#ill always be jewish no matter what

[aguineapigcouldntdothis]

that shit about trans people joining in on the act of creation in the same way humans use grapes to make wine is real as fuck. like yeah im creating something every time i do my T shot. G-d is holding my hand as i metaphorically finger paint in a garage that's a little bit too warm with an abandoned wasp nest in the corner. im splattering the colors everywhere and im having the time of my life and im not sure where it's gonna go but i love it. we get the ability to create something of our own bc the world is so so special and cool it doesnt get more beautiful than that

[unhonestlymirror]

I am horrified by how often I see people writing, "Well, we shouldn't take Holocaust into account when talking about Israel-Palestine war." Of course we SHOULD, and that's why:

"October 7 is getting rewritten and certain social media users are an active of the campaign to erase the atrocities.

I was barely awake on October 7th when news of the atrocities that were committed by Hamas began to trinkle in, horror by horror. With sleep still in my eyes, I had hoped it was a nightmare I could erase by burying my face in pillows and returning to slumber, but alas, reality was insistent. Hamas had butchered over 1,200 people, amongst them infants, pregnant women, the handicapped, and the elderly. Even dogs were not spared.

But Hamas didn’t just murder them in cold blood, they had tortured, raped, desecrated their bodies, and took hostages. Their depravity was limitless. And they were so proud of their crimes that they used GoPro cameras to record them, later releasing the sickening spectacles to the public as a form of psychological terror. Add to that the live streams, cell phone recordings, and CCTV camera footage, and you’ll probably have the most documented massacre in history—with a reported 60,000 video clips collected.

I’ve seen some of these videos, including those not circulating quite so widely in public. They will haunt me for the rest of my life—and that falls far short than the 47 minute “film” shown to select journalists and diplomats worldwide, a number of whom broke down and/or fell ill during the screening.

But as shocking as all of this deranged butchery was — which was entirely the intention — what stunned me in the aftermath is the world’s reaction.

Putting aside disputes of land and politics, it was jarring to hear such a blatant reframing of narrative. It started with calling Hamas the “resistance” and justifying the unjustifiable. A number of BLM chapters had put out “heroic” images of Hamas terrorists descending on parachutes. I half-expected them to release action figures of Hamas fighters too. Maybe they did?

And then came the "BUTs." Sure, some folks condemned Hamas, but it was always followed by a "BUT," justifying the unjustifiable. I've been asked, ad nauseam, "What would you do in their situation?" Well, my response remains steadfast: not commit random acts of murder, torture, and kidnapping. Call me old-fashioned. (For the record I’ve called many colorful words for my stance, but oddly that was never one of them).

It was a wake-up call for many, especially those of us in the global Jewish community. Overnight, the illusion of safety shattered, much like the dreams of anyone who's binge-watched a horror series alone at night. But now we were all collectively trapped in that nightmare, and couldn’t wake up no matter how hard with pitched.

The history of the Holocaust is taught in many schools around the world. “Never forget” and “never again” are sentiments that are echoed within that curriculum. Yet, while some might scoff at the persistent advocacy for Holocaust education, insisting that it’s hitting them over the head, a nationwide survey in 2020 reveals that the under-40 crowd seems to have missed the memo. Shockingly, one in ten respondents haven’t even heard of the word “Holocaust,” let alone being aware that as many as 6 million Jews perished in it.

Further, nearly a quarter of those questioned said they believed the Holocaust was a myth, had been exaggerated or that they weren’t sure. Meanwhile in Canada, one in five young people (under 34) either hasn't heard of the Holocaust or isn't sure what it is. And in Britain, one in twenty adults flat-out deny that it ever took place. Ah, the privilege of blissful ignorance.

Most who underestimate the number of Jews killed in Holocaust have neutral or warm feelings toward Jews.

But it's not just ignorance; there's an entire industry that has been propped up and dedicated to Holocaust denial, complete with books, “movies,” and groups. To make matters worse, alarmingly, fewer Holocaust survivors are around to share their firsthand accounts and counteract the flames of denialism.

Nearly half of the 1000 people surveyed had stated that they’ve seen Holocaust denial or distortion posts on social media or elsewhere online.

I’ve always thought that denials of genocide—such as the Holocaust —were something that happened over time, with history slipping away and being re-written.

However, I never expected to be observing this in real time.

While initially the so-called “resistance” was celebrated by a subset of society, this soon turned into full-fledged denials of Hamas’ actions on Oct 7. Despite overwhelming evidence in the form of videos captured and shared by Hamas themselves and shared on Telegram channels and elsewhere, I would read and hear people claiming that they had only targeted Israeli military. Absurd claims emerged using supposedly ‘leaked’ footage where an Israeli helicopter shoots at Nova music festival goers. That video was viewed over 30 million times on X alone. The video, which was actually originally shared by the IDF on Oct 9, was showing their attacks on specific Gazan targets—certainly NOT indiscriminate bombings of music festival attendees in Israel. (Here’s a great thread that details how this piece of disinformation spread and geolocation information that further confirms that the claim is fake).

I’ve heard countless denials of the rapes of women (and men), despite overwhelming evidence in the form of physical evidence, forensics, and a number of witness testimonies. Women’s rights groups, meanwhile, remained silent—thus offering a vacuum for denialists to fill. Proponents of “me too” also stayed silent. Worse, the University of Alberta Sexual Assault Centre’s director signed an open letter calling Hamas perpetrating “sexual violence” an “unverified accusation.” It took UN Women nearly two months to issue a lukewarm condemnation of the brutal attacks. “We are alarmed by the numerous accounts of gender-based atrocities and sexual violence during those attacks,” they wrote, following a letter writing campaign urging them to speak up. Better late than never though, right?

The roughly 40 dead babies claim was debunked as a lie. At least that’s what people on social media now declare as fact, citing a Haaretz investigation.

“Haaretz investigation EXPOSES all the ISRAELI LIES from October 7th just like I predicated (sic),” reads the post of one particularly large disinformation account.

These claims persisted despite Haaretz directly addressing that post and calling it “blatant lies” and insisting that it “absolutely no basis in Haaretz’s reporting.”

The denials continued regardless of the fact that a group of 200 forensic pathologists from all over the world had confirmed that babies were indeed murdered and that some babies were found decapitated, though it was unclear whether this was done before or after death. First responders also corroborated that they witnessed beheaded infants. Regardless of decapitation, these were babies, murdered.

The forensic pathologists also confirmed that humans were executed, bound and burned alive. Israeli police have over 1,000 statements related to the attack.

When some of the hostages were released, Hamas supporters claimed that the hostages enjoyed being held by them, that they hardly wanted to leave. That this was like a pleasant vacation for them, that’s all. Like sipping piña coladas by the beach. In fact, they would state that they were more concerned about their safety in Israeli hands. They even concocted stories of love affairs between a hostage who was shot in the leg and a Hamas captor. A sick and twisted take on reality where up is down, cats are dogs, and denial is truth. They dismissed the reality that many of these hostages watched their loved ones get murdered in front of them, and still had relatives being held in captivity. The hostages were also administered Clonazepam by Hamas, a mood-enhancing tranquilizing drug, before handing them over to the Red Cross, so that they would appear “happy.”

Meanwhile, the Yale Daily News published a correction of an opinion column stating that the “allegations had not been substantiated.”

The denials go on and on, and I can’t help but feel like I’m watching a version of Holocaust denial, except this time it’s happening in real time—not years after the fact. And this time, it has a Wi-Fi connection and a social media account.

The conditions for this were ripe. Moral relativism is why just several weeks ago, Gen Z embraced Bin Laden's 'Letter to America.' It has been building up for years across college campuses, a breeding ground for ideologies that support violent means to achieve political gains.

The perceived power dynamics play a role here too. In the eyes of many, the Israelis are seen as a superpower whereas the Palestinians, and by extension Hamas, are seen as underdogs. In their view, the underdog is always right because it is the victim, and the “power” is the oppressor. So how can the oppressor be a victim?

Israelis, despite the majority of the population being Mizrahi Jews, as well as 20% Arabs (who were also victims on Oct 7), have been framed as “white colonizers,” vs the Palestinians who are seen as “POC” in the context of this conflict. Never mind that Jews, including Ashkenazi Jews, can be traced back to the land through DNA, archaeological evidence, and historical documents.

An overall distrust for media is another factor, which has resulted in individuals taking the word of random influencer accounts as gospel over traditional media outlets. According to Gallup polls, Americans’ trust in media is near a record low. Only 34% of US adults have a “great deal” or “fair amount” of confidence as of 2022. This is a major hindrance to our sensemaking abilities.

And then, of course, there’s cognitive dissonance. When a group identifies so closely with the perpetrator and they commit heinous acts, confronting that fact happens to be uncomfortable. So, in an attempt to reduce that discomfort, they rationalize or deny the evidence. This means that they accept only evidence that supports their existing beliefs, while placing unreasonable demands on the other side.

But none of these factors would have gained as much traction if it weren’t for something that didn’t exist during the Holocaust: social media. This is the engine that helps drives this real-time historical revisionism and denialism. According to 2021 data from Pew Research, over 70% of Americans get their news via social platforms. A Reuters Institute report from 2023 found that 30% of respondents use social media as the main way to get their news.

We have a society that consumes sound-bites of information, both truth and lies (as well as lies based on grains of truth).

Social media algorithms—combined with human nature—tend to amplify outrageous untruths, which spread widely. Corrections, never make it as far as the original lie. They are just a faint hum.

Throughout the Israeli-Gaza war, we’ve seen AI generated images and bots used to paint a specific narrative—for evocative, emotional effect. But technologically sophisticatication isn’t a prerequisite for painting false narratives. Many “influencers” have taken to using existing images or videos and attaching misleading headlines to them—including sharing content that captures events in Syria while presenting it as taking place in Gaza. These networks of influencers have large reach, and can turn even the most blatant lie into a revisionist truth.

