi, lifting her off the ground in a tight embrace, spinning her around. She inhaled Randvi’s scent, spice and fire blending with earth and ink and smoke. Her heart beat Randvi’s name in fast repetition, her hands holding onto her wife as tightly as she dared without hurting her.

“My love,” Randvi whispered, as she held fast to Eivor. “How I’ve missed you.” Her hands caressed the back of Eivor’s newly shaved head, luxuriating in the velvety feel. 

Eivor couldn’t speak, she did not want to break the moment with words, but slowly set Randvi down, quickly finding her mouth and communicating everything she couldn’t say with a long, slow kiss, paying attention to the feel of Randvi’s lips, the warmth of her mouth, the teasing nature of her teeth. 

Claps and pats of hands landed on her back and shoulders from the crew as they walked past the pair. Their hearts never failed to be happy for their Jarl, for the love that she had found and fought for. For all of her sacrifice, for the enormous work she had devoted to make their lives better, they gladdened at the sight of Eivor and Randvi together. They knew how hard her road had been, how much she had suffered, often silently, from such a young age. Her happiness was their happiness, and they showed her whenever they could. Birna let out a whistle. 

“You better get her to bed, Jarlskona.” Birna wrapped an arm around Petra, who had walked down to meet her wife when she saw the familiar Raven sails from her hut.

“Leave them be, love. I’d better get you to bed.” Petra wrapped an arm around Birna’s waist.

“You’ll hear no complaints from me, Petra. Good night, Sunbeam!”

Eivor and Randvi watched them leave, as Eivor sent them off with a wave. Randvi turned back around, seeing the edges of something in Eivor’s face. “What’s wrong, darling? Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine. I have a few cuts and bruises, nothing to worry about, my heart.”

“Thank you for sending Sýnin. I have a bath prepared. And some roast boar, thanks to Petra.”

Eivor felt overcome at the thoughtful care Randvi showed her in all things. “Randvi...thank you.” Was all she could manage. 

Randvi smiled at her, her wife was always so ready to display gratitude, a custom she never tired of, but she furrowed her eyes, wondering what was troubling her usually contented drengr.

“Let’s get you home.”

 

Randvi and Eivor sat in deliciously scented hot water. The worry and tension Eivor had carried home with her evaporated into the steam drifting to the longhouse ceiling. A satisfied smile now constantly fixed on her face. 

“This was a great idea, possibly the best you’ve ever had. And that’s truly saying something.”

“I aim to please, my Jarl.” Randvi felt self-congratulatory at the obvious change in her love’s mood. Years of observing Eivor, of seeing her come home in different states of health and happiness, of finding different ways of tending to that glorious body and soul made Randvi an expert in the proper care and maintenance of her physically ferocious wife. But one truth prevailed among her experience: Eivor always recooperated faster with a bath. 

“Are you ready to talk about Ireland?”

Eivor exhaled. “I will do my best. It still feels...fresh.”

Randvi sat up in the bath, giving Eivor all of her attention.

“You know I went to Ireland to help my cousin, Barid. And I did help, although Barid fell in battle. His High King did not heed Barid’s warnings. We were able to beat the Druids back, but I have been wondering if his death was needless, no matter how good and glorious his end. He died a hero, and is no doubt in Valhalla, but had his words been listened to, he would still be the King of Dublin, and his son would still have his father.”

“It is not up to us to change fate, Eivor. It sounds like the Nornir gave Barid a good death. What else can we ask in this life?”

“The love of the most beautiful and intelligent of women, for a start, at the very least.”

Randvi rolled her eyes and laughed, pleasure and embarrassment mingled together. When she looked back at Eivor, sorrow still crept in the periphery. “Is that all that troubles you, Eivor?”

“The Druids of Ireland are much like us, trying to carve out a life for themselves, trying to hold onto their traditions and culture, though the Christians would willingly wipe them, and us, away if given the chance. There was an extremist faction, the Children of Danu, that were causing all the strife while other Druids were forced to live in fear and even secrecy. It made me wonder if we will ever truly pacify this land. The Christians make no room for anyone else. I…I had to kill a Druid priestess who I thought was my friend, all for a Christian King who would rule over all. Was that honorable? I feel...stained, Randvi. I wonder if the decisions I’ve made in my time here are hurting our people, rather than truly helping. She was misguided, angry, she caused a lot of pain in the land there. I think King Flann Sinna saw the error of his ways in his treatment of the Druids, and he will make amends - he said as much. But these Christians...they can be false as well as unyielding. I’m not sure how far he can be trusted.” 

