#if someone is talking about being Jewish and your urge is to say 'BuT wHaT aBoUt IsRaEl?'

[perfectlyvalid49]

After reading this, the question I have is why did you make it as a response to my post?

It isn’t really in conversation with what I said, it would stand on its own just fine. If you wanted to make sure the same audience saw it, you could have tagged it #Jumblr. If you wanted to make sure I saw it, you could have just @ed me.

So the only thing I can think of is that you read a 20 paragraph essay on the pain felt by a Jew in the diaspora that spends exactly one paragraph talking about Israel, and mentions twice that I am not very personally connected to the country, and thought, ��the response this needs is a complete derailment so I can talk about how much Israel sucks.”

And to be explicitly clear – when a Jew says, “hey, my synagogue in Minnesota received a bomb threat, and I’m worried that I’ll have to move due to antisemitic violence,” and your response is, “yeah, but Israel sucks,” that is antisemitic. To say that Israel is an elephant in the room in a response to a discussion about the pain caused by antisemitism is to imply that Israel’s existence/actions somehow justify the antisemitism. If you want to know why people conflate antizionism with antisemitism, it’s because of actions exactly like this one.

And you can have these opinions! I don’t agree with all of them, but you’re allowed to have them. Having them isn’t necessarily antisemitic (though some of them do head into the territory of antisemitic talking points). But putting them on a reblog of a post about the pain that antisemitism is causing is antisemitic. And it’s just incredibly tone deaf in a way that’s hurtful.

I guess, to try to understand, let’s flip the situation. If and American Muslim made a post about the pain caused in their own life by Islamophobia, would you reblog it with, “those are valid issues, but what we really need to talk about is Hamas’s attack on October 7th.” Is it a fair thing to want to talk about? Yes. Is it correct to bring it up as a response in this way? Absolutely the fuck not.

If you want to talk about Israel’s shift into far right politics over the last 20 or so years, we can. If you want to talk about the reasons that may have happened, we can. If you want to talk about what we can do as non-Israelis to support a shift to more liberal politics and policies in Israel, we can. If you want to have a philosophical debate about Zionism (though, if as you say you do not have a connection to Judaism, you may need to do some homework first), we can.

But not here. Not as a response to this post. You say you stand against antisemitism. You can’t do that effectively until you learn to separate conversations about Judaism from conversations about Israel. Until then, you’re only going to hurt more people than you help.

On being Jewish, and traumatized (It’s been 5 months and I want to talk):

Judaism is a joyous religion. So much of our daily practice is to focus us on the things that are good. I know that there’s a joke that all our holidays can be summed up as “they tried to kill us. We survived – let’s eat!”, and you might think that holidays focused on attempts at killing us might be somber, but they’re really not. Most are celebrated in the sense of, “we’re still here, let’s have a party!” When I think about practicing Judaism, the things I think about make me happy.

But I think a lot of non-Jews don’t necessarily see Judaism the same way. I think in part it’s because we do like to kvetch, but I think a lot of it is because from the outside it’s harder to see the joy, and very easy to see the long history of suffering that has been enacted on the Jewish people. From the inside, it’s very much, “we’re still here, let’s party” and from the outside it’s, “how many times have they tried to kill you? Why are you celebrating? They tried to KILL YOU!”

And I want to start with that because a lot of the rest of this is going to be negative. And I don’t want people to read it and wonder why I still want to be Jewish. I want to be Jewish because it makes me happy. My problem isn’t with being Jewish, it’s with how Jews are treated.

What I really wanted to write about is being Jewish and the trauma that’s involved with that right now.

First, I want to talk about Israeli Jews. I can’t say much here because I’m not Israeli, nor do I have any close friends or family that are Israeli. But if I’m going to be talking about the trauma Jews are experiencing right now, I can’t not mention the fact that Israeli Jews (and Israelis that aren’t Jewish as well, but that’s not my focus here) are dealing with massive amounts of it right now. It’s a tiny country – virtually everyone has a friend or family member that was killed or kidnapped, or knows someone who does. Thousands of rockets have been fired at Israel in the last few months – think about the fact that the Iron Dome exists and why it needs to. Terror attacks are ongoing; I feel like there’s been at least one every week since October. Thousands of people are displaced from their homes, either because of the rocket fire, or because their homes and communities were physically destroyed in the largest pogrom in recent history – the deadliest single day for Jews since the Holocaust ended. If that’s not trauma inducing, I don’t know what is.

And there is, of course, the generational trauma. And I think Jewish generational trauma is interesting because it’s so layered. Because it’s not just the result of one trauma passed down through the generations. Every 50-100 years, antisemitism intensifies, and so very frequently the people experiencing a traumatic event were already suffering from the generational trauma that their grandparents or great grandparents lived through. And those elders were holding the generational trauma from the time before that. And so on.

And because it happens so regularly, there’s always someone in the community that remembers the last time. We are never allowed the luxury of imagining that we are safe. We know what happened before, and we know that it happened again and again and again. And so we know that it only makes sense to assume it will happen in the future. The trauma response is valid. I live in America because my great grandparents lived in Russia and they knew when it was time to get the hell out in the 1900s. And the reason they knew that is because their grandparents remembered the results of the blood libels in the 1850s. How can we heal when the scar tissue keeps us safe?

I look around now and wonder if we’ll need to run. We have a plan. I repeat, my family has a plan for what to do if we need to flee the country due to religious persecution. How can that possibly be normal? And yet, all the Jewish families I know have similar plans. It is normal if you’re Jewish. Every once in a while I see someone who isn’t Jewish talk about making plans to leave because they’re LGBTQ or some other minority and the question always seems to be, “should I make a plan?” It astounds me every time. The Jewish answer is that you need to have a plan and the only question is, “when should I act?” Sometimes our Jewish friends discuss it at play dates. Where will you go? What are the triggers to leave? No one wants to go any earlier then they have to. Everyone knows what the price of holding off too long might be.

I want to keep my children safe. When do I induct them into the club? When do I let my sweet, innocent kids know that some people will hate them for being Jewish? When do I teach them the skills my parents and grandparents taught me? How to pass as white, how to pass as Christian, knowing when to keep your mouth shut about what you believe. When do I tell them about the Holocaust and teach them the game “would this person hide me?” How hard do I have to work to remind them that while you want to believe that a person would hide you, statistically, most people you know would not have? Who is this more traumatic for? Them, to learn that there is hatred in the world and it is directed at them, or me, to have to drive some of the innocence out of my own children’s eyes in order to make sure they are prepared to meet the reality of the world?

And the reality of the world is that it is FULL of antisemitism. There’s a lot of…I guess I’d call it mild antisemitism that’s always present that you just kinda learn to ignore. It’s the sort of stuff that non-Jews might not even recognize as antisemitic until you explain it to them, just little micro-aggressions that you do your best to ignore because you know that the people doing it don’t necessarily mean it, it’s just the culture we live in. It can still hurt though. I like to compare it to a bruise: you can mostly ignore it, but every once in a while something (more blatant antisemitism) will put a bit to much pressure on it and you remember that you were already hurting this whole time.

On top of the background antisemitism, there’s more intense stuff. And usually the most intense, mask off antisemitism comes from the right. This makes sense, in that a lot of right politics are essentially about hating the “other” and what are Jews if not Western civilizations oldest type of “other”? On the one hand, I’ve always been fortunate enough to live in relatively liberal areas so this sort of antisemitism has felt far away and impersonal – they hate everybody, and I’m just part of everybody. On the other hand, until recently I’ve always considered this the most dangerous source of antisemitism. This is the antisemitism that leads to hate crimes, that leads to synagogue shootings. This is the reason why my synagogue is built so that there is a long driveway before you can even see the building, and that driveway is filled with police on the high holidays. This is the reason why my husband and I were scared to hang a mezuzah in our first apartment (and second, and third). For a long time, this was the antisemitism that made me afraid.

But the left has a problem with antisemitism too. And it has always been there. Where the right hates the “other”, the left hates the “privileged/elite/oppressors.” It’s the exact same thing, just dressed up with different words. They all mean “other” and “other” means “Jew.” It hurts more coming from the left though. A lot of Jewish philosophy leans left. A lot of Jews lean left. So when the left decides to hate us, it isn’t a random stranger, it’s a friend, and it feels like a betrayal.

One of the people I follow works for Yad Vashem, and a few weeks ago she mentioned a video they have with testimonies from people who came to Israel after Kristallnacht, with an unofficial title of “The blow came from within.” The idea is that to non-German Jews, the Holocaust was something done by strangers. It was still terrible, but it is easier to bear the hate of a stranger – it’s not personal. But to German Jews, the Holocaust was a betrayal. It wasn’t done by strangers, it was done by coworkers, and neighbors and people they thought were friends. It was done by people who knew them, and still looked at them and said, “less than human.” And because of this sense of betrayal, German survivors, or Germans who managed to get out before they got rounded up, had a very different experience than other Holocaust victims.

And I feel like a lot of left leaning Jews are having a similar experience now. People that we’ve marched with or organized with, or even just mutuals that we’ve thought of as friends are now going on about how Jews are evil. They repeat antisemitic talking points from the Nazis and from the Protocols of the Elders of Zion, and when we point out that those ideas have only led to Jewish death in the past they don’t care. And if someone you thought of as a friend thinks of you this way, what do you think a stranger might think? Might do?

The Jews are fucking terrified. I’ve seen a post going around that basically wonders if this was what it was like for our ancestors – when things got bad enough to see what was coming but before it was too late to run? And we can see what’s coming. History tells us that they way people are talking and acting only leads to one place. I’m a millennial – when I was a kid the grandparents at my synagogue made sure the kids knew – this is what it looked like before, this is what you need to watch out for, this is when you need to run. I wonder where to run to. It feels like nowhere is safe.

I feel like I’ve been lucky in all this. I don’t live in Israel. I have family and acquaintances who do, but no one I’m particularly close to. Everyone I know in real life has either been sane or at least silent about all of this (the internet has been significantly worse, but when it comes to hate, the internet is always worse). I live in a relatively liberal area – there’s always been antisemitism around anyway, but it’s mostly just been swastikas on flyers, or people advocating for BDS, not anything that’s made me actually worry for my safety. But in the last 5 months there have been bomb threats at my synagogue, and just last week a kid got beat up for being Jewish at our local high school. He doesn’t want to report it. He’s worried it will make it worse.

I bought a Magen David to wear in November. At the time it seemed like the best way to fight antisemitism was to be visibly Jewish, to show that we’re just normal people like everyone else. Plus, I figured that if me being Jewish was going to be a problem for someone, then I would make it a problem right away and not waste time. I’ve worn it almost constantly since, but the one time I took it off was when I burnt my finger in December and had to go to urgent care. I didn’t think about it too much when I did it, but I thought about it for a long time after – I didn’t feel good about having made that choice.

The conclusion I came to is that the training that my elders had been so careful to instill in me kicked in. I was hurt, and scared, and the voice inside my head that sounds like my grandmother said, “don’t give them a reason to be bad to you. Fight when you’re well, but for now – survive.” It still felt cowardly, but it was also a connection to my ancestors who heeded the same voice well enough to survive. And it enrages me that that voice has been necessary in the past. And it enrages me that things are bad enough now that my instinct is that I need to hide who I am to receive appropriate medical care.

I wish I had some sort of final thought to tie this all together other than, “this sucks and I hate it,” but I really don’t. I could call for people to examine their antisemitic biases, but I’m not foolish enough to think that this will reach the people who need to do so. I could wish for a future where everything I’ve talked about here exists only in history books, and the Jewish experience is no longer tied to feeling this pain, but that’s basically wishing for the moshiach, and I’m not going to hold my breath.

I guess I’ll end it with the thought that through all of this hate and pain and fear, we’re still here. And we’re still joyful as well. As much as so many people have tried over literally THOUSANDS of years to eradicate us, I’m still here, I’m still Jewish, and being Jewish still makes me happy.

Am Yisrael Chai.

[edenfenixblogs]

I feel like what is disturbing about (some) people discussing the Israel/Palestine conflict is that they insist that most major news sources actually can’t be trusted because the news sources are secretly lying all the time. And I feel like that is what conspiracy theories are, the insistence that everyone is lying to you, and that you should only trust these people. I feel like I was falling into it too, I was starting to believe it.

I’d always told myself before that I would never fail for conspiracy theories because I am a reasonable person, but clearly this isn’t true. I can fall for conspiracy theories if I am not always careful, and complacency is dangerous.

I feel like this same idea applies to antisemitism. People think, “I can’t be antisemitic because I want equality for all people”, but we can if we’re not careful. Complacency is dangerous.

Oh, @jellymarbles! This is very insightful!!!! Look, every major news source has flaws and bias. That is and will always be true. Because it is written by people. And all people have bias. And that's ok! The problems only arise if people allow their writing to consistently and only favor bias in one direction and leave no room for uncomfortable but necessary information from other viewpoints.

If anyone is telling you not to trust "the media" or "the mainstream media," then they are not only untrustworthy on any issue, but are likely especially dangerous on any issue where antisemitism is likely to occur. This is because it is usually rooted (whether the person is knowingly being antisemitic or not) in the conspiracy theory that Jewish people control "the media."

Anyone behaving responsibly would not urge you to shun mainstream sources. Rather, people behaving responsibly will urge you to develop the very necessary skill of media literacy, which will enable you to better discern which sources are trustworthy in a variety of situations. Whenever evaluating any source, but especially when dealing in issues that involve strong and volatile opinions and contested information from a variety of voices, it is vital to critically evaluate your sources using trusted media evaluation tools, like Media Bias/Fact Check. Fact check the story details too, if possible.

You are a private citizen. You are not a journalist. You are not an international diplomat. You are not a crisis negotiator. There is no reason for you to feel pressured to respond to everything quickly. Nobody will benefit from you responding to things you don't have appropriate information on. It is not your job to respond to all information as you encounter it.

There is no prize for speaking up first or most or loudest.

Rather, you will always be the most trusted human source if you take the time to know what you're speaking about fully before you speak. If you feel an urgent need to say something because you directly wish to help someone you know, sharing unverified and possibly false information is never the way to go. Rather, instead of trying to prove your commitment to a cause with self-righteous anger, reach out to the person you wish to help directly. Tell them you know that they are going through a rough time. You may not always know what to say or what you need to share, but say that you are committed to always sharing verifiable and the information, but that you also don't need the affected person to act as a news source for you. And in the meantime, you don't need news stories to be there for a friend. Lending an ear and some comfort to someone directly will mean more than shouting into the void. Personally, I'm always a little uncomfortable when I see non-Jewish and non-Muslim/Arab/Palestinian people I know screaming onto the internet about issues related to i/p when they have never actually taken the time to talk to a single Jewish person about how they actually feel about any of it (or when they only talk to Jewish people to determine whether they are Evil Zionists or Actual Humans).

Many people are willing to make sweeping statements about how all Jews feel about Israel or zionism or Netanyahu, but aren't willing to actually have a conversation about any of those things to find out if their assumptions are correct--let alone to see if the Jewish person in question has insights into issues they haven't thought of before. (Hint: as an oft-ignored micro-minority, Jews do often have insights that are not adequately understood by those who have refused to interact with us)

I can only imagine that Palestinian people as well as Muslims and Arabs in general experience similar bigotry when people make assumptions about their views of Jews, the politico-religious ideology of Islamism (which I'm acutely aware is different than the religion of Islam), the i/p conflict, Hamas, and a variety of other issues.

Because make no mistake, choosing to ignore your responsibility of media literacy during a time of stochastic terror for multiple groups is to support that terror. Choosing to ignore media you disagree with because you disagree with it and not because the source is wrong or untrustworthy is the same as making a conscious choice to be stubbornly set in your ways at the expense of people desperately trying to make themselves heard.

In other words, choosing to maintain media illiteracy is choosing bigotry.

