#for my non-Orthodox friends

[religious-extremist]

A Different Worldview and a Different History; Catholicism and Orthodoxy

The Roman Catholic Scholastic thinker Thomas Aquinas (1225-1274) wrote in his massive work, the Summa Theologiae, that theology is the "highest scientia" since a high degree of rationality is required to understand the most important and complex philosophical concepts about God. The universities that developed during the Scholastic period in the Christian West were intended to teach students how to deal in this "science" of theology through rigorous conceptual analysis. Theology was considered to be the preeminent Scholastic endeavor, a good thing in many ways. Yet, as a result of the high regard for logic and rationality in medieval Roman Catholicism, those who studied and taught (the "doctors") came to be more highly regarded than the monks and nuns (the "religious") whose main vocation was to pray.

Theology began to be expounded by scholars outside of the context of prayer, pastoral ministry, and liturgical worship. Pelikan traces this specific change in the West through the changing job description of the theologian. He notes that, between AD 100 and 600, most theologians were bishops; from 600 to 1500 in the West they were monks. But after 1500, Western theologians are university professors: "Gregory I, who died in 604, was a bishop who had been a monk; Martin Luther, who died in 1546, was a monk who became a university professor. Each of these lifestyles has left its mark on the job description of a theologian." After the sixteenth century in the West, the task of theology increasingly became separated from its earlier moorings to the worship of the community and the spiritual disciplines.

From an Eastern Orthodox point of view, knowledge of God comes only from an encounter with the God who has revealed Himself: "What may be known of God is manifest in them, for God has shown it to them" (Rom. 1:19). Thus, theology can never be separated from prayer, worship, and contemplation of the Holy Trinity. Metropolitan Ware affirms that all true Orthodox theology is mystical: "Just as mysticism divorced from theology becomes subjective and heretical, so theology, when it is not mystical, degenerates into an arid scholasticism, 'academic' in the bad sense of the word." That is to say, Orthodox mystical theology guards against either unacceptable extreme: subjective and heretical, or arid and academic.

- A Basic Guide to Eastern Orthodox Theology, Eve Tibbs

[daz4i]

i am aware i will sound. ig ignorant is the right word here? but every time like. i watch a wendigoon video where he brings up his connection to religion. or when he brings up other creators of horror content who are religious and use it in their horror. i am so baffled

like to me, from all the people i met throughout my life (both jewish and christian), it's hard to think about religion as a good thing. i know more people who are ex-christians or ex-orthodox jews than ppl who believe in god (or rather, the ppl i do know who believe in god, aren't really people i was ever close to. more like neighbors in my old building). religion is something that has been traumatic to most people i know who had any connection to it. i personally see it as something that's been forced on me and is still forced on everyone in my country regardless of if we believe in it or not, ever since we were kids

(not to mention my personal gripe with god as a trans + disabled person lmao. my biggest enemy fr)

so seeing people treat religion as something positive is. ig the best word here is. alien to me. people using it in horror not as the thing that's horrifying (or rather, using demons as the thing that's horrifying, rather than the god fighting them) just feels wrong

logically i know people find meaning in it. i heard stories of belief saving people's lives. i have met people who are incredibly sweet and still religious (tho, i can count them on one hand). but at the same time, as a whole concept, and the way its people are currently working to ruin the lives of almost everyone in my country besides themselves, i can't help but view it as something vile. the things it makes people do are awful. the wars it causes. the human rights being trampled because of it. it's hard to imagine how someone could be entrenched in it but come out kind while still holding onto faith

[spacelazarwolf]

most of the jews who barge into my inbox or onto my posts about jews by choice don't actually seem to know literally anything about how conversion actually works, so let me break it down for you.

conversion takes at the very least one calendar year, but can take upwards of several years or even several decades depending on the individual and when they feel ready.

the process (for people who are converting as adults, not people who were converted as children) usually looks something like this

person starts to question if conversion is right for them. this stage can take anywhere from months to years.

if the person is in a place with a jewish community, they start researching synagogues and eventually reach out to a rabbi or several. if they're not in a place with a jewish community, they'll need to decide if they want to move in order to convert.

some rabbis will be indifferent when contacted about conversion, some will send you away to see if you come back (there's an old tradition of sending prospective converts away three times, but this isn't as common practice now), some will be happy to talk to prospective converts.

the person now has a sponsoring rabbi. they will be signed up for educational classes that will teach them the basics of jewish history, jewish tradition, liturgy, etc. they will also be expected to do a lot of independent reading. most prospective converts meet with their sponsoring rabbi once per month or so.

most sponsoring rabbis want prospective converts to have a certain level of observance in order to practice what it will be like to live as a jew. there are some things they may ask prospective converts to hold off on until after their mikveh, like wearing a tallit and wrapping tefillin or wearing a star of david, some orthodox converts will intentionally break shabbat in order to not 'fully observe' until after their mikveh.

there are usually a lot of costs associated with converting. it's very possible to borrow books from libraries or find them for cheap, but many want to fill their bookshelf with as many resources as possible. there is also the cost of judaica, as most prospective converts do not have jewish family to inherit judaica from. this can get incredibly expensive.

the sponsoring rabbi is the one who decides if the prospective convert is ready for their beit din. once they approach the topic with the prospective convert and the convert agrees they are ready, the beit din is scheduled.

for their beit din, three rabbis (or sometimes non rabbinic scholars) will speak to the prospective convert about what their journey has been like, why they want to convert, what they find meaningful, how they have handled any antisemitism they've faced, if they are ready to align themselves with the jewish people for the rest of their life, etc. it's not just a 'u ready?' it can get very intense.

the beit din decides if the prospective convert is ready to join the jewish people. if they decide they're not ready, the prospective convert can continue to study and schedule another beit din in the future. if they decide they are ready, a mikveh is scheduled and the prospective convert becomes a jew.

after that, they're a jew. that's it. the end.

details can vary from community to community, but this is a general rundown of how it works. no one just randomly decides one day to become jewish. people who go through the conversion process, even through movements that are not as rigorous as orthodox movements, are required to do essentially a mini degree in jewish studies, uproot their whole life, potentially lose family, friends, and community, and align themselves with a marginalized people for the rest of their life. so anyone who tries to trash them can sniff my farts.

[kazimirovich]

all i can say forever

i'm jewish. as a child i moved from a rural town where my family saw acts of rage and hate, emigrated from a country with a horrifying history with jews. you know the one, though there are many. i'm 31 now and i have seen and experienced antisemitism my whole life, in the many places i've lived, to varying degrees. not that i should need to qualify this before everything i have to say - but i know what that looks and feels like. in my life there have been times at which i have been in danger. i choose to stay out of danger in all the ways i was taught. (part of that is not moving into someone else's house uninvited (more in a sec))

(well-meaning?) people want me to have a relationship with israel. they are very invested in assuming i have some connection to this shifting space, this project. they associate my german jewishness with a place i have never been and never felt. home, for me, is the uncle i haven't seen in too long, the ailing brother of my mother, the same red nose. it's fresh sheets hung over dry summer grass, it's bavarian farmland, it's thick liptauer on pumpernickel bread warmed over the wood stove. it's my grandmother's dining room and rough fenceposts, borders we disrespected as kids. home is also here and there and where my family is, where my friends are, where i've built myself.

in a geopolitical sense, it is clear that the antisemitic position is to sequester jews into a partitioned state conceived of by non-jews after the sunset of our most recent attempted decimation. antisemitic, to tell jews "move here, be at home in this space of constant war. impose war on others. fight for a tenuous link to an ancestry you've never seen or studied." in a religious sense, sort of a key feature of judaism since the second exile is that - we're in exile. this is an orthodox argument, but i have to admit that rabbinical discourse is pretty convincing. the secular establishment of the israeli state in an attempt to accelerate any so-called redemption has left us at a point where i really don't know what hope we have for that to occur. if you believe in god, how can you believe they are looking down at us, impressed

because beyond theoretical or spiritual reasons, the bloodlust, the vengefulness, the racism, the violation of law (i know that laws are agreed upon, are broken all the time by those who grant themselves impunity), the evil of this continuance, the evil which grinds babies and text and memory, gnashes it all in its droning machinery, its cold horror and inhumane (unhuman) practice, seemingly perfected... it is obvious to anyone with a single thought that it is an ethnic cleansing. the forcible "movement" (murder) of people of one group from land people of another group want. is ethnic cleansing. we are watching it in real time, and the world stands by and in many cases, it endorses, it beats and imprisons those who are brave enough to stand up to it, it rewards cowardly men in war rooms who having read fukuyama and arendt and maybe even voegelin conveniently forget themselves, because they can afford to, and wave their hands and make calls and decimate entire families cities sovereignties. and liberalism - that fickle ideology whose sole search is for the justification of atrocity - sends its thoughts and prayers, and emphasizes how just horrible both sides are, and conveniently forgets the histories that have led each "side" to this. convenient.

and i can't do anything about it. i can perfectly articulate every well-thought-out argument, i can cry the most frustrated tears from the well of my chest and i can scream that this isn't right, because it isn't, but nobody fucking cares. those who matter have decided for those who don't.

if you align yourself with israel, or feel any sympathy toward the supposed plight of active settlers (not a neutral spot to be in, by the way - another rational argument), i hope you know how thoroughly you've been manipulated. how successful the project of those with the power to decide we don't matter has been. you and i don't matter. so-called free thinkers meme. you fucking idiot. you genocidal maniac.

not putting this under a cut. fuck you. read it all and remember my jewish name and keep it far out of your mouth the next time you tell someone why the people you've told me are my neighbors deserve a flattening.

[stealth-liberal]

Whew, I have a lot to say, and I know for a FACT that not a single non Jewish person on here will give a shit... but I have to vent.

Antisemitism in America is so bad that I honestly don't know if it's safe to send my daughter off to college in 2 years. She doesn't know either. Both of us have discussed her staying home and doing as much of her university education online, so as to keep her safe. She has sensory issues and an anxiety disorder... and already she has been rejected all over the place in her high school campus since 10/7.