Memories of Fulke and King Aelfred made her skin prick involuntarily. The Norse and Danes were often met with a great deal more than suspicion and hostility, labeled as barbarians and savages for their voracity in war. But there was something honest and forthright in them as a people; they hid nothing, they lived openly and celebrated the customs and cultures of all who chose to live among them. Sharing resources through a community was their way, regardless of the people that community comprised; yet this was not the way of the Christians. From what she had seen, they feared all outsiders. She was unsure if this was unique to Anglo-Saxon Christians or not, but from all she had experienced, she was not keen to go looking for other examples. 

Randvi found Eivor’s hand under the warm water, and stroked soothingly. Her love never lost sight of the broader view and what it meant for her people. It was one of the many things she adored and cherished about her. She took Eivor’s fingers and brought them to her lips, kissing them lightly. 

“These are large questions, my love. Too large to confront in one night. But I promise I will help you as much as I can in our time come in this land. You try to take care of so many, Eivor Varinsdottir. I fear the world is too big, even for your very broad shoulders.”

Eivor felt her heart flutter. After all these years, after all this time, being with Randvi made her feel like she was falling in love with her over and over again. She never stopped falling. 

“But maybe, just for tonight, you can let me take care of you?” Randvi leaned forward, kissing one cheek lightly, then the other cheek, her nose, her chin, across her forehead, until she found Eivor’s lips, nipping lightly, until Eivor pulled her forward and kissed her with earnest desire. She opened her body, as Randvi lay on top of her in the bath, relishing the closeness after too many months apart. 

Eivor leaned her head back slightly, looking into Randvi’s eyes, darkened to forest green between her desire and the dim candlelight around them.

“Barid said something to me, before the Valkyrie came to claim him. He told me that Valhalla need not be a place, that it can be a legacy.” Eivor held Randvi’s gaze, needing her to feel how much she meant what she was about to say. “I think perhaps for me, it is not so much a legacy, as it’s you, Randvi. You are my home, my Valhalla. After all of our time in England, all of the campaigns, the politicking, the alliances we have paid for with sweat and blood, we could walk away tomorrow and I would not care. The winds always call me back to you, wherever you are.” 

Randvi felt strangely vulnerable, though deeply moved. She felt her heart race to echo and return Eivor’s sentiment. If Eivor ever left Ravensthorpe, Randvi would follow without hesitation. She used the moment to lean down and kiss Eivor again, with unashamed love and lust and pride and longing and hope. Their lives together had not been easy, but it had been worth every moment they had paid. 

She felt Eivor’s hands slide down to her lower back, holding her closely. She felt a hot rush in her center, and decided it was time to leave the bath. 

“Shall we adjourn to our chambers, my Jarl?”

Eivor smirked, knowingly. “Indeed, my Jarlskona.” 

Randvi made her way out of the bath, as Eivor followed suit. Randvi spied some new blade slices over Eivor’s body, and some fresh bruises getting ready to bloom; she’d be sure to kiss them all later. She took Eivor’s hand and led them naked to their bed. Their bed . A place she was never tired of acknowledging. 

Eivor pulled Randvi to her, wrapping her in strong, solid muscle. “I missed you, Jarlskona.”

“And I you, my Jarl.” Randvi pressed her teeth against Eivor’s neck, nipping and sucking her way along the tender flesh under her chin. She heard Eivor’s breath catch, and a gasp after she released skin from her teeth. She moved a hand, cupping Eivor’s sex, feeling the wet traces of her want on her fingers. Eivor bowed her head resting it on Randvi’s shoulder, her breathing deepening with anticipation. This fierce drengr, terror of England and Ireland, great Jarl of a proud clan, was made vulnerable and soft with a single touch. It was a power Randvi knew only she wielded, and she never took it for granted. 

She brought Eivor to the bed, guiding her down. “What would you like, darling?” She purred in a way that drove Eivor wild.

“You. I just want you.”

“I am yours, Eivor.”

And the sound of those words, said by the only woman in the world she needed to hear them from, snapped Eivor out of the worry she brought home with her. As the sounds of their love-making filled the longhouse, Ravensthorpe sighed relief, and for tonight at least, everything was well in the world.