That said, you'll make mistakes sometimes. It's inevitable, and that's ok. Just today I deleted a post I reblogged about the extremely good and worthwhile charity organizatin Anera that is providing much needed aid to Gaza at the moment. Is that because I stopped supporting the organization? Is that because I hate Palestine and its suffering citizens? OF COURSE NOT! Rather, the person I shared it from had a blog full of hateful antisemitic content and misinformation. I couldn't direct my followers to a resource like that, because I can and must share information from sources worth listening to. If a bigot is your only way of sharing information about something, then that information is useless. If the information is actually useful, you'll be able to share it from a source who isn't dangerous.

There are many trustworthy people who regularly share information about Anera as well as other organizations that are providing aid to those suffering in the region, by the way.

It i so easy to think that a post is innocuous enough to share without fact checking. But bigotry can sneak in to a lot of places. I didn't know about the person I reblogged from until a follower pointed it out to me. Someone trustworthy will act swiftly to amend the information and thank you for the information rather than acting offended that you dared to question them. And a trustworthy source certainly won't continue to behave irresponsibly or allow others to behave irresponsibly on their behalf without putting in any effort to do better in the future.

You will make mistakes. It's OK. Don't let the fear of making a mistake stop you from taking action to help. Just be sure not to let your desire to help turn into causing actual harm. As long as you try your best and keep an open heart, all reasonable people will understand if you stumble now and again.

<3

As always, feel free to explore my #Media Literacy tag for more info and discourse on the subject.

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

Zionists are genocidal religious extremists. And you claim religion is mental illness. Seems you are more mentally ill than you think huh buddy. But i get it, it's extremely easy to believe what you believe when you're so abrasive and unpleasant that you have no one off line to discuss these things with. Hopefully your self made misery at least gives you a fake sense of purpose, otherwise you're just sitting here stewing for nothing :)

LOL. Sure, hon. How much did that new globe cost, because you're projecting. You're talking about yourself. Something is not right in the pit of your stomach, and you're projecting it onto me.

Here's what's funny. Zionism is political, not religious. It's not about making everyone Jewish, its about maintaining a political entity of Israel.

Zionism | ˈzīəˌnizəm | noun a movement for (originally) the re-establishment and (now) the development and protection of a Jewish nation in what is now Israel. It was established as a political organization in 1897 under Theodor Herzl, and was later led by Chaim Weizmann.

So, by saying this:

genocidal religious extremists

What you've accidentally done is admit that you're not talking about political Zionism, you're talking about religious Judaism. You've revealed yourself as a Nazi-grade antisemite for all the world to see.

Israel could annihilate the entire Gaza Strip, but don't. Hamas want to obliterate Israel, but can't. You haven't even figured that out yet. If there was an actual "genocide," it would have been over months ago. How monumentally dumb are you?

There is no "genocide." There is a war. They are different and you know it. A war Hamas, the Nazis Of Color (NOC), started. One you celebrated until it became clear Hamas is inevitably going to lose. It's only a matter of time.

The IDF said it was intended to enable residents to "evacuate from specific places for their safety if required." 

Residents in multiple numbered areas were sent SMS warnings on Friday, the military said.  

"The IDF will begin a crushing military attack on your area of residence with the aim of eliminating the terrorist organization Hamas," the warnings said, urging people in the sectors to seek shelter and "stay away from all military activity of every kind."

"As someone who teaches division level urban warfare, what has really blown my mind is that Israel issued maps to the civilians [in Gaza] telling them where they would be operating each day. … I've never seen a military do that," said Spencer, who visited Israel last month and toured the combat zone in and around Gaza. 

"Doing this puts the attacking military at a disadvantage because it signals to the defending military what they’re doing," he said. "The element of surprise is usually a top priority in wars, but Israel is giving up all of that in order to prevent civilian harm.

"If that is going to be the standard going forward, I don't know how the U.S. military and others are going to do that. We’re not going to send text messages. We’re not going to be able to put out maps, even if we do decide to give warnings."

What the hell kind of "genocide" involves sending text messages and distributing maps of where Israel's military initiatives will be conducted to the same people your pea-sized brain thinks they want to exterminate? Do you even comprehend how completely fucking retarded you are? Of course you can't.

Israel does everything it can to minimize civilian casualties. Hamas does everything it can to maximize civilian casualties.

The civilian to target (i.e. Hamas) casualty ratio for the Israel initiatives has been 1.5:1. In normal urban warfare, 9:1 is regarded as acceptable. A sixth of any average urban war.

Let me put that another way: if this was any other army but Israel's there should and would be six times as many civilian casualties as there have been. And it would still be regarded as an average urban war with acceptable losses. And even then it would still not qualify as a "genocide."

You have literally nothing to back up your stupid, ignorant claim. It's false. It's demonstrably false. It's factually false. It's ridiculously false.

And that's when you started pretending and lying and gaslighting and lying some more. You know it's not a genocide. You know it. You know it for a fact. You're just repeating stupid mantras because you're a shallow, mindless follower and you're afraid of what would happen if you sat down and thought for yourself. You might lose your tribe and your unwarranted moral certitude.

What you're angry about is that I tell the truth and I don't care who it upsets, while you're too cowardly to step out of line with the authoritarian tribalists you've associated yourself with. You're terrified they'll turn on you, and you're taking it out on me because I don't carry the same burden as you.

What's fascinating is that your whole "Zionist" schtick is literally the same "Jews control the world" tinfoil hat conspiracy nutcase crap as right-wing cranks have been spewing for years. The far-left and the far-right are now collaborating on their conspiracy theories, apparently, because you're completely in sync. You're regurgitating far-right talking points, yet you think you're being original and progressive.

So, let's loop back to this, because it's jaw-droppingly astonishing.

genocidal religious extremists

It's the most self-unaware thing I've heard of in months.

You want to talk genocidal religious extremists? You support literal fundamentalist religious terrorists. Actual, literal Islamic far-far-far-right, kill-and-die-for-Allah, fundamentalist terrorists. People who murder gay people and throw acid in the faces of women who do not cover properly.

https://quranx.com/Hadith/Nasai/DarusSalam/Volume-3/Book-23/Hadith-2527

It was narrated from 'Abudullah bin Hubshi Al-Khath 'ami that the Prophet was asked: "Which deed is best?" He said: "Faith in which there is no doubt, Jihad in which there is no stealing of the spoils of war, and Hjijatun Mabrurah."[1] It was said: "Which prayer is best? He said:"That in which there is ling Qunut (standing)." It was said: "Which charity is best?" He said: "The poor's night." It was said: "Which Hijrah (emigration) is best?" He said: "One who shuns (Hahara) that which Allah has forbidden." It was said: "One who strives against the idolaters with his life and his wealth. "It was said: "Which death is best?" He said: "One who sheds his blood while his horse's feet are cut with swords."

https://quranx.com/Hadith/Malik/USC-MSA/Book-21/Hadith-4

Yahya related to me from Abdullah ibn Abd ar-Rahman ibn Mamar al- Ansari that Ata ibn Yasar said that the Messenger of Allah, may Allah bless him and grant him peace, said, "Shall I tell you who has the best degree among people? A man who takes the rein of his horse to do jihad in the way of Allah."

https://quranx.com/Hadith/Muslim/USC-MSA/Book-20/Hadith-4635

It has been narrated on the authority of Anas b. Malik (through a different chain of transmitters) that the Messenger of Allah (ﷺ) said: Nobody who enters Paradise will (ever like to) return to this world even if he were offered everything on the surface of the earth (as an inducement) except the martyr who will desire to return to this world and be killed ten times for the sake of the great honour that has been bestowed upon him.

That law is shari'a. That means, no music. That means no memes, no fandoms, no art with representations of living creatures. That means one religion and one religion only: Islam. That means no history other than Islamic history. You want to leave? You die. You object? You die. You violate the tenets of Islam? You die.

Every single thing you love, they hate. Everything you are, they hate. Everything about you, they hate. They want to destroy all of it. Nothing about you is acceptable within shari'a.

Nothing. Everything about you disappears when the genocidal religious extremists of Hamas get their way.

You're an ignorant, stupid, smooth-brained lemming being used by religious fanatics who hate you and intend to murder you when they achieve Islamic supremacy.

You doubt me? Here's a Palestinian imam saying so himself.

It's absolutely astonishing how mindlessly ignorant and desperate you are to be murdered by the totalitarian fanatics for whom you work overtime as an apologist.

Imagine being a "they/them" and defending the most extreme far-right oppressive, misogynistic, homophobic, violent ideology that has ever existed, and thinking you were a moral and intellectual genius.

Do you know how women say "I do" in an Islamic marriage ceremony? That's a trick question. Their consent is not required. She's not even asked.

What happens when a woman doesn't want to have sex with her husband? Because she is obligated to do so when summoned, Allah is mad at her and she is cursed.

https://quranx.com/Hadith/Bukhari/USC-MSA/Volume-4/Book-54/Hadith-460

Narrated Abu Huraira: Allah's Messenger (ﷺ) said, "If a husband calls his wife to his bed (i.e. to have sexual relation) and she refuses and causes him to sleep in anger, the angels will curse her till morning."

https://quranx.com/23.1-6?Context=3

Certainly will the believers have succeeded: They who are during their prayer humbly submissive And who shun vain conversation, And they who are observant of zakah And they who guard their private parts Except from their wives or those their right hands possess, for indeed, they will not be blamed

"Those their right hand possess" means sex-slaves. Concubines. Women enslaved specifically for sex.

So, when you say:

genocidal religious extremists

You have literally no idea what you're talking about. You're dangerously ignorant.

They want to kill you. They intend to kill you. They hate you. They will not accept you. They regard you as an abomination. When they get their hands on you, your "pronouns" will be was/were.

That's the blunt reality.

https://quranx.com/27.55

Do you indeed approach men with desire instead of women? Rather, you are a people behaving ignorantly."

https://quranx.com/29.28

And [mention] Lot, when he said to his people, "Indeed, you commit such immorality as no one has preceded you with from among the worlds.

https://quranx.com/26.173

And We rained upon them a rain [of stones], and evil was the rain of those who were warned.

https://quranx.com/9.29

Fight against such of those who have been given the Scripture as believe not in Allah nor the Last Day, and forbid not that which Allah hath forbidden by His messenger, and follow not the Religion of Truth, until they pay the tribute readily, being brought low.

https://quranx.com/Hadith/Bukhari/USC-MSA/Volume-1/Book-8/Hadith-387

Narrated Anas bin Malik: Allah's Messenger (ﷺ) said, "I have been ordered to fight the people till they say: 'None has the right to be worshipped but Allah.' And if they say so, pray like our prayers, face our Qibla and slaughter as we slaughter, then their blood and property will be sacred to us and we will not interfere with them except legally and their reckoning will be with Allah."

Just because you hate yourself, your life and the safe, comfortable, western world you live in doesn't mean the rest of us are going to let you take us down with you.

You want to annihilate yourself? Go for it. But you won't take the rest of us along off the cliff you're determined to go flying off.

Re-examine every part of your stupid, miserable life, you utter, utter moron.

[sarahowritesostucky]

Anons are off - again 😑Because I asked a pro-Palestine person to please stop violently threatening a suicidal girl, and she got ugly - very quickly.

Anons are off (for now-don't worry beautiful shy smut fans, it's not forever *gently pets head* it'll be okay)

*stops gentle petting and whirls around to face the direction of the pos, scum of the earth folks who started this*

If you have something vile to say to me, you can say it loud and proud under the banner of your blog name. After all, since you've got the moral high ground, there should be no need for anonymity, right?

And if anyone else is being harassed and assaulted for being Jewish or supporting jews and feels hopeless, unsafe, or like they might choose self harm: please DM me. I'll aways be here to talk (seriously: I'm disabled so I spend most of my waking hours on this laptop.)

There are also tons of hotlines you can call to chat with someone--I work for a couple of them! People there really do not mind just talking to you if it's a really sad night. I mean, it's literally what we signed up for, so please make use of them. Lots of options just a google search away!

Don't let nasty people have that impact on you. I promise there is 1000x more kindness in the world than there are these sorts of bigots, even if it doesn't seem like it on your campus or whatever cesspool you've stumbled across on the internet.🤗🥺✡️💖

And if anybody feels the urge to angrily anon me or make snide comments just because I'm trying to cheer up and maybe help a suicidal girl who was attacked for existing while Jewish? Reevaluate your priorities, maybe.

**I live in the US, for those of you who don't know. I'm an atheist. I don't have skin in the I/p conflict. But what I DO do is volunteer at crisis hotlines - three of them - and I can tell you right now, it is fucking scary the stuff I'm witnessing through it.

The number of Jewish students who are being abused, attacked, harassed, physically injured, vandalized, and told that they'd better 'watch their backs', just for daring to be Jewish in public (and even some people who aren't Jewish at all but just look semitic or have a name that somebody thinks sounds like a Jewish name) is highly disturbing.

I have a friend who doesn't even know much about the current I/p conflict, is not Jewish, and her car got vandalized when she was parked near a synagogue. I've talked to Jewish freshmen who are were so excited about their first year in college, but have been bombarded with so much vitriol due to their religion (or, more often: because of nothing but their last name) that they've had to drop out for the semester. Stop being antisemitic bullies! It's ugly, it's not cute, it's not helping Palestinians, and it's going to get one of these completely uninvolved young people killed. Wtf man?!

[etz-ashashiyot]

I try really hard to educate people patiently when I can, so please take this in that spirit - because this response of yours is kind of the Platonic ideal of a specific genre of post that keeps getting lobbed at Jews from people who seem to think it's totally reasonable without ever stopping to consider how it sounds to us. I somehow doubt you'd say these same things to another persecuted minority, and if you did, I'd expect you'd get called out for it. Unfortunately, the left has decided that antisemitism is praxis, so the only way I think I can get through that particular haze is to rewrite this as if it were talking about another minority whose oppression you choose to see.

Hopefully you will take this as a moment to reflect on your privilege and work on yourself. However even if you don't, you've at least provided me with the perfect example to help those who will listen.

I am going to address this line by line:

I would like it on the record that not all (and certainly not all, as far as who I know) supporters of [legitimate cause] are sexist.

Do you like how that sounds? Forget about the specifics and just imagine yourself telling a woman talking about the sexism she experienced from a particular political group that Not All Men are sexist. Would you say that? Really? Even if you thought that, would you actually type those words out, or would you expect blowback? Be honest.

I would also like it on the record that supporting [legitimate cause] does not make you racist. The two do not negate each other. They can coexist, and for most of us, they do.

How does that sound to your ear? Raise some red flags? Would you feel comfortable writing this statement in response to someone talking about the racism they experienced from that political group? Or would it sound patronizing and/or like apologia?

Whether or not a certain type of people are using this revolution to preach [transphobia], I do not know for sure. I would hope not but I am sure they do, because bad people will use any excuse to preach their hate.

Would you feel comfortable making this statement to a trans person talking about the transphobia they experienced from this "revolution"?

What I will not tolerate, however, is to see the person I am literally talking to right now turn the absolute revolution that is currently happening on college campuses around the world into an Islamophobic or even hateful thing. The protests currently happening are about obtaining peace. That is their purpose.

Do you see how your framing here inherently delegitimizes the oppression being discussed, as if it itself is not actually a real type of hatred? Do you see how you're framing anyone raising the idea that there are legitimate issues with this "absolute revolution" that need to be checked as being inherently opposed to peace and progress? Do you understand why that's fucked up, when it's aimed at someone besides Jews?

If your view is too subjective or narrowminded to realize that what is happening currently goes way beyond what happened when 1200+ of your people were raped, tortured, sadistically murdered in front of their families, and/or taken hostage (an international war crime) and over 100 are still being held prisoner under inhumane conditions six months later i will urge you to visit the UN official website, which will suppply you with all the information you need.

Would you seriously direct this at anyone else? Would you snidely tell this to any other marginalized group - hell, even just any single small ethnic group, marginalized or not - that their concern for their family, friends, and/or community members makes their views "subjective" or "narrowminded"? Even if the issues are bigger than the issues of one side (which is true in any conflict ever) you understand how that's enormously pompous, condescending, callous, and unproductive, right? Right??