The Women's Empowerment Club? The club leader has made it so that no female Jewish student feels safe there, and all of them quit. The little leftist neo nazi in charge of it probably cheered as they left and patted herself on the back for her "praxis". Maybe she can start goose stepping and yelling "Heil Hitler!" while she's at it. But she's not unique. Feminist organizations the world over deny mass rape of Jewish women. Why? Because it's Me Too Unless You're a Jew. They want us all raped and in the grave. Period.

The Pride Club? Forget it. All queer Jewish kids are persona non grata there. Apparently it's cool if Jewish queers are the subject of violence... and I can't say more or I'll start wanting to kill people. I am bisexual, my husband is bisexual, our daughter is lesbian. I have been part of this community since I was 12 as an ally and since I was 15 as a bisexual (took me some time to figure out what I was). My daughter came out in 4th grade for G-d's sake. We've been there, fighting the fight and now... queer organizations all over the world are abandoning us. They honestly hope we will all die, the more violently the better.

I was a proud intersectional feminist and a proud queer woman my whole life. Or at least ever since I could make decisions about that sort of stuff and what I believed. And I have been abandoned, my daughter has been abandoned, for blood sport. Her friends are pulling away from her and we all know why... because she committed the unpardonable sin of being Jewish.

Funny part? The Muslim Student Union has done nothing to her or the other Jewish kids on campus. Ponder that thought leftists if you will.

My son is in 8th grade and for the entirety of his 6th and 7th school years he was relentlessly bullied for being Jewish. We live in a red town and it was right wing antisemitism. It was so bad that I had to remove him for his safety from the school for a while. Now? It's left wing as well, he's catching it from both sides and I don't know how to protect him.

No one cares. Frankly, if my 13 year old son committed suicide to get away from it all... they would throw a party. Another dirty Jew/Zionist down... am I right? None of you give a fuck.

I marched, I protested, I voted, I phone banked. I lived my beliefs in action, and the left betrayed me. They fantasize about me and my children being raped and murdered. The more graphically it could happen, the better for them. Frankly, I think they get off to the videos Hamas released in the privacy of their rooms at night.

There's nowhere to run. Israel isn't an option. I know everyone thinks Jews are dripping in wealth... but I frankly do not have enough money to move my family to the other side of the planet. My husband is in IATSE, the stage hand local. There are no jobs waiting for him there. There are no jobs waiting for me there. I have no family there. Neither does he.

Actually, my husband isn't Jewish. I am, our children are, but he is not. He supports us in our Jewishness 100%, but he is not a Jew and he never wanted to convert. Which is fine with me... but how the hell does that work in a country where there is no civil marriage?

I'm not Orthodox, I don't want to be Orthodox. I want full egalitarianism, so I go to Reform, Renewal, or Conservative synagogues, depending on what is closer to wherever I live. Israel is a VERY Orthodox country, and the options are Orthodox or completely secular. This is a criticism I've been laying at Israel's feet for DECADES.

And Jew Haters better not use this as a way to say how awful Israel is. Not when the countries surrounding Israel are either dictatorships or absolute power, divine right monarchies who kill dissenters constantly.

So... there's really nowhere for my family to go. So I guess I'll stay where I am being a liberal Jew and waiting for the sick marriage of MAGA and Leftists to come to my door and kill me and my family.

None of you care. All of you would cheer. I'll never trust any of you again for the rest of my life. Till the day I die... I'll never trust any of you in any part of my life (online or offline) again.

1 in 5 members of Gen Z think the Holocaust didn't happen. 2/3rds of Gen Z think stories of the Holocaust are exaggerated and that Jews were somewhat complicit in what happened to us. Blame the victim...amirite? The rates amongst Millennials are not as horrific... but they're still bad. You all are going to commit a 2nd Holocaust and pat yourself on the backs. And when history remembers you all as the Nazis part 2... you will babble in your nursing homes that you were "Just trying to save the world from the Zionist/Jewish scourge."

When that happens, I hope you die in a puddle of your own shit.

[torchflies]

Hi TG Fandom!

Time for Bradley Bradshaw: Shabbos Goy edition.

A Shabbos Goy: a non-Jewish person typically employed by an observant Jew, to perform duties that the Jewish person cannot perform on Shabbat (the sabbath).

Something goofy and Jewish because I am goofy and Jewish. 😂

Bradley Peter Bradshaw isn't Jewish. 

But Ice is and now that Bradley is living with Ice, Slider and Mav after he loses his Mom… well, they need him to do something besides be at home all day after school and on weekends. So, he ends up going to Hebrew school at the local synagogue called Beth El. He gets tossed out of the car on Sunday morning with the plea of go make some friends, Baby Goose! He's ten years old, but this is a Modern Orthodox school and he knows nothing about being Jewish or Hebrew, so he ends up in the lower class. 

Still, the lower class isn't anywhere near low enough and he ends up getting made fun of by a room full of six-year-olds.

It continues out onto the playground and one of the bigger boys from the older room joins in and knocks him into the dirt. 

Nobody is watching and no one intervenes, so just as Bradley is about to jump up and go on a tirade of epic proportions — a tiny blond butterball of a kid with big, crooked buck teeth, thick glasses, a kippah covered in fighter jets and long tzitzit poking out of his dress shirt comes in like a battering ram, screaming something in Yiddish as he kicks the shit out of three boys twice his size. 

Little blond avenger looks over at Bradley afterwards, with thick rivers of blood streaming down his face from his broken nose and he grins, showing off a bloody baby tooth hanging on for dear life. 

“Wanna be my Shabbos goy?” He asks, and all Bradley can do is nod, extending a wet hand when the chubby boy hacks and coughs into his palm, spitting out a clot of blood and that hanging tooth so they can shake on it like real men making a deal. 

Bradley has no idea what he's agreeing to. 

But later, when years pass and he’s got a blond butterball snoring open-mouthed into his neck every night in flight school, he thinks about asking that stubborn Jewish fistfighter if he needs a Shabbos goy forever. 

After the uranium mission, Bradley finds out that yes, he does. 😊

Jacob Seresin is very observant and forgetful, you see. The world can get pretty dark if he doesn't flip the lights on before Shabbos. 

He’ll always need his Shabbos goy to turn on the lights 😭❤️

[jewishconvertthings]

How to Immediately Ingratiate Yourself in [Most] Jewish Communities

(*caveat that I'm an American, liberal Jew, so my experiences are not universal despite being common)

So you've just started going to shul and you're worried about fitting in with the congregation. Or, perhaps, you're moving out of the community you converted in and are worried about finding your place in a new community. Maybe you're switching shuls. Whatever the reason, you're starting in a new community and want to be accepted right away. Here are some tips for becoming a rapidly accepted fixture in the community:

If your community has a weekday minyan, go to minyan. That will show you who the real machers are in the community: the ones who make services happen regularly and who aren't shy about calling or texting people to get butts in seats. If you're Jewish, you might be Jew #10, the perennial hero of daveners everywhere. If not, you're communicating to them that possibility in the future. (No one was more excited for me to finish conversion than the minyan regulars.)

Okay but what if I'm a woman (or not halachicly male person) attending a non-egalitarian community? If it's liberal orthodox community and/or has a partnership minyan, I'd still consider going. I attended morning minyan at my Modern Orthodox shul for months before I completed my conversion because it was less awkward than going to the Conservative minyan and having to clarify that no, they still couldn't count me yet. (And I really liked the people and the post-minyan drash the rabbi would give.) They were actually delighted to have me holding up the women's side of the mechitza and welcoming in the occasional women who would come for a yahrzeit.

Do you have rhythm and/or are possessed of decently good coordination? Learn the cup song! [Tutorial] People will be very excited albeit potentially confused if it comes out that you didn't grow up going to Jewish summer camp. (I'd just tell them you saw the song on the internet and thought it looked fun.)

Are you musically talented or a semi-competant guitar player? Many communities would love to involve you in the songful parts of the service if you let leadership know.

In general, pay attention to what your community is always begging for volunteers for, especially things you can do as a non-Jew or not-quite-yet-Jew if that's your situation, and sign up for one or two things you think you'd be good at. I would say it's better to pick one thing and focus your energy on being THAT guy rather than trying to do a little of everything (voice of experience here.) Real life examples I can think of: being a greeter, arranging set-up for events, helping out with food prep such as kiddush or post-minyan bagels, running groceries to homebound congregants, delivering mishloach manot if your community does that, childcare or assisting with children's activities if you like kids, etc.

Put a fair amount of energy into remembering people's names and faces, and try to work out early who is related to whom. Bonus points if you can file away information about their lives that they tell you during your conversations with them.

If you're asked to do honors by the gabbai, try to say yes to anything you know how to do and are qualified to do halachicly. If you're not Jewish, many liberal communities will still let you open the ark or take a multi-person aliyah with someone who is Jewish, or have you read some of the contemporary English language prayers. Bonus points for if you are able to learn and perform hagbah (especially if you're left-handed/able to hagbah when the sefer Torah is heavy on the left side.)

Honestly, if you're between the ages of 18 - 35, most communities will be thrilled you're there and tripping over themselves to get you to come back. In combination with the above? You're their new best friend. If you are older than that or still a minor, they will still be very happy to have another friendly and helpful face, even if it's just that you regularly attend minyan.

Good luck and here's to becoming a beloved fixture in your new community!

[jovieinramshackle]

ℍ𝕖𝕝𝕝𝕠 ℍ𝕖𝕝𝕝𝕠!

Hello there! My name is Harry (you can also call me Jo/Joey or other nicknames!) and welcome to my blog! I like drawing silly twst art of silly queers kissing each other.

☆ Harry/Jo ☆ He/Him ☆ Greek ☆ 17 (March 1st)

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Colour my tree! 🎄

𝔸𝕓𝕠𝕦𝕥 𝕋𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝔹𝕝𝕠𝕘

DNI: PRO/COMSHIP (inc3sts/p3do ships), T3RFS, ZI0NITS, AI ART, L0LI/SH0TACON, BASIC DNI CRITERIA. I know not everyone will care about my DNI, so remember I regularly check the blogs of people who actively interact with my blog for safety. I block anyone who I think breaks my DNI list. NOTE: I consider myself a semi-practising Queer Christian (specifically Greek Orthodox). My faith is a very personal part of my life, so I won't be bringing it up much (feel free to block #faith yap for the rare times I'll be using it). Using any type of religion as an excuse for hate won't be tolerated. Similarly don't be dicks to others for their religion if they're genuinely non-bigoted.