Researchers for Freedom House, a non-profit human right advocacy group, found that generally at least 47 governments have used commentators to manipulate online discussions in their favor, either via humans or bots. They’ve also recruited influencers to help spread false and misleading content, and have created fake websites that mimic actual media publications. Then there’s always Russia’s propaganda arm RT, and various other publications like Al Jazeera and Quds who have direct ties to Hamas and/or other Islamic regimes.

All of this has contributed to narrative confusion, and the erasure of unspeakable acts of brutality, and the denial of the facts of October 7, right before our very eyes.

If we cannot even share a common reality, how can have any hope of resolving anything?

“Never again” is happening now."

[grimsonandclover]

hi j came across ur blogs and FINALLY. someone who doesn’t write about puppy art or stepcest. i tbh would read anhtbjng abt patrick but i love childhood best freind patrick fics or enemies to lovers fics the most!!

All I Want For Christmas

Childhood Bestfriend!Patrick Zweig x classical singer!reader

Song of the post 'WHAT'S IT TO HIM? - Quadeca'

Yes! I don't yuck other people's yum but I noticed how it's everywhere in this fandom, which is fine, it's just not for me! There are some versions of puppy!characters that I can enjoy, but not when it gets really into the puppy stuff, ykwim? Stepcest and any other incest things are a hard no from me, though. Anyways, fuck, I love these two tropes so much, I could eat them for breakfast lunch and dinner and still have them as snacks and still never tire. but childhood friends to lovers >>> im such a softy for it. I wrote this the moment I saw your message, so it's semi-proofread, more so just me writing the little story I thought of as it came to me. if you want a smutty part two lmk and ill write it in a flash

I have no clue where the Christmas theme came from, it just kinda happened. I don't even celebrate Christmas lmao.

This was meant to be a blurb. Now it's a 5k word slow burn blurb. Hope you enjoy!

also the song linked has nothing to do w the story lmao, it's just what's playing. <3 quadeca

SFW

5.3k words

childhood bestfriend!Patrick Zweig, Never dates Tashi/Loses Art!AU, slow burn, timeskips, no content warnings

--(x)-- 1998 - 2006 --(x)--

You both grew up quite rich, you and Patrick Zweig. Going to the same charity events and galas and birthday dinners as kids because your parents would drag you both along to brag about your accomplishments. Patrick's parents would brag about how he's a tennis prodigy that's gonna go pro one day, have you seen him play? And your parents brag about your voice and your grades, how youre gonna get into any school you want (which you would be able to anyways since theyd just pay the school board). You've got the voice of an angel and since you were four they'd make you get up at parties and events and sing something by the piano. You were groomed to love the spotlight just like Patrick was groomed to love the rush of tennis.

Patrick loved hearing you sing. When you'd be ushered over to your spot by the piano player and ask the adults what they'd like to hear, Patrick would sit up from his slump at the dinner table or sofa, perking up like a dog being told its time for treats. He didn't really know anything about music, he just knew your voice did something in his chest.

You loved seeing him play. Your family had plenty of casual tennis players of its own, tennis being quite a popular sport amongst the wealthy. You understood the gist of it, but that wasn't why you asked your parents to go every time Patrick got to play. You wanted to go because it felt like the closest thing to seeing a shooting star up close. He was like a fireball on the court, even from a young age. His couches kept trying to train the unique serve out of him, you could see their cringing from the sidelines whenever he'd do it, but eventually they stopped when they realized how much he won with it. Because he did. A lot. It was mesmerizing to watch.

One Christmas the two of you finally properly spoke to eachother. You were both ten. Your parents had all gotten wine drunk in the other room, leaving the kids to try and get along in the Zweig's living room. The Christmas parties were always held at the Zweig house, it was the biggest. Didn't matter that they were Jewish. Never even crossed their mind, too big of an oppertunity to schmooze and secure business deals. Patrick never gave it a second thought, just happy he got gifts.

You two had just sat down by the fireplace as the other older kids convened on how to sneak some liquor without anyone noticing. You were too young to care about things like that, instead talking to eachother about school and your respective passions. It was the first proper conversation you'd had even though you had practically been in each other's lives since birth. Patrick liked hearing about the unserious gossip from your all-girls private school, how once again you were on the deans list and top of the class. He found it the funniest thing in the world when you confessed that you'd cheated on a math exam, your weakest subject. How you'd done that quite often actually. Patrick liked knowing you weren't as perfect as your parents boasted you to be, because that made you actually perfect in his eyes.

You liked hearing about the rowdy boys at his school and at tennis practice, and the stupid fights that would break out. Patrick would tell you about the famous tennis players his parents would get him to meet, some even practice with. How they'd comment on his serve, too, and when Patrick would imitate their voice and mannerisms, youd laugh till your stomach and cheeks hurt. Patrick decided then, at ten years old, to commit your laugh to memory. It was a sound as beautiful as your singing.

That became your routine at every dinner and every party your parents would take you to. You'd find solace and company with eachother, a rare, true friend in your world. You both never told your parents about the friendship because even then you knew they'd try and take advantage of it. Turn it into some political relationship, breed you two to marry or something for their benefits.

When Patrick's parents sent him off to the Mark Rebellato Tennis Academy when you were twelve, you cried into your pillow for hours. You'd promised to write eachother, but there's only so much writing a twelve year old can do before they get distracted. Your meetings went from twice a month to once a year. The Zweig family Christmas party.

Just like when you were ten, the two of you would meet up by the crackling fireplace and swap stories, updating each other on your lives. You performed with a real live orchestra last week a version of Silent Night and your mother cried from the crowd. Patrick was sorry he couldn't be there but you handed him a CD with a recording of the night, knowing he'd want to see it, and he said it was the best Christmas gift he'd ever gotten. He hadn't even watched it yet, but he knew. The tennis racket once owned by Bjorn Borg was a pretty great gift too, though (he'd keep it hung on his dorm wall for his entire time at the academy, then later in a case in the trunk of his car to keep it safe).

He had met a kid named Art at the academy, and he talked about how they became fast friends. Best friends. You didn't really have much time for friends, too busy with school and all the extracurriculars your parents had signed you up for since birth. It was kind of like that for Patrick before he left, and you were happy he got the chance to meet someone at the academy. Art sounded great, and you wished you could meet him.

The next year you did it again, but at 15 Patrick got pneumonia on Christmas eve and couldn't come. You sat by the fireplace alone, picking lint off your sweater. Not much had changed apart from his absence. The older kids, now nearing college, were still thinking of ways to get alcohol. Some messed around with eachother in the various rooms of the house while the parents were off doing whatever parents did, not having much else to do. You stayed by yourself, watching the fire and praying to God that Patrick would be okay.

The year after, Patrick was back. He was older now, and so were you, of course. You were both 16 now, puberty catching up with the both of you in the year you hadn't seen each other.

Patrick had started properly shaving now, and when you first laid eyes on him, waiting for you by the fireplace, the slight shadow of hair on his chin and jaw was the first thing you noticed. Your eyes trailed up the stubble to his cheeks, which had lost the baby fat and now made the apples of his cheeks much more visible, especially as he smiled up at you. He called your name excitedly, standing up to meet you in a hug. You had hugged before, but he never wore cologne before. He had clearly gone through a growth spurt, too, and easily could rest his chin on your head. When you pulled back from the hug, you grabbed his shoulders and held him at arms length, just looking at him. He did the same for you, taking in the slight increase of height yourself, the more mature glow in your skin, and, since he was still only a teenage boy and still Patrick Zweig, your new boobs. His eyebrows raised, a slow and impressed whistle blew from his lips as he gave you alook. "You've grow." He smiled, and you swatted his arms while you blushed. "Look who's talking." You said, poking his biceps. Tennis academy did him good.

You had never thought about it before, but that one year apart and your reunion woke something in you up. Patrick Zweig was hot. You didn't know, but that same part of his own brain ignited. The whole night you two still talked as normal, still giggled over stories and swapped gifts. He got you a necklace made from your favorite metal, a tiny but intricate tennis racket charm hanging on the bottom. It was simple, but it was so precious.

"So I can be with you more than once a year." He explained, and you couldn't help yourself when you pulled him into the biggest hug you could manage. It was the most heartwarming gift you had ever gotten. And it made you laugh too, especially when you reached over to give him his gift.

When he opened it, his eyes widened and laughed, picking up the simple silver chain bracelet with a tiny charm of your initial on it. You were a little nervous to give it to him, worried it seemed too couple-y of a gift instead of something you'd give a friend, but now that anxiety had gone. He put it on immediately, and you were so grateful that he didn't think it was too girly or soft for him to wear. Patrick Zweig could be crude and perverted (something you realized when he let slip the way he looked at some girls back at the academy), but he wasn't insecure. Not in that way, at least.

You sat a little closer together that year, knees brushing as you caught up. Art was still his best friend and you two made plans for how you could meet. You were still singing, the Christmas time performance of yours now a yearly tradition. He was still never able to come, but he promised one day he would. The other kids were now too old to come to his house, off at college dorm parties, some even old enough to be already married and having Christmas parties of their own. The living room was much more quiet for the two of you but it's not like you ever noticed them much before. The one true new addition was the cigarette that now dangled from his lips. You had initally scolded him for the new habit but it didn't take long for it to be passed between the two of you as you spoke. You did your best to not think about how it had touched his lips and then would touch yours.

When graduation came around and it was finally time to go off to college yourself, your heart sank a little. College meant you two would be too busy with your own lives to come back, and your parents already weren't too committed to dragging you along with them to their events anymore. When you sat by the fireplace for that final year, you found you had less to talk about. Life felt pretty slow for you, especially with your lack of real friends. It was the same deal every year. School, choir, then independent vocal lessons, then horseback riding, then the youth advisory board, then tutoring. Your days were all a countdown to Christmas, the one day of the year you weren't some busy prodigal daughter with too many responsibilities on your shoulders, but Patrick Zweig's best friend. That was the only thing expected of you.