I am sick and tired. Sick and tired of being told I am against an indigenous people [by members of that group] because I am against them having self-determination in their ancestral homeland. I am sick of tired of being told I am racist because I am against the war crimes the state of that indigenous group is currently committing against the citizens of another group with legitimate ties to the land. [No mention, acknowledgement, or concern about the war crimes committed by this other group, or the fact that their governing entity started this most recent round of violence.]

This one speaks for itself, I think.

Indigenous political self-determination for a particular marginalized ethnoreligious group is extremist religious beliefs. I do not believe in or support any type of extremist religious beliefs because why on earth would I? If you have the audacity to tell me that your god is the only one that exists in the year of 2024 where we are suffering around the globe then first of all, you should be fucking ashamed of your god, and second of all, you should be ashamed of yourself for claiming him.

This one does too, actually.

Would you seriously feel comfortable directing this ignorant screed against, say, members of the Baha'i faith? Zoroastrians? Sikhs? Kurds? Literally any other indigenous ethnoreligion? Or just Jews? Why do you assume you know what we believe and what our religion is about? In any event, it's painfully obvious from this post that you don't know the first thing about Judaism.

I believe in the right to religious freedom. I believe in the right to political freedom. I don't believe in religion but I will fight for other people to retain the right to believe in theirs.

Okay, and?? That allows you to say fucked up things about a marginalized group and their beliefs? Did you even read your previous paragraph after typing it?

Please stop making The Cause into something it isn't. I cannot speak for everyone in the world, but I can speak for the movement i support, which I have already personally handwaved away and absolved of all wrongdoing and bigotry because I willed it away with my good intentions, and what we want is The Cause. We want freedom and equality for all people, People we nominally support and people we have shown nothing but contempt and callousness towards alike. We want General Statement #1. We want General Statement #2.

I stripped this down as much as I did, because there are a lot of specifics here that are factual disputes and right now I'm not arguing the questions of fact but rather focusing on the question of how you are treating us in this discourse. There are real discussions that can be had (and are happening with trustworthy people, actually) but you have to actually approach us as human beings and back up the fact that you give a shit about us with more than just "I'm not [__]ist, but," - a thing leftists seem to know about other marginalized groups but not Jews. And the reason is because the Western left has made antisemitism literally part of its praxis.

I'd include your last paragraph, but honestly it's just more of the same platitudes. Your intent matters, but it's not a magic cure-all. It doesn't automatically fix the harm you caused, nor does it absolve you of the need to be accountable to the people you hurt and learn to do better next time. This is something I'm sure you know about other marginalized groups, when you or your comrades misstep, intentionally or not.

What makes Jews different from all other marginalized groups in your mind? Why are we a stumbling block for you? These are the questions you should be asking yourself and working to correct if you do, in all sincerity, care about not spreading anti-Jewish bigotry. If you choose not to do this work though, your true intent is clear as day.

I sat next to the protest today.

I wrote fan-fiction about two gay jewish dads raising children to the play list of the chant- "No peace on stolen land!" on an American college campus. It isn't a name brand one either, nor does it have any legitimate ties to Israel. The anger is just there- it has rotten these future doctors, nurses, teachers, and members of society.

I don't even know what to call their demonstration- it was a tizzy of a Jew hatred affair. At points, there were empathetic statements about Gazans and their suffering. Then outright support of Hamas and violent resistance against all colonizers. Then this bizarre fixation on antisemitism while explaining the globalists are behind everything.

"Antisemitism doesn't exist. Not in the modern day," A professor gloated over a microphone in front of the library. "It's a weaponized concept, that's prevents us from getting actual places- ignore anyone who tells you otherwise."

"How can we be antisemitic?" A pasty white girl wearing a red Jordanian keffiyeh gloats five minutes later. "Palestinians are the actual semites."

"there is only one solution!" The crowd of over 50 students and faculty cried, over and over.

"Been there, done that," I thought, then added a reference to a mezuza in the fourth paragraph.

Two other Jewish students passed where I was parked out, hunching and trying to be as innocuous as possible. We laughed together at my predicament, where I am willingly hearing this bullshit and feeling so amused by this.

"Am I crazy? For sitting here?" I asked them. My friends shook their heads.

"We did the same last week- it's an amazing experience, isn't it?”

We all cackled hysterically again. They left to study for finals. Two minutes later, I learned from the current speaker that “Zionism” is behind everything bad in this world.

Forty-five minutes in, a boy I recognized joined me on my lonely bench. He came from a very secular Jewish family and had joined Hillel recently to learn more about his culture. His first Seder was two nights ago.

He sat next to me, heavy like the weight of the world was on his shoulders. There was just this despondent look on his face. I couldn’t describe it anyone else, but just sheer hopelessness personified.

“They hate us. I can’t believe how much they hate us.” He said in greeting.

And for the first time all day, I had no snarky response or glib. All I could do was stare out into the crowd, and sigh.

[notmuchtoconceal]

I had another supposed friend who ended up reducing himself to shit to scrape off my shoe. When I started to change, the people who really cared for me showed some resistance, but were ultimately happy for me. Why wouldn't they? They had only to gain from the new and better me.

The pieces of shit who are only using you, understand this, man.

They can drop you at any second. You're 100% conditional. They have no real attachments to you. That's how you can fuckin suss em out.

If you defend yourself, and they're hurt -- they're really attached to you. They expect to be with you. They don't wanna hurt you. They've given something up and entered into what we might call a state of reliance.

If someone's trying to farm you, you know -- if you're only resources to em, nothing more -- they're gonna keep their distance. In every regard.

Is that true? Who's trying to game who?

To what extent does one differ unspoken in their mutual lack of shared assumptions? Say, if one assumes dignity to be a universal human right and responds to another organism with empathy, that individual is going to be playing a very different "game" from someone who only looks upon others as ogres and monsters and so needs to jack to the beanstalk ya, hyping up their own hero myth as they swindle ya?

This other person, I wanna talk about him even less than the other guy, so I won't very much. If I'm talkin in circles around him, you can envision me givin him a swirlie, nice and long -- holdin his face under but refraining from the ease of material will to flush via the handle.

You might say the words are circling his ears submerged: urging the waters to swirl of their own volition, but alas they cannot -- he is gargling, he is flailing; he does not feel safe and supported held within my grasp.

I'd known him since high school. He was fourteen and I was seventeen. He said he used to be a bully, but I didn't take him seriously cause he was too much of a twerp. He was visibly making advances on a girl in my year who I was friends with, and in retrospect I wonder if being a rat bastard he just wanted any woman who got close to me.

Suppose I never really did think about how hot and manly I appeared from his perspective before. How much he wanted my fat white dick and meine schwesterfrau's Fat Jewish Ass.

Fuck, why was I friends with him? He was a tight, sloppy little hole for my brainwashing, mostly. I think you need to accept some boys you just like to mindrape, you cute lil Athenian pederast.

Years later, we were running laps at the track every day, and after I viciously roasted his ass for being such a white boy cause back then I had a very When In Rome attitude towards other men's racial degradation kinks ... he confided in me the degree to which he had been bullied for being pale skinned in addition to booklearned and tech savy, which is a real triple whammy in Mexican cultures which, as Francis from Malcolm in the Middle explained to his Hot Alaskan Wife, is very big on machismo. ( When I self-depreciate it's so subtle, and yet ultimately at your expense, for when else would I self-depreciate, dear boy?)

From that day forward, I decided, in the spirit of fraternity and egalitarianism, to stop roasting his ass for being white.

We are, after all, all victims of the same injustices, simply manifest in different ways, and it does us no good to needlessly repeat manufactured violence at one another, as though in some group-trance?

Big mistake.

What was clear from the beginning was that he was torn between a hyper-traditional, hyper-conformist guilt-based Catholic home life and a covertly-traditional, overtly-conformist guilt-based Progressive work life, and didn't fit into either, and was so accumulating clear contradiction.

What I expected ... naively ... was that he could manage these contradictions by focusing on right value and logical cause.

It didn't occur to me, the degree to which he would naturally sadomasochistically adapt to his conditions, crave his subjugation, the sheer degree to which his actions contradicted his words and his words contradicted his actions. The way the ideologies he gravitated to were selling his own resentment back to him in a divisive nice-economy which results in Academic Total War. A whole bubbling dark mirror universe of torpid hatreds and midnight passions, none of which I wanted anything to do with cause he was such a drippy little faggot, oh my god.

Basically, my effortlessly exploiting his racial trauma and repeating his formative bullying to him made me feel safe and familiar and like a member of his in-group, and then when I stopped doing that... I felt distant and threatening. Then when I felt distant and threatening and told him the truth about himself, I seemed so uncanny it broke his mind.

Not only was I now an other, I was simply a blank canvas onto which he could project all his latent negative aspirations and assumptions.

I had been reduced to the vicious cliche of a toxic white American male and now all his covert lusts and hatreds were fixated on me.

The things he said just gave himself away.

The things he belted out showed what he valued and what he was after.

I could feel our friendship die as I understood the person I thought he was had become composed entirely of blank spaces, outdated impressions, fashionable adaptations -- that he was truly a paper mache Patrick Bateman and yes Patrick Bateman really is that much of a geeky faggot, holy shit. Do you actually think in his head he was suave?

Amazing. That kid must have had some imagination.

Maybe that's why you saw so much in him.

Almost instinctually, I gained more insight into the dark paradoxical nature of the doomed romance at the heart of David Lynch's 2001 erotic surreal masterpiece Mulholland Dr. where the unspoken resentment of narcissistic aspiration is more liable to erupt and consume same-sex relationships, where each partner directly models the other.

Was Diane and Camilla being a mixed-raced couple as much an element of fascination as them being lesbians and film actresses?

Who can say?

I... the whole time I was reading tumblr porn and telling myself how stupid this shit is and how nobody could think like this, and yet...

It was all true.

Was that why I was drawn to it?

Did I always already know?

Ignoring my dick made me profoundly stupid.

This is the takeaway.

That, and when a beaner wants to get called a beaner, you should squish his ass into a burrito and step on it, smear that shit off some mat.

[jdgo51]

DAILY DEVOTIONAL FOR MARCH 31, 2023“Who Are You?”By Linda Chandra (Banten, Indonesia)READ JOHN 1:19-28John replied in the words of Isaiah the prophet, “I am the voice of one calling in the wilderness, ‘Make straight the way for the Lord.’”JOHN 1:23 (NIV)"'At church one Sunday I learned of a woman in the community whose husband had just died. They had four children. At God’s urging, I attended the funeral to lend my support. I did not talk much. I just sat beside her, listened to her story, and helped when needed. After the funeral ceremony was over and all her relatives went home, she asked, “Who are you? Are you one of my relatives that I have never met? Why did you sit with me until it was over?”I replied, “I’m not your relative. I just wanted to sit with you, listen to your story, and offer help to you if you needed it.” Then she said, “Thank you for being with me. My relatives give me a lot of advice, but you don’t talk much; you only hear my sad stories. Why?” I said to her, “Because the God I know is always with me, even during the saddest times in my life.”I have learned from today’s scripture reading that when someone asks, “Who are you?” I should tell that person more about God who saved me than about myself. In such an answer, God becomes greater as I become smaller. For as John the Baptist tells the Jewish priests, I am not the Messiah or a prophet; I am only “the voice of one calling in the wilderness.” To God be all glory."' Be present in support of those who need a listening ear. Don't talk much, but listen intently. A sounding board is good in any circumstance. Be a channel for God to minister even more than He already does.TODAY'S PRAYER"Dear God, may we glorify you in our actions and in our words. Make us humble so that we can magnify your name." Amen.John 1:19-28New International VersionJohn the Baptist Denies Being the Messiah"'19 Now this was John’s testimony when the Jewish leaders[a] in Jerusalem sent priests and Levites to ask him who he was. 20 He did not fail to confess, but confessed freely, “I am not the Messiah.”21 They asked him, “Then who are you? Are you Elijah?”He said, “I am not.”“Are you the Prophet?”He answered, “No.”22 Finally they said, “Who are you? Give us an answer to take back to those who sent us. What do you say about yourself?”23 John replied in the words of Isaiah the prophet, “I am the voice of one calling in the wilderness, ‘Make straight the way for the Lord.’”[b]24 Now the Pharisees who had been sent 25 questioned him, “Why then do you baptize if you are not the Messiah, nor Elijah, nor the Prophet?”26 “I baptize with[c] water,” John replied, “but among you stands one you do not know. 27 He is the one who comes after me, the straps of whose sandals I am not worthy to untie.”28 This all happened at Bethany on the other side of the Jordan, where John was baptizing. John was delivering the message that he was born to share. Not everyone believed or figured it out, but he was spot on with the message. Are you receiving a message, but fail to understand it. Then just turn to Jesus and ask for explanation. You will be so very glad that you did. Blessings abound among those who love Jesus! Joe

[theoncomingchaos]

Future Cartman Theory

Cartman has been queer coded for so long on this show it’s pretty undeniable that he isn’t completely straight. I mean there is an ABUNDANCE of evidence to show that he has sexual interest in men; for example, his obsession with getting Kyle to suck him off (Imaginationland) or finger him (Anal probe), the notebook drawings in the game of boys he knows fucking (including several drawings of Kyle), and his experience with cupid me where even his mother’s reaction suggests that he was exploring his sexuality through masturbation (Tweek & Craig-literally done as a beautiful parallel between LGBT kids who have supportive environments and the struggles some individuals still face with their sexuality). These are also, of course, only some of the more blatant examples. 

So, that being said, why the wife and kids?

Honestly, just because he has a wife and kids doesn’t mean he is magically suddenly straight. If anything, it seems even more like a desperate attempt to try and convince himself that he is straight while still struggling with old obsessions and natural urges. (This tendency of trying to fit in and be what others want is also something we have seen him do many times, the most obvious example being when he destroyed his dolls (queer coded interest) to “grow up” like the others said to do.) 

A lot of his relationship seems to be a mixture of his ongoing obsession with Kyle and his desperate need to fit in. Finding a Jewish woman and living a life fully committed to the religion is somewhat like “having your cake and eating it too.” He gets to be straight, normal, and have a “perfect family” through a female and therefore “normal” and safe version of Kyle. 

The reason behind this interpretation is that he is constantly getting sexual with her in front of Kyle, even continuing to fuck her knowing that Kyle can hear them and going so far as to mix in bits of the Jewish faith into their sex talk. In many ways, going beyond using her as a stand-in for Kyle, to crossing the boundaries and bringing Kyle into their sexual relationship. Even all of the lovey dovey scenes with the kids are basically in front of Kyle and or involving Kyle directly.

It’s a show. It’s classic performative Cartman.

Sure, maybe someone could say he just wants to show off how he has the life Kyle should have had, and it’s all just his usual power play, but if that’s the case, why get so sexual about it? If i’s just ordinary rivalry, why not talk more about his new faith, his success with the synagogue, or even about his moral growth (things Kyle would care about and actually be jealous about)? Because as we’ve seen over and over again, part of his obsession with Kyle is sexual. 

At the end of the episode, the idea of going back in time and changing things, going on adventures with his friends like old times, even the whole “someone needing to finger Kenny,” made Cartman feel that he was getting all too close to opening up that box that he’s been trying so hard to keep locked up and buried. If he were truly confident in his new life, wouldn’t he feel comfortable enough to go on the adventure and even explain his concerns to his friends? Wouldn’t he perhaps even believe that he would be led back to his family no matter what? Why run away? If he’s so scared of losing them, it would make more sense to stay and sabotage Stan and Kyle- something Cartman would know full well and be fully capable of doing. The problem is, he can’t because being with them brings back too much of who he really is underneath everything he tries to be. It reminds him of what he really wants, and how different and wrong he feels because of it. 

Not that I ever expect his story to canonically show this struggle, but the subtext has always been there, and I don’t think it is going to go away. Most likely, the group will find a way to go back in time and that is how they will be friends again and have learned a lesson from the pandemic. 