☆ My blog focuses on general yume-shipping content (oc x canon/selfship). I especially focus on my oc x canon of my oc Jovie and Azul, but there are other ones too! Check my carrd for my ships chart (a few ships I haven't posted about may be in there). ☆ My blog is named after my OC, I don't use the name "Jovie." You can still just call me "Jo/Joey" if you have difficulty remembering names and only look at my user. ☆ I'm nonbinary transmasc, bisexual and aro-spec—  as you can tell, I’m very queer. I enjoy implementing queer elements I relate to onto my ocs, especially when it comes to trans/non-cis ocs. ☆ I’m diagnosed with dyslexia and dysgraphia, I also may have undiagnosed ADHD. Please keep it in mind when interacting with me (and excuse awkward wording or misspellings)! ☆ Twisted Wonderland is very dear to me as a piece of media and I tend to be a bit sensitive with media I'm very attached to. So if you have criticisms about the game I would ask you to not mention them on my blog (that doesn't mean I don't agree, I just prefer to discuss things like that outside of my blog). ☆ This is an SFW blog, however, occasionally there may be a bit more suggestive art/posts of 20+ characters (specifically with Fellow/Ernesto because I'm down bad) so be aware of that. ☆ I’m VERY comfortable with friendly banter and teasing! Don’t be afraid to bully me into oblivion, especially if we’re mutuals (tone tags are appreciated).  ☆ I'm an EN player, but this blog is not spoiler-free for JP updates. Any JP content will be tagged with #twst jp and #twst jp spoilers. ☆ I'm a bit selective with who I follow/follow back. But if you ask to be mutuals, I won't say no! Just please be sure you follow me already and that you’ve seen me interact with you/your posts before. I’m uncomfortable with people I haven’t seen a lot of asking me to be mutuals.  ☆ For mutuals: Please keep in mind that I'm not great at keeping up with other blogs. However, I will still try to interact with you to the best of my abilities (similarly don't be afraid to interact with me AT ALL! I will be very happy if you do!). ☆ Dms are open! I pretty much never text first (kinda anxious about it) but I’m an extremely chill person and like to think I’m easy to talk to, so don't be afraid to message me! I would love to talk (keep in mind I’m a yapper). ☆ Inbox is always open, so feel free to send whatever, whenever (I may be quick or late to answer, but I will eventually)! ☆ Feel free to tag me in posts you think I'd like (especially of my faves)! Just don't tag spam me (unless I give you the go-ahead first). If we're mutuals feel free to add me to your tag lists (if you have one)!  ☆ There may be some non-twst art, reblogs, or rambles if the mood strikes (will include matters related to trans/queer/Palestine topics but I’ll try to avoid other political talks here).

tag list (for me to copy paste lmao): @ramshacklerumble @thehollowwriter @summerspook @scint1llat3 @skriblee-ksk

@cyanide-latte @twistedwonderlandshenanigans @oya-oya-okay @viperbunnies @jadelover69

@twsted-void @lallopsyou (lmk/dm if you wanna be added)

[mikuni14]

High School Frenemy

Like any normal girl, I've always liked a good high school series with strong homoerotic undertones, like Gokusen, Crows Zero, School 2013 😊 I'm an orthodox fan of the School 2013 series and at first I didn't want to watch HSF based on it, because I didn't think they could pull it off (I rate S2013 10/10 and it's one of the best series I've ever seen). For some time now I've been waiting for the series to end to either binge it or skip it, reading reviews in the meantime (thanks to that I saved myself time and sanity by not watching many series that turned out to be bad in the end). I've heard only good things about HSF, I've seen kawaii little videos with MLs so I decided to give it a chance and watched the whole thing right before the finale. So. It wasn't a waste of time, actually it was GREAT 😄 HSF is similar to School 2013 but fortunately it's different enough that you can enjoy both without the joy-depriving comparison. The difference is that S2013 has less fights and more seriousness, while HFS has definitely more scenes with MLs and their relationship. S2013 also has more sub-plots and more characters involved in the plot, whereas in HSF the show is mainly carried by 2 strong characters, and the subplots come more in the second half of the show.

*deep sigh* It was like watching Word of Honor: you know you're technically watching a non-romance, non-BL, but you know, your brain knows and your heart knows thay you're watching a romance and a BL. It can fry your brain if you're not careful 😆

Saint and Shin, have no, I repeat no resistance, no qualms to make the most sappy and sentimental confessions, to sugarcoating their whole conversations with each other in the most tender, romantic way, they would outdo any, even the most romantic couple in the world with their behavior. I absolutely love this lack of shame and embarrassment. When I thought they couldn't get any more romantic, they made up and entered the honeymoon era and I died. Honey dripped off my screen, it was so sweet and mushy 🥰 I suppose, their unique charm is also due to the fact that in many moments when Saint was being particularly sappy and Shin being particularly shy, I was 100% convinced that it wasn't SaintShin but SkyNani 😆

HSF has an incredible amount of kissing moments, not to mention scenes that just beg for angry sex or make-up sex.

I don't know how anyone can pretend that WoH, The Untamed, S2013 or HSF or Steve Rogers and Bucky are not BL lmao. Friends don't act like that and don't say things like that to each other, in that way. Just think how anyone from the outside could walk into any of the aforementioned couples, I mean... the logistics? 😂 Every single one of the guys in the above couples is really obsessed with their "friend", I mean ✨obsessed✨. Plus, no one knows them like their "roommate", the best and the worst, they have a history together, both good and tragic. You can't beat that! They are glued, ingrained to each other too deeply for there to be room for anyone else!

I love how Saint and Shin are so obviously crazy about each other, how perfect they are together, how comfortable they are together, how they sleep in the same bed together, even though they sleep on the floor in other houses, how their parents are fully aware of their incredible relationship, how they lived like zombies for 3 years without each other.

Their tragic story is one of the best I've seen, it's on the level of a Greek or Shakespearean tragedy. An exceptionally strong relationship on the level of soul mates, an exceptionally strong love. A tragic misunderstanding, an accident caused by one of them, unintentional, but laced with fear and resentment of one, which only adds to the already existing colossal sense of guilt. I absolutely love that in both versions, there is a whole range of emotions between the MLs, and they go through each one in turn. It's an emotional buffet in a fancy restaurant, it's got everything and in high quality: fear, longing, resentment, anger, guilt, wanting to forgive, needing to be forgiven, anguish, trust, losing trust, rebuilding trust, love. It all makes their relationship so incredibly compelling and satisfying.

I love how Saint was determined to atone for the wrongs he had done. How he was willing to do anything, how he accepted Shin's anger and resentment, his verbal and physical attacks. Saint not only apologized multiple times, but also worked off his sins. He worked to earn back Shin's and his mother's trust, even when they wore him out for it. That's why this relationship feels so satisfying, to be worked for by them, Saint really tried and nothing Shin said or did discouraged him. I really like that none of this was easy, that Shin's anger, resentment, and pain were noticed by the plot and by Saint.

I really like the fact that both are very strong, yet sensitive and emotional (95% of it was when it was about the other one 😅), that they are each other's strength, but also weakness. That together they are unstoppable. That THEY ARE BOTH EQUAL, both have the same power over each other. Both are presented in the plot as a power couple, as leaders of their groups. Saint is strong mentally, he's also physically stronger than Shin, but he doesn't flaunt his strength, he doesn't have to prove anything. I noticed that despite the fact that he is technically stronger than Shin, he gives the last blow, finishing the main villain, to him. On the other hand, Shin sacrifices himself twice and instinctively covers Saint in danger with his own body. Shin is more shy in their relationship (I feel like Nani was showing through in these scenes lol), he is the one who moderates Saint's crazy antics. Both are very handsome in different ways, Saint is like a bull with his stocky build, he is also the ideal himbo: kind, strong, muscular, mentally a puppy and dumb about his beloved 👌 He has absolutely no shame in showing off his feelings for Shin and gushing how awesome Shin is, which is 100% perfect boyfriend behavior. Shin with his face of a tortured poet with dark circles under his eyes that would have decimated the girls and me at my high school during our grunge years, with his bedroom eyes and the begging-for-kiss mole on his neck, was very seductive 😏

Tl;dr excellent series, excellent couple. Highly recommended.

[eyelinerandmcr]

🦇 ATHENA'S INTRODUCTION POST

ill put stuff at more length but to some it up basically i love mcr more than anything i like to draw i LOVE listening to and making music, im teaching myself guitar rn and its hard even though ive been playing piano since i was 8 😞. and i use she/her, im greek orthodox christian and i support all religions <3 btw i would never try to convert someone to my religion or push it on anyone else in any way bc thats weird and i also dont talk about it that much incase religion is the kind of thing that makes u uncomfortable, its not like something i bring up!! + FREE PALESTINE!! 🇵🇸🇵🇸 but yeah tehrese mroe under the cut 😋

→ MY INTERESTS: music: my chemical romance (my fave!! (obviously)), pierce the veil (my second fave!!), ls dunes, amy winehouse, black veil brides, ayesha erotica, evanescence, bring me the horizon, chappell roan, escape the fate, taking back sunday, gerard way, p!atd, three days grace, pencey prep, misfits, sleeping with sirens, the cure, fall out boy, more but i cant remember

youtubers i watch: chad chad, stephanie lange, salem tovar, danny gonzalez, film cooper, drew gooden, not even emily, sarah chio, ally purugganan, jarvis johnson, erika diane shes my comfort ytber😭, kurtis conner, annemarie forcino

books i love: !!literally anything by leigh bardugo shes my fave!!, the hunger games series including the ballad of songbirds and snakes, the house in the cerulean sea, the red queen series, the book thief, loveless, a tree grows in brooklyn, hell followed with us, the scythe series, darius the great is not okay, a wrinkle in time, i am the cheese, hole, the bell jar, that was then this is now, station eleven. always open to recs! <3

hobbies: writing, drawing, doing my makeup, thrifting, reading (especially fantasy), going on walks, baking, singing, collecting perfumes, listening to music, analyzing poetry and lyrics, teaching myself guitar, painting my nails, debating about pretty much anything as long as it stays respectful, journaling, sewing and altering clothes, making collages, swimming, playing the piano, watching long video essays on youtube (especially ones about anything related to music), talking to my friends irl or online, talking about music but especially mcr!!

people i'll write fics about (requests are currently open): gerard way, frank iero, mikey way, pretty much any character/person in the mcr fandom, vic fuentes, tony perry, but honestly feel free to request anyone! (speaking of fic writing: i wont write non-con or age play or illegal age gaps or anything along the lines of that; i won't write smut about an underage person; please do not plagiarize my work my writing is one of my favorite things and i work really hard on it) Fanfiction Masterlist

⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆ → DNI: - if you are anti palestine/pro israel (this does NOT mean anti hamas! i don't support hamas! i mean if you believe that the people of palestine do not deserve to be free and live on their own land) - if you are racist, sexist, homophobic, transphobic, or discriminatory towards any group of people - if youre over like thirty or something but honestly idc just dont be weird ⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆⋆ → OTHER PLATFORMS: a03: lanaslollipop

[xclowniex]

Hi! I ask this with full respect! But am I Jewish?