[imagines-by-a-typical-fangirl]

Unexpected Places (Pt. 02 of 11)

Pairing: Ivar the Boneless X Reader/Bjorn X Reader

Word count: 3 K

Summary: As a princess, you've lived in a golden cage all your life, always a piece on someone else's game. But everything changed when the Norsemen came crushing down on Wessex, like waves in a violent storm. Their king spared your life and decided to take you with him to his kingdom, in what felt more like a rescue than a kidnapping. There, you were not only confronted with a completely different culture and lifestyle, but also with two of his sons. The oldest one has his eyes set on you, but it's the youngest one, Ivar, who gets who claimed your attention since the first sight. And he seems to have an unnamed interest in you. Of course you hoped whatever that was would pass, but when unexpected feelings start to flow a different way, things begin to change.

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{Vikings Masterlist}

×

A Christian Among Vikings

It takes two days to share your entire life with the Queen of Kattegat, but she did seem interested after you started. Mostly on the parts where you give voice to everything you couldn't stand. The lies and hypocrisy. That, Aslaug loves, and you have no trouble telling her that. It feels good to say all these things without the fear of being caught.

So, since today you'll finally go to the feast they're still having for the third night on a roll to celebrate this year's raid, you relax in the tub, the warm water slowly getting colder, a sign that you'll have to leave soon.

You're stretching your legs, watching the water drops rolling from your ankle to your knee, before falling back into the water. “Aslaug, where's the–” The voice makes you turn your head at the door, pulling your legs down to the safety of the water. Ragnar stands there, wide eyes and mouth half-open. “I thought this was my wife.”

“Well, it isn't so go away.” Thanks to the distance, you know he can't see anything, but even so, it makes you uncomfortable.

“I live here, do you know that?” He snaps back and you roll your eyes.

“I don't care. I'm not your wife so get out.”

“This is my–”

“Get out!” You raise your voice, throwing water at him. “Or I'll scream for help.” You're not scared of Ragnar, and you don't think he'll try anything. But you know him enough to know he's a teaser, and he loves putting people in uncomfortable positions.

He raises an eyebrow, shrugging his shoulders. “Then do it.”

Squinting your eyes, you move closer to the edge, making sure he won't be able to see anything. “Help!” You shout, trying not to laugh. The situation is quite funny, and, if he wanted to try anything, he'd already moved. So you decide to play along. “Somebody help me!” When you hear footsteps, you smirk victoriously. But, when another man comes in, the smile fades, and out of instinct, you cross your arms over your chest.

“What's going on here?” The guy asks, confused as hell, furrowing his eyebrows at you and then at Ragnar.

“Princess, this is Hvitserk, my son, who so bravely came to your rescue.” Ragnar starts, pacing around to the other edge of the room. “Hvitserk, this is (Y/N). Aslaug has been keeping her in here I have no idea why.” He sounds a little pissed, but you don't mind him in the back, your eyes focused on his son.

“Hi.”

“Would the two of you just leave?” Now you're annoyed, running a hand through your soaked hair. Relieve washes over you when Aslaug comes through the door, her eyes quickly finding her husband.

“What's going on here?” She mutters, and through the corner of your eye, you see Ragnar already moving.

“Just came to take this.” He answers, showing her something you can't see, right before leaving, grabbing his son's arm and pulling him along.

“Your husband is a complete idiot.” You say, relaxing once again.

“I noticed.” She gestures at the dress she brought you, laying on a chair. “Get dressed. I'll do your hair like a Viking woman and you'll join the feast tonight.”

Doing as she says, you put on the dress, which is different from everything you ever wore. The fabric is strong, yet beautiful, in a wonderful shade of blue with golden details that look like flowers. Aslaug braids your hair, way too patiently, and when she's done, you do look like a Viking. She even teaches you how to paint your eyes, and you wonder why she changed so much in these two days. As you wait for her to get ready, with the aid of her slaves, you decide to ask.

“Why are you being so nice to me now?” Playing with the tip of one of the many braids, you rest your back against the chair you're seated on. “When I got here I thought I'd end up living with that Lagertha.”

“Because it's more than rare to find a Christian I don't find stupid.” Dismissing the girls, she stands up. You're not entirely sure that was a compliment, but you decide to take it. “And I have the feeling, mostly after everything you told me, that this was most of a rescue than a kidnapping.”

She has a point. “It certainly does.”

“Now, come. Today I want to introduce you to the town.”

“Introduce me?” Following her, you wonder what that's about.