[wonderlandleighleigh]

They mostly patch things up after Carnegie Hall and...

And they go back to being friends.

Just friends. 

And Midge feels her heart crack just a little every time she sees him. Every time he pops into one of her gigs. Every time she winds up at one of his. Every shared drink and shared joke. 

All she wants to do is burrow in against him and holds on for dear life, but Lenny had said “just friends” and so she can’t.

But she’s not an unobservant person, and the more she does see him, the more she notices how thin he is. How pale. How tired. Smoking more. Drinking a little more, too. 

“Come to dinner with me,” she says one night after his show. “You must be starving.” 

Lenny just grins and shakes his head. “I’m good. But thanks.” 

“When was the last time you slept?” 

“I’m fine.” 

“Lenny-” 

“All is well,” he tells her, leveling her with a stern gaze.

And it’s not. 

She knows it isn’t. She’s a mother - a Jewish mother - and between the biological instincts and the generational trauma, she can tell that he is not well, but she can’t do anything about it because she is trapped as his friend. Sister/Wife jokes aside, he isn’t hers. He made certain of that.

But she keeps going to his shows when she can. When she doesn’t have her own gig. Partially because she wants to see him. Support him. But partially because she wants to be there when he finally fucking collapses. 

And lo and behold...

“Motherfucker!” Jo-Jo cries in surprise as he jumps back, letting Lenny hit the club floor one night after a set. 

Midge rushes over then, shoving Lenny’s “friends” out of the way. “What is wrong with you, Jo-Jo? Why didn’t you catch him?” 

“He startled me!” 

Midge rolls his eyes and drops to her knees, shaking Lenny’s shoulders. “Lenny. Lenny, come on.” 

His eyes flutter open, dazed. He’s not drunk or high. He’s just completely, utterly exhausted and starving to boot. “Midge...?” 

“We have to stop meeting like this,” she grins at him. ”Come on. On your feet. Time to take you home.” 

“If I’m coming to your place I’m sleeping in your bed this time,” he grumbles. 

Jo-Jo rolls his eyes. “He’s got an apartment in the Village. Corner of Bank and Washington.” 

Midge nods. “I got it. Come on, you. Time to take another fun, delirious cab ride!” 

“My favorite,” Lenny mutters, holding onto her as she helps him out of the club and onto the sidewalk. “You should stop saving me.” 

“Where’s the fun in that?” 

“No, really,” he tells her, turning to her, doing his best to stay upright. “I’m hopeless, Midge. I...I wanted to only be friends so you didn’ have to keep doing this.” 

“You’re a very funny man, Lenny Bruce,” she tells him. “In so, so, so many ways.” She hails the a taxi, shoves him in gently, and they’re off to his place. 

***** 

The apartment isn’t big, but it’s nice and clean. The furniture looks new, and the kitchen is small, but good, though there’s not much food in the house. She manages to cobble together some buttered noodles for him - light on the stomach for someone who hasn’t been eating - and sits with him on the couch as he takes slow, tentative bites. 

“Talk to me,” Midge says gently. 

Lenny glances at her and then looks away. “I got clean. I went- I went cold turkey. But it’s been...” 

She waits, feeling he concern rise in her chest. 

“Sleeping is impossible. I’m never hungry...The withdrawal has been a fucking nightmare.” 

Midge sighs and absently gives into the urge to stroke his hair gently. “Even if you’re not hungry, you have to eat.” 

He gives a noncommittal shrugs and pokes at the noodles. 

“Seriously, it’s like sitting next to a skeleton,” Midge jokes. “How are you ever supposed to get another woman to sleep with you when you’re all skin and bones?” 

The look he levels her with could destroy a fucking building, and she closes her mouth. 

After a long, tense moment, she pulls her hand away. “You wanted to be friends.” 

“Not because I don’t want you,” he confesses. “You should stay away from me. I’m a fucking nightmare.” 

“Because never mind what I want,” Midge grumbles. 

“Yes, and what do you want?” Lenny asks, annoyed. “Watching me struggle through getting clean? Watching me get arrested every other fucking week? Watching me probably fall off the wagon? Is that what you want?” 

“Maybe if you had someone to actually help you, those things would be easier to deal with,” Midge points out. “Did you ever think that maybe struggling through all of this alone is what makes it so hard in the first place?” 

“Dragging you into my mess-” 

“There isn’t any dragging,” Midge shrugs. “There just me, and you, and whether we want to be together.” 

“It’s not that simple.” 

“It could be if you let it.” 

“That’s naïve.” 

“I bet you your life gets easier if we start dating,” Midge says seriously. “One month as your official, actual girlfriend, and I bet you don’t feel so much like already chewed bubblegum.” 

“And what do you get if you win this bet?” Lenny asks, looking bewildered. 

“You,” Midge smirks. 

A look passes over his face that she can’t quite discern. Something like hope or heartache or something in between. “And what do I get if I’m right?” he asks. 

“A one-way ticket to feel as miserable as you want,” Midge tells him. “All alone. I will go back to being just your friend, and I will never bother you about letting me help you again.” 

He chews on some noodles, and looks down at the bowl, considering it. “You did a good job on these noodles.” 

“You had some garlic powder,” Midge tells him. “Helps with flavor.” 

Lenny sighs. “Fine. One month. One month of Midge Weissman: Lenny Bruce’s girlfriend.” 

A slow smirk crosses her face, and she reaches out, tugging him in by the suit jacket and kissing him mercilessly. The moan she gets in response is entirely encouraging. She pulls away a moment later, still smirking. 

“Finish your noodles and meet me in the bedroom,” she tells him as she gets to her feet, brushing off her dress and heading towards the little hallway. “I’m gonna suck your cock so hard you sleep for a fucking week.” 

Lenny can only watch her go, and she hears a very soft “The fuck did I just sign up for?”   

[abbatoirablaze]

Room For Rent, Chapter 2

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: sexual tension, looking at Ari like the beefcake that he is.

That very night Ari was calling up Sammy, waiting desperately as he listened to the phone ringing. He felt like he was going crazy the longer it took him to answer the phone.

“Come on,” he urged, tapping his foot nervously. He chuckled at his thoughts for a moment, noting how it made him feel like he was some teenager again. When he heard Sammy answer, he huffed, “What took you so long?”

Sammy laughed across the receiver, “everything okay with you, Ari? Seem a little short today!”

“I found a roommate!” He replied excitedly. He continued to laugh and Ari’s brows furrowed, “why are you laughing at me, Sammy? I finally found a roommate!”

“I told you that you would forget all about me,” he chuckled at his friends excited tone, “you sound like you made a real love connection! So, tell me about my replacement? What’s he like? Please tell me he doesn’t wear his hats backwards and call you ‘bro’ or anything silly like that!”

Ari became quiet. He hadn’t thought about the fact that Sammy would automatically assume that his new roommate was a man. Probably like he hadn’t thought that she would just walk into his life and become the focal point. There was a small side to him that didn’t want to admit to Sammy that his new roommate was a woman, and that he’d also had a small crush on her. He felt like Sammy would automatically tell him to back out of it, “they’re great!”

Ari was sure to choose his words carefully, but Sammy was always one to catch on quickly, “Ari…”

“Her name is Shiloh,” he admitted softly with a sigh. He bit his lip and held his breath for a moment. He waited for Sammy to say something, but when all he heard was silence, he thought he should tell him more about her, “She’s a nice Jewish girl from the other side of the country. Doesn’t really have anyone on this side of the country so-“

“Ari.”

“What?”

There was a stalemate of silence between the two men. Ari had never mentioned being interested in anyone since his wife, hell he’d been around when Ari courted her, and he could hear the similarities in the way that he’d talked about this new girl, Shiloh.

“Do you find her attractive?”

“What?” Ari asked quickly. Sammy knew that Ari was not one to lose his cool, and he’d seen him under levels of pressure where his death would be a guarantee should he fuck up, but somehow with that one question he’d given himself away, “What? No, Sammy! She’s going to be my roommate! Why would you even ask that?”

But the denial of it had taken too long.

The chattering and breaking of his voice.

The uneven breathing.

Sammy knew that Ari was lying.

He liked this girl.

“Ari, I’m your oldest fr-“

“Sammy, there is nothing there,” Ari said defiantly, cutting his friend off, “she and I don’t even really know each other all that well.”

“You don’t have to know someone to be attracted to them.”

“Well, I’m a grown man, who can keep his feelings in check, Sam-“

“Well, you’re a grown man that’s about to be living with her!” Sammy reminded him, “and you know that it’s probably best that you distance yourself so that you do not complicate things…right? She’s a roommate now. Don’t go asking her on dates!”

But Ari didn’t answer him. The other side went silent once more as the two men tried to think of how to continue on the conversation. Sammy didn’t want to delve more into questions about the girl, because he felt like it might push him more towards her instead.

And Ari had gone from excited about his new roommate to regretting the fact that he’d called Sammy up to tell him about this new girl. This new interest in his life.

Sammy had gone from not entirely caring and happy that his friend had found a bit of happiness, to nervous, as he knew that when Ari wanted something he always went for it

“It will be fine Sammy,” Ari told him, while his own heart pounded through his chest, “I’ll be fine. We’ll be fine!”

“Maybe I should come out and visit!” Sammy offered, “you know…just to-“

“We’ll be fine, Sammy!” he said urgently, cutting his friend off, “but if you really want to visit you can. I’ll make sure the guest room is set up.”

Ari really was a kind man

You felt yourself swoon when he offered to take a day off to help you move into the house. It was an already all too kind gesture just to offer it. But you found yourself smiling as you thought of him. Everything about Ari was sweet. At least that was how it seemed on Sunday when you talked to him about it.

He didn’t need to be so kind. You were going to be roommates now, and you felt yourself blush at the thought. He was nothing like what you’d pictured when he’d originally opened the door. And then to find out you two had so much in common. But Ari, ever the gentleman wouldn’t take no for an answer.

“What kind of man would I be if I let you do that all by yourself, duvshanit!”

Looking away, you felt yourself blush at the term of endearment. No one had ever called you that outside of your family. When you didn’t respond the large man realized what had crossed his lips and he’d done the same, “I-I’m sorry. I just-I’ve always been friendly, I-“

Not wanting to make yourself or him feel even more embarrassed, you shook your head, “i-it’s fine…I just, the only people who have ever heard call each other or even myself honey are my parents.”

But when the words spilled from your lips your blush ran down your neck as well. You looked away again, unable to face Ari now that there was an implied meaning there to you. You’d just told him that it was a more intimate term, and not one of simple endearments.

Sure, Ari was gorgeous, but you had learned at Ari was double your age. You were a fresh-faced 18-year-old, and telling him the only person who had ever used terms of endearment for you were your parents.

Idiot.

But Ari just smiled.

“You are too innocent, yevno katna.”

His hand grazed your cheek as he called you a ‘little dove.’ Your throat dried up as you tried to focus your energy into breathing steadily. Another term of endearment. Your mind raced to other thoughts, while you felt your heart soaring at his words.

“Ari.”

“Sorry,” he offered, this time a blush now forming across his cheeks. He brushed some of the hair form his face and looked to you as you handed him back the application you’d filled out as a formality, “I’d love to help you out though…if you’d let me. Heck, we could move you in tomorrow if you really want.”

“I-I have class on Monday,” you blush. Your eyes met his and you smiled at him, “b-but I’m free on Tuesday.”

“Tuesday it is then, yevno katna.”

So here you were, parking your car in the second spot, right beside Ari’s truck. He’d had the door wide open and was leaning against the frame, like he’d been waiting for you. As you turned off the car and stepped out of your vehicle, you noticed that the only thing he was wearing was a pair of grey sweatpants, hanging low on his hips. You felt a blush rising to your cheeks as you studied his chest as though it were an exam you desperately needed to pass.

“H-hey!” you stuttered. He smiled as he stepped off the porch, putting his phone in his pocket, “you didn’t have to call off for me. I only have a few boxes.”

“Trust me,” he chuckled, padding his way to you as he brushed his hair back and away from his face, “I needed a day off!”

You watched how his biceps adjusted while he messed with his hair. How the stretch of his arm lengthened his torso. Your eyes trailed down the vee line on his chest and you noticed the slightest protrusion from his sweats. You felt yourself licking your lips as your throat went dry. It took everything in you to look away from the gorgeous man that was double your age.

Why do sweats show everything on a man?

“It’s only Tuesday,” you joked playfully. He chuckled and looked down at the ground as he caught the tail end of your stare. You blushed as he began agreeing with your statement, “It can’t be that bad, can it?”

“I’ve spent a lot of time ignoring the baser needs in life,” he admitted with a shrug. You swallowed, your mind instantly going to thoughts of a baser need as you looked him up and down once more. Damn those sweatpants. He bent down to grab one of your boxes and you forced yourself to look away as you instinctively began to check out his ass. You were quick to grab one of the lighter boxes as you followed him into the house, mentally slapping yourself for admiring how his body moved, “you know, I really didn’t allow myself much free time before accepting the job as an ambassador. My line of work wasn’t all that easy.”

“I can imagine,” you offered as he placed the first box in the center of your new room. You followed suit, and Ari stared at you long and hard, “Y-you and your team were very selfless to do what you did in Sudan.”

“We did what we had to do to protect our people,” he smiled softly. Your breath hitched in your throat once more as his hand brushed your cheek, and it slowly slid down to your neck, where he thumbed your star of David necklace, “our people have faced a lot of pain and suffering in this world, Shiloh…and it’s unfortunate that more aren’t willing to help their fellow man. I mean, how would you react if you were able to help someone in need? I was able to help them, so I did my best to do so.”

You nodded, half in a daze at the close contact you shared with Ari. He was just a few inches from you. So close that you could feel his breath fan across your face and down you neck.

“Yeah.”

He gave you a firm look and gently let go of your necklace, before turning back and going to the car to grab another box, as though nothing had just happened. As though there was no moment that had just occurred.

And for a brief moment you looked at the door and wondered if it was all in your head. Wondered if you were reading too much into your kind new roommate, the gentleman who had put his life on the line to help rescue thousands of refugees.

Chapter 3

[moonbeambucky]

Hey Neighbor (Part 15)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader Word Count: 4021 Warnings: fluff, mentions of the Holocaust

Summary: You had a plan and then life came along with one of its own. With your future almost derailed you worked hard to get yourself back on track and finally everything seemed to be going right… that is, until your new neighbor moved in.

A/N: Thank you also to Ary (formerly @johnnynunzio) for helping me with information and resources for the history of Romani people during the Holocaust

PART 14 | HEY NEIGHBOR MASTERLIST

Walking up the steps to the hospital becomes a little difficult as you zig-zag through groups of people trying not to hit anyone with your umbrella. Under the overhang of the building you shake it out after closing it, hoping the umbrella doesn’t drip too much on the floors as you make your way to the elevator.

It’s been a really wet day but you don’t mind it so much considering all this rain is supposed to bring beautiful flowers next month and the hope of something beautiful is exactly what you needed now.

It hasn’t been the easiest going to work every day. Metro-General is where you first met Billy and now that you’ve broken up it’s all you can think about every time you have to head down to the ER.

Wanda came over that night you got back from work and broke the news that she and Sam spotted Billy with another woman. You insisted on seeing the proof, the pictures being the final push in your decision to end things with Billy.

You admitted how things weren’t the same anymore, his attitude plus lack of caring when you were sick really made you reconsider your relationship. It had been a few days since you spoke to Billy but you wanted to call him out in person, meeting at a coffee shop to discuss things.

Confronting him was easier than you thought but watching him lie to your face was not. You had proof and he still accused you and your friends of lying just to make him look bad. After a small outburst he finally fessed up to seeing the woman named Krista. Billy didn’t tell you how long he had been cheating which pissed you off but you walked away feeling good about ending things.

It didn’t mean that you felt good. You knew that it was Billy’s loss but still, it didn’t feel good to be cheated on. You questioned everything. Was he lying from the beginning? Was work the real reason he had to cancel a few times? All of these questions made you doubt your self-worth.