I’m an Armenian Jewish Israeli, and I live in the Armenian quarter of Jerusalesm. I was born to a Mizrahi Jewish father and an Armenian mother, and I also practice the Christian faith. I won’t say I’m as deep into Jewish culture as some but I have participated in throughout my life, and I do genuinely have a love for it.

I was just wondering if I would be considered Jewish because my mother isn’t Jewish and I follow a different faith that isn’t Judaism. Not necessarily on here, but I’ve talked with some more conservative Jews who wouldn’t consider me one.

I was just hoping to what your opinion was like because I really like your opinions.

Shalom!

Hi! Your asks are no problem at all, you don't have to apologize for sending a follow up ask with more context.

I did pose your ask to some friends of mine to garner other perspectives outside of just my own.

Jews will welcoming in terms of interacting with you as long as you don't proselytize or go down the messianic route, which you do not give the vibes for either of those.

Messianics are "jews for jesus" and are mainly made up of Christians with no jewish heritage claiming to be the real jews and practice a mix of appropriated judaism and Christianity.

What I think is that you are welcome to call yourself jewish on your dad's side as well, you are and you have grown up around the culture. My own journey has not been linear and neither has many jews I know online or irl. I grew up orthodox with a non Jewish mother, converted as a child, stopped practicing as a teen and explored other religions before settling on judaism, specifically reform. I may become orthodox again later, but I'm happy now with reform. Though I will start attending the orthodox synagogue Friday evening services when I move closer to it as after a 30m service I get a free dinner so why not lol. At the last monthly shabbat potluck I went to with jews around my age, there were a few jews who never grew up religious, mainly due to a similar situation where one parent was jewish, the other catholic or Christian and whilst they view themselves as atheist, they do still want to participate in the cultural aspect.

I wouldn't really just use the word "jew" to describe you as that does come with the connotations of you being either religiously jewish or secular, aka non practicing but culturally jewish, so specificity is nice, but I also wouldn't say that you aren't jewish in any capacity as that is blatantly false. If you took a dna test, roughly half of your DNA would be jewish (give or take as you might not have inherented generically exactly 50% jewish dna as dna and genetics is more complicated than an easy split).

Some other people I posed your query to would say is that you would be best considering yourself someone with jewish heritage/ancestors, because you do believe in Jesus.

The reason why I think jewish on your dad's side fits you a lot better than saying jewish heritage is people who usually say they have jewish heritage are people who like their great grandparent was jewish but converted to Christianity and their grandparents, parents and themselves never practiced judaism, both religion wise and culture wise. But that's just purely my experience with what I have seen.

I do understand why some jews would be hesitant with you calling yourself jewish as there are people who have jewish heritage either with one parent or a grandparent who act like an authority on everything jewish as well as just caution surronding messianic jews in general, but again like I've said, you don't give that vibe.

It honestly your choice and does depend on how heavily you want to associate with jewish culture as well as how much jewish culture you partake in. I will say thought that you shouldn't really mix jewish prayers with Christianity, but again, that's not the vibe I get from you.

If you do want to make a tumblr, I would recommend that you specify in your bio or pinned post that you are ethnically jewish or have jewish heritage and are Christian. Just so people are aware and don't assume you are messianic lol.

[aguineapigcouldntdothis]

I do not find it reasonable that the term "ashkenormativity" is frequently used to mean "asheknazi jews, aka the white european ones, are racist, colorist, and even antisemitic against other jews". not only is that an improper definition with loads of information, it fails to recognize that the people who are most likely to perpetuate ashkenormativity are goyim.

for the purpose of this post, I will be going with the definition that ashkenormativity is the belief that ashkenazi people are the default jews, which leads to them getting more respect, opportunities, recognition, etc. goyim, especially in the western world, have likely only been exposed to ashkenazi jews, meaning that they are likely to view them as the blueprint. they are simply drawing conclusions from the available information, which in my eyes is not a huge issue. the true problem arises when they learn about other types of jews and immediately decide that we are "improper". because we don't fit their idea of what a jew looks like, acts like, etc., we are either bad jews or not jewish at all.

it is not the fault of ashkenazim that goyim think this way, and it is not their responsibility to fix it. it is also not their fault that most jews in the western world are ashkenazim. it is absolutely the responsibility of goyim to learn that there are many types of jew and we are still one people.

ashkenazim are less likely to spread ashkenormativity than goyim because they are exposed to other jews more often. they may have different norms than a sephardi, mizrahi, etc. jew would, but they're usually able to recognize that we are all jews with a shared culture. and by usually I mean I can count on 1 hand the number of times an ashki jew genuinely thought they were better than us. 2 hands if we're counting repeated offenses from the same person. I believe that has nothing to do with their heritage and everything to do with them being an asshole. point is, learning by observing other jews is an effective tool to combat prejudices. the more examples you see of a non-ashki jew, the more likely you are to correct yourself when you promote ashkenormativity.

i feel like a fun exercise would be to compare 2 separate interactions ive had with a goy and a ashkenazi jew. both contain examples of ashkenormativity. neither is significantly worse than the other so they are close enough to compare.

interaction with goy:

context is we were talking about jewish traditions and it got to the topic of food. I actually cooked a ton this year i didnt know what I was in for.

me: I won't cook that much this year, but usually id eat a lot of unleavened cakes and rice for passover

goy: i thought you guys ate matzah

me: I mean yeah but we eat other stuff too. im sephardi so I get more options which is fun (this was said as a joke, not judging anyone)

goy: oh so you're not really jewish then?

me: no im still jewish, Im just not ashkenazi and we have some cultural differences

goy: but like you're not jewish religiously, right??

me: I mean im not orthodox but yeah im still a religious jew. i just practice based on my culture its not hard to get

goy: wouldn't it be easier to just do what everyone else does though

me: yeah I just like doing this more it's fun for me

goy: yeah whatever I dont get this im done

interaction with ashki jew:

context is i was at shabbat dinner chilling on a couch and talking to a friend i made

ashki jew: so you know that shul down by (location)

me: the what?

ashki jew: ...the shul??

me: I've never heard that word in my life what is that

ashki jew: its just the synagogue. you've never heard that word before?

me: no i was so confused ive always just called it synagogue. sometimes the old people would call it kal never shul though

ashki jew: ok just like tell me if I confuse you with my yiddish again

I feel as if the differences between these interactions is quite clear. so, I wont go into heavy detail analyzing them. the basic idea is that during the conversation with the goy, I kept explaining myself and they refused to listen. they believed that ashki jews were better than me and that they themselves were also better than me. I was essentially told that I do not know anything about judaism because in their eyes I am not truly a jew. during the conversation with the ashkenazi jew, they explained themselves immediately because we are equals. they know we are both jews and we're more similar than we are different. it surprised them that I didn't know what shul meant, yet they did not use that as an excuse to tear me down.

I truly think people do ashkenazim a disservice by assuming that they are power hungry jews (*cough* antisemitic stereotype *cough*) who will stop at nothing to be better than the sad little sephardim and mizrahim. in reality, most of them, like my lovely friend, are more than willing to learn and share with other jews. the people who are truly hurting us are the goyische antisemites.

this is gonna sound hypocritical because I just made a long ass post about an intracommunity issue, however, can we please just focus the majority of our energy on the actual antisemites who are truly hurting us instead of other jews? this is an important topic that we need to discuss it's just not the most important thing us jews have going on. other jews are my friends and I refuse to be separated from them for the approval of goyim, and I know they will show me that same kindness.

note: I am just not feeling like myself today forgive any weird writing mistakes ill fix them later or maybe not

[aconflagrationofmyown]

but then… Gigi

chapter one (a Big Daddy Elvis fanfic)

Summary: this is a fix-it universe to catch all the feelings I have for this man in the late 70’s. It’s gonna be my least impressive, least dramatic, very plotless, indulgently meandering and self soothing fic that fixes all things through *love* -it’s gonna be so fluffy we might as well cure cancer and invent time travel while we are at it. That being so, and after all the joy that has come from y’all’s interactive prompts and suggestions with Sarge, I welcome any suggestions or prompts y’all might have as this universe expands. I hope you enjoy and this can provide a sweet little escape 🌷💋

Warnings: 18+ this universe is and will be mature due to sexual themes and drug mentions. In this chapter there are discussions about attractiveness, hinted unwanted advances in the past, some mild possible objectification, talking of weight gain and sugar babies, female masturbation with non orthodox self pleasure tools (and cherry coke didn’t come out for another two years shhh)

Special thanks to: my sugar babies @stylespresleyhearted whose pure hearted love for this concept is responsible for its very existence in the first place and her co-conspirator @eliseinmemphis . And as always, to my discord wives who forever back up all my endeavors and fuel my fire @ab4eva @elvisabutler @butlersxbirdy

Circa: early summer 1977, Memphis Tennessee

Word count: an astoundingly moderate 5k

There is a set and type of girls most likely to catch the eye of the most internationally famed rock star on the planet, and it isn’t self pity or self deprecation that makes Gigi acknowledge that she doesn’t quite fit that type. She considers it good fortune enough to run in circles that boast a number of the brazen, flirty and seemingly fearless young sort who can traipse up to Elvis Presley’s sleek Stutz window and, bending themselves over an unnecessary but effectively exposing amount, extract from him a cheeky invitation to a Graceland party.