Aslaug doesn't answer, and it doesn't take much until you start hearing the feast. How long do these things last? Is the third day and it doesn't seem like anyone is tired. The moment the Queen enters, some heads turns, and, as she stands right before her chair, a silence starts to fall. You stat in the back, waiting to see what's going on when she gestures for you to come. Taking a deep breath, you move to stand next to her.

Many eyes lie on you. Probably all of them. You can identify hate, curiosity, disgust, indifference... And other things you can't quite place. At least you look like one of them... It must be of some help.

“People of Kattegat, this is Princess (Y/N), daughter of King Ecbert of Wessex,” Aslaug speaks, loud and clear. “She was brought here by my husband, and now will live among us.” That gets some people talking. They're not particularly excited about a Christian among them... You can't blame them. Your people kill them, and they kill your people back. They're like natural enemies. “I'm aware of the fact that you have no affection for her kind, and neither do I. So that's why she will tell you what she told me.”

A breath gets caught on your throat, and for a moment you feel like you're back home, forced to admit your sins, even though you haven't committed any. You've been in situations like this, but now, it's different. You can speak. You can let out the very thoughts that once had you imprisoned, confined to your chambers for days no end. Maybe they'll understand, unlike people in Wessex. Aslaug did. “Tell what?” You ask because you did speak great too many things with her. You have no idea where to begin.

“Tell them about your relationship with your faith.” She seems so secure, unbothered by how some men and women look so angry at this whole thing.

Taking a deep breath, you look ahead, eyes scanning through the room for any kind face... But it takes a long time until you find that Ragnar son who went to your rescue, Hvitserk. He doesn't look like he hates you, so you focus on him. “I have no love for the Catholic faith.” You start, stepping forward. “Since I was little, they've been telling me you worship false gods, made of stone, wood, iron, and silver. But they do the same.” Hvitserk furrows his eyebrows as if asking something. “My father himself spent hours repeating prayers for a cross made of gold. They accuse you of doing the same things they do.” If your older brother heard this, you'd be whipped, probably. “They're all hypocrites, punishing and condemning people for the same sins they commit, over and over again, and that I could never accept.” Chuckling, you move your eyes from Hvitserk, noticing how some angry faces are now... Inquisitive. “I was told you're all murderers, but so are they. So what if you come home covered by the blood of your enemies? Isn't that what a battle is? If it was me on the battlefield, I'd rather kill a hundred men than die by their hands.” The hall erupts on yells and shouts, hands being raised. It takes you by surprise, and for a moment, you're scared they heard enough, and decided to end your life right here and now. But the yells are from... Praising, approval. “And, as Ragnar Lothbrok as my witness, I'd rather face death than go back into the life I had there. If I can even call that a life.”

“That's true.” Bjorn raises his voice, coming from behind some men. “The moment she learned her father was dead, he stood before my father, ready to face her fate. I've never seen a Christian girl do that.”

“Don't forget about how she stood in the pouring rain with that idiot over there,” Ragnar says, pointing out his hand at Floki, who's standing on a chair or something, at the very back, watching the commotion.

Floki giggles, tilting his head at Ragnar. “Even though she can't swim. And don't get me wrong, I'd still rather she fell off to the mighty waves than have her here with us.”

“Don't say that Floki,” Aslaug warns, moving to sit on her chair. “I plan to make a Viking out of (Y/N) since she's more than eager to leave behind everything she once knew.”

“No doubt.” You mutter, wondering if this is it, if you can go sit down somewhere.

“What about that man, Edward?” Bjorn asks, coming to stand before you. He's so damn tall. You don't think you ever met a man this tall before. “You said something about a marriage.”

“Oh, that.” Rolling your eyes, you shrug your shoulders. “My father would have me dragged down the aisle in chains if it was necessary since the political implications of the union were... Delicate. But you guys decided to show up and ruin his plans. Thankfully.”

“Was he that bad?”

“The most disgusting man I've ever met in my life, so, as the Queen said herself a few moments earlier...” Turning at the people once again, you sigh. You don't expect to be accepted by everyone here, you just hope they won't hate you. Not so much, at least. “This was more like a rescue than a kidnapping.”

“Well, now that you know our new resident, I must make something very clear,” Aslaug speaks up, her voice rising above everyone else's. “(Y/N) is a free woman.” She takes a cup from the small table set next to her chair, spinning it in her hand, not bothering to look up from it. “Whoever touches her loses the balls, the hands, and the tongue... As a start.”