Your friends were great after your breakup, each one of them there for you, readily offering up a chance to kick Billy’s ass if you let them. You all went out to celebrate how you “took out the trash,” round after round dedicated to your new freedom. But being surrounded by everyone in relationships didn’t make you feel the best, everyone except Bucky.

You might have had a little too much to drink that night and in a tearful drunken cry you might have asked him what was so wrong with you to make Billy cheat.

Bucky might also have had too much as he slurred his answer, but still he was insistent.

“There ain’t nothing wrong about you Y/N. Nothin’. Assholes like Billy treat the world like it belongs to them, like everything is up for the taking, no consequences apply. But he’s wrong and he lost the best thing to ever happen to him. You hear me? You’re the best thing that could happen t’anybody.”

You replay Bucky’s words in your mind as you pass by the nurses’ desk where Billy gave you his card. It was his loss.

Since the breakup you’ve been throwing yourself into work again. Dating Billy wasn’t a mistake, he just wasn’t the right person for you and after careful consideration you decided to chalk up those feelings you might have had towards Bucky towards all the care he gave you when you were sick. 

Bucky was your friend and a great one at that and so you made sure to fill your weekends by keeping a promise. You and Bucky began your pizza quest and it has been amazing. Your pants don’t quite agree with you but it’s definitely been worth it.

In between cases you responded to a text from Wanda. The exhibit she had been working on for The Jewish Museum is opening in a few weeks and she wanted to confirm you would be there. Like she really had to ask, of course you would.

Over the last few months she’s been working so hard on this and you couldn’t wait to be there to support her. Everyone was going and Sam made sure to take the day off.

Bucky: You up for a trek to Brooklyn?

The message caught you off guard but still brought a large smile to your face. You replied quickly asking what he was talking about and by the end of your shift it was decided; you and Bucky were going to Brooklyn for pizza. 

“I haven’t been here in forever,” Bucky said, while opening the door to Spumoni Gardens for you.

“These better be worth the two transfers Bucky. I am starving!”

You may have exaggerated a little but you were pretty hungry. Bucky insisted that you must try this famous pizza, arguing that Brooklyn is technically within the boundaries as part of your pizza quest. Semantics aside, you trusted that the hour long trip to get here would be worth it.

Spumoni Gardens was famous for their Sicilian pie and Bucky ordered one the moment you were seated. Soon enough twelve thick slices were laid out in front of you in the most interesting looking square of pizza you had seen before, with the sauce on top.

With a skeptical eye you squint at Bucky who urges you to take a bite, eagerly awaiting your response. There was no denying it, as you sank your teeth into the deliciously thick crust, with sauce and cheese hitting your taste buds like a pinball setting off lights and sound as it hits the winning targets.

A proud grin settled on Bucky’s face as he held up his own slice, taking a bite as he watched you dab at the bit of sauce in the corner of your mouth with a napkin. His eyes light up, raising his brows in a silent request for your opinion.

“So good.” Every bit of enthusiasm is behind the few words you’ve said, combined with the smile that stayed plastered on your face as you quickly took another bite, needing to taste the symphony of flavors again.

Bucky paid for everything despite your protests. He insisted that since you indulged him in his craving after a long day of work it was only fair. Side by side you slowly strolled back to the train, making a promise to come back for the spumoni when you haven’t stuffed yourselves full of pizza.

Conversation was always easy with Bucky, making the ride back home a breeze. When you reached your block you saw familiar faces headed towards the building.

“Hey guys,” Bucky greeted Clint and Natasha, as they walked with their arms linked to the door.

“We just had the best pizza!” you blurted out, unable to control your enthusiasm for the amazing dinner you had.

“Oh yeah, well we just had some shitty pasta.” Natasha playfully smacked Clint in the stomach for his blunt remark. “What? It wasn’t good!” he snarked.

“We just came back from a wedding expo,” she added.

Her lips were tense as they pressed together. They had been wedding planning for a while, not getting very far. Natasha’s work had set her back, which she didn’t mind since she was excelling professionally but it did require her and Clint to push back their wedding date a few times since they couldn’t commit to the time frame required.

“It’ll come together in time,” you said, offering a hopeful smile.

“All I know is Sonny Burch is not going to cater our wedding. That food was awful. Now tell me more about this pizza.”

Clint was practically drooling throughout the elevator ride as you and Bucky described the incredible pizza you had. After saying goodnight to them you and Bucky held back your laughter hearing Clint begging Natasha to go to Spumoni Gardens tomorrow as the elevator doors were shutting.

“Thanks for dinner Bucky,” you said, pressing a kiss to his cheek before unlocking your door. “Oh wait! Hang on one second!”

As you went inside your apartment you missed the way Bucky touched his cheek, still feeling the tingle of your lips against his skin. A moment later you came out, handing him a wrapped present.

“For taking care of me last month when I was sick.”

“You didn’t have to Y/N.” He meant it, whatever it was you got him really wasn’t necessary but you insisted it was.

Your lips pressed together with excited anticipation, staring at Bucky with widened eyes as he began to tear off the wrapping. He held up the stretched white canvas rectangle with vertical lines of varied height going across it. He smiled kindly, unsure exactly what he was looking at which was fine, his gift needed a little explanation.

“It’s Herrmann’s Psycho score in soundwave form.”

Bucky’s jaw dropped open as he stared at the vertical lines that conveyed every beat, seeing the taller lines represent the higher strings, the greater tension of the score. It was so unique, so perfectly suited for him and he knew you truly understood who he was.

“I love it. Thank you so much Y/N.”

One arm wrapped around you as he held the artwork out of the way. This gift reaffirmed the feelings he felt for you, making it harder to deal with the fact that he wasn’t going to do anything about them.

After your break up with Billy you made it very clear that you were not interested in dating. This was not the time for him to open up to you. He didn’t want to push you into anything you weren’t comfortable with so once again Bucky needed a distraction from his feelings. This is how he found himself back on the dating apps.

He finally went on a date with Bobbi, a few actually, only to find that the real chemistry they had was in the bedroom. The longer Bucky stared at the artwork you gave him the more he felt like calling her to help push aside you and thoughts of the amazing non-date that you had, but he knew she was out of town for the weekend.

Bucky’s too tired to get involved with calling someone else so instead he settled down in front of his keyboard. His fingers glide across the keys as he’s filled with inspiration, pouring his heart into a melody with you on his mind.

Wanda paced back and forth in her apartment, stopping each time to check her reflection in the scalloped mirror above her dresser when she passed it. The way she swept back the few loose tendrils of her now more conservative light brown hair wasn’t out of vanity but nerves, needing to do anything to stop the shakiness of her hands.

“Hey, everything’s going to be perfect. I promise you have nothing to worry about,” you said, offering open arms to Wanda.

She was so fidgety she was barely able to stay in your embrace for more than a second. Wanda couldn’t help it. Tonight was the opening of The Jewish Museum’s exhibit on The Holocaust and Wanda was extremely nervous. Knowing this day was so important to her, you took off from your internship, promising Elena you would make up the hours.

The buzzer of her doorbell rang and Wanda jumped with excitement. “Mom!” Wanda called out, running towards the door.

It had only been a few months since they saw each other but on a stressful day like this nothing comforted Wanda more than her mom.

“Y/N, it’s so good to see you sweetheart.” Marya wrapped her arms around you and it felt like home, and seeing her brought back all the memories of your youth with Wanda and Pietro.

It was impossible not to think about him, especially considering he shared so many features with his mom. Piet would have been so proud of Wanda today and amidst the hug you choke back the tears you felt forming.

Wanda needed to be at the museum early so you and Marya went for a light dinner first as she headed there. Catching up was easy and Marya told you how proud she was for all the hard work you’ve been putting in to get your degree. The passion behind social work was unspoken because she already knew how deeply you felt about the circumstances of Wanda and Pietro’s upbringing.

“I think about it sometimes… what could have been.”

The twinkle in her eye suggested she knew the childhood crush you harbored for her son. It wasn’t something you ever admitted before. Even Wanda didn’t know.

“Years ago I finally had the strength to go through his things. I may have found your names in a heart, scratched on what should have been his notes on American history.”

You brushed aside a tear that trickled down along the curved cheek from your smile. Piet hated history so doodling became a common way to pass the time, and knowing he felt the same doesn’t make it any easier in losing him.

Marya brought a napkin to her face to soak up her own tears. She apologized though you told her there was no reason to. “So tell me, are you seeing anyone?”

As you retold the story of putting off relationships while you earned your degree you saw her mouth pull into a frown.

“Don’t put your life on hold, you know how quickly things can change.”

Her advice didn’t feel like a lecture, and you knew you might have jumped the gun on calling off dating again; not everyone would be like Billy.

An intricately detailed archway leads you through the main doors and into the crowded lobby of the museum. It’s past the normal operating hours, premiering the exhibit for the media and friends and family first.  

You spot your friends gathered together in the corner and happily introduce them to Marya. Sam smiles a little wider as he introduces himself. “Yes, that Sam,” he replied. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Bucky is wearing his long hair down, neatly tucked behind his ears and even in all black he stands out. The white printed pattern on his black button down shirt draws your eye to the velvet blazer that makes him look incredibly sophisticated.

“You look great,” Bucky said, as you both leaned in to press your cheeks against each other for a kiss.

He couldn’t take his eyes off of you and the shine of your beige satin shirt. The delicate gold chain you wore draped lower than the V-neck cut and he let his eyes linger down your body, from the black pants that hugged your figure to the pointed black heels.

“Thanks, you look pretty good yourself. Ooh fancy,” you said, running your hands along his velvet lapel.

The chatter in the lobby grew for another ten minutes until you were directed to follow the group towards the exhibit. Marya was accompanied by Sam and both their faces lit up as they spotted Wanda, standing proudly beside a curtain that was drawn across the entry of the main room. Her eyes twinkled as she spotted them, you and everyone amongst the crowd.

A man not much taller than her walked in front of the curtain with a microphone in hand. He introduced himself as the museum’s director Phillip Coulson. Wanda had always spoken highly of him and you can see why. He was soft spoken with a kind smile, welcoming everyone to the exhibit.

“On the eve of Yom HaShoah we invite you to do what is asked, remember. We remember through stories, from letters that made it out while their writers did not. We remember through pictures, of people and the faces we strive to never forget, of discarded belongings left behind deemed as irrelevant as the lives of their owners. As we remember the decimation and destruction we also remember the endurance, the survival. We remember and we will never forget.”

A round of applause breaks through the crowd with the increased flashing of camera lights as Director Coulson gestures to Wanda who proudly draws open the curtain, opening the exhibit.

The large room is painted in a somber blue, as if the life had been sucked out of a once vibrant sky. It’s fitting. This is a place of reverence, surrounded by artifacts that tell a painful history.

There were three smaller rooms connected to the main area, each showcasing smaller exhibits, one of which you knew was the one Wanda was most proud of. She stood in front of it, awaiting her friends so you could walk through it together.

“It’s called The Ghosts of Genocide and it focuses on the Romani aspect of the Holocaust.”

Unlike the main room there were few displays. One wall was dedicated to Philomena Franz, the first Romani woman to document her experiences in the concentration camps. You read the information beside her photograph, “Zwischen Liebe und Hass” (“Between Love and Hate”) was her autobiography, the dichotomy of a happy childhood against the brutality of Auschwitz.

The next photograph was of Elena Lacková, a Slovakian Romani poet and playwright. “Holocaust Romů v povídkách” (“Holocaust of Roma in short stories”). A copy of the out of print book was behind a glass enclosure.

The large wall featured the paintings of Ceija Stojka, an Austrian Romani Holocaust survivor. You chew on your bottom lip tensely as you stare at the images. Simple ink depictions of dead bodies stacked in a haphazard pile like they were nothing more than logs meant for a fire. One image burns itself into your brain, “Mama in Auschwitz” the wide-eyed look of fear immortalized by the memory of a child.

“Wanda.” You clear your voice of the thickness that built up inside, the heavy lump that weighed on your chest from reading everything. “Forgive me if this sounds disrespectful but I thought you were supposed to incorporate the history of those who were Jewish and Romani.”

She sighed heavily. “I was but there are so many factors that play into the reason why I couldn’t; loss of information being a big one but also most people didn’t specify that they were Jewish. Obviously we know that some were but it was an issue of safety. They were already dealing with being Romani and the prejudices that came with that so they couldn’t come out with it. It’s why we have this.”

She turned you around to the far wall, glossy black tile shines against striking spotlights.

“But it’s blank.”

She nodded, pointing to the dedication. “For the countless, nameless Jewish-Romani lives lost.”

You reached out to touch the wall, your palm against the cold tile; the emptiness that contrasts so starkly in a place filled with history on every wall. And you suppose the lack of information is a lesson learned in history itself.

“This is pretty powerful stuff,” Bucky’s voice called out from behind you.

“Yeah. It is.” You didn’t have any more words.

When the night was coming to a close everyone went home quietly. Wanda’s achievements would be celebrated another night. It was comfortably silent as you and Bucky left the elevator. The unexpected feeling of your arms wrapping around him for a hug was surprising but nice and he deepened the action, firmly pulling you closer to the soft fabric of his blazer.

“Sweet dreams Y/N,” he whispered before you went inside.

That night Marya’s words replayed in your mind and after the exhibit’s reminder on how precious life is you promise yourself to be open to whatever the future brings.

Golden hues begin to creep in on the blue sky ahead of you. As the day starts to wind down the city doesn’t stop. Construction is contained by go-away green walls, with orange and white barricades used to redirect traffic on the busy street. Brake lights flare as the cars begin honking incessantly at the driver going far too slow for the city’s standards.

You see it all from the observation deck of the High Line, accompanied by Bucky and a dozen other people enjoying the first weekend of warmth. You climb the stairs away from the crowd and find a bench beside a small tree.

Bucky opens the box he’s been carrying for a while, revealing two unique and delicious doughnuts that you couldn’t wait to try.

“What’s the square one again?” you asked, licking your lips in anticipation.

“Blackberry jam, and the other is rose I think?” his voice raises with uncertainty. “It looks like a rose at least.”

That it did. The dough was shaped to look like a rose in bloom, with a pink glaze over it. Both were tempting you and the decision was tough but you chose to try the jam filled doughnut first. Hands made sticky by the glaze, you tried your best to pull it apart evenly for Bucky to have an equal share.

Your head nodded in approval as you tasted the sweetness of the jam, mixed perfectly with the airy dough. “This is good,” you said, with your hand hovering over your mouth as you continued to chew through your words.

Bucky brushed his fingers down the corners of his mouth, wiping them on a napkin afterwards and you laughed to yourself. When you were ready Bucky presented the rose shaped doughnut to you as if he was handing over a bouquet.

“How sweet,” you feigned sweetness, bringing your hands together in your best impression of a Disney princess pose.

He let you rip off the first piece of the doughnut, finding it had come apart in a small crescent which was fine, you weren’t sure you could eat much more than that.

Bucky cleared his throat as the glaze melted against his fingers. “So, uh, I have something to ask you.” His nerves stilled momentarily as you hummed in response, sucking the glaze off your fingers.

“Will you be my date to my cousin’s wedding?”

You weren’t sure what he was going to ask but this was definitely not what you imagined. It surprised you especially considering the long list of available women he had to choose from and you couldn’t help but ask him that.

“Them? No. They’re not good enough to bring to a wedding,” he replied.

“Bucky that’s horrible!” you playfully scoffed.

His head dropped down, cringing at his words. “I didn’t mean it like that! I don’t really know any of ‘em that well, and it would be nice to have a friend with me and just have fun.”

Thoughts were running through your head faster than you could process them. Being asked to be Bucky’s date seemed like a dream come true. Yes, despite losing hope in dating after what you went through with Billy it didn’t stop the crush you had on Bucky from growing. But your mind stopped your heart from indulging in its fantasy, reminding you that Bucky legitimately had a long list of women to choose from and you were one of many.