Elvis is fond of this type, their vivacity and their audacity, even their ceaseless giggles and yes, the availability they clothe themselves with. They remind him of those girls who’d nearly break down his motel door in the early years. The ones that used to scare him shitless even as he fell prey to their perfume and painted lips, their milky soft hands sporting red hot talons that often as not hooked him down to hell with them.

As of late, he finds himself accepting any damn company he can get, after months of pushing company away. It’s a cycle and when he’s fresh outta reclusion he finds he’s probably a little liberal with the invites but it doesn’t matter. He’s still relieved and gratified that he is wanted and loved enough by his fellow Memphians that they’ll accost him on the street, lean into his window, all bubblegum and boobs, and ask for autographs and if he’s interested in some company.

He may be slowing down here lately, as his body and mind and the newspapers remind him constantly, but pretty young things are still one of life’s sweet pleasures, and even if he can’t give as much as he used to, at this rate he’s glad for anyone who’ll drag him out of the slump. Even if he’s more of a museum sort of attraction for them than the living wonder they once claimed he was. Maybe it’s this morbid understanding of these little floozie’s motivations that has him grinning along and offering a free invite for game night, all the while glancing past them to where she stands at a distance behind the giggling gaggle. Her limbs are strong but soft, her face beguiling yet oh so innocent and her posture is leant forward in unscripted eagerness to maybe catch a glimpse of him past her gaggle of friends. She has her hands clasped nervously in front of her -unconsciously highlighting the way the wind whips her thin sundress between her thighs and outlines her perfectly- and it’s adorable the way her sensible keds are scuffing the sidewalk rhythmically until she feel his gaze on her.

The minute Gigi senses his authoritative assessment of her over those tinted shades, her pretty little brain makes her snap to attention, aimless for a minute before falling back on ingrained rules of conduct. She has no seductive artifice, no hip cock or calculated smirk. Gone is the sneaker scuffing and the lip chewing and instead her back snaps straight up like a debutant, feet planted, hands unclasping, shoulders back and tits forward. Elvis thinks her mother, if she’s got one, would be very proud of her social graces. Personally, he is very admiring of those pert nipples straining the cloth, and proud of the eager tremble rustling her in the summer breeze just by a flick of his eyes over her fresh baked womanhood. But maybe it’s the red hot blush under the afternoon sun and the hesitant but almost giddy little wave she gives him that cements the fond flutter he feels in chest into a raging affection.

Falling in affection for a stranger is stupid, dumb and terribly risky. And not at all likely to be requited in the way he craves so badly these days. He knows this, it’s happened before. It’s best to stick to the gals who’ll fawn over his car window and maybe dance together for him later on. But golly, wouldn’t it be nice to pat a cheek that fresh and watch it turn rosier under an ole man’s admiration?

He pulls his cigar out to smile at her, because she deserves a full lipped, white teeth gleaming smile -his ole moneymaker. It still has its intended effect, it makes Gigi beam and her waving little hand clench in excitement. She even does a little bunny hop in place and the way the glorious young shape of her bounces under the demure sundress is all kinds of tonic to a tired fella’s heart.

It’s a lot to take, the way this certified legend ducks and peers past her gaggle of friends at his window to give her not only his attention but that most delightful of grins. The one that is deceptively bashful over being so admired. Gigi would be a pants on fire liar if she didn’t admit that she’s watched enough footage and poured over enough magazine spreads of the man through the eras to nearly swoon under the real life shimmer of it.

And she knows, vaguely, that she’s acting air headed in the way she trembles and bounces but that’s all she’s got, these natural responses, never was good at faking much of anything she feels, and certainly not when she was decidedly embarrassed. Which she was now -what with the way his smile is boyishly fond, his demeanor fatherly and his eyes lewdly assessing. There’s not a bit of the masculine spectrum he isn’t embodying at this moment and her body betrays her by submissively tremoring under his gaze alone. What would a touch be like?

Such slack mouthed, nipple tingling, body electrifying thoughts get interrupted when the myth himself points a bejeweled finger at her -one that is slender and lean and elegant in contrast to the bulk burdening the rest of him- and asks in a meltingly soft voice:

“You any good at charades, sweet cheeks?”

Even if she were terrible at the game, even if she didn’t know how to play it at all, the hopeful raise of his eyebrows would make her lie, hand on the Bible to this Hollywood trained actor, that she was the best charade player the world has ever seen. Her reply in the affirmative is overly confident due to sheer nerves and eagerness, and she vigorously bobs her head to add unneeded emphasis. It makes her beauty queen friends giggle and laugh good naturedly and to his relief she joins in, a hand flying up in humiliation to shut that glossy, pink mouth.

It’s so clumsy and natural a reaction that Elvis’ pointed finger twitches from a desire to tickle her, to watch her writhe from something besides embarrassment. He mourns that she’s standing so far from the window. At least the distance has given him a good view of her from the top of her shiny widdle head to the sole of her itty bitty footsies.

Plans are made at the window, Lamar is to send a car and apparently the lot of them will all be at Dinah’s house for pickup and Gigi tries to get a little closer to overhear these details but the crowd of girlfriends is a few bodies deep and there’s fans gathering, too. So she learns the logistics later, when everyone has finished homework and shifts and are primping in Dinah’s upstairs bedroom, hairspray and nail polish fumes thick in the air, and voices nearly hysterical in pitch from excitement.

-It worked! It worked! It worked! We are going to party at Graceland! Elvis Presley invited us to spend the evening!-

There’s a lot of different reasons for excitement, some of the girls are just curious to see the icon’s home, some are talking of how envious their older sisters (even some mothers) will be over them meeting their crush, others are hoping the scene is as debauched as the rumors would have the world believe, an opportunity to taste drugs and that rock n roll lifestyle for a brief shining evening. Marie asks if they think he’ll make them do naughty, dirty, sexy things for him and that brings up fresh tittering and salacious hearsay regarding his appetites and tastes. Someone deflates that mood by saying that he might just be a dirty old man now, it’s not quite the same as going to his house a few years ago. At forty years old he’s ancient to them. What with his declining health and being a recluse and -what if he lures girls and then murders them? Oh god, the urban legends come out, he’s a vampire, he’s a serial killer, he’s this and he’s that and-

Gigi thinks he’s awfully generous. That’s what she thinks. Inviting strangers into his home. And not just pretty young things. She personally knows folks who he’s helped, the downtrodden and the dehoused and the disadvantaged. She’s grown up in churches and schools and municipalities he’s funded. He practically provided for her and all of Memphis like an omniscient father figure these past three decades. And now there’s this kindhearted invite which most seem to consider akin to a ticket to a Carnival.

As she lets the girls fluff her hair and spritz her in perfume, adding an extra coat of mascara to her lashes -stultifying her if she’s being honest- she gives a brief thought to whether, just maybe, this will be a decadent night after all.

Elvis is still Elvis. It can’t be all hearsay. And for someone like her, who’s been a good student and a decent worker and hasn’t gone chasing every wicked, back alley experience available in Memphis, she frets a little that maybe inside that iconic mansion tonight she’ll lose something that’s been preserved so far.

Innocence? Maybe. But she thinks her greatest concern is that maybe he’ll prove to be something less warm and darling and extraordinary than that brief exchange on the sidewalk and years of idolizing have convinced her that he is. All this talk of him that floats around her makes her feel faintly ill, the morbid curiosity and the vulgar interest. No wonder he secludes himself.

The car arrives, decadent and alluring like its owner, and driving it is one of the many trusted minions of the king. There might not be seatbelts for every girl here but that doesn’t seem to matter, Gigi happily offers up her lap to Tammy and teases her that Tammy is her safety belt and Gigi is her booster seat. It’s a jolly ride, banter being made with the front seat fella who’s name she has to ask for about five times before Tammy takes pity and informs her he’s “George Klein”. Gigi gets a schooling in the back seat about his radio show and once again Gigi is reminded why Tammy is ‘Miss Memphis’ and she’s not. The babble of voices calms down long enough for Mr. Klein to lay down some ground rules before the car pulls through the gates.

The rules are shockingly normal: stay downstairs, make yourselves at home and but don’t behave like asses, don’t shy away from approaching your host, the last thing he likes is awkwardness or standoffish coolness in his own home. Gigi is rather certain that with her nerves and hero adoration she can manage not being stuck up or acting above it all, but she’s not at all sure she’s gonna manage to not be as awkward as a newborn duckling.

Graceland through the gates is not an unfamiliar sight to most of them, but Graceland up close, caressed in the inky dark of night from inside by golden fingertips of light, is magical. As is the atmosphere inside the place, though that may be more a case of her knowing where she was, rather than anything particularly incredible occurring in the opulent space. Despite the change of clothes to a slinky little number and the fluffed blowout that her more cultured friends gave her in consideration of the evening, Gigi can’t help but feel underdressed for a night in this gaudy Antebellum Establishment. Extra mascara and expensive perfume feels inadequate to match the gold and crimson and white furnishings. If Belle Watling had a home, Gigi reckons it would look rather like this.

That old worry returns that tonight might devolve into being the most debauched of her young life, that maybe she’s stepped into a hospitable bordello, so exotic and seductive are the furnishings alone. But to her surprise, seated on crimson curved couches, and already heatedly invested in a game of charades, is a friendly looking group of men and their wives. They have to be wives, the Mafia’s wives -they look so respectable, so relaxed lounging in Elvis’ Presley’s home. There’s differing ages here, middle and younger and all in between, and a man she’s rather certain is Elvis’ own father. It’s respectable, to her immense relief and confusion.

“Ah, here comes the fresh young blood!” One of the group says and it’s a bit chaotic then, half the group invested in keeping up the game and the other set rather eager to abandon their losing streak to offer welcomes and refreshment.

She lets the bodies swirl around her, a strange feeling of being a little left out taking over her without a single rudeness on the part of anyone present justifying the feeling. It irks her that she's so skittish, it just seems that everyone somehow falls in with another or ten and the established groups begin games or snacking or talking without her and she stands alone in the human eddy watching it all happen so effortlessly.