You giggle, thinking she's joking, but by the way, the silence persists for quite a long time, you understand that was no joke. And that's very good. That will surely keep them away from you.

“Well, let's celebrate!” Ragnar shouts, and everyone sets in motion again.

You're not sure where to go, so you find a table that's half-empty to sit down, taking a cup and filling it. Being isolated for two days with Aslaug didn't really help you being sociable, and it does feel like you're from two different worlds now. Because that's the truth, even though you're dressed like them. There's an invisible barrier keeping everyone distant, and not only for what Aslaug just said.

“Hey there.” Someone says as they settle down by your side. Hvitserk glances at you, kindly smiling. “Sorry about earlier. Heard a girl screaming, thought something bad was happening.”

“Well, something bad was happening. Your father was annoying me to death.” Taking a few sips from your drink, your eyes find that man again, Ivar. He's seated on Ragnar's chair, chatting with his mother. As if being called, he stares straight at you, suddenly angry.

“I see you already met my little brother,” Hvitserk mutters, and only then do you notice he had followed your gaze.

Clearing your throat, you look away. “Not really. But by the looks of it, he hates me.”

“I wouldn't say he hates you. Ivar is just... Not really fond of the idea of–”

“Of a Christian girl among us.” The voice comes from the head of the table, and when you raise your eyes, you see the man himself. But this time, you don't let his eyes pull you. Somehow, you manage to distract yourself. “You know you're only here because my mother wants to turn you into a Viking.”

“I'm not interested in being anything else than myself.” Drinking what is left on your cup, you sigh. “Haven't had the chance since I was born.”

“Do you really expect anyone here to believe you didn't like being a princess?” His tone is mocking you, a fake pity expression on his face.

“Being a princess in England might be fun if you just do as everyone says, no questions asked.” For some reason, you're pissed. Ivar pushed some button that got you suddenly annoyed, so you stand up, bending over the table to get the jar and refill your cup. But before you can reach it, Ivar takes the thing, drinking straight from it, some of the liquid dripping on his chin. Sighing, you squint your eyes at him, a humorless laugh escaping your lips.

“Here.” The voice gets your attention, and when you turn at him, you see Bjorn filling your cup again. “This one's better anyway.”

“Thanks.” Sitting back down, you give Ivar one last glance before taking long sips.

“Are you going to live here?” Bjorn asks. “Or are you going to live with my mother after all?”

“I'm staying.” Nodding, you look at him. His mother is the most famous shieldmaiden in the world, a skillful fighter. Also Ragnar's ex-wife, reason why Aslaug can't stand her. “The Queen already helped me settle on my chambers.”

“That's good.” He smiles, and a man pushes his shoulder quite violently. Bjorn turns to face him, cursing, but soon enough bursting into laughter.

Ignoring the two men, you look down at your cup, now almost empty again. Music starts playing suddenly, and it doesn't take much for people to start dancing. It gets louder as the minutes go by, and Ragnar and Floki stand on your table, moving around and laughing, kicking everything out. Your eyes follow the whole commotion, standing up and stepping away from the table when they get a little too close. But you don't mind. You've never seen people acting so... Crazy. So happy. And you can't stop smiling, seeing as other people join them.

“I bet you never saw anything like that,” Hvitserk says, raising his voice a little to make himself heard. “I know how boring the feats are in England.”

“This is so much better.” Ragnar jumps to the ground, but one of his legs get caught in between the bench and the table, making him fall. But on the next second, he's up again, a smile on his lips. “My brother would have a heart attack if he ever saw this.”

“Aethelwulf?”

“Yeah.” Someone bumps on your back, making you almost fall. But Hvitserk holds you up, and he seems quite confused to find you laughing. “What? It's alright, I like it. At least this chaos is real, people aren't faking it.” As your eyes move through the hall, you find Ragnar, behind this weird curtain made of leather. You didn't even know he left. “What's that weirdo doing over there?”

“He's observing.” Hvitserk answers, leaning closer and lowering his voice. “From back there, he can see who's sleeping with who. Who's not sleeping with who anymore, who may be plotting something to put him in a dangerous position.”

“Smart guy.” Nodding to yourself, your attention is stolen by the crowd, that starts moving outside, shouting something you can't really understand. “What's going on?”

“Someone's gonna fight. Come watch.” Hvitserk helps you walk among the people, all the way to the beach. Torches came out of nowhere, illuminating the night. Everyone seems oddly happy for this to be about a fight, but Hvitserck wasn't wrong. On the sand, the two men pace around each other, shouting, cursing.