His reasons for asking you made sense, you were very close and sometimes you questioned Bucky’s intentions. He’s never made you feel uncomfortable, it’s the opposite. You’re always comfortable with Bucky, no matter what you do. It feels like what a relationship should be except without the intimacy.

That was the scariest part of it all. Part of you wanted to take a risk and see if there could be something more to what you had but what if it makes you just another girl on his list. A convenient person to sleep with along with the others.

“Please, I already RSVP’d for two,” he begged, staring at you with big eyes as his plush bottom lip protruded out comically far.

The tug of war between your brain and heart wins in favor of the latter as you agreed to go with him, convincing yourself that it’s just a date to a wedding with a friend and nothing more.

PART 16

[artzychic27]

The Primaries: Beautiful

Adrien: September 1st, 1989. Dear Diary:

I believe I'm a good person. You know, I think that there's good in everyone, but—here we are! First day of Senior year! And uh... I look around at these kids that I've known since I got here, and I ask myself—what happened? Students: Freak! Liar! Burnout! Moron! Poser! Dumbass!

Adrien: We were so tiny, happy and shiny! Playing tag, and getting chased! Students: Bitch! Jerk! Liar! Bullies! Adrien: Singing and clapping, laughing and napping! Baking cookies, eating paste! Students: Blowhard! Stuck-up! Tabloid! Adrien: Then we got bigger, that was the trigger Like the Huns invading Rome! Welcome to my school, this ain't no high school: This is the Thunderdome! Hold your breath and count the days, we're graduating soon! Students: White trash! Adrien: Next year will be paradise, if I'm not dead by June!... But I know, I know, life can be beautiful I pray, I pray for a better way If we changed back then, we could change again. We can be beautiful...

*Alya trips Aurore* 

Aurore: Hey! Adrien: Just not today. *He goes to help her up* Hey, are you okay? Aurore: *She smacks his hand away* Don’t talk to me. Adrien: Oh, okay Students: Jerk! Liar! Poser! Doormat! Doormat! Doormat! Adrien: Things will get better soon as my letter Comes from Harvard, Duke, or Brown Wake from this coma, take my diploma Then I can blow this town. Dream of ivy-covered walls and smoky French cafés Lila: Watch it! Adrien: Fight the urge to strike a match and set this dump ablaze! *Lila smacks Mireille’s lunch tray out of her hands*

Lila: Oops. Adrien: Lila Rossi. Third year as an Agreste Model, and tenth year of smacking lunch trays and being a lying bitch! Lila: Do you want me to tell your dad what you just said? Adrien: ... Shut up, Lila. But I know, I know... (I know, I know...) Life can be beautiful (Beautiful) I pray, I pray (I pray, I pray) For a better way (For a better way) We were kind before; (Ooh...) We can be kind once more (Ooh...) We can be beautiful... (Ooh... Beautiful...) *Nino taps on his shoulder*

Adrien: Ah!... Hey Nino. Nino: Hey! Adrien: Nino Lahiffe. My best friend since I started this school. Nino: We still on for movie night? Adrien: Yeah, you're on Jiffy Pop detail. Nino: I rented "Jurassic Park." Adrien: Again? Wait, don't you have it memorized by now? Nino: What can I say? I'm a sucker for a good Spielberg movie. Alya: Nino! You can’t go to movie night; I need your help with the Ladyblog. Adrien: Alya Ceasaire: Blogger. She is always jumping to conclusions. It often leads to trouble. Lila: Oh! Then that means you’re free tonight, Adrien! Adrien: No! Nino and I are having movie night! Work on the Ladyblog another time. Lila: I'm sorry, are you actually standing up to me? Adrien: Yes, I am! I wanna know what gives you the right to act like a high and mighty control freak. You're a high school has-been waiting to happen. A future cocktail waitress!... Jean: Wow, Adrien! Your balls finally dropped. Congrats.

*The students laugh while Adrien blushes from embarrassment*

Adrien: Dear diary: Why... Myléne: Why do they hate us? Mireille: Why don't I fight back?

Marc: Why are they such creeps? Adrien: Why... Lila: Why won't he date me? Kim: Why did I hit him? Juleka/Mme. Bustier/Nino: Why do I cry myself to sleep? Adrien: Why... Students: Somebody hug me! Somebody fix me! Somebody save me! Send me a sign, God! Give me some hope, here! Something to live for!

... Students: Ah! Nathan, Chloé, and Mari...

Adrien: And then there's the Primaries. They float above it all... Students: I love Nathan, Chloé, and Mari... I hate Nathan, Chloé, and Mari... Adrien: Nathaniel Kurtzberg, president of the art club. His family is dangerous—they’re the Jewish mafia.

Students: I want Nathan, Chloé, and Mari...

Adrien: Chloé Bourgeois, my sort of best friend. Her dad runs the city. No discernible personality, but her mom did pay for hair extensions. Students: I need Nathan, Chloé, and Mari... Adrien: And Marinette Dupain-Cheng, the Almighty... She has connections all over the world. They’re solid Teflon—never bothered, never harassed even though they’re in my class... I would give anything to be like that. Aurore: I'd like to be their girlfriend. Students: That would be beautiful... Sabrina: If I sat at their table, guys would notice me. Students: So beautiful... Ooh... Nino: I'd like them to be nicer. Students: That would be beautiful... Ooh... Lila: I'd like to kidnap a Primary and photograph them naked in an abandoned warehouse and leave them tied up for the rats.

*Cut to the Primaries in the locker room* Marinette: And after we take down that tabloid blog, we-

Mme. Bustier: *She walks in* Ah, Marinette, Nathaniel, and Chloé. Perhaps you didn't hear the bell. You're late for class. Marinette: Oh, yes. It’d be a shame if we were late to a class that had us read fairytales about princes kissing princesses to break spells. Ever heard of Edgar Allen Poe? *Chloé and Nathaniel snicker*

Mme. Bustier: *Sputters* Week's detention!

Adrien: Um, actually, Mme. Bustier, all four of us are out on a hall pass. Yearbook committee *He shows her the fake hall pass* Mme. Bustier: ...I see you're all listed. Hurry up and get where you're going. *She leaves*  Marinette: *She takes the forged note and examines it* This is an excellent forgery, Agreste. I didn’t know you had it in you. Adrien: Thanks... I crave a boon Marinette: What boon? Adrien: Um. Let me sit at your table, at lunch. Just once. No talking necessary. If the others think that you guys tolerate me, then they'll leave me alone... *They laugh* Before you answer, I also do report cards, permission slips, and absence notes- Nathaniel: How about prescriptions? Chloe: Shut it, Nath. Nathaniel: You shut it. Marinette: ... You know, for a tall, lanky nobody whose father puts him on a strict diet and trims away body fat so you look like a twig in your shitty fashion magazines... You do have good bone structure. Nathaniel: And a symmetrical face. If I took a switchblade down the center of your skull, I'd have matching halves. That's very important. Chloé: Of course, you could stand to gain a few pounds. Marinette: And ya know, ya know, ya know? This could be beautiful. Some new clothes, brush his hair out. And we're on our way. Get this boy some blush; And Chloé, I need your brush Let's make him beautiful. Nathaniel: Let's make him beautiful... Chloé: Let's make him beautiful... Marinette: Make him beautiful... Okay? Adrien: Okay! *The next day*

Lila: Out of my way, bitch! Aurore: Why don’t you get bent?! Mireille: Your class will die at 3 pm! Marc/Jean: Don't you dare touch me! Get away, assholes! Alix/Kim: What did we ever do to them? Students: Who could survive this? I can't escape this! I think I'm dying! Juleka: Who's that with Mari? Students: Whoa... Nathan, Chloé, Mari... Aurore/Mireille/Marc: And someone! Students: Nathan, Chloé, Mari... Lila: And a babe! Students: Nathan, Chloé, Mari... Nino: Adrien?! Students: Adrien? Adrien? Adrien?! Adrien: And you know, you know, you know Life can be beautiful You hope, you dream, you pray And you get your way! Ask me how it feels! Lookin' like hell on wheels... My God, it's beautiful! I might be beautiful... And when you're beautiful... It's a beautiful frickin' day! Students: Nathan! Chloé! Mari! Adrien! Nathan! Chloé! Mari! Adrien! Adrien! Adrien! Adrien! Adrien! 

[eddiesfaerie]

Going Under

Summary: As an undercover detective, it’s not unusual to break a few rules to get some classified intel. You just can’t seem to figure out why Flip Zimmerman would want to help you out. (5.3k words)

Warnings: possible spoilers for Blackkklansman, angst, mentions of KKK, mentions of police, mentions of gun violence, period related sexism i guess, f!reader, enemies to lovers?, pissed + jealous Flip :) 

A/N: thank you all for the sweet comments (listed below along with the prompts), and so sorry for how long this took to write, I have 3 prompts combined here and I think i’m pretty happy with how it turned out:) i hope it’s okay that i reworded some of the prompts just so that they fit in better. i hope you enjoy <3

Based on:

Congratulations on your 300!!!! I’d love to request these prompts with Flip, if you’re feelin it! 2 and 4 from the angst prompts list and 5 and 15 from the types of kisses prompt list. Thank you!

from the angst prompts list “Isn’t it obvious? I’m in love with you!” with flip?? You’re such an amazing writer im here every damn day 🥺🥰

Kisses #45 and “you’re driving me fucking insane.” For Flip, if you’re still taking requests, please! Your writing is fantastic! :)

Skin tight and sparkling, dazzling too. This was not your usual work attire.

Well, this wasn’t your typical work outing either.

An informant had come forward, said he had intel on the KKK and their next meeting. Information even Flip (an undercover infiltrator himself) wasn’t aware of. You couldn’t pass it up. And you didn’t want to give up your informant to the precinct, so you decided against telling anyone about your meeting with him.

It was probably a bad idea to have gone back to the office to grab your audio recorder in the outfit you decided to wear to your meeting.

Because of course, the only man who ever stays this late at work, hunched over files and files of names, dates, events, anything relating to his case with the KKK, was here.

Flip Zimmerman.

You thought you could walk by him without catching his attention. You thought if you stayed in the darkness of the hallway, swallowed by the shadows he wouldn’t notice you. But Flip was good at that, he was good at noticing things.

The sequins of your dress reflected the light from his desk lamp, catching your silhouette in the dark hallway. You fucking siren, what were you up to?

“Detective.” He called out to you from his desk, all too cooly with a cigarette bobbing between his lips. He hadn’t even looked up at you. You tried not to flinch at his sudden firm voice, booming at you and jumping your bones.

“Zimmerman.” You waved, stopping in your tracts, lifting a hand to him and waving dumbly.

He finally looks up from his coffee stained files, making direct eye contact with you. A sly smile stretching across his face as he leans back in his chair, his eyes raking up and down your body as you move closer to him, settling awkwardly against the doorframe. He takes a particularly long drag from his cigarette.

“Whoowee, where you headed looking like that?” He asked through his smile, glancing at his watch to catch the time. It was getting close to midnight.

“Just… out.”

“Oh yeah? What’d you have to come back here for? Needed some pepper spray in case the guy tries something?” He’s intrigued now, questioning you like he would an informant. He leans forward on his desk, resting his weight on his forearms, cigarette between his long fingers now. You play along, laughing with him. Fighting the urge to roll your eyes.

“Yeah, something like that.” Flip nods, chuckling to himself as he brings his cigarette back up to his lips, taking another long drag. You try to look away as he blows smoke out of his nose. He stands up from his desk, walking slowly over to you in the doorway.

“Cute.” He nearly sneers, taunting you. “Now why don’t you tell me what’s really going on, hmm?”

“I’m just-”

“I saw you grabbing the audio recorder.” He says, shutting you down. Defeated, you sigh rather loudly, your shoulders sagging as you run a hand down your face.

“I’m meeting an informant.” You try to keep it short and sweet, hoping he won’t pry but Flip just raises his eyebrows, signaling you to continue. You sigh again. “He’s giving me intel on KKK activity, a possible outing that’s coming up.” Flip rolls his eyes.

“Rookie listen... I’m the one who gets KKK intel around here. What does he know that I don’t?” You shrug your shoulders, trying not to let the dumb nickname ‘rookie’ sting as he spits it at you.

“All he told me was that there’s something going on this week that’s really hush-hush, even between members. He couldn’t elaborate more than that over the phone so I agreed to meet him at a bar.”

“Alone?”

“I can handle myself, Zimmerman.” Now you roll your eyes, you hated how much he doubted you, he always had. You were just really good at ignoring him, ignoring his stares and comments. Usually.

“Do you have any idea how fucking stupid that is? These people are sick, they’re not right in the head. I’m… I’m coming.”

“What? No, Flip I’ll be-”

“I’m coming. This isn’t up for debate... Wait here, I’m gonna go get you a microphone.”

You fought the whole way to his truck, which he insisted on taking. You told him he would blow your cover, you told him he would make things obvious, probably scare the guy. You told him that maybe he would recognize him, recognize him as ‘Ron’. Flip didn’t say shit in response, just opened the passenger door for you and jogged to the driver’s seat, lighting up a new cigarette as he drove you two to the bar.

The car ride was tense, you fidgeted with the hem of your dress, acutely aware of how much skin you were showing, you could feel Flip’s burning eyes on you as he stole glances every now and then.

“You’re unbelievable.” You huffed, crossing your arms and looking out the window, trying to keep your mind focused on the mission.

“What was that?”

“I said you’re unbelievable. Somehow you’re going to manage to get all the credit for this too.” Flip brows furrowed in confusion, he turned to look at you properly for the first time since you two got in the car. He said your name but you averted his gaze as soon as your eyes met. A fleeting moment of tenderness passed through him.

“Doll, what are you talking ab-”

“We’re here.” You’re thankful for the switch of subject as you sit up suddenly in your seat, unbuckling your seatbelt and leaning forward to look into the place. You had no idea what the guy looked like. You assumed he would approach you once you were inside. Flip parked further down the street, on the opposite side. Thankfully it was a one way street so a get away, if necessary, would be easy.

“Hey don’t just jump out, the fuck-”

“Hand me the mic.” You said with urgency. Flip felt flustered watching you move, the way your breasts pressed against the fabric of your tiny dress, the soft swell of flesh at the perimeter of the shiny fabric, begging to be kissed, touched. He shuddered but turned quickly to hand you the mic kit, grabbing the headphones for himself.

You lifted your dress carefully so as not to expose your entire body to him. You pressed the microphone right in between your breasts but underneath the fabric, right above your belly button. Flip sucked on his cigarette, watching for a moment too long before turning his head away, giving you some privacy. You muttered a tiny ‘thanks’. Flip just nodded, gaze averted as he stared out his window into the dead of night, images of your body burning into the back of his mind. Fuck, you looked so soft, so pretty. You shouldn’t be doing this...

Once you were done tapping the mic to your flesh, you secured the battery pack to your underwear. Thankfully it was thin enough to not cause too much of an obvious bump in your silhouette, the informant wouldn’t notice, not that he would really mind. He probably knew you would be recording something but he wasn’t the problem. KKK members were everywhere, they blended in, they could be anyone. You had to be sneaky, hide away from prying eyes that look for detectives, for cops.

But you were good, you were good at being sneaky, conniving. That’s why you were hired. Tonight, you would just look like you were on a friendly date.

You opened the car door, your heels clacking against the concrete. You close the car door quietly behind you, nodding at Flip before heading inside. Flip was easily more nervous than you were. He had experienced these guys first hand, you hadn’t. He knew how fucked up they truly were, how sick and twisted their minds were. Not only did they not trust anyone who didn’t look like them, they were weary of newbies too, white folks just like them.

Images flash in his mind of Felix holding him at gunpoint in his stale basement, threatening to pull the trigger if he didn’t prove he wasn’t circumcised, prove he wasn’t Jewish. Flip thought he was going to die that day. Truly thought he was going to be killed by some nazi in a basement. But Ron saved him, Ron sacrificed himself and saved the whole mission. Flip hoped it didn’t come to it tonight but if it did, he hoped he could save you too.