What’s entirely unexpected a half hour or more into this friendly pandemonium is a playful tap on her shoulder and turning round to find their host himself, clad in a comfy tracksuit, unzipped sufficiently low to display a devout amount of crosses shimmering on sweat slick skin and wearing shades even indoors. He’s asking if she’d like a drink.

“Oh -Elvis!” is a stupid thing to say in reply to his felicitations but it’s all Gigi can manage in such close proximity to his warm smile, his unzipped jacket and his heady scent. He looks her over, taking in the way her friends have erased the fresh faced ingenue on the sidewalk and made her into a sex doll and it takes supreme self discipline to not reach out and wipe some of it off. His scrutiny is making her nervous but she does at last manage to scramble out, “Yes, thank you, Mr. Presley, that would be lovely -it’s lovely of you to have us and your home is so unbelievably lovely, and I can’t believe we’re here, I’ve admired you for so long and -I, I’m only 20 and can’t drink.”

The word vomit robs her of breath and Gigi sucks it back in with a painful wince -she just declined a drink and proclaimed herself a complete goody two shoes, a perfect square, to the King himself. Her face flames hot and the heavy coating of lashes flutters from eye watering embarrassment.

Elvis just tilts his head to the side and gives her sweet face the appreciative study of a blush connoisseur, his grin growing impossibly wider and a little wolfish,

“Well, darlin, I’m a lil over 21 but I don’t drink ‘neither.”

“Really?” Ggi ventures in utter surprise, and that must’ve been redeeming on her part as his smile shifts from wolfish to fond before giving a tight nod,

“I was offerin’ lemonade, or sweet tea, but I think-“ and here he steps back, surveying her head to toe in the gauzy halter dress her friends snazzed her up in, “I think, yeah, yeah, ‘think you’re a cherry coke kinda girl.”

“I’m whatever you say, sir!” Gigi salutes him like a idiot because she’s had never had a cherry coke in her life or been assessed by a powerful man and she is quickly forgetting to be shy when so bewildered by his heavy lidded assessment-

“Yeah,” he nods, satisfied after another survey of the god crafted entirety of her, “Cherry coke for you, I think, lil Miss.”

He doesn’t fetch it, someone else in this crowded place does and it comes with the ordered white straw and she sips the carbonated beverage with a bashful smile, trying to think of something sensible to say in thanks when being looked at like that by the man who having fulfilled his host duties slowly moves away to recline in a decadent crimson armchair.

“Go on now, you’re here to have some fun, sweet cheeks.” he waves her down to the floor where many others are sprawled writing dares and acts, and she settles where he directs her, right by his leg until it’s her turn.

Once she moves to the mantle and acts out her turn, once it’s successfully guessed, she’s a little at a loss as to where to go. It feels presumptive somehow to sit by him again. So she sits by Dee instead, and feels a fool five seconds later, knowing it’s just nerves and shyness keeping her from a chance at sitting by such an extraordinary hero for what’s probably the best night of her life.

Ever.

Gigi wouldn’t get this chance again and yet she decided to act like an awkward idiot for fear of acting like a -what? Cling on? Groupie? It was just his leg, his beefy, muscled, thick leg beside her, and the heat of his body and the little noises of amusement coming from him. But it made her feel like she was burning up inside, it felt intimate, it felt like she should be between those legs and surrounded by his bulk. Like between his thighs would be the cleft in the rock to hide from this vast world that she’d been looking for all her life.

He was just domestic and kind, and she had to make it weird. Tammy’s unimpressed eye roll at her doesn't help matters. Soon the left side of Gigi’s face begins to burn and out of desperation she finally turns to face Elvis and finds him staring straight at her, her abandoned, half-drunk cola being jostled in his hand like a carrot for a horse. His eyebrow beckons, she blushes harder, he keeps shaking the damn thing and ducking his head with that coaxing grin. She rises and crouches through the partiers and moves back to her place at his feet.

“Here ya go.” he says mildly as she settles, nothing mentioned of the command and obedience just enacted.

He just gives Gigi her coke back, his rings clanking on the glass and fingers brushing hers during the handover. She chokes on her next sip when he pats the top of her head. Fatherly, if her father had ever been one for pats and noticing her existence. Unfettered, Elvis’ hand slides down the glossy brushed out length of her hair, to pat her back as she gasps out her shock, somehow making things worse but oh so lovely. She dares to lean back into that caressing hand, finds herself leaning against his leg by proxy, finding herself lulled and squirmy all at once.

Charades at Elvis Presley’s house are very much the same as at anyone else’s, and strangely Gigi finds that simultaneously the most bizarre and adorable thing imaginable. There is, however, a good deal more betting and hollering than would be permissible in most households, and she finds herself enacting dubious scenes with a shockingly plentiful array of cousins and fellow guests, but altogether it’s wholesome and lively and joyous. It seems a bit rigged when Tammy, fresh off winning Miss Memphis, has to enact the white dress subway scene of Marylin Monroe -made snort worthy humorous when an ancient creature, who Gigi has on good cousinly authority is Elvis’ grandmother, provides the wind to blow up Tammy’s flimsy excuse of a dress to her upper thighs. Flashing panties as is the iconic scene.

In a weak moment Gigi tilts her head to see Elvis’ reaction to her friend's beauty, and she doesn't miss the way he guffaws around his cigar at the sight of those award winning stems. Though she doubts it’s his first sight of them, they’ve been plastered all over TV and newspapers ever since Tammy won the damn thing a few months ago. Best body and face in the state. Gigi’s primped up face and heavy coated lashes and gauzy dress suddenly feel like an attempt to mimic something she wasn’t cut out for. Self consciously she tugs at the hem of the short skirt.

Tammy flashes Elvis a wink and shimmies in a mouth watering tease before sitting opposite the two of them, legs crossed and hardly a bit left to the imagination.

Elvis keeps grinning. Tammy licks her lips. Gigi finishes her coke and vaguely recalls the fact that the man is supposedly dating one of Tammy’s rivals from the pageant, or a sister of or a- Gigi doesn’t recall really, and she can be sure that between the way he’s stroking her own sun streaked locks and eye sexing Tammy opposite, the man sure doesn't act taken.

Watching Billy Smith try to act out a cheetah giving birth takes her mind off such self pitying introspection, and before she knows it, the gaudy foyer clock is ringing out 1:00 am.

Homework and college has been running Gigi a little ragged and eventually her little head begins to droop against his leg and the way the empty coke bottle starts to slip from her weak grip catches his attention. He slowly raises his hand from where it was resting ever so lightly on her shoulder and caresses her neck. To his immense relief Gigi leans into his patting eager as a housecat, and it makes him glad. Just as much as it makes him worry.

Only twenty years old and so easily lulled.

“You got a curfew, lil one?” he asks her with concern and that startles Gigi, his warm breath hot against her ear and the grunt of him folding himself over his sizable belly to get down near her face.

“No sir. Not really.” She admits, overly respectful in her sleepy state, “My parents aren’t really into stuff like that. They are pretty liberal that way. And I live with Tammy.”

She gives him an assuring smile even as she stifles a yawn, and two things flash across his mind. This means he (or God forbid, any man) could have her over here at his whim without excuses being made. And secondly, Elvis really must look out for her so that she doesn’t fall into the company of any such other men.

There’s no precedent for a Graceland party to wind down before dawn, but he considerately asks her if she’s got classes tomorrow. The honest way Gigi nods her droopy head and moans “yeah” has his heart clenching and his fingers flex, he wants to put her to bed. His bed, he thinks, though that’s a rather dastardly thought. Really though, he’d like to wrap himself around her and hold her and tell her he’d care very much whether or not she came home late from a stranger's house. That he’d be worried sick about so sweet and darling a little treasure if she were his. He’s got a sneaking suspicion that he’ll care no matter what, his or no.

Instead, he interrupts the game to have Lamar drive her home. Tammy and a few others, noticeably the ones who look like all night partiers, stay longer.

Gigi gets another pat on the head and a commendation to do well on her grades and that’s that.

Gigi last sees him standing in his foyer, jeweled chains gleaming in the nest of his chest hair and a boyish smile on his face, Dinah coming up behind to wave her farewell. Tammy is back there, too, probably going to get up to all sorts of fun while she gets sent home like a child. Wistfully, even as she walks down his drive to her ride, Gigi wishes she had hugged him goodbye. Gushed with more than just words in thanks for the invite, maybe even buried her face there in his chest, just once in that safe haven, sweat and jewels against her cheek. He had seemed to care.

But she wasn’t not that type though, was she? Brazenness was something that always felt awkward to her and landed her splat into uncomfy situations where college boys peered into the women’s locker room and jacked off to the sight of her legs as she tried to change into her track shorts.

The frenzy she often felt in her body to be touched would immediately die in situations such as having her hand clumsily moved up and down a penis in the dark of a movie theater. Or groped over her dress by the drunk jocks she tried to experiment with. Gigi could feel her own potential simmering hot and fervent inside, ready to be appreciated and let out like a fizz from a corked bottle. It was cruel that a fatherly sorta hero was the one to make her finally feel like she would take riding that man’s shoe over the most romantic gesture from one of her many age-appropriate admirers.

If she were Tammy, she wouldn’t have inspired the literal king of rock n roll to send her to bed. If she were Tammy she’d have made a move and said “damn that mythical absentee girlfriend” and would now be flat on her back getting obscenely used by that gorgeous hunk of a man.

Instead, deposited safely home by Lamar and tucked back in her shared flat, Gigi stares at her made up face with adamant animosity. It’s a fine face, she’s been told that plenty and she’s been told she’s smart, but it’s not really inviting the attention she suddenly wants so badly. Maybe she should have worn falsies to add to the effect. Maybe her features and coloring are too light. Tammy’s bleach blonde hair does not occur to her as being a strike against this logic. Instead Gigi thinks of pouring over photos of raven haired Pricilla as a girl and marveling at the thick mask Elvis crafted for her, wonders why she can’t be that kind of girl. She’s not petite, or glamorous or particularly coquettish, but she’d ride that man till he needed IV fluids if he’d just let her.

But he chose Tammy.

Dunking her face into the sink, Gigi scrubs away the artificial bloom until she’s left pink and freckled and so decidedly innocent looking it makes her wanna claw her cheeks to shreds.

“Lil one.”