“What's this about?” It happened out of nowhere, and you're not sure how serious this is. The warriors are clearly pissed at each other, but the public is cheerful. This is when you feel how new and different this culture is. Something like this would never happen back at Wessex, and it will take a while for you to get used and understand how things work here. It's a shock, a sudden impact.

“They're both in love with the same woman. She claims she loves both, but they won't share.” Hvitserk explains, as someone passes him a torch, which he holds up high. “The one who survives gets to be with her.”

“Damn.” You mutter as the two men start attacking each other. You've never seen an actual fight. Girls aren't allowed on the battlefield, mostly not a princess. The only glimpses you had were from soldiers training, and it was nothing compared to this. This is violent, powerful, and you can't help but be impressed by their skills. Of course they're good. They're Vikings, a freaking force of nature, they had told you back in England. It's impressive how they keep getting back up, even after so many wounds. Cuts, punches, everything.

A particular loud shout coming from the crowd gets your attention. It's Ivar, seated on the sand, eyes shining and a bright smile on his lips. He's enjoying this. Everyone is, actually. And once again, as if you called his name out loud, he turns to look at you. And somehow you know exactly what he's looking for. Fear, desperation. He wants to see if you're scared.

But... You're not.

Every single person here is joyfully yelling, and those two men choose their fates. They're not being forced to it, it was their decision, as it was yours to stand up, neck exposed, ready for the ax Ragnar was holding. They're choosing to face death, fearlessly.

Then, your eyes aren't on Ivar anymore, but following the men's every move. It doesn't take much for you to gasp and yelp when one or the other successes to throw a blow. You feel like a savage, laughing at the thought of what your father and brother would say if they saw you now.

When the tallest man, with long dark hair, falls dead, the crowd goes insane. The victorious raises both his hands, still holding an ax. A woman comes from the crowd, hugging and kissing him. “That's insane.” You chuckle, running a hand through your braided hair. “Teach me.” The request comes out suddenly, and you don't even give it much thought.

“Are you sure about it?” He asks, looking down at you. Hvitserk is being nice to you, and that's a surprise.

“I mean, I could never be a shieldmaiden but... I'd like to know how to defend myself.”

“Well, I've got nothing to do tomorrow, so I guess we could start.”

Furrowing your eyebrows, you smile. “Thanks. You're the quickest and... Probably the most real friend I've ever made.”

“Yeah, you'll need someone to help you out around here until you get the hang of things. Ragnar gave me this task.”

“Oh...” Looking down, you start walking back to the hall, following Hvitserk's pace. Maybe it was a little stupid to expect him to be so nice to you. “You don't have to. I will get used to things on my own.”

“I didn't mean it like that.” He quickly responds, leaving the torch on some post along the way. “You're pretty cool, actually. For a Christian. You've been a good friend so far.” He gives you a glance and a smirk. “And I don't have to obey my father, you know.”

Blushing a little, you giggle. “Thanks again, then.”

“Now, get a good night sleep and get ready for tomorrow, I mean...” Hvitserk takes a look over his shoulder, a little too dramatic for your taste. “If my older brother doesn't mind it.”

“What do you mean?” Following his gaze, you find Bjorn staring. He doesn't seem angry, but he's not happy either.

“I think Bjorn likes you.”

“And? If it wasn't for you I wouldn't have watched the fight.” Shrugging your shoulders, you stop at the entrance of the hall, waiting as the crowd moves inside. “You've done more for me than he did tonight.”

“So you enjoyed the fight?”

“I have no idea why, or how, but I did.” Nodding, you smile again. “Now, friend, let's drink some more, and maybe I'll consider dancing.” Gesturing at the hall, you both walk in.

The warmth is welcome, and you soon find your way back to the table. But, as you sit down, you see Ivar again, crawling. He moves fast, talking to a man. As he moves past your table, he gives you a stare. It's different from before, but you can't read it. His eyes, like magnets, attract you in a way you didn't even know was possible. You think about waving, or smiling, but then he looks away and disappears inside the house.

“Don't mind Ivar,” Hvitserk says, and you look down at your cup. “He'll get used to your presence.”

“Let's hope he will.”