Chatter on the radio filled his headphones, cutting off his looming thoughts. Your sweet voice filled his head, surrounded him, nearly throwing him off balance in his seat. He tried to look into the bar, to see if he could see you from where he was parked but to no avail. You had sat somewhere out of eyesight and that made Flip nervous. He would have to work based on the tone of your voice, he’d have to judge for himself if you were in danger.

“Hey, George right?”

“Nope, but that’s the name I gave ya.” The guy chuckled. Flip didn’t recognize the voice, probably someone he hadn’t met, it did nothing to calm his nerves. “Didn’t think the name you gave me was yer own so, figured I’d play yer little game, right Pamela?”

Pamela. If Flip wasn’t so high strung, he would’ve laughed at that.

It must have been what? Only last week that he and some of the guys were briefly discussing Pamela Anderson after catching Jimmy reading a magazine she was featured in, teasing him about it, perhaps making too many lewd comments. Maybe you had caught that. Maybe it was a coincidence. Either way, Flip was flustered beyond belief.

You laughed anyways at ‘George’s’ comment, the sound made Flip feel drunk.

“So, what do you have for me George?”

“Now now darlin’, what’s the rush? Why don’t we get somethin’ t’ drink first?” You laughed again, fabric rustling too loudly.

“Sure... I’ll just have a Coke.” You say dismissively. Flip can hear ‘George’ ordering in the background while you seem to fidget around, maybe adjusting your dress.

The conversation progressed at a frustrating pace. The informant kept swerving around your questions, ordering too many drinks which made his sentences harder to understand, and that deep southern accent of his wasn’t helping his case either. Flip could hear the anger and frustration seeping into your voice, coating your words with a vicious bite and a sickeningly sweet laugh, trying to play it off cooly as to not give away your cover. There were too many fucking rednecks in this part of town.

On his fourth drink, ‘George’ started letting his hand wander over to yours which rested on the bar countertop. You could tell he thought he was being real smooth, letting his fingers just graze ever so slightly over yours, followed by a gentle tap of his hand over the back of your palm, then he started leaving it there, running his thumb over your soft skin. It made your skin burn, not in that pleasant way but in the way that makes your stomach feel like it’s about to churn your Coke up your throat and out of your mouth, onto his nice shoes.

The worst part is you let him touch you, you let him get handsy all in the hopes of gaining information. Don’t blow your cover, don’t blow your cover, don’t blow your cover.

“So…” you start, stretching casually, trying to rid your body of his grabby hands. “I hear Mr. Duke is supposed to be making an appearance, sometime at the end of this month right?” George nodded, reaching his hand over to you again, clearly he only had one thing on his mind, and that was not David Duke.

“Yeah darlin’, he sure is. I’m sure he’d like to meet somethin’ as pretty as you. I’m sure he’d like to show ya what the organization is really capable of… they’re gonna make things go boom.” His hand had managed to slither itself around your waist, pinching your skin through the dress. He was practically standing next to you now, breathing down your neck.

Even Flip, who still sat all the way outside in his truck, could tell he was standing closer to you now based on the way his voice had moved in regards to the placement of your mic. It was coming in almost exactly where yours was. Was he hovering over you now? Touching you? He heard loud rustling, a clear agitation of the microphone taped above your belly button, how handsy was he getting? Flip’s heart started beating faster as he weighed his options, unsure of what to do, how to go about this situation stealthily.

“What do you mean, make things go boom?” You asked, bless your fucking heart, still going along with the mission. Still trying to coax answers out of this man who did not give one single shit about you or the information he promised. The more Flip thought about it, the more he realized this guy was probably just using you to go out on a date with someone way out of his league. George chuckled darkly, the sound disgusted both you and Flip.

“Why don’t I… explain it to ya real nice and real slow in the bathroom-” Flip flung the headphone off his head, grabbed his pistol and jammed it into the back of his jeans, making sure his flannel covered it as he secured it in his belt. He threw his hat on, tucking it low over his eyes and ran into the bar, only slowing down to a saunter when he entered. Be fucking casual.

He got the slightest glimpse of a man entering the bathroom before he disappeared behind the closed door, and then he saw you, shining in the dark light of this dingy bar like you had a god damn halo around your head, perched perfectly on the stool like you weren’t having the worst time of your fucking life. You made wide eyes at Flip, shooing him away with a flick of your wrist but he just marched right up to you, grabbing the hand you were trying to motion him away with.

“Fli- what the fuck?” You whisper yelled at him, nearly saying his real name. You glanced over at the bathroom door that ‘George’ so confidently stormed into, so sure that you were hot on his trails, so into the idea of him fucking you. You felt sick to your stomach.

“Come on Pamela, we’re leaving. This is over.” You glared at him, squinting your eyes, shooting fake lasers at him as hard as you could.

“But I can still get something out of him, let me-”

“I don’t think you and ‘George’ have the same idea of what it is exactly you’re going to be getting out of him tonight.” Flip glared, his fist clenching around your wrist, so small in his grasp. His eyes were filled with an emotion you didn’t think Flip was capable of feeling, fear.

“Let’s fucking go, pumpkin.” He spat the nickname out at you, it was better than rookie, but it still felt like a slap in the face coming from him in that menacing, annoyed tone.

You abandoned the mission. You let him drag you out of there, ‘George’ being none the wiser as he probably jacked off, alone in a stall with no one waiting for him on the other side of that door anymore. You didn’t feel bad, you just couldn’t help but think of what a pathetic situation this was, how stupid you had been to think this would work.

You thought about what could have happened if Flip wasn’t there to come knock you to your senses and out of your own stupid fucking naveity. You bet he got some weird, sick pleasure from watching you fail, maybe he felt guilty and felt the need to put an end to your suffering. He was always two steps ahead of everyone anyways.

“What the fuck is your problem?” You yell at him once you’re finally outside, standing next to his truck. You rip your hand from the vice grip he had you in, Flip only turning around to glare at you when you do so.

“What the fuck is my problem? Rookie, he had his hands all over you, you were just gonna let that slide? Let him have his way with you?”

“Why do you care how I get my intel? I could have gotten something good, something useful.”

“Hmmm, sure. You go ahead, believe that. Keep indulging yourself in that fucking fantasy. He just wanted to fuck you!” He yells, voice booming down the street and it startles you, quite literally knocking you off your feet. You stumble backwards, stumble away from him.

Flip leans back against the side of his truck, pressing his palms into his eyes, trying to shut everything out, regain control. He didn’t mean to yell, really, he didn’t mean to. He just couldn’t stop the images flashing in his mind, ones of you sitting pretty while that faceless creep put his hands all over you, touching you, groping you.

He groaned something into his hands, unintelligible to you. You rolled your eyes at whatever it was he said and took a few steps forward until your hand rested on the car door handle.

“Let’s just go, Flip. Before he comes back out and notices I’m gone.” You say, voice much quieter now, gentler, smaller. It surprises Flip, he wasn’t expecting you to back down from a fight with him so soon.

You two always had such charged energy at the office whenever you were forced to interact, it came out in sharp comments from Flip and icy glares from you. You were getting sick of it if you were being honest. Flip sort of was too, tired of all the unnecessary coldness he always approached you with. Maybe he was just covering something up, repressing something.

But Flip nods his head and walks to the driver's side, starting the engine and driving back to the station.

The ride is quiet, much like the ride over except now you’re trying to stop your lip from trembling and your eyes from fluttering shut, threatening to spill the tears that well up in your eyes. How could you be so fucking stupid? How could this have worked? How could tonight have gone the way you thought it would?

“I’m sorry.” That low, baritone voice grumbles from the driver’s seat. You wipe your tears away that managed to fall with the back of your hand, turning to look at Flip in confusion.

“For what?” Knowing tonight would be a disaster? Knowing that you would’ve fucked something up eventually?

“That tonight didn’t go the way you wanted it to.” He kept his gaze ahead, not daring to turn and look at you in that dress with that sad expression on your face. He knew it would break him, make him say things he wouldn’t dare admit, say aloud. “I ruined it. I’m sorry that I fucked up the mission.”

That you were not expecting. Detective Flip Zimmerman apologizing to you. You. Of all people.

“It’s fine… you were right afterall I just… I just didn’t want to believe it. I wanted to do this myself, you know.” You shrug, as if it was no big deal. You wipe another tear that falls and Flip looks then, that fateful moment that he allows himself to look at you.

Eyes shiny, wet and big, looking right back at him, into him. Lips swollen, puffy. You sniffle, pulling your lips taught for a moment before they go back to their resting place, begging to be bitten, licked. Your chest moves gracefully somehow as small hiccups wracked your diaphragm and lungs, making it heave slightly as you try to restrain your sobs. Flip thinks he nearly crashes his truck, but he doesn’t, and you say,

“We’re here.” And he nearly gets whiplash from what a déjà vu this is. Reminds him of the beginning of the night when he had no idea what was in store. Somehow he even managed to park without realizing.

“No, I… I shouldn’t have been right. He shouldn't have acted that way. I just- when I could tell he was touching you… no one should touch you like that, not if you don’t want them to.” You sit there flustered, listening to him go on, voice low like the volume on the radio that you didn’t even notice had been turned on this whole time. You’re astonished. You can’t believe this is the Flip you know, standing up for you, advocating for you.

Flip sees the way you’re looking at him and hell, he’s just as surprised as you are. Suddenly embarrassed for going on such a tangent, he unbuckles himself and steps out of the car. You follow quickly behind him, his strides long and fast with those legs of his. You head into the building and follow him into the storage room so you can remove the mostly useless tape from tonight and return the audio recorder and mic that you borrowed.

The room is dark, stuffy from not being used in hours, the windows shut tight. Flip switches on a little desk lamp and you get to work removing the tape from your body. First, you unclip the battery pack, pulling the wire out from your dress and then your only left with the taped part.

You rip it off like a bandage, only a small noise being emitted from your throat at the sweet burn it left in its trail. That red mark would take hours to disappear, you would have to moisturize it when you got home.

“You good?” Flip asks, barely looking up from what he was doing, which was removing the audio tape from the recorder, writing down the date and names on it before storing it away to be reviewed tomorrow.

Questions burn on your tongue, wondering why he decided to help you tonight. Why he ‘came to the rescue’, why he felt the need to involve himself in something he could have just left alone. Something he could have just not asked about when you ran into him earlier this evening. Why did he-

“Why do you hate me?” You settle on, ignoring his question and shooting one back at him as you place the mic back in it’s box. He finally looked up at you, completely puzzled, like before. You roll your eyes, surely he must know what you mean. How could he think that you didn’t know how he hated you.

“Come on, Flip. I’m not in the mood for games, just answer the question.” You frown, shaking your head. It pounded and throbbed from the inside out, you felt like your head could truly combust right now. You just wanted this night to be over with, you wanted to go home and wash it away.

“You think I would have done that if I hated you?”

“You can still hate me and be a decent person.” You spit, turning away from him and willing your brain to stop creating more and more tears. They stung in your eyes, begging to be set free but you didn’t want Flip to see you cry, didn’t want him to know he could do that to you. You were just tired, emotionally drained.

A large warm hand placed itself on the small of your back, its warmth quickly travelling throughout your body like wildfire. Flip’s hand doesn’t wander, it stays put, just letting you know he’s there.

“I don’t hate you, Rookie-”

“Stop calling me that.” You whisper, voice so small, squeezing your eyes shut, willing, willing, willing the tears away.

And then Flip says your name, possibly for the first time all night. And it fucking breaks you. His voice, so soft, gentle even. Quiet to not alarm you, the words caressing your ears, kissing your flesh. You want to melt into him, you don’t know why but you do. You want to stop fighting this…

You turned around to face him, his dark eyes boring into yours. He was much closer than you expected him to be. His hand hadn���t moved from its place, where it once rested on your lower back, now it grazed your hip, ghosting above the perimeter of your body like he was scared to touch you, frightened.

“You drive me fucking insane… but I don’t hate you.” His voice was quiet too, just like your own. Like the two of you were afraid to speak too loud because it would shake the dust off all these old files, awaken the ghosts.

“You drive me fucking insane too.” You want to laugh, you really do. Maybe you never hated him, maybe he never hated you. Maybe you made it all up, confusing one kind of tension for another. Maybe you really were naive, stupid.

His hand wraps itself around your waist, the other coming to do the same nervously. They truly engulf you, his hands. Big, warm and strong, they pull you closer to him and you gasp when your bodies collide.

“Flip-”

“When I heard him… when I heard how he was talking to you I just, I don’t know.” Flip takes a deep breath, letting his head lean down so that his forehead rests against yours. The intimacy startles you. You want to pull away from him but.

But you don’t. Instead you bring your arms up to hold the sides of his strong neck, feeling his pulse thrumming against your palm. What was happening? What were you doing-

“You, in this dress… fuck. I would have killed him if-if… He didn’t deserve to see you in this, didn’t fucking deserve to know what it feels like to touch you in it…” Flip’s voice trails off, it was quiet to begin with. His hands clutch the fabric at your waist, as if trying to draw you in closer to him, and you’re left speechless, just watching in awe as he works through his thoughts. That familiar crease between his brows appearing. You find yourself wanting to smooth it away, whether it be with your fingers or your lips you don’t care. You just- you just want to show him something other than that coolness you always give him. You want to be warm for him.

“And you do? You deserve it?” You tempt, not sure why you’re even bothering stepping on his toes at this point. You suppose old habits die hard.

“You tell me.” He whispered, nudging his nose into yours and you gasp quietly, your breath fanning across his lips and he swears he could just melt into you right now, if that’s what you wanted. If you’d let him.

And you… you’re still too dumb to know what it is you want, too naive to give in, to melt into his hands. After what happened tonight, you’re scared, scared of how easily things can go wrong in ways you never could have foreseen.

But Flip saw.

Flip noticed.

Flip was there. Maybe you two would make a good team...

Taking a chance, you let your hands move to wrap your arms around his neck, nuzzling your nose into his before… before Flip lets you make your move, lets you come onto him, safe in his arms. He holds you so, so close as you let your lips brush against his, breathing him in, still deciding.

So indecisive, Flip thinks. He would laugh at you right now if you didn’t have him completely wrapped around your finger, hanging on your every move, waiting, waiting for you to take what you need from him.

You press into him, with your body and your lips, letting him hold you as close as he possibly could. Flip sighs against your lips, melting into your touch as your fingers comb themselves into his hair, tugging when you reach the ends. He groans, folding over you, tilting his head and opening his mouth for you, he runs his tongue against your closed lips. Asking.

Yes, you want to say, you want to yell, scream it at him. But all you do is moan pathetically into his mouth as you open up for him, blooming like a flower as his tongue dances over yours, pressing into your mouth, deeper, deeper. Flip groans too, he needed this as much as you did.

Whether it was from the frustration of tonight’s events or the tension that had been pulled tight between the two of you like a tightrope, building for months and months on end, but both of you cracked underneath the pressure of the night.

As Flip worked his jaw on you, he stumbled, falling into you, pushing you back until your ass hit the desk behind you, making it scrape and screech across the floor. Files flew off, pens scattered, rolling across the floor, even the lamp rocked back and forth, back and forth with the force Flip tackled you with. You whimpered into his mouth, letting him move you how he pleased.

You felt his hands slither down your body with haste, stopping only to grab at your ass through your dress. His big hands wrapped around the back of your thighs, hoisting you up until you sat perched on the desk, your legs parting all too easily for him to stand between, pressing his body flush against yours.

Flip continued to devour you, you put in as much effort as you could but you felt weak, dumb with the way his mouth was so soft and warm on yours, his stupidly perfect lips so wet and soft, gliding effortlessly against your own. Like he was made to kiss you.

You lost yourself in his kiss, in his caress, in his touch. You let him hold you, shift you however he wanted, you felt like you were in some old classic movie with the way he was kissing you, with so much passion, so much vigour.