The way he’d cooed it had turned her insides to jelly and ignited thoughts of her own sizable frame being made small while smothered beneath his sturdy breadth but now it turns her angry, and in the shower she lathers herself and wishes maybe her parents had given a shit about her catching a man instead of being “all she could be” because now at twenty she’s eyeing up the bulbous shape of her Lemon Up shampoo bottle and wondering if she’s big girl enough to take it. He was so big, so bulky and sturdy and muscly with padding to boot, and she’s just so sure his cock has got to match the thighs. A bulky, chubby thing, too, probably. The sort only girls like Tammy can manage.

She wants to be that sorta girl.

Gigi grabs at the bottle. She wrenches the shower handle to off, her wet body bolting for her bed, a jar of Vaseline in her other hand and savage lust in her heart. Halfway to the bed she realizes the shampoo bottle is almost empty and she wants to cry at that. She does stomp her chilled feet like a child and whines. What she needs is weight, her subconscious provides, everything about him was heavy and wonderfully big and she needs more than a hollow bottle to mimic him. She runs back to the shower and grabs at the conditioner, same ginormous shape and this time it’s fully loaded and heavy in her hand and she races back to bed, happy to dive under the covers with her dripping hair and goosefleshed skin.

Tammy has toys to achieve this, Gigi knows from sightings of them being washed in their communal bathroom sink. Pink and veiny and some that even buzz and it was all very funny and silly to come across them when she needed to wash her hands, but right now Gigi wants nothing to do with them, the stupidly large and bulky shaped conditioner bottle not even phasing her. Because it’s hers and not Tammy’s -Tammy who is probably getting railed but Elvis Presley right now. His cockhead probably isn’t shaped like the bottom of a lemon, but it’s gotta be round and this bottle will have to do.

It doesn't do. She lathers on the Vaseline to add to the sticky want she already has pooling, she rubs herself to a frenzy and as her hand cramps she tries putting the oiled up bottle up her channel and finds it’s really just impossible. It’s burns and won’t give and she berates herself and begs a man called “daddy” that she can barely admit to herself is Elvis to “give it to her” and curses Tammy for having a big vagina. She tries and tries with ever increasing anguish and frustration as the clock ticks towards three am and valuable sleeping hours are wasted as she tries to slip more than the crown of the lemon bottle into her untried cunt.

“Give it to me please, please daddy I can

take it.” Gigi insists to the shampoo bottle and her wrist manfully attempts to shove it in after slipping it along her folds for ages.

But it won’t go and she screams more and begs more and cries more and ends up seizing her stuffed valentine's bear -gifted to her by the football team's running back- and rubs herself raw in its button nose. It’s not the first time, but for once her sticky satisfaction doesn’t come to the thought of tiny white shorts ocean wet and clinging to him, or svelte white jumpsuits and chiseled jawline grinning promise. She digs her fingers into the stuffy’s fur and thinks of a hairy chest glistening with sweat and chains jingling with noisy exhales and the smell of him. Oh god the manly smell of him! - and the quiet authority that had her sitting at his feet and having her head petted and being sent home like a child. He acted like he cared for her and could find some use for her and she wets the poor bear’s muzzle at the thought of him telling her that her purpose is to keep him happy.

Worn out and trembling from her orgasm she rolls off the poor stuffed animal and buries her face in her pillow and dreams of warmth.

Outside Gigi’s door, arrested in her trip to the bathroom by shrieks of “daddy” and curses of her own name, Tammy shakes her head in disbelief and grins to herself through her whole nightly routine.

“Why were you cussing me out last night?” Tammy asks her placidly next morning, “Are you jealous of your daddy’s attention being split?”

Gigi groans at Tammy’s mischievous smile and realizes her mistake with a blush, “You didn’t- last night you came back? He didn’t keep you?”

“No, he didn’t.” Tammy agrees through her wheezing laughs and Gigi tries to aim a kick at her shins in mortification. “He was quite the gentleman in fact,” she expounds, “Except for the fact he spent the rest of our time asking me questions about you. I told him he’d lost all his raisin’ talking to a lady about another lady. Made a girl feel like a damn directory.”

“Oh, oh I’m sorry.” Gigi tries to suppress her thrill enough to sympathize with a no doubt annoying event. “You must’ve felt left out.”

Tammy pauses in thought for a bit. “He’s very….sweet.” Is Tammy’s verdict and to Gigi’s incredulity she sounds a little disappointed. “I mean, didn’t you think he was just sorta, ya know, nice?” Tammy presses.

Gigi thinks of the way his hand felt stroking her hair, the care about her curfew, the lack of alcohol, the endearments, the sturdy meat of his thigh against her shoulder. All the things that had made her rub herself puffy with a shampoo bottle that is still hidden under her covers. Yes, he seemed very sweet, and she was desperately in love with a man she’d never see again, who seemed a bit bashful about being “discount bargain Elvis” when all she could think of was how nurturing and mischievous he was.

He just seemed -shy. Bizarrely enough. And she could sympathize with that. Laying here on Tammy’s bed watching the dust motes dance in the afternoon sun when she should be studying, she thinks she’s solved Elvis Presley.

He’s shy.

“I thought he was precious.” Gigi agrees with Tammy, though her tone holds a reverence that makes the beauty queen of Memphis’ head spin in a near 180 to observe her now flaming cheeks. It seems the man has that effect on Gigi, present or not.

“Well, well.” Pretty, sultry, darling Tammy hasn’t a malicious bone in her body but she takes delight in making Gigi squirm, “You sound enchanted!”

“He was sweet!” Gigi protests, using her words against her.

“Yeah, he was.” she agrees, her perfectly tweezed brows drawing together for a moment before an epiphany dawns on her, “But I think it’s a means to an end.”

“What do you mean by that?” She balks, fervent in her conviction that it wasn’t an act. In fact, Gigi was certain he was more himself in his own home last night than ever on a stage.

“It’s making sense now.” she starts to pace the room, “He’s an outrageous flirt, you saw him, flirting with everyone he wasn’t related to that night, but he was so sweet to you- hmm, I think he wants to baby you.”

“Baby me?” Gigi repeat, staring up at the ceiling and feeling that flutter in her belly, just from the idea of him having *any* design on little ole her. “What’s- what even is that?” She asks her, a little hopeful, content to get her education from Tammy on this just as she has on all the more mechanical and dynamical aspects of sex and men.

“It means turning you into his baby.” she laughs, like it’s the most obvious thing, “Would probably put a little chain round your neck saying ‘belongs to Elvis Presley’ or something, and in turn spoil you rotten. At least, that’s how it’s worked for the others. It’s what he’s trying with Ginger but she’s got an independent streak.”

Ginger. The others. Of course there had been others. And yet he was so lonely again, already so lonely she was sure of it. Lonely in his own home, what was worse than that? “I wouldn’t mind being his baby.” Gigi mutters, bashful at the fact that what was essentially a future of house arrest, a portly sugar daddy and head pats makes her shiver delightfully.

“You sure about that?” Tammy suddenly seems overly earnest for a conversation in her room on a Thursday evening about a hypothetical scenario where Elvis Presley takes an interest in Gigi.

“Yes.” She gives it the full, weighty two seconds of thought it deserves. “And if all I get out of it is polishing his guns and feeding him yogurt then I’d honestly be happier than studying political science.” She makes a face as she registers the homework currently crinkling somewhere under her lower back.

“So you get that the sex probably isn’t exactly legendary anymore, right? Like -you saw him.” only Tammy, beautiful, southern pageant winner that she is, with the manner to accompany the looks, could say such a thing without Gigi socking her.

She’s looking out for her, just as she looked out for her with the sub par debate President that Gigi went to prom with and found insufferable after two weeks. She thinks Gigi needs to just keep trying the field (like her, Gigi presumes) until she finds the magical unicorn that will blow her mind in bed and satisfy her curious brain.

At this point in life, she’d settle for a man who chooses her drinks for her and cares enough about her well being to get her home by his own, invented curfew. Maybe she wants a father, what with hers being liberal to the point of carelessness, but she’d settle for a daddy, happily. “Tammy,” she says very slowly, trying to distill all these emotions down into something convincing -because strangely she feels a dire need to convince Tammy of her devotion even in this hypothetical scenario- “Tammy, if he gave a crap about me and paid my student loans, I’m pretty sure I could get off by just watching him smile at the way I make a fool of myself. And if that wasn’t enough, then I’d rub myself raw on his hairy belly. -you get me?”

Tammy looms above her, upside down in her view with her blown out bleached hair, heavy coaled eyes and shimmery mouth, studying Gigi for a minute before bursting out laughing. “You really meant that bit about his belly, didn’t you?”

“Yup.” Gigi mutters, throat thick and heart pounding -somewhere else pounds, too- at the very thought of being that intimate with him, that nasty sticky sweet with him. “Why are we talking about this anyway?” She whines, having worked herself up enough she’s damp and actually a little heartbroken knowing that if anything, Tammy is the one he’d go for.

“I got a call from George Klein this morning.” she spins away and busies herself in the closet, rummaging for shoes, Gigi thinks.

“Oh?” She asks, trying to keep the waiver out of her voice as she sits up and watches Tammy as she digs.

“Yeah, we got invited back.” she says, and turns on her award winning haunches to raise a significant eyebrow at Gigi, “All of us. And then, it was specified, you too.” she watches Gigi’s panicked, hopeful blush coat her face and chest.

“What exactly did he say, Tammy?” she demands, forcing herself not to gnaw on her fingernails, having to remember these nails might be in Graceland by the end of the week.

“He said that ‘E.P. wants to make sure the old gang knew they were welcome again, and the invite is only contingent on “Miss cherry coke” coming’.” she sits fully back on her butt now just to fully appreciate the way Gigi hyperventilates. “Cherry coke, huh?” she teases, “Did you ask for that just to be as euphemistic as possible or do you actually favor the drink?”

“He chose it.” Gigi whimpers, scuffing her keds together because it’s either that or her thighs.

“Oh god.” Tammy sounds like some guys do when their team makes a dirty, dirty interception that ends in a touchdown, “What did I say? Baby you, he wants to baby you! Oh my god, like he’s sweet but that’s -that’s nasty honey, just know that’s a nasty little thing to do.” she insists before turning back to her closet and digging through the dozens of pairs again.