Maybe not in the way Art Donaldson was, but you were his best friend. He was the love of your life, you were sure of it.

He asked about your plans for school, and you said you'd probably go to Julliard if you got accepted. You were being humble, of course. You got your acceptance letter months ago. Patrick, not knowing that, assured you that you would. "They'd be stupid to not let you in." He smiled, cigarette balancing between his teeth and his bottom lip. You nudged your shoulder against his, thanking him for the vote of confidence. When it was your turn to ask him, he shrugged.

"Ah, I dunno." He blew smoke from the corner of his mouth, away from you. Patrick sat, thinking to himself for a moment before turning to face you. "I've been thinking about it, and... I don't think I'm gonna go." He shrugged again, and your eyebrows pulled back in surprise. "Do your parents know that?" You asked, knowing they'd never allow him. The Zweigs loved boasting about how Patrick was going to continue the family name. Tennis might be his gift, but they expected him to finally grow up and be an adult, not a tennis player.

He shook his head, turning back to the fire crackling before you. "Fuck them," he whispered with a smirk. "I'm gonna go pro. Play at challengers and shit until I rank for the bigger stuff. Play at Wimbledon or the Olympics or something. Don't wanna risk an injury at some school before I can even do anything real, you know?"

You nod your head, understanding. It made sense for him, you just were worried about how his parents would react.

"Art's gonna go to Stanford." He said, lips a little downturned at the mention. "He wants a safety net, I guess. I don't really know." He blows another puff of smoke, handing the cigarette over to you. Then he turns to you again, chuckling a little humorlessly. "Gas is gonna be a bitch, going from California to New York."

"What do you mean?"

"Going back and forth to see you and Art." He said like it was the most obvious thing in the world, shocked you even asked. "Guess I could fly," Patrick thought to himself, thinking over the logistics of it, then seemingly deciding it would work. "Worth it."

Your chest constricted a little at the thought of him going through all of that just to see you. You insisted that he didn't have to, that you'd gladly fly over to see him instead of the other way around, but he persisted. "You'll have school and friends and shit. I'll have plenty of time to come over. Plus, you know, phones exist." He teased.

Patrick was right. They did, of course. For some reason, though, you two never called. Never even thought about it. It was a little nonsensical and you laughed, and he joined. You promised that you'd start calling him, and he promised you the same thing.

When you hugged him before you had to leave, you pressed a kiss to his cheek.

"Merry Christmas, Patrick."

He grinned, cheeks warming and turning pink. "I'm Jewish." He laughed, giving you a final hug. "Merry Christmas."

--(x)-- 2010 --(x)--

Graduation night at Alice Tully Hall was intense.

Four years had gone by in a flash and it was already the last week of May-- actually, it was already the end of graduation itself. Your cap was on your head and diploma in hand, the other one busy shaking the hands of the few late family and family friends that had come over to congratulate you. You were exhausted, both from the four years and from the night. All you wanted was to go to your apartment, flop onto your bed face first, and sleep the night away.

You had spent almost the entire celebration biting your nails and scanning the hall for the two pairs of eyes and smiles you wanted to see the most. When your name got called and you walked up on the stage, and your mother cried in the crowd like the night of your first concert, and your father gave you the same, unattached nod that was the closest he could get to saying he was proud of you. Patrick had told you he was gonna be late, just having finished a challenger in Philidelphia the same day. You just didn't think late meant missing the ceramony entirely.

Patrick was sitting in thick New York City traffic, banging his fist on his steering wheel, yelling at the car next to him. Art was in the passenger's seat, sighing and pinching the bridge of his nose.

"You fucking moron! Dumb fucking cunt! You know how much this is gonna cost!?" Patrick yelled, pointing to the driver's door that now had a dent in it. The traffic was so heavy he couldn't move, and he didn't want to get out in case it budged. He knew he was late, and now some guy in a truck, in a fucking truck in New York City, had just bumped into the side of Patrick's car. The dent wasn't anything that would permanently damage the car, but it was pretty nasty. "Who taught your to drive?" He yelled, almost leaning fully out of the window now. Art reached over to pull at the back of his shirt, trying to get him back in. "Are you blind!? We're in the middle of traffic and you still managed to hit me?"

"Christ, Patrick, get back in the fucking car!"

Patrick swatted his hand away. "My best friend is graduating and now I gotta pick her up with this shit on my car. What's your insurance!? I'm gonna sue the shit out of you!"

Cars started beeping at him and the driver in the truck was yelling back just as colorfully. "That piece of dog shit almost looks better with it! You should be fucking thanking me, asshole. Maybe your insurance will give you a better car!"

"A better car!?" Patrick was red in the face. "Why don't you let me return the favor then!"

"Oh, shit." Art was scrambling over the center console to really pull him back, knowing it was seconds away from getting violent.

--(x)--

You were leaning against the front doors playing with the tennis racket necklace you had never taken off when you got a call from Art. You had gotten it from him the first time you met him freshman year, it being the one connection you had to each other for the whole school year. He had become a really close friend of yours, even through he grainy speakers of your phone. You picked it up eagerly, the first thing you could hear being angry beeping in the background and a voice that sounded like Patrick yelling.

"Art? Where are you guys? What's going on?"

"Oh my god," Art said your name, a little frantic. "Okay, so, uh, we're running late, I know-" there's some shuffling you can hear, and you cut in. "The ceremony is already over." You tell them, a little disappointed. Art frowns but his attention is pulled back to the situation at hand.

"Congrats on graduating! Um, anyways, I called cause Patrick's kinda losing his shit right now. Some guy hit his car--"

"Oh my god! Are you guys alright?"

"Yeah, yeah, we're fine. It's just a dent. But now the two are in the middle of the street and Patrick's getting his ass kicked." He sounds nervous, because of course he is. His best friend is catching fists to the face. "I tried to help..." Art continues, and his hand goes back up to touch the future black eye he's now sporting. "But, um, I just wanted to let you know that I don't think we'll make it over-"

In the background, Patrick interrupts, managing to gather the strength to push the giant man from on top of him. "Oh, we're making it!" He yells out loud enough that you can just hear it over the speaker, then throws another punch at the guy's jaw. Patrick's nose was bleeding and his eyebrow was cut, and the other guy wasn't looking all that great either. He spat at the guy, adding "You made me miss her graduation." with another punch.

The cars around them suddenly started move, and the two friends froze. Traffic was moving again. The guy got another good punch onto Patrick before he was able to scramble up and run back to his car, yelling at Art to start driving before the guy caught up.

They finally got to Lincoln Center looking like a pair of hot messes and you spent the weekend in your apartment with them sleeping over, caring for their cuts and bruises and catching up, smoking out your apartment window. It was the best weekend you'd had in years.

--(x)-- 2019 --(x)--

The crowd cheering was deafening, and the spotlight was blinding. Nonetheless, you took a bow, thanking the audience for the night. Your hand reached out to the orchestra and another round of applause boomed. Nobody could smile bigger than your were. No one could beat the butterflies in your stomach.

It was the week before Christmas, and just like you had since you were 12, you were performing a concert. This time however it wasn't on a small stage at a theater in your hometown, but at Alice Tully Hall in New York City, the same hall you had graduated in nine years ago.

The lights dimmed and that was your cue to leave, first excitingly hugging the musicians who played so beautifully that night. You thanked them all, wished them a happy holiday, and walked off stage. Waiting for you, as always, stood Patrick Zweig.

The years had done him well. Tennis kept him built like a marble statue, age refined his features, and his own laziness left the slightly auburn stubble on his cheeks to grow out. He was wearing the one tux he still owned, slightly tight around the arms and legs as he outgrew it.

Patrick had long cut contact with his parents, becoming financially independent (much to the dismay of his bank account), and no longer had to deal with the constant phone calls about how he was letting down the Zweig name with his tennis career. The days of them bragging about his talent were long gone, it was meant to be a hobby, not a career. Who was going to take over the Zweig family business now? He couldn't give less of a fuck. His designer wardrobe slowly sold off to pay for all the gas he consumed driving from matches to his best friends throughout the years, shedding his past with every article of clothing.

Patrick made sure to never repeat the same mistake as your graduation. At every event, he was there. Early, if possible. Never joining tournaments or challengers held on the same day as important events like tonight, not that there really were any on Christmas Eve. He made sure to make up for all the time you weren't together growing up.

Patrick held a bunch of roses in his hands for you as you approached, enveloping him in a hug. "Flowers are from the three of us." He spoke into your hair, referring to him, Art, and Art's wife Tashi. Free hand wrapping around your shoulder to squeeze you back with equal amounts of love. "Lily even made you a card. You were incredible, like always. Incredible."

You smiled up at him, kissing his cheek before hugging again. When you pull back, you look around him for the aforementioned Donaldsons. "They're waiting for Art to finish pissing. Whole night he kept complaining, drank too much water on the ride here but idiot didn't want to get up in the middle of your show and go." He chuckled, handing you the bouquet. You loop your arm into his, the feeling of him grounding you after the intense rush of adrenaline and emotions that came with performing to such a large audience or such a special night. Walking out into the main hall together, a couple people greet and shake your hand, some asking for pictures. A person even recognized Patrick, which was quite uncommon with his career now dwindling down an unfortunate and unsuccessful path (You were sure any day now he was gonna pick back up and climb the ranking again. You made sure to tell him after every match).

The two of you leaned against a wall as the attention died down and people began going home. In your heels, you were tall enough to rest your head comfortable on Patrick's shoulder. He smiled at the gesture, leaning his head on yours. Closing your eyes, you took in the whole night. The fading adrenaline, the sweat that gathered on your forehead drying, the sound of the crowd getting quieter by the second. The material of Patrick's tux on your cheek and ear, his steady and relaxed breathing, the warmth of his embrace, the musky cologne he had been using since he was a teenager.