×

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[whiterosebrian]

Letter To Democrats

I felt the need to do something besides raising awareness of environmental, indigenous, and socio-economic issues. I’ve decided to compose and then mail multiple printed copies of a letter to multiple politicians across the USA. I did wonder if I should copy-and-paste the letter to social media profiles like I did for the one that I wrote to President Biden. Ultimately, I decided that posting the letter would serve two purposes. First, I wanted to let indigenous activists know that they have another willing accomplice. Second, this could provide a decent template for anyone who also feels a need to write to political leaders and put pressure on them to take much-needed action. Without any further ado…

Greetings,

I am writing a generic letter to send to assorted politicians across the United States. For reasons that I will articulate over the course of this letter, I felt a serious need to address as many members of the American political leadership as possible. I do not intend to call you out personally. If you do take it as a personal callout, please consider why you feel that way.

The reports of wildfires, heat waves, and floods have filled many, many observers with existential terror. Some have even expressed utter despair over whether the world will be inhabitable by any form of life. At times I have been tempted to join the despair, to give up hope of ever leaving a beautiful legacy for future generations. For the sake of all the people of the world, I must fight that temptation. I need to do my part to fight for the future.

There are a large number of activists trying to protect the environment. However, they need help from people who have the power to make really concrete changes. That is why I am writing to you and other Democratic politicians. That does sound very partisan, but the sad fact is that the Republican party is almost a lost cause at this point. I wish to be proven wrong about that. The fact is that it already engaged in brutal obstruction during the Obama administration. A sinister side to the base already started emerging during that time as well. With the rise of Donald Trump, the much of its leadership and nearly all of its electoral base have become increasingly unwilling to offer the kind of compromise needed for a functional democracy.

The Democratic party as a whole has been criticized as very weak in opposing the radicalizing Republican Party. The current President has spoken of a desire for restoring national unity. That desire is certainly laudable in itself when Trump blatantly stoked resentment and division. Again, however, the Republican party and its core supporters have shown a complete unwillingness to work with any opponents in any way. They view their opponents as subversive enemies that need to be crushed underfoot. The Republican party has inched towards neo-fascism at a time when neo-fascism is mainstreaming around the world. The Republican party has also already been beholden to the selfish interests of major corporations for decades. It even seeks to magnify the already dire influence of corporations chiefly responsible for pollution. Its propaganda outlets outright deny pollution and mislead millions of people.

Some Democratic politicians have also been criticized as going along with corporate interests and watering down legislation meant to oppose corporate influence. By now it has become clear that corporate elites do not have the safety of the world and its human and nonhuman denizens in mind. By now it has become clear that they must be reined in for the greater good. The only language that major corporations even comprehend is money. Here I arrive at the first main point of this letter: I urge you to work with other Democratic leaders to divest from major corporations and their executives, especially those most directly responsible for polluting the Earth. I’ve also seen proposals that corporations be forced to contribute to removing as much pollution as possible. Quickening the transition away from fossil fuels is crucial.

However, alternate energy sources are not enough. Switching from gas-powered cars to electric cars is not enough. Building solar or wind farms in place of coal-burning power plants is not enough. Extraction and consumption cause their own serious problems. The problem of environmental degradation has roots that are far too deep and complicated to address here, though I will touch upon one later. Going hand-in-hand with corporate influence are the bad social and urban infrastructures that do not encourage sustainable lifestyles. I barely even know where to begin in this regard. Cities are too often built for cars and not people. Most people have to drive carbon-spewing cars to work at jobs that are not well-suited to their needs in order to pay their bills and feed their families. Too many people are left in poverty or near-poverty, some people are more-or-less isolated in suburbs, and a tiny handful are virtually untouchable in their wealth and privilege. Healthy food is not always accessible, and even when it is, it often has to be shipped very far from the source.

My second main point is this: in addition to transitioning to cleaner energy, the very infrastructure of our society needs to reformed. Local communities need to be lifted up so that they can better care for themselves without the need for distant figures constantly having to provide for them through convoluted supply chains. It’s true that right-wingers speak of “small government” with the unspoken agenda of leaving corporate oligarchs and ultra-conservative clergy to rule over ordinary human beings. Nonetheless, I believe that, at this point, government needs to assist in rebuilding communities so that they can eventually leave denizens to stand on their feet and care for each other. The pandemic, along with the poor responses of many local officials, has shown the need for communities to engage in mutual care.

I will confess that this exhortation is the vaguest one in this letter. I lack in-depth education on such matters. I bring it up in order to further nudge you in a direction that would be far better for the Earth and its people. I can offer one example of what must be done that is slightly clearer: helping communities establish gardens and small-scale farms to better feed themselves.