Gigi flops back on her back and tries to think of the deep seated meaning behind cherries, and fails to do more than buzz in hopeless nervous anticipation at going back to that warm and kind and slightly bizarre haven that is Elvis Presley and his home.

Hope y’all enjoyed and if you wanna be tagged let me know. I live off your screams and your pestering, y’all are each precious to me!

Xoxo 🌷 Marina

@prompted-wordsmith

@parodsal000

@ab4eva

@stylespresleyhearted

@presleyenterprise

@kendralavon7

@coolgirl462

@colahola

@lillypink

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@joons

[frownyalfred]

Hello! I’m not Jewish and I just learned about Pikuach Nefesh. Being Jewish yourself, I’m guessing you have a lot of thoughts on this and how it relates to Bruce’s no-kill policy. I’d be really interested in hearing them if you want to make a post!

Hey friend!

I absolutely have thoughts, but I must begin with a disclaimer:

My perspective does not cover all Jews, nor is it the authority on what is or isn't Jewish. I grew up Reform/Reconstructionist, in an ethnically Ashkenazi Jewish family, and these are just my thoughts as a Batman blog.

Another important note: different types of Jews hold the halacha (rules/principles) of Judaism to be far more important in their lives. An Orthodox Jew will observe halacha much more strictly than a Reform Jew. Despite what some people will tell you, this doesn't make either of them better. Just different.

Whew, okay. Now that that's out of the way, let's get down to business.

What is Pikuach Nefesh?

In very general terms, Pikuach Nefesh (hard ch sound in the back of your throat) allows Jews to override other religious "rules" or values in the pursuit of preserving or saving a life.

A good example of this is a an Orthodox Jewish person, who, following halacha, will not drive or operate items with electricity during the Sabbath (Shabbat). But what happens if someone has a heart attack and they need to call 911? Pikuach Nefesh would permit them to use electricity, despite it being Shabbat.

If a Jewish person who keeps total kosher is in a situation where they will starve if they do not eat non-kosher food, they are permitted to eat non-kosher food.

Exceptions

There are some notable exceptions to Pikuach Nefesh, which I suspect is what your question is getting at. The threat to an individual's life generally has to be known, urgent, and not abstract.

Murder is another large exception, with some conditions. Generally, the intentional act of killing another person, or injuring them to the point where they might die from their injuries, is not an act that can be permitted by the principle of Pikuach Nefesh.

The slim exceptions to this include highly specific cases of self defense of oneself or another against an aggressor. One may kill to preserve a life in very strict situations, but they cannot murder. There are even times where killing is obligated, such as war.

So how does this relate to Batman/Bruce's no-killing rule?

Okay. So. I've had a lot of discussions with folks about this, and the answer I've learned is: it doesn't. Not really.

Pikuach Nefesh refers to the principle that a Jewish person should preserve life over almost any other rule or halacha. It does, actually, permit Bruce to kill under very specific situations. It does actually forbid him from gravely injuring people and doing so in the name of fighting against abstract threats, which are both things he does in canon.

The last time I wrote about this, I was definitely off about the details of Pikuach Nefesh in regard to Batman. I was corrected and I stand by that correction. I didn't grow up in the Orthodox faith and I don't observe much of their halacha, which is where a lot of religious theory questions arise from. I'm not an expert, and my explanation is only as deep as my own experience.

I think a good way of looking at Pikuach Nefesh is not as a way to define what, if any, killing is acceptable, but rather, what are we obligated to do to save a life?

The more important Jewish principle shaping Batman's ideology (in my opinion)

"Whoever saves one life, saves the world entire."

This is much more of an important focal point for Bruce's Jewish-influenced ideology. The flipside of this quote, from the Talmud, is equally important: "Whoever kills one life, kills the world entire."

Bruce's no-killing rule is famously tied to his parents' deaths during his childhood. In a way, his entire world ended with their murder. He sees his mission to clean up Gotham as a way to prevent that loss from occurring for anyone else.

Saving one person, like he tells Barry in Justice League, is enough. That is a viciously Jewish thought. It is frequently quoted in reference to those who acted in support of Jews during the Holocaust, doing what little they could against a fountain of evil.

Conclusion

In that regard, yes -- Pikuach Nefesh tells us that preserving a life is the most important thing above all else. But Bruce's no-killing rule would swiftly be broken if he followed the principle of Pikuach Nefesh closely, in that he would a) likely have to kill someone in self-defense at some point in his duties and b) it would not allow him to injure or hurt people to the extent that he currently does in canon.

More importantly, Bruce's no-killing rule is a better reflection of the Talmudic quote that "he who saves/kills a life, has saved/killed a world entire."

It is not much of a stretch, in my opinion, to connect Bruce's trauma from losing his parents at young age to his outright refusal to kill later in life. The more interesting question, in my mind, is if the creation of this no-killing rule truly was shaped by Batman's Jewish creators and their view on life and death, especially post Holocaust.

Comics became more widely available during and after WWII and the Holocaust, during which time many -- many -- Jews entered the field as writers and artists. Their influences on the characters we see today are obvious, often intentionally Jewish, but just as often un-intentional.

Was Batman's no-killing rule a product of the post-WWII Jewish comic writers who shaped his character? Was it a coincidence that lined up well with the Talmud, but not necessarily all the conditions of Pikuach Nefesh?

How else does Batman represent, or not represent, the goal of Pikuach Nefesh (the necessity that a person act in the preservation of human life, above almost all else)?

[hinkepink]

Since a lot of us seemed to be quite curious about Falk's costume and the funky bib thingy in Sinners of the Seven Seas, I went down a rabbit hole to find out what it actually is! Come with me on this journey!

(Disclaimer: I will reference my learnings quite generalized, so I would urge you to do more research if you want to get into the nitty gritty! You could also shoot me a message if you want some more specific info or pointers or want to do a learn with me! Also feel free to correct me please!) I don't know a lot about vestments (ger.: liturgische Gewänder) yet, so it's time to find out the names first so I can do research more easily! His long, black dress is called a cassock or soutane (ger.: Soutane) and is mainly worn by catholic clergy, though some orthodox and some protestant churches wear this vestment too. His sash that he wears around his waist is called a cincture (ger.: Zingulum) and it's mainly worn by catholic clergy. It's also not the same thing as his funky shawl he wears in stage costume, that is called a stole (ger.: Stola). And now finally his bib! I'm frantically searching through the references of different Wikipedia pages by now until I find a PDF about costume research by Martha Bringemeier, 1974 and...

...it's called bands (ger.: Beffchen) and it's mainly worn by protestants today, but until somewhere in the 19th century it was also worn by catholics. Depending on the denomination of the protestants, the bands are sewn together (german reformists), split open and angled by 30° (lutherans and swiss reformists) or partly split (united churches). Since the information I found on bands was mainly focused on protestant ways to wear them (all white as opposed to black and white), the pictures I found of catholic black-and-white bands were all split in the middle, Falk's bands had weirdly angled edges and rounded corners AND since I had a bad fever, I asked my friends dad for help. He is a pastor and very interested in christian history, but he too was quite confused, so here came the last resort: Find out who made this costume!

Aha!! Now that was easy. Kostüm Keiser? Time to google! Huh, well, seems they made a typo, I can only find Kostüm Kaiser from Switzerland - but their video production partner "VDPICTURES" is from Switzerland too, so that must be it! I sent them a mail with pictures attached, asked if it was their costume, if they had infos on the bands and since they have their own research library I also asked them if they can recommend a good book on vestments! And right the next day I was blessed with information by the very kind people behind Kostüm Kaiser: It's a pastor/priest vestment from their fund and the cassock as well as the cincture are catholic and are still worn like this today! The bands are catholic as well and (to their knowledge) were mainly worn like this in france in the 18th and 19th century. In french it's called "rabat".

They couldn't tell me why Falk's bands were so non-rectangular, they said it could be an older production from their costume rental, but that there are engravings of french priests that show different shapes. (They didn't provide pictures, but the bands of french roman-catholics seem to vary a lot in general in these times) On a side note, they recommended me a really old book from their library, «Abbildungen aller geistlichen und weltlichen Orden» by Christian Friedrich Schwan from the late 18th century and I actually found it completely digitized! Click for old book It's in german, but feel free to shoot me a message/ an ask if you want some parts translated to learn more! (I can't translate the whole book, but if a costume is interesting to you, I can try to summarize the information on it for you!) Alright, thank you for coming on this little journey with me and big thanks to Kostüm Kaiser for the help!

[chavisory]

One of the things, ironically, that the whole "Last Supper" controversy with regard to the Olympic Opening Ceremony has highlighted to me... is that some of you really need to know more mainline Christians.

Because most of us? Even if we mistook the scene as being based on the Last Supper and not the Feast of Dionysus? Were really just not that offended or ruffled about it. Like I heard a complaint about it from zero--truly, absolutely, zero--of the many, many fellow Christians in my social circles. Not my parents, not the people I grew up with who still go to my childhood church, not any of my friends who are church musicians or choir directors or Sunday school teachers or clergy. Not when I was in church this past Sunday! Nobody.

And I feel the need to say this not because I'm offended or desperate to make this about us, but...it is being made about "Christians" as a general category that does not really exist, and that is in serious danger of being used to further a "Christians" vs. "non-Christians" perspective that serves the MAGA/evangelical faction but does not hold up to reality.

Because most of us? Think the Christians who have their panties in a bunch about this are being ridiculous, aren't reading scripture seriously, and don't have enough to do or better things to be concerned about.

So consider incorporating that into the "they're weird" narrative that is proving very, very potent right now, maybe, because most of us think that they are absolute weirdos whose priorities are completely upside down.

You don't have to be a Christian to be able to tell these people that you know they don't speak for "Christians" as a faith and that their fellow Christians, in fact, think that their priorities are screwed up and their emphasis on this is weird, and we are rolling our eyes at it.

PS--that Wikipedia link notes, correctly, that mainliners now make up a minority of American Protestants, and that's true, but that statistic does not incorporate Catholics, Mormons, UU's, or the Black or Orthodox churches. Evangelicals and fundamentalists make up a minority of American Christians.

They want to believe and want you to believe, that they stand for what Christianity means.

You don't have to. You don't have to accept that the world is the way they say it is.