Patrick enjoyed the moments alone he had with you. He wasn't Patrick Zweig the failed heir to the Zweig throne just like how he was a failed tennis player. He was Patrick Zweig, your best friend. That was the only thing expected of him.

Longer than Art Donaldson ever was. You were the love of his life, he was sure of it.

He inhaled the scent of your hair and your perfume, arm wrapped around your shoulder as his thumb rubbed comforting circles on it. When he closed his eyes, he replayed how you looked on the stage while you sang. You were as beautiful as your voice. Always had been, always will be. Every performance of yours took him back to when things were much simpler, when he'd watch you by their otherwise untouched piano at formal dinners and you'd sing a Sinatra song for the parents. He could almost taste the roasted chicken, almost feel the silverware in his hands.

Your hand reached up to your chest and your fingers played with the little tennis racket charm, a habit you'd had for years. Patrick loved knowing you kept the necklace on after all this time, even on nights like this where you could've replaced it with something much more grand and expensive.

He had never taken his bracelet off. Even in the brief relationships or hookups he'd have and partners would question what the initial stood for. He'd never answer, just tell them it was important to him.

You opened your eyes again when the sound of little feet in little shoes click-clacked on the tile floor towards you, your name exclaimed from eager lips. Lily bounded up to you, her honerary aunt, and wrapped her arms around your waist. Art and Tashi followed behind her.

Lily pulled back from the hug, looking up at you. "You were like a superstar!" She beamed, one of her front teeth missing. You hug Art and Tashi who compliment your dress and your performance before leaving with them to the dinner reservation you all had, Patrick's arm still around your shoulder as you walked.

At dinner, through mouthfulls of spaghetti, Lily asked you constant questions about what it's like to sing and be on stage. You answered every single one, and at the end of her little interview she made an announcement. "When I grow up I wanna be a tennis player like mommy and daddy," she started, Tashi scolding her to stop talking while she's eating as she wiped with a napkin at the corners of her daughter's mouth. Art's bottom lip jutted out in a little pout, melting in the hands of his daughter. "But, I wanna be a singer-tennis player. So I can wear pretty dresses like you."

You laugh, coming to Tashi's defense. "Your mom wears gorgeous dresses, Lily."

"Yeah, but she doesn't wear them on a stage. I wanna do that."

Point proved, you shrug. Patrick turns to look at you as he's sitting directly beside you. He doesn't say anything, just admires you under the dim and moody lighting of the resteraunt as you talk with Lily, resting his chin in his hand and smiling into his palm. Art and Tashi share a knowing look.

The night decidingly comes to an end when the couple announces they need to put Lily to bed.

"I'm not twenty anymore," Tashi says, handing the bill to the waiting server. "I knock out at ten P.M."

Patrick drove you home like you agreed, and it was assumed he'd stay the night like he often did on your couch. As you changed into more comfortable clothes in your room, he grabbed his own clothes from the trunk of his car and changed in your bathroom. Afterward, he silently observed as you washed off your makeup and took down your hair from its simple updo. It felt domestic. It felt like something a boyfriend does with his girlfriend after a long day. Patrick let himself pretend for a moment that that's exactly what was happening.

When you were done the two of you sat on the couch and cuddled, debating on what movie to wind down to as you settled into his arms as he laid his head against the arm rest.

"Home Alone?" You ask, grabbing the remote and flicking through the options. He shook his head.

"Watched that with Art and Lily just last week. What about Elf?"

You agree, and the movie begins to play. The volume's low and you spend more time talking to each other than actually watching, one of your hands on the arm wrapped around your chest scratching up and down and the other resting on your stomach. Patrick's hand on your chest toyed with your necklace while the other arm rested on your head, lazily scratching as you watched and talked. Neither of you realized when you both fell asleep there.

The sun rising through your window wakes you up, the light bright against your eyelids. You shifted a little, lifting your head but keeping your eyes closed. The first thing your senses picked up on was the warm body of Patrick underneath you, steady rising and falling breaths and the lignering scent of the cologne he applied yesterday still faintly on his skin. His hands were still on your chest and head when you woke up, sliding off when you moved to look at him.

The stresses of adulthood were almost undetectable on his face. Patrick had the same freckles littering his skin that he had as a kid, and you used to tell him that in a crowd of identical people you'd be able to pick him out just by the freckles on his waterline. Did that make sense? Probably not, but it did when you were fourteen. You didn't really care, to be honest, just wanting him to open his eyes so you could see the freckles there again.

As if he could hear your thoughts, his eyelashed fluttered before opening. The first thing he saw was you.

Like an angel. His tired brain though for a moment he died and went to heaven.

"Goodmorning." He rasped, morning voice deep and scratchy. You smiled, looking out the window at the falling snow. "Merry Christmas." You say instead. "I'm Jewish," He chuckled, a hand raising to brush a strand of hair from your face before whispering "Merry Christmas" back. He said the same thing every year.

You stayed silent like that, laying on his chest and just staring at him as he played with your hair. There was some sort of unsaid agreement between the two of you, something your souls communicated with each other without your knowlage as you slept. Patrick felt like his heart could stop at any moment with how etheral you felt.

"What do you want for Christmas?" He asked, breaking the quiet in the room and whispering it like a secret.

Your eyes moved from his to his lips, and at the action his tongue darted out to lick them. It felt like the 21 years you had been best friends slipped away from your fingers and had gone. Time was gone. Reason was gone. The only thing left in the entire world was you, him, and the couch. You knew what you wanted. You had wanted it since you were sixteen. He's sure he's wanted it since the creation of his soul.

His hand moved from your hair to your jaw, both of you slightly breathless, eyes on the other's lips. His calloused hands told you, you weren't dreaming despire how hazy reality felt. His breath on your lips told you, you were still alive despite how heaven-like reality felt.

Patrick leaned in, his nose rubbing on yours and your foreheads touching, lips mere centimeters apart, eyes barely open. His best friend. His soulmate. He was never whole when he wasn't around you.

He kissed you on Christmas morning, the charm of your inital on his bracelet tickling your shoulder, the tennis racket on your necklace resting on his chest.

[queerprayers]

hello! i had a quick question

so deuteronomy 18:14 mentions practicing magic and divination as not being allowed but, isnt prayer magical in itself? are we not practicing some form of divination when we celebrate our Lord (in our silly rituals and practices)? any thoughts on this?

thats all! have a blessed day!

Good question, beloved!

The differences between prayer and magic and worship and divination and ritual and practice are largely cultural and informed by our associations with a religion/culture/ethnicity. Ancient indigenous religions are often seen as primitive and naive for instance, more aligned with magic than "proper" religion, and newer religious practices are dismissed as "made-up." There's also inter-religious accusations that go on—think about how some Protestants describe Catholic rituals. And then there's people who are anti-religion in general, and see any spirituality as silly magical beliefs.

I would say we can make a distinction, however, between treating prayer as magic and treating prayer as worship and connection. If I believe saying this prayer ten times will heal my illness, this to me seems more of a magic spell than a prayer. Now anyone is welcome to believe in magic spells, but nonetheless I prefer prayer as a purposeful entering into God's presence, perhaps seeking specific blessings, but with no formula or assumption of a specific outcome.

If divination is gaining insight through religious practice, then definitely lots of Christians practice that. When people reduce practice to figuring out the future or interpreting signs or asking God for proof, I see a formulaic religion rather than a connecting one. I think we can definitely look at our practice and ask if we're treating it as a formula/spell. But my definitions of these words (and what I look for in religion) may differ from yours, and obviously a lot of this is cultural. I'm using "magic" to describe things I connect with less than "prayer," but this is arbitrary, and many people would consider my definition of prayer to be magical as well. 

All that said, I'm not sure any of this has much to do with Deuteronomy, so I'll also talk about the verse you brought up. Jewish law is always interesting to bring up in Christian circles, and we should acknowledge that we do not have the history of interpretation/relationship that Judaism has with it. We do have a relational history with it, but it's very different and doesn't align with the people who compiled these laws.  (Is this appropriation? Many would say yes, in the sense that Christianity inherently is. That's a whole nother conversation.) There are many Christian attitudes toward Jewish law—for me, it is a valuing of what I believe God gave to humans, with an acknowledgement that I am not the intended audience and am not called to follow it, but rather to honor it. The law's focus on justice and worship matters to me, albeit in a very different way than both its original audience and current Judaism.

Deuteronomy 18 bans occult practices by specifically referencing the nations/cultures around ancient Israel. It is comparing ancient Jewish practice to its contemporaries. Many biblical laws, in fact, exist as a way of differentiating Israel from other cultures, and many of the moral laws are in response to practices they would have seen around them. There's a huge focus on being set apart, on practicing a religion that doesn't look like anything else. That's not to say they're random—in fact, they're very specific.

I've said the difference between religion and magic is cultural, and Deuteronomy lays this out perfectly. From a modern lens, animal sacrifice to achieve forgiveness may seem primitive, like a magic spell. And yet, magic spells are prohibited. To them, it obviously wasn't sorcery—it was religious practice.

We do have specific practices that are condemned, like interpreting omens or consulting the dead, but there are plenty of those things (or at least things adjacent to those things) in the Bible. The implication is always don't do these things like those other people. You're an Israelite, not a Canaanite. You don't eat those things or dress that way or do those things in your temple because God wants you to commit yourself specifically to a new way of doing things. 

What does this mean to us, though? Canaanite paganism isn't practiced anymore, as far as I know. In our time and place, there's more of an awareness of respecting others' cultures and religions, even when we don't understand them. So what does it mean to honor a law that condemns magic in 2024?

Although you could investigate how you treat prayer/ritual, the relevant question to me in light of Deuteronomy isn't really "Is prayer inherently magical?" but "Am I being purposeful rather than conforming to those around me? Am I honoring the specific ways Christianity exists? Is my practice relevant to my beliefs, or could it be anyone's? Is it obvious through my rituals that I am a follower of Jesus?" I don't mean you have to advertise (Jesus actually specifically taught against that), but why are you Christian and not anything else? Is Jesus at the center of your practice? 