On a very important side note, this nation needs to divest from the military as well. The largest and most powerful military in history is known to be among the largest polluters on earth. Too many politicians seem to ignore how massive the military already is an insist on subsidizing it at the cost of actually building a peaceful and prosperous society.

I further wish to discuss the need to center indigenous peoples in renewing our society. No, I am no indigenous myself. I simply wish to point to their wisdom. Yes, the sagely magical Indian who is one with Mother Earth is a crude stereotype, and I have no intention of reinforcing it. With that said, I follow a number of indigenous writers, activists, spiritualists, and influencers on social media. I learned about how many indigenous people are attempting to reconnect to previously outlawed and hidden heritages. The stereotype could be rooted in reality.

In most cases, those heritages include animistic spiritualities, in which aspects of the natural world, from plants to animals to waters to stones, are seen as having spirits. Furthermore, these aspects of the natural world are seen as relatives to humans. I should note how some well-meaning white people, wishing to bond with the earth instead of submitting to organized religion, appropriate these indigenous spiritualties and associated practices. Indigenous writers will encourage such people to instead delve into their own pre-Christian heritages, which have similar animistic philosophies, however obscured by time they may be. I have actually been doing just that—though I won’t elaborate because I don’t want to center myself.

You may be asking, what is the relevance said common thread of the spiritualities of indigenous peoples? That animism seems to go hand-in-hand with methods of land care that developed over generations of trial and error, along with the principles behind those methods. With the subjugation and expulsion (and worse) of the land’s original caretakers, though, these practices fell into obscurity. The most dramatic example, perhaps, is the suppression of controlled burnings on the western coastline leading to the wildfires that we have seen in recent years. Indeed, the different lands of different indigenous nations need their own subtly distinct approaches, based on ecosystems, geographies, local histories, and general senses of place. Indigenous activists and figureheads are calling upon governments to heed their words on not only conservation but also regeneration.

One of the main demands that indigenous activists make is for the return of their lands, full sovereignty over them, and the facilitation of cultural revival. Yes, that is a very simple manner of justice and righting a historic wrong. It has become evident that their wisdom is a crucial piece of the puzzle of solving environmental problems as well. Simple “colorblind” or “globalized” liberalism won’t suffice when working for social or environmental justice. Indigenous activists argue that colonialism is at the root of so many of our world’s problems. Many of them even outright state that the “colonial state” in itself is a problem. I can see how colonialism has promoted the rise of an all-devouring capitalism and perpetuated it. The grim historical fact of how the enslavement of Black people and the elimination of indigenous peoples contributed to building this nation remains a grim historical fact.

I myself am figuring out the world and learning many truths, but I am sympathetic to people who have borne the brunt of colonialism. I welcome the humanistic achievements of modernity and utterly oppose fundamentalism and fascism, I assure you, but I’ve come to accept that the modern world is broken. Simple progress won’t heal the world. “Big government” certainly has a role to play in mobilizing the needed social changes, such as what I’ve alluded to above, but the “colonial state” needs to ultimately divest its own power.

I’ll try to summarize my points now. Major corporations and economic elites need to be drastically reined in and disempowered (along with the military). The transition to renewable energies needs to be quickened—but also needs to be accompanied by drastic changes to infrastructures and supply chains so as to result in less extraction and consumption. Localized communities need to be empowered so they can better care for themselves without much out faraway aid. Indigenous peoples need to be given their lands back, be elevated to leadership roles in caring for and regenerating said lands, and be empowered so they can rebuild their cultures. Settlers should learn from them as well. In the end, the state and the socio-economic system that it has upheld need to recede—not for billionaires or grand inquisitors or dictators, but for ordinary people and the earth. In truth, humans are meant to be a part of nature, and the generational challenge is for humanity to reconcile with the rest of nature.

This all may sound idealistic or radical. This past summer has shown us that we shouldn’t settle for anything less than radical social change. This nation, which has been a major world power for over a century, needs to be radically reimagined. This all may sound vague as well. I have little education in politics and governance apart from what I’ve tried to learn for myself across the internet. That is all the more reason for people like you—people with more real-world power than I—to push along radical social change. This letter is meant to raise awareness of your duty as a leader. A leader is meant to be a guide, not a dominator. There’s a chance that you could be recorded in history as a leader who did what was necessary to make the world’s healing and renewal possible.

Thank you.

You may call me Brian Solomon Whiterose.