As you dove deeper into him, your inhibitions fell further and further away. You tugged at his hair, pressing his face into yours so that his nose was pressed firmly into your cheek. Teeth grazing his plump bottom lip, you entertained the idea of biting into the supple skin for all of two seconds before you indulged yourself in the sick pleasure. Flip groaned, loud into your mouth as you sunk your teeth into his lip, only letting it go for him to pull back and stare at you with an abyss for eyes. His lip was swollen, you could practically see the blood rushing to the bitten area, making it redder, juicer. You did that to him. Flip growled, pressing his hips and his forehead into yours, both of you trying to regain your breath.

“Did I mention how sorry I was?” Flip said darkly, voice rumbling with lust, deep in his chest. You felt it reverberate into you, it made you shiver. That and the way he was looking at you made you want to… to be good for him. Submit. Listen to him for once.

You nod your head, so breathless as you looked up at him. He was so much bigger than you and your neck was beginning to hurt from all the straining you had to do to keep your lips pressed firmly to his.

“Do you hate me?” Flip asks now, his turn to get an answer. His hand rests against your neck, fingers grazing your jawline from how big it is, wrapping around you too easily. You never wanted him to let go. You bite your lip and eyes still looking up at him, chest heaving, hard.

“No, I… I think the opposite actually.”

Part 2?

[randomingoftherandomness]

Hi, I’m sorry to bother you with this, but I was wondering about your distaste for S*a*g C*i. I’m not very familiar with the comics or the characters. Your post caught my attention because I try to be knowledgeable about the media I consume, especially coming from Marvel/Disney(being Jewish Rromani, I’ll never forgive them for what they did to Wanda). I tried googling information about it but couldn’t find much. I was just curious if your post had a deeper meaning or if it simply isn’t to your taste. Obviously feel free to ignore this if you don’t feel like getting into it or don’t want to answer.

Hi! First up, thanks for taking the chance to ask and being willing to listen. I appreciate that a lot.

I am going to preface this by saying that I am part of the Chinese diaspora. I have never read the comics in full but I have seen enough to formulate my own thoughts. All my opinions made here are my own and I’m not looking to debate or be persuaded or to shift my point of view. I have my mind about these things and you have yours. I do urge you to keep opening avenues of discussions as I should not be the only person being asked.

Also, heads up, I will block any sort of argumentative bs-ery.

SC is obviously made with the perspective of the Asian American lens in mind and I have seen it been pointed out that it isn’t meant to be ‘representative’ but let’s be real here. How many people in the tag have already been hyping it up as Asian rep and stuff? I’m just saying. I just want to say that the experiences of Asian Americans do not reflect those of the diaspora. Yes, we can relate to a certain extent, but to generalise and distill all experiences of all members of the diaspora into that of Asian Americans is unacceptable.

My issues with SC (not gonna bother with spelling the name out and we are going into the whys) are as follows:

I would recommend starting out by reading this article on cbr.com that goes a little further into detail on the history of the character

The tl;dr is this; SC started out as an insensitive East Asian stereotype character created to capitalise on the 1970s fervour for anything Kung Fu. Sure, Marvel has done their best to retcon some of the less stellar parts of his origins, but the funniest thing is (legend. big bro. uncle Tony) Tong Leung, a renown Hong Kong actor has been casted as The Mandarin while Simu Liu, a Canadian Chinese actor, was casted as SC. Make of that what you will.

Okay deadass I’m not saying Simu Liu won’t do a good job because at this point all we have to work on is a teaser trailer but I’m all saying that is, was Arthur Chen Feiyu not available or something?? Idk. He didn’t pick up the phone?? Did Marvel even ask?? This is nonsensical salt and I digress

Then there’s the name. What kinda hell name is S**** C**??? This is some Cho Chang level bullshit. Yeah, sure we can say, oh they just want to make sure the branding is right. Ok. This coming from the studio that amalgamated the characterisations of Ned Leeds and Ganke Lee. Sure, Jan.

Full disclosure, I did like some of the vibes given out by the teaser. There were some very wuxia and xianxia inspired shots and scenes and if I do watch, I’ll be very keen on these bits. Awkwafina already looks like she is set to be etched deep into my heart and Uncle Tony looks to be gearing up to kick this out of the park because goddamn he looks good in that armour. Haven’t seen Tan Sri Michelle Yeoh’s character, but I’m sure she will be kicking ass and taking names for sure too because I am very sure veterans like her and Uncle Tony will look good doing wire works. But this isn’t a movie about them, is it? It’s about SC and right now with this teaser trailer, nothing about SC makes me want to froth at the mouth to watch.

Yes, I am saying that that subway scene does not impress me. We live in a world with stunt teams from China can work on a peanut budget to make conversations flow in a fight scene. Do better.

Again, I am very aware that this teaser is to hype people up. I know. I am still waiting for the proper first trailer to drop. I have actually deliberately kept myself oblivious to the production of this movie so as to not give myself any sort of preconceived notions. When that first trailer drops, then I will formulate my thoughts again.

Okay, I know it’s a teaser but some of the cgi just looks... very uncanny valley? It looks unfinished, is what I am getting at here. For a mega conglomerate verging on industry monopoly, even a teaser trailer should look 1000% better than this. Every beat of this should be flawless. It should look on par with the trailer. People who follow will know that I won’t ever fault a product because of shitty cgi (re: Word of Honor) but when you are the people behind the Live Adaptation of Mulan (which I hate) and Raya and the Last Dragon (which I categorically DETEST because that shit is bullshit mishmash of SEA cultures with fucking made up words being painted as *representation* and that is some fucking bullshit and as someone from SEA I’m sorry Queen Kelly Marie Tran BUT NO) I will hold you to the fucking standards of the high heavens as the House of the Devil Mouse deserves. Do fucking better.

I am not clairvoyant but I can already see how it is going to go when this movie doesn’t “do as well as expected” in Asia; you’ll hear people going on about how the Asian Asians don’t support these types of stories, how we don’t put effort into hyping movies and shows that push for representation. But can I ask whose representation are we talking about? I saw it with Crazy Rich Asians and Mulan, I saw it with Raya. Whose rep are we talking about? If someone out there, some little child sees themselves in these media products, sure, great! Empower these next generation for the push for a better hope. But whose rep are we pushing for? Because I definitely do not see myself in the Asian American lens of representation and I’m very sure I won’t ever and I know that I am not alone in this.

Hollywood needs to do better. To borrow the words of a friend, excusing mediocrity for ‘cultural appreciation’ is no good.

This rant has gotten long enough and I’m so sorry to everyone seeing this on your dash. I have a lot of salt today.

[harleyhua-archive]

it’s elle again! took me longer than I thought it would, but i’m here with the bio of my second son, harley. he’s my newest oc; i’ve had him for about a year, but i didn’t get to rp much during that time. i’m fluent in asl, so harley has a special place in my heart. usually my gifs that include him signing won’t actually match the signs up to what he’s saying, but this one does. he’s signing ‘hello, my name is....’ so it felt like an appropriate intro post.

[ chella man, genderqueer trans man, 21, he/him ] did you see who just walked in? it was that JUNIOR, the ╳ + HARDWORKING AND  - DISORGANIZED ╳  one? you know, the one who lives at SONTHENA HALL, HARLEY HUA! i heard they are majoring in ART and they can’t wait to get out of here to BECOME AN ILLUSTRATOR.  crap! stop staring, here they come!

name. harley hua hometown. detroit, mi major. art (illustration) birthday. may 27th, 2000 gender. trans man, genderqueer orientation. pansexual religion. jewish languages. english, asl, some cantonese and french hobbies. cheerleading, drawing, comic books

[ BIO ] [ tw. gender dysphoria ]

harley was born hard of hearing, although it wasn’t discovered until he was six. his audiologist discouraged his parents from teaching him sign, saying he would stop talking and stunt his language skills, so he grew up using his hearing aid and filling in the gaps with lipreading.

his yearly hearing tests showed he was gradually going deaf. he kept getting stronger hearing aids and being able to catch less and less of what was happening around him. the expectation was that he would get better at reading lips, but that only got him so far (only 30% of the English language is visible on the mouth!)

he had been a social kid, but he slowly withdrew into art. there, he could create anything he wanted. he often drew superheroes, or just ‘regular’ civilians (usually men). for a few years, harley took a sketch book and at least three graphic pencils everywhere he went.

in middle school, harley was eligible for a cochlear implant. his parents urged for him to get implanted, but decided to let him make the decision himself. he found a way to compromise with them; he agreed to get the surgery, but in exchange his parents agreed to pay for him and his brother to take ASL classes.

once activated, the implant was an immediate change. the world sounded different through it than what harley remembered, but he could understand his teachers and classmates better than he had in a very long time. he was able to join in again, and went from the kid scribbling in a notebook alone to being very outgoing. once he was able to use an ASL interpreter in classes, his confidence and grades shot up.

in high school, harley was very popular. it didn’t take long for his friends to give him a makeover, convincing him to throw out his baggy tshirts and most of his jeans, in favor of more feminine pieces. mini skirts, heels and crop tops (at least, when he could sneak them past his parents). he grew out his short hair to better hide his cochlear implants, smiling and nodding when he couldn’t keep up in conversations instead of drawing attention to his deafness. for the first time in his life he fit in, and he didn’t want to remind people that he was different.

(tw: dysphoria) but something was different, and it wasn’t his cochlear implants or the fact he was one of the only asian kids at his predominately white high school. something about the way he looked bothered him. he would often stare at himself in the mirror, and he knew the girl staring back at him in the mirror was pretty, but he couldn’t connect with ‘her’. she felt like a completely different person, almost like a mask he wore despite not understanding why he ‘needed’ to wear it or why he felt so numb to his own body.

the huas weren’t really hurting for money, but sending two teenagers to college only a year apart would be tough for any family. harley didn’t want to put that kind of stress on his parents, so he focused on cheerleading scholarships. he toured suffolk because it has one of the best cheer programs in the country. it was a dream school, but he doubted they’d want him on their team, let alone offer him enough money that he could afford to attend. yet that’s exactly what happened, so harley accepted and moved to boston.

during his freshman year of college, he realized nobody cared what he looked like in college. many of his classmates showed up to lectures in their pajamas. he started experimenting with his clothes, trading out the feminine pieces he’d been wearing for the past four years and wearing the things he wanted to; androgynous and masculine pieces. at first he wasn’t so sure why it made him happy, he just knew it did.

(tw: dysphoria) harley had never paid much attention to the trans community. he certainly never thought of himself as trans or genderqueer. sure, he often felt like an alien stuck in someone else’s body, but he assumed that was normal - something every girl secretly felt. after joining his college’s gsa and meeting trans people for the first time and hearing their stories, it began to click. harley came out towards the end of his freshman year of college, and started transitioning a few months later. his parents didn’t try to stop him, but it’s clear they don’t understand. a small part of harley is bothered by this, but he doesn’t let it get him down. it took a long time for them to accept he was deaf, too, but they eventually came around. they’re just slow to accept changes. between that and their refusal to learn ASL, harley isn’t on the best of terms with them, but he doesn’t stop to let this get to him. 

overall harley is a very happy kid. he’s at his dream college, living his best life and preparing for the future he’s wanted since he was a kid

[ HEADCANONS ]

not wanting to take much money from his parents, harley works as a bartender three days a week at a popular bar near campus

if he’s not at work or in class, he’s either practicing cheer, working out at the student rec center, or at one of two coffee shops (one being the starbucks in his building, the other being an independent mom-and-pop cafe not far from campus)

he’s basically a jock villager from animal crossing. as stated before, he’s really into cheerleading. since getting his top surgery last summer he’s fallen in love with swimming. he also lifts weights and goes running a couple times a week with nadia.

harley is very busy, and his schedule is constantly fluctuating between working late nights and practices at any time of day. he’s pretty much always sleep deprived, and lives on an insane amount of coffee (he doesn’t like energy drinks).

harley’s preferred method of communication is asl. he uses interpreters in class and is involved with the deaf community in boston. but since most people on the squad only know a limited amount of sign, and other people he knows on campus don’t know the language at all, he often relies on the combination of his cochlear implant and lipreading to communicate. if he can’t hear with his cochlear implant (dead battery, too much background noise, etc) he won’t be able to understand enough by reading lips. but on the other hand, if he’s using his implant to communicate, watching the other person’s mouth helps him fill in the blanks.

[ WANTED CONNECTION ]

teammate // they do cheer together, so they spend a lot of time with each other

asl friends // harley prefers asl, so it would be great for him to have people to sign with!

regular customer // your character hangs out at the bar harley works at. conversely, they’re a bariste at one of the cafes harley is at multiple times a day

workout buddies // they lift weights together

rainbow family // in the queer community, they say you make your own family. harley doesn’t have a great relationship with his parents, and his brother is attending school on the west coast, so harley could use some lgbtq+ family in boston

comic book nerds // harley loves comic books. they were a major escape for him growing up and how he got into drawing in the first place. so maybe your character is also really into comic books, or they just share a passion for the mcu movies

[ FINAL NOTES ]

That’s all I got, but I’m open to almost anything with him. Looking forward to getting to explore him more here!

[jdgo51]

DAILY DEVOTIONAL FOR MARCH 31, 2023

“Who Are You?”

By Linda Chandra (Banten, Indonesia)

READ JOHN 1:19-28

John replied in the words of Isaiah the prophet, “I am the voice of one calling in the wilderness, ‘Make straight the way for the Lord.’”

JOHN 1:23 (NIV)

"'At church one Sunday I learned of a woman in the community whose husband had just died. They had four children. At God’s urging, I attended the funeral to lend my support. I did not talk much. I just sat beside her, listened to her story, and helped when needed. After the funeral ceremony was over and all her relatives went home, she asked, “Who are you? Are you one of my relatives that I have never met? Why did you sit with me until it was over?”

I replied, “I’m not your relative. I just wanted to sit with you, listen to your story, and offer help to you if you needed it.” Then she said, “Thank you for being with me. My relatives give me a lot of advice, but you don’t talk much; you only hear my sad stories. Why?” I said to her, “Because the God I know is always with me, even during the saddest times in my life.”

I have learned from today’s scripture reading that when someone asks, “Who are you?” I should tell that person more about God who saved me than about myself. In such an answer, God becomes greater as I become smaller. For as John the Baptist tells the Jewish priests, I am not the Messiah or a prophet; I am only “the voice of one calling in the wilderness.” To God be all glory."' Be present in support of those who need a listening ear. Don't talk much, but listen intently. A sounding board is good in any circumstance. Be a channel for God to minister even more than He already does.

TODAY'S PRAYER

"Dear God, may we glorify you in our actions and in our words. Make us humble so that we can magnify your name." Amen.

John 1:19-28

New International Version

John the Baptist Denies Being the Messiah

"'19 Now this was John’s testimony when the Jewish leaders[a] in Jerusalem sent priests and Levites to ask him who he was. 20 He did not fail to confess, but confessed freely, “I am not the Messiah.” 21 They asked him, “Then who are you? Are you Elijah?” He said, “I am not.” “Are you the Prophet?” He answered, “No.” 22 Finally they said, “Who are you? Give us an answer to take back to those who sent us. What do you say about yourself?” 23 John replied in the words of Isaiah the prophet, “I am the voice of one calling in the wilderness, ‘Make straight the way for the Lord.’”[b] 24 Now the Pharisees who had been sent 25 questioned him, “Why then do you baptize if you are not the Messiah, nor Elijah, nor the Prophet?” 26 “I baptize with[c] water,” John replied, “but among you stands one you do not know. 27 He is the one who comes after me, the straps of whose sandals I am not worthy to untie.” 28 This all happened at Bethany on the other side of the Jordan, where John was baptizing. John was delivering the message that he was born to share. Not everyone believed or figured it out, but he was spot on with the message. Are you receiving a message, but fail to understand it. Then just turn to Jesus and ask for explanation. You will be so very glad that you did. Blessings abound among those who love Jesus! Joe