These ideas are very relevant to me in the US, surrounded by conservatism/evangelicalism—I don't want my faith to look like theirs. Maybe both our practices look like magic to an outsider, but I know how mine is different. (I'm not trying to put myself on a pedestal here—it's all a journey, and I won't pretend I know the "right way" to do things, but I strive towards a practice that causes less harm than theirs.)

To conclude: whatever your prayers/rituals are like, honor God through them. Don't fall into formulas or assumptions, but allow space for God to change you until you are fundamentally at odds with those who use God for evil. In a world of empire and capitalism and conservatism and violence, find a new way of doing things. Look more like God than the world; set apart your life. Paul tells us (Romans 13:8) that love does no harm to a neighbor, therefore love is the fulfillment of the law. I wouldn't worry about whether your prayer looks like magic, but about whether it looks like love.  

<3 Johanna

[capnmachete]

The Man in the Mirror A Tommy x Alfie/Sholomons short fic Chapter 4: The Thaw

THE MAN IN THE MIRROR An Alfie x Tommy short fic in 5 parts Alfie Solomons' Jewish air of absolute certainty falters in the wake of the shooting at Margate Thank you for reading! Tags by request: @justrainandcoffee; @loricasquamata; @hoodeddreams13 Also thank the 3 of you for your amazing commentary! Y'all have all remarked on the angst and how vulnerable Alfie is here. And that's true -- and I am honestly not a huge angst writer, BUT -- So often in both canon and fanon it's Tommy who's broken and traumatized and trying to recover (often, at least in fanon, with Alfie's help and comfort). And Alfie is always seemingly indestructible, never vulnerable. And I got to thinking about how, in canon, there's this huge and awful turning point in Alfie's life -- his empire largely in ruins, and Alfie himself suddenly disfigured and half-blind, living alone and in exile after a failed suicide-by-boyfriend. And how profoundly disorienting and traumatic a thing that must have been, even for someone like Alfie, and how infrequently that's explored. Anyway I digress (not surprising LMAO)...I'm done now, getting on with it... Chapter 1 / Chapter 2/Chapter 3

Chapter 4 The Thaw Someone presses their teeth to your skin, and shows just how needed you are. -- Alex Dimitrov, The Weather of Our Lives Allelu et Adonai; miracle of miracles.  What could have been a disaster, a sad and disappointing postscript, was not. 

It was a slow process – took time, as good things do. That was the fucking nature of the universe, yeah?  Bad things – they happened in an instant, in the blink of an eye.  Good things happened slowly, when they happened at all.

But they did happen sometimes, baruch Hashem.

Lethe House lived up to its name, in some respects.  The past – the bad blood of it, anyway, the guilt and anger and betrayal on both sides – was forgotten, packed away, part of a former life that was no more.  Any lingering rancor was set aside, fairly quickly, washed away by the simple pleasure of being in each other’s presence again.

In some respects, nothing had changed.  In others, everything had.

The camaraderie – the lively arguments, the long rambling conversations, the sharp but fond verbal jousting – came back quickly, as though no time had passed at all. Tommy’s visits, occasional at first, grew more frequent.

On clement days they walked along the beach or boardwalk together, Cyril cantering along the sand ahead of them, just as Alfie had dreamed.  Sometimes they walked arm in arm, sometimes Alfie’s hand rested on Tommy’s shoulder or Tommy hung onto Alfie’s sleeve.  The small gestures of affection were easily passed off in public as nothing more than a pair of friends, the younger and healthier of them lending support to the older and more infirm one. 

When it rained out – Margate being as prone to chilly, pissing downpours as the rest of the bloody country – they played endless games of chess and backgammon.  Alfie taught Tommy to play svoy koziri, a convoluted Russian card game that depended on almost supernatural card-counting abilities.  Alfie’s business ambition may have fizzled somewhat; he seemed content to leave the running of what was left of his empire to his underlings.  But in other matters he remained as fiercely competitive as ever. And so did Tommy.  As a result, the games were always lively, sometimes noisy. And occasionally resulted in tables being overturned and minor shouting matches that lasted until Chana bustled in and shouted at them both to stop behaving like ill-mannered children and clean up after themselves, please.

Evenings, they listened to the latest news on the radio, the troubling rise of fascism, still nascent in England but more entrenched elsewhere.  Or sat quietly by the fire, Alfie absorbed in a book while Tommy smoked and pored over business-related paperwork.  Alfie would sometimes cook, as he had done occasionally in the house on Hawley Road back in Camden Town.

Chana was competent enough in the kitchen.  Alfie, however, found her mastery of Russian Jewish cuisine sorely lacking, and tended to it himself instead – tzimmes and cholent and borscht, standing over the stove with sleeves rolled and a tea towel tossed over one shoulder.  And then stood over Tommy and badgered him into eating a little something -- pontificating, loudly and to no-one in particular, about ribs sticking out and malnourishment and ungrateful cunts who didn’t appreciate the luxury of a good home-cooked meal, until Tommy finally caved and took a few bites. Other aspects of their longtime association were slower to recover – a surprise to Tommy, but one he accepted, waiting Alfie out.  Small affections began to creep in again.  Tommy rubbed Alfie’s tired shoulders, brushed occasional lips across the big man's scarred knuckles; tangled his feet together with Alfie's under the dinner table. 

Alfie rested a big, gold-ringed hand on Tommy’s knee or on the nape of his neck, embraced him – tentatively at first, then with more ease.  But always from behind.  And he always sat or walked with Tommy to his right, the scarred cheek and milky eye turned away. And that was the extent of things – small touches, little affections, embraces that were barely more than brotherly.  Until one evening, sitting together on the sofa having tea and listening to the Victrola, when Tommy abruptly decided he'd had enough. And -- impulsively and apropos of nothing, or so it seemed to Alfie, at least -- reached over and forcibly turned Alfie’s chin, to face him head-on.  “What?”  Alfie asked mildly, unaccustomed to being handled in that manner. " 'm fuckin' reading here." Nudging Tommy away accomplished nothing; he glared until Alfie carefully folded the page of his book – Middlemarch – and set it in his lap, in order to give Tommy his full attention. "What the fuck are you doing, Thomas?" “I’m telling you to stop being a stupid, prudish git,” Tommy told him, blue eyes locked onto Alfie’s now mismatched ones.  “Enough’s enough.  For whatever reason, we’ve been granted a do-over, you and me, so stop being so fucking proud, and quit wasting it.”  And he yanked Alfie close in by a handful of waistcoat and kissed him soundly, teeth clacking together, nipping at Alfie's full lower lip hard enough to draw blood, clacking their teeth together, and knocking Middlemarch to the floor. It was the ferocity of the move -- the sharp teeth, the snarl, the fingers that dug in, the tang of his own blood -- that did it. Softness would have felt like pity; its opposite awoke the thing that still lived in Alfie, dormant but present, somewhere beneath the grandfatherish cardigans and the blind eye and the scar tissue. He made a guttural sound, a mix of surprise and urgency and relief; his big ringed hands hovering uselessly in the empty air for a moment before Tommy drew back.  And before Alfie could explain that neither pride nor prudishness was really the issue, or object to the callous mistreatment of a fine literary masterpiece, Tommy was in his lap, tongue in his mouth, pulling at Alfie’s sweater, grinding unashamedly against the big man’s groin. Alfie’s hands finally settled on Tommy’s narrow hips, clutching hard enough to leave fingermarks.  Coming up for air, he blinked, a little breathless.  “Tommy, I don't -- I ain't sure if I can – “ he began. And stopped midsentence when his cock, rapidly thickening in his trousers under Tommy’s weight, demonstrated that yes, he most certainly could. “Stop talking, Alfie, for fuck’s sake, or I’ll give you something better to do with that mouth,” Tommy threatened sharply, in a near-growl.  Hardly a threat, yeah?  But instead he slithered down to the floor between Alfie’s knees, shoving them roughly them apart and working at his trouser buttons. “Fuck…Thomas…”  Alfie bucked up against Thomas’ hands, then summoned just enough self-restraint to still them with his own big paws. “Fucking...Chana, she's just in the ....,” he rasped, having lost his normal facility with language, reduced to brief, telegraphic utterances.  “Upstairs," he finally managed to demand. "Now." Upstairs, Tommy made short work of Alfie’s trousers and his own, not wasting time with niceties like waistcoats or shirts or anything else.  And resisted Alfie’s attempts to take him from behind, squirming out from under the big man and dragging him down to the duvet with more strength than Alfie remembered him having. “No,” he’d huffed, stroking himself. “I want to see you.” 

Alfie had no more landed on his back and managed a surprised oath in untranslatable Ashkenazi before Tommy was on him.  He speared himself on Alfie’s cock with no more than a hasty double-handful of spit, then rode him like a Derby-day jockey until they were both sweaty and sticky and spent. And until Alfie had entirely forgotten, at least for the moment, exactly why he’d been wary of being looked at in the first place.

---

And that was that.  And while Alfie never quite lost the urge to keep Tommy on what Tommy insisted on calling his ‘pretty side’ – the insolent little cunt – the awkward distance between them evaporated entirely, and they were shtupping on the regular again.  Lazily, in the mornings or in the bath; slowly and almost tenderly after long or difficult days. Ravenously, with adrenaline-fueled vigor, after an argument or a particularly rousing game of chess -- the ones that ended with both men first arguing, then shouting, then half-dressed and wrangling furiously, biting and sucking and scratching on the Turkish rug, surrounded by scattered rooks and knights and discarded clothing.

And -- occasionally -- doing so loudly enough that Chana spent the entire next day silent as the tomb and studiously avoiding both men’s eyes. Alfie – having become rather fond of the old girl and reluctant to lose her services – said nothing, but surreptitiously began slipping an extra three quid into her pay envelope each week from that point forward.  And Chana – no fool, and now the best-paid housemaid in the town – said nothing and kept working.  She did, however, buy herself a variety of new hats.  And a radio of her own, which she kept in her room – turning its volume up on evenings when she noticed Alfie and Tommy looking at each other in a particular way, or when they appeared to be unusually rambunctious. 

It was a pleasant life.  Tommy spent long weekends at the house in Margate, falling into an almost-domestic routine with Alfie that he rather enjoyed.  And Alfie was perfectly content, spending part of the week with Tommy and the other part alone – at the baths and the synagogue and the market, now that he was a bit less reluctant to show himself in public.  Or at home, reading and listening to opera, and catching up on the sleep he invariably missed during Tommy’s weekends at Margate.

And things would have continued that way, undisturbed, had Tommy not started campaigning to bring his children out to Margate. 

[cookinguptales]

...well, to start with, because this is tumblr and I'm mostly here for tarot, memes, and silly vampire porn. The things I discuss IRL, the things I donate to, and the things I support are not always reflected in the social media where I come to unwind.

The second reason is because I was literally in another country for over a month. I have multiple chronic illnesses and I've barely been keeping my head above water and the last thing I wanted to do was post about international politics. The fact that you think it's appropriate to just go up to random people that you may or may not even know and demand that they weigh in on important issues in the manner, environment, and time period of your choosing is uhhh bizarre!

In fact, I debated replying to this at all just because it is such an out-of-line demand to make on fucking Tumblr of all places. But I do actually have thoughts on the subject, and I guess it's as good a time as any.

The third and honestly most important reason I haven't said much publicly is this: there has been a lot of misinformation spreading about this issue. It's quickly become apparent to me that this is a fight that's being fought through propaganda, and it's not always been easy for me to figure out which news articles are accurate. I see an article go up, then an article criticizing it, then a retraction, then a retraction of a retraction. I see horrifying videos being posted, then it coming out that they're from a completely different conflict. Hell, I've seen people I used to respect quoting straight-up conspiracy theory weirdos because they agree with what they're saying on this particular subject.

(Yes, I did notice the person who put fucking RFK Jr. on my Tumblr dash like he was a hero.)

As a general rule, I am against the slaughter of innocents, which is why I have been historically against many of Israel's actions in Palestine. It's why I am against the actions they are taking now, which, no matter how you slice it, seem to be using a terrible tragedy as an excuse to enact one that is several hundred times worse.

But I have to admit that I've also been looking at several of my acquaintances very differently as they talk about how the slaughter of other innocents is ideal, and I've gotten really uncomfortable with the implications of some of their posts.

(And to be very clear, when I talk about posts celebrating the deaths of civilians, I'm not talking about things that are pro-decolonization or anything, I'm talking about people I know who, when the news first broke and very little was known, explicitly said that being against the murder of non-combatants means that you are not acceptably dedicated to revolution. And like... no, I do not believe that's an acceptable (or even effective) way to achieve peace.)

Plus, I do not believe that all criticism of Israel is antisemitic, but several posts I've seen lately have been very undeniably antisemitic. (And yes, others have been islamophobic as well.) I've seen people attributing the actions of Israel's government and military to all Jewish people worldwide. I've seen people who are boosting the voices of literal Neo-Nazis. I've seen conspiracy theories that are honestly just straight-up rehashes of blood libel. And I've seen a lot of posts, far too many posts, that seem happy to indulge in old tropes about Jews controlling the media instead of looking at the political effects of mainstream Evangelical eschatology.

Like... I've seen a lot of well-meaning people post things that are inaccurate, misleading, or straight-up hateful propaganda. Against either side, really. Against both.

And frankly, I am afraid that, through ignorance, I might do the same. I've seen posts that seem normal to me, only to be shown how they contain dogwhistles or inaccuracies that feed into longstanding stereotypes. I've seen news articles (supporting both sides) that seem accurate only to turn out to be sloppily reported inaccuracies, if not straight-up lies.

While I've been supporting human rights organizations IRL, I do not feel as if I am so qualified to speak on this subject that I won't accidentally do harm. While I am usually content simply boosting others' voices, in this situation I am afraid that I might spread misinformation that might hurt Palestinians or Jewish people that have nothing to do with the conflict. Hell, there are a lot of other groups that are getting caught in the crossfire, too. Even people who live in Israel who aren't politicians/combatants aren't people that I want harmed.

(Like... I wouldn't want to be judged based on what my country's politicians, military, and most outspoken racists have done, either, y'know? I do not believe that there is any country where every person in it is bad.)

Honestly speaking, there are a lot of subjects that I think are important that I don't talk about publicly. I talk about things like queer issues and disability issues because I feel like I have firsthand knowledge of those things and am unlikely to accidentally post like... fucking alt-right propaganda or something. But with... really probably most issues, I tend to keep quiet and do my best to listen to people who know better than I do.

Which is not always a fucking bad thing!

So... you might have noticed that I screencapped this ask rather than answering it. This is because I wanted to be able to block you from my inbox after answering your concerns. Like damn, learn some fucking social skills.

[miqojak]

10 fandoms, 10 characters, 10 tags

Basic rules: choose 10 fandoms that you are part of/support, and choose a favorite character from each of those. Then, tag ten folks!

Tagged by: @dragonsongmakhali and @thefreelanceangel (thanks! I get around to tagged things eventually, lmao)

This isn't in any particular order, they're just in whatever order they came to mind! I'll also note that I've never really understood the concept of 'being in a fandom'? I just...like the thing? So I guess this is more like "A handful of my all time favorite characters, many of whom went on to inspire me to write similar OCs whether I realized it at the time or not." Anyways, I wax verbose on this, so...buckle up, and thanks ahead of time if you decide to read it all!

I'll go through my recent notifications to tag some folks who've interacted lately (also thanks, I've been very ill and out of it for what feels like months now...) @ashenbun, @the-sycophant, @eorzeanflowers, @iron-sparrow, @briar-ffxiv, @merlwybs-wife, @sundered-souls, @superbolided, @ahollowgrave

1. Harley Quinn, Batman

What's not to love? She's quirky, she's (incredibly) smart, she's bi, and she's just one of many female characters I love for being flawed, but better for it! She's dealing with mental illness, and feels like only this one person understands her - and having been wrapped around a narcissist's finger before? I get it. You don't realize they're a piece of shit until...one day you do, or one day your friends get through to you that this is unhealthy, and you're not really yourself around this person. I love that she gets to be her own character these days, and live her own life, and do what she wants to do (when she figures that out) - I actually love that she works more and more with the Batfam in recent material because...she was never a villain. She's always been chaotic neutral! She changed who she was for the Joker, and was always miserable and mistreated no matter how hard she tried to be exactly who and what he wanted (a mewling servant) - and more often than not, even when she did what she thought he wanted, he still punished and humiliated her (like when she almost killed Batman). Bruce has LONG been on Harley's side, and long tried to talk some sense into her...but I think they'd been 'at odds' for too long for his words to get through to her, and it took the initial mutual compassion (and eventual love) shared between her and Pamela for someone's 'get the fuck out' speech to finally sink in. And now she's a fully realized character/woman with her own goals, her own personality, her own style... and if people don't like that she can do crime AND do good stuff alongside the Batfam? They can fuck off - at least, I imagine she'd say that, tbh. It's her choice - she never wanted what the Joker wanted. She just wanted him to notice her. Now she can act on her whims, and live in the moment and live up to her fullest potential! (Plus, while I'm not Jewish, I love that she is! At least in most iterations that I've seen.)

I think 'hurt people hurt people' is another good tagline for her - because the instant she's shown real compassion...be it from Bruce-outside-the-suit, or Poison Ivy? You can see her heart. You can see the sweet, and loving person she is under all the performing...or 'masking', you might say. The tragic clown doesn't need your laughter... they need your compassion. They need you to listen.

2. Mackayla Lane, The Fever Series (I've read this series at least 6 times, and recommend you read it, too!)

Mackayla is a self-centered, pink-loving, girly-girl who doesn't think heavy thoughts - she likes to sunbathe, paint her nails, and enjoy lazy southern days by the pool, when she's not working part time as a bartender. Until her sister is murdered on a trip abroad, and in her fervor to find out what happened - and why it feels like nothing is being done about it - she picks up and goes to Ireland in search of clues her own damn self...and finds out about this whole hidden legacy of the Sidhe, Sidhe-Seers, and why/how she and her sister are tied into this world. It's such an emotional journey! She evolves into someone different a few times throughout this journey of grief, self-discovery, and...eventually, love. She learns to be more introspective, to be more aware of those around her, to look deeper in herself for strength, so as to never be a damsel in distress again - she fights furiously for a sister we never get to see alive. (and I love a good story about a character central to the plot who is dead before the story even begins, tbh.) She goes from someone I'd roll my eyes at, to someone I'd look up to, instead. She learns to be fierce, but not to lose her compassion in doing so. She learns to fight for not just herself, but others. She suffers, and it breaks her for a time - but she comes out of it stronger for it. She doesn't let it hold her down, anymore - she can't afford to, doesn't want to...she wants to fight back.

I love character development, and she's got it in spades...and that's not even touching on all the OTHER amazing characters around her in this series. Also, if you like a spicy slow-burn, this is it. 'Begrudging allies to lovers' is how I'd term it, I suppose. (I still long for a high production value show of this series...especially bc it would appeal to all kinds of people - it even goes post-apocalyptic later on! But not for the usual reasons.)

3. Margo Hanson, The Magicians (The show, not the books, for once)

Feminist icon without being 'cringe' about it - and has a line I love, later on, about how her father told her she could be anything she wanted...until she wanted to be those things. Suddenly, the world wanted her to pick - you can't be strong AND womanly; 'you can't have both,' they told her. And she said 'Fuck You', and did it anyways. She is impossibly strong, but even she feels deeply on the inside. She rarely, if ever, lets it show how heavy the weight of the world is...she just shoulders on, and does the things no one else will do. She stands up for what's right, and now and then she fucks things up, too...because she's only human. But she's never apologetic about who she is. She lives out loud, owns her body, owns her opinions, and the rest of the world better get the fuck out of her way, because she's got a witty one-liner...and a gun.

He's an alcoholic/addict, he's a wet rag, and he's basically the world's best occultist... whether you love him or hate him. (I love bisexuals getting the spotlight in media, so it's nice that he's that, too!) He's a rat bastard who's just trying to get by in a world that's chewed him up and spit him out time and time again - he drinks the pain away, he chases death, and...despite his best efforts, he lives. Because anytime he actually comes close to death, he realizes that it's all worth fighting for, actually - even if he always falls off the path again. Notably, neither he nor Harley Quinn were really supposed to be longstanding characters...and now they're both fully fleshed out people, and a couple of my favorites! I like that he's complex, mentally ill, and still tries to do what's right, most of the time. But the world pushes his hand, and something's got to give, and unfortunately it's usually the people around him who end up paying the price...which doesn't mean that he doesn't carry that guilt for the rest of his life, mind you. But the world itself was saved! ...though he'll never not regret the harm it causes the few people he lets close, and how it then causes so many others to avoid him like the plague, as they assume he's just a shit who will sacrifice his friends at the drop of a hat. He's the reluctant savior. The...anti-hero? I'm not even sure that's right, because he does want to do good. He just... does some fucked up things to achieve that good, because there's often genuinely no other way - and no one else has the fortitude or the know-how to do it but him. So he'll carry that load, so others don't have to. He'll smoke it away, drink it away...anything he has to, to quiet the guilt, and shame of saving the world from the shadows...never being thanked for it, because he doesn't fly around in spandex, or drive a fancy animal-themed car.

4. John Constantine, Hellblazer/DC Comics (An anti-hero I love, a rare bi-disaster MAN in media, and my favorite occultist/wizardy person in fiction, I think...besides Margo.)

Also, his Hellblazer comics are very politically left leaning and he shits on Tories and racists and homophobia, etc. He might hide his pain in ways that make him seem like a piece of shit, but at heart he knows what's right, and that his fellow man deserves better. (Also, it's implied that he slept with/dated King Shark...you go, king.)

5. Dracula, Bram Stoker's Dracula and Castlevania (first the game, then the show) I was obsessed with the book even as a kid, and when I saw the most iconic scene in a video game ever, I was in love with his Castlevania counterpart, too.

Not much else to add to this one - I just think he's cool! I love vampires! I love Mina, as well, for all the strength she shows in the face of almost-certain-doom...but I love a good villain, and Dracula is the perfect villain. Also, it turns out the whole book might just have been one big, gay metaphor from a man in the closet! That's pretty cool to find out, after all these years. I do love the backstory from the film of him being SO IN LOVE with his wife that he cursed God and just...became a vampire. Because 'I fought in your crusades and you let the woman I love kill herself? Fuck you, I'm just never going to die. Now I'll kill all your beloved humans!' Castlevania's backstory is similar enough that I enjoy both iterations of it - a man driven to madness by love, and loss...and in Castlevania, it's not even his FAULT he keeps getting summoned back, which is where this scene below even comes from, which kinda cracks me up. He specifically points out what pieces of shit humans are...they say they hate him, but it's humans who always summon him back to do THEIR dirty work.

6. Taimi, Guild Wars 2

When you first meet her, she's a bobble headed child prodigy, even among the incredibly intelligent race of Asura, with big hair and an even bigger pink bow on her head - who has a terminal illness, and a physical disability from it that makes it hard for her to walk...but it never stops her. Not even once. Commander might be a badass, but they'd be nothing without Taimi's vast intelligence saving the world time and again - and you almost have to watch her die! She loses her favorite mech, which is both a walking apparatus and her best friend, and goes on to lose her best friend/love interest...and the pain never breaks her. She's a literal child, a teen/young adult by current story - and the endurance and compassion and strength she shows are just...making me emotional to even write about. And while she's still alive in story at present (and they've aged her up over time!)... we discussed with her not that long ago in story how she is dying - and she feels the pressure to get as much done as she can before that day. But one day, she won't be with us anymore...and despite all the people that Commander has lost? I'll never be ready to lose my little rat-daughter.

Go play Guild Wars 2.

7. Jaina, World of Warcraft

You meet her as a young woman, in Warcraft - an idealist who believes in peace, and stands against the open, and blatant racism against the Orcs, and the Horde. She strives for this peace so hard that she allows her own father to be executed - and for years, she stands with the Horde, and speaks on their behalf and fights for peace...until those same people go out of their way to not just screw her over, but almost kill one of the only family members she has who accepts her, and steal an ancient artifact that could basically just wipe out the Alliance much like the bomb that was used to wipe out the whole city she was in charge of. She suffers from the guilt of not trying harder to help Arthas. She suffers so...so much guilt, for so many things. She isn't perfect, and she has acted out of hurt, and rage at times - but she grows, and learns, and becomes this whole person comprised of beautiful flaws and complexities. I know what it's like to have your friends betray you, and want to burn it all down. I know what it's like, to need years to come to terms with that hurt. I know the pain of years and years of guilt and self-loathing and 'what-if's'. Jaina has become an amazing woman who has helped people, hurt people, and learned both difficult, and beautiful lessons along the way, to become an ultimately better person who still believes in the rights of all people...just with less of that youthful naivete that got her so hurt and blindsided.

8. Ahsoka, Star Wars: The Clone Wars

I put off watching Clone Wars, and thought I wouldn't like how they worked Ahsoka in...and boy was I ever wrong. Finally, at long last, there's a female character who is given as thorough a Jedi treatment as Luke, or Anakin...if not better! I love analyzing the 'family lineage' of which Jedi mentors which, and it's a bit funny how Qui-Gon was a rule-breaker paired with Obi-Wan-the-rule-lover...and then he ended up with a padawan even more about going against the grain, because Qui-Gon was supposed to have 'raised' Anakin, himself - then Anakin ends up with a Padawan in an attempt to teach him about how to move on from loss...because all padawans grow up and move on with their lives, one day - but he ended up with someone just as hard-headed and outspoken and out-going as him, and he got a taste of what it was like to be his master! All that said, Ahsoka grows and develops and learns hard lessons, and...grows up as a child soldier in a war the Jedi never should have been a part of, anyways - and (spoilers) when she goes on to be wrongfully accused of a crime by the Jedi Council...they try to walk it back later by saying 'oh this was clearly a test by the Force and you've passed, hooray promotion'. Ahsoka is having none of it. It's hypocrisy. It's a lie. They can't put their own pride aside, and admit that they were wrong! And why would she want to be a part of an organization like that? That's not a promotion at all. Now she'd be just like them, and that leaves a sour taste in her mouth. (Not to mention other hypocritical things she notices throughout the series.) She goes on to learn to live in balance - not all emotions are bad. It's not about complete eradication of emotion, but learning which ones to cultivate, and which ones to set aside and think on. She learns what the elder (extremist) Jedi will not - balance. She becomes better than all those who came before...even Yoda, who is in her Jedi-family-lineage; he admits that the Jedi are blinded by their arrogance, but he's among them! I love everything about her story...so far, at least. I've got yet more catching up to do with Rebels and the Ahsoka show.

9. Asajj Ventress, Star Wars: The Clone Wars

Honestly, I like her for a lot of the reasons I like Ahsoka - they're like two sides of a coin, and I think she even says this to Ahsoka later in the series. But Asajj suffered immensely early in life, and lost two father figures (even if one of them was her kidnapper) - to include a Jedi Knight who was briefly her Master, before he was slain in battle. She was picked up by Count Dooku, and had her pain and hate stoked like a fire...and in time he betrayed her, as well. And still...she went on to be resilient, strong, smart, and a master in her own fields of stealth and assassination. She learned hard lessons, and learned to think for herself - she learned that she didn't need any of those men who had come before, in her life...she only needed herself. Her own wits. Her own strength. Her own intelligence. Much like Ahsoka, she broke away from what others tried to mold her into, and became her own woman... whether people liked who she became, or not.

She's a badass. Watch Clone Wars. Read her books.

10. Buffy, Buffy the Vampire Slayer

Does this one need a reason? She's an imperfect badass, too! She's a lot like Mac, mentioned earlier - she's girly, but not always. Sometimes it concerns her what people might think of that - being feminine, but strong - but she learns to embrace her strength and ferocity and role in the supernatural world... although not without bucking against the system just like Ahsoka and Ventress do - she makes it her own. She plays by her rules, not the Council's, not her Watcher's...and when she does so selfishly, and screws up, she learns a hard lesson about the wisdom and input of your friends and family, and considering how your choices affect those around you. She decides she will not be a dog on a leash for the Council (maybe she was some inspiration for Ahsoka...) - she's here to do two things: look fly, and kick monster ass. Oh yeah - and empower other young women to do the same.

Honorable mentions for Spike (from Buffy), Lucifer (from the self-titled show), Aurene (GW2), Eliot Waugh (The Magicians), Catra (SPOP)

You'll no doubt note that pretty much all the women on the list are people who suffered immensely/were wronged and eventually grew stronger for that, and overcame both the situation and their own flaws...I love a bitch who can overcome both her own flaws, and the world itself being against her!

[cerasum-chrysanthes]

Hey Tumblr! It's been a while.

Been very active on Twitter recently, lots of TADC friends are there more than here and it's been crazy interacting with so many cool artists.

Anyway, some news on my end I guess:

I'm still retraining and it's going well. Got 2s and 3s (that'd be Bs and Cs) as grades. Could be better if I was actually studying tbh, but for not studying, this is surprisingly good. Hah...

That IT Specialist diploma is getting there!!

On another note, I also lost contact with my biological father recently. I had to block him.

I posted in my WhatsApp status that I'm disappointed in the outcome of the votes in germany. Right-wing parties winning... goes to show how shit the education is. I wasn't even talking specifically to him. He never messages me, but neither do I message him. I never had much of a real father-daughter-relationship with him anyway, but it definitely hurt when it happened.

He messaged me and told me I was the one supporting terrorism for being left? And that 'my generation' are all lazy and stupid and uneducated and that caring for human rights is fascism.

He swallowed all the right-wing propaganda it seems. The saddest part is, as always: Sure, there's always people like that in any generation and I can believe that there will be some millennials like that. And sure, due to my mental illnesses (caused by my family!) I have some struggles in life. But I am actively getting a higher education right now (and will have the highest education in my entire family...), I am working, I HAVE WORKED A SLAVE JOB FOR 5 YEARS, 12+ hours of work every day! And yes, you have to be careful with what to believe when it comes to things like what's happening with Palestine and Israel.

But the thing is: I think saying "I'm against war and genocide and people killing other people for ANY reason" shouldn't be controversial. But it apparently is. Apparently hundreds and thousands of innocent people being killed and hospitals and ambulances being bombed, actual war crimes being committed is more supported than... peace.

Do I support people saying that jewish people should be killed, celebrating the death of those? Absolutely not. Just like there are russians against the war in ukraine, there are jewish people who are against what's happening in palestine. No innocent people deserve to die. Period.

That's apparently a problematic point of view to have and makes me a fascist according to my own father. I think it's a problem of austria and germany, being too afraid to say that Israel is doing something wrong because they are afraid to be affiliated with Nazis again.

We learn about our past in school. I did anyway, idk what's wrong with the rest of the fucking country. Genocide is never okay, no matter who does it. If being against all of that makes me a fascist in some people's eyes, so be it.

I'm lucky to have moved out over 12 years ago from my family. There are so many reasons why cutting contact with all of them is better. The little support and positive things I got from them doesn't outweigh the negatives. If my own father can't ask me every now and then about how I am and only approaches me to tell me I'm a bad person when I post human-rights-supporting status, then that's no father I want.

It's been about 10 days. I got sick shortly after that happened and have been on sick leave for the entire week. It was probably COVID because I couldn't taste anything for a few days. I'm still coughing a lot.

Been playing Elden Ring again.

Lost my motivation for art.

Life goes on.

[angedemystere]

The Chosen Holiday Challenge: "Shalom, Shalom"

Summary: Gaius reflects on his conversation with Simon and what to do next for his family. Set during season 3 episode 7, "Ears to Hear."

A/N: This time I'm posting a story AND a picture edit for The Chosen Holiday Challenge. They focus on the theme for Week 2, "Peace." Enjoy!

~

“Why do you say it twice?” he asked Simon the fisherman. That word, shalom, Gaius had heard it plenty of times. Saying it once seemed enough for Jews to greet each other, but now and then they said it twice when parting ways. Of course, he shouldn’t have cared about the reason. Jews were Jews, with their odd customs and idiosyncrasies. Lately, though, questions kept leaping to his mind like excited fish. And, like an overflowing net, his mind couldn’t keep them from leaping out, this time his mouth.

“Once means ‘peace,’” said Simon. “Twice means ‘perfect peace.” He paused. “Complete wholeness.”

“That’ll be the day.”

Quietly, clearly distracted, Simon muttered a noise of agreement and went on his way. He drew up the hood to hide himself from other residents of the Roman quarter in Capernaum. It was possible only because Gaius had lent him the cloak.  

Things must really be bad at home, Gaius reasoned. Funny, really, how he’d come to learn some things about Simon in the last week or so that he’d never learned of any Jew in the last ten years of his posting in Capernaum. Unless it was a matter of public welfare, he minded his own business, even with his own countrymen.

Some part of him that was always a Roman soldier, now bearing the rank of a primi, reminded Gaius that he was in uniform and needed to return to his rounds before his men started looking for him. It also occurred to him that Livia might be anxious to know the truth of his relationship with Simon. Not because she was curious over why he’d be the least bit friendly with a Jew, but whether Simon had a connection to that “Jewish doctor” he’d spoken of.

He'd tried to explain to her, after his slip of the tongue, that this Jesus wasn’t really a doctor in the usual sense. That didn’t much matter. The rumors about him, the stories that began cropping up about his ability to heal lepers and paralytics, kept spreading even to non-Jewish ears. Now that Livia had wind of it, and by extension their son Marius, the hope of curing Ivo of his illness couldn’t be snuffed easily.

Gaius pressed his lips together, told himself to walk, and strolled out of the alley like the stoic, single-minded officer he was supposed to be. In short order, he found a few of his men and assured them that the trespassing Jew had been interrogated, found to be drunk and stupid, and with intimidation cautioned to avoid this breach again. He also found the patrolmen who’d been distracted and failed to notice Simon wandering into the area and left their egos plenty bruised.

Through it all, a few thoughts kept echoing in his head. He kept brushing them off until the first watch of the night sounded and he was free to retire from duty. Just as he stepped through the door, Livia appeared. Her drawn expression, the growing lines of worry that were aging her beautiful face, probably mirrored his own.

“Did you learn anything more?” She spoke softly and calmly. She didn’t want to rouse Marius, wherever he was.

“About?” Gaius shouldn’t have asked—he knew what she meant. He was buying time to go to his quarters and call his slave to start undressing him.

“You know about what.” Livia stopped herself when the slave entered the room. She didn’t leave, merely stood back and waited. Their slaves were privy to the household secrets, but it didn’t mean she needed to spill out her thoughts and emotions in front of them. She also took the hiatus to compose herself.

Gaius did the same. It was like a boulder had rolled down a hill and was pressing against him, not yet crushing him, but little by little it was growing heavier and pushing him down the slope. Like Sisyphus, but in reverse. That boulder was the silence between them, the unspoken knowledge and pain that he’d successfully ignored for years. Now it suddenly demanded to be acknowledged. And why? Because Ivo was sick. And a damned street preacher had gotten to him. Gaius had let him, or his words, get to him.  

The slave put away Gaius’s armor and garbed him in his evening tunic. Gaius nodded and sent him out to tend to his other duties. At last, Livia and he were alone. Alone with the silence that needed to be shattered, or it would flatten them.

“That man,” Gaius began hesitantly, “is … is a student of Jesus. The doctor, so to speak.”

Livia breathed in. She didn’t speak. Gaius gritted his teeth, then continued.

“He wasn’t here because of his teacher. He’s … let’s just say Jews have their marital problems, too.”

“But did you tell him the rest of it?” she said. “About …?”

“… yes.”

She couldn’t help the wince, he knew. She was embarrassed, even annoyed. “Will he help?”

“I didn’t ask him to.”

“Why not?”

“Because … why should he? You do realize the Jews hate us, right? Maybe even more than we find them repulsive. Just because a boy is sick doesn’t mean …”

Gaius swallowed. He had to stop not because he buckled under the notion of no one in the world caring about Ivo, his flesh and blood. Instead, he could imagine Jesus accepting a request to come heal him. The man was a strange specimen. That idea burned him. A mix of Roman and Germanic pride held him like irons from accepting help from a Jew, even a miracle worker. And yet … if Ivo was going to get worse … if he might die, how could Gaius live with himself without trying every route to save him?

And there was the sticky situation of going to Jesus or having him come to his house. Jews didn’t go into Gentile homes, from what he gathered. Unclean and all that. He’d learned quite a bit about “clean” and “unclean” from Simon of late. But hadn’t Simon entered his home just now with no fuss? Might not Jesus? But the other Jews might get riled by it, not to mention by the betrayal of a Jew helping a Roman officer.

No, it was all a disaster waiting to happen.

“Gaius.”

He broke out of his thoughts. He looked at Livia.

Her voice cracked right as she continued. “He … Ivo … he’s your son. You have to try.”

His eyes widened. She’d never said it aloud before.

“Do you really want me to? He’s …”

“He shouldn’t be punished for what you did.” Her expression was stiff. She said these words as one does when taking a noxious medicine. It was necessary, even good, but deeply unpleasant. She’d worked herself into believing this, despite every reason she had to feel the opposite.

For some reason, Gaius thought of Simon’s face from when they met by chance at the cistern in front of the synagogue. In a way, it had been easier to talk to Simon then than to Livia now. The alcohol had helped. Slight inebriation didn’t affect Gaius’s memory; he could capture the distress on Simon’s face at the question of whether he and his wife were arguing.

On top of that memory came a much fresher one. Simon, standing before him and wearing a borrowed cloak: “Silence between a husband and wife … it’s poison.”

Why did the cure have to hurt worse than the venom?

“I was worried you hated him,” he said.

Livia’s eyebrows jumped up, then fell. “Maybe, for a while, I resented him. Not now. Marius loves him, and … I decided that I could live with that. What … what do you … I know you don’t want to tell me, but I want to know what he means to you. Truthfully.”

The truth came out of Gaius far too easily. The boulder rolled over him.

“He’s my son. I don’t want to lose him.”

“Then seek out the doctor. Do it, Gaius, for all our sakes.”

“You mean that?”

“Yes.”

The weight passed like a cloud, and he could breathe. But now that he wasn’t exerting himself in holding up the boulder, now that he was free, his armor started to fall away. A sob broke in his throat. He tried to suck it back in.

Livia didn’t rush to him; that wouldn’t have become a proper Roman wife, certainly not one married to a soldier. She came over to him, all the same. She didn’t chide him. She touched his arm.

He gasped. Another sob managed to heave out.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

He shook his head. “Why? It wasn’t your fault.”

“I carried my anger with me for so long, and for what? Well, to punish you. But I don’t want that now, and I’m sorry I ever did.”

“I’m sorry.” He did his best to speak clearly through the tears. “I was wrong. I … I’m sorry.”

Livia smiled. “You’re good at saying that. At least now I know you mean it.”

“I always mean it,” he said through a wet laugh.

She shook her head and shushed him. “It’s all right, Gaius. No one is watching.”

They sat on the bench, the one near his table where he reviewed official papers and other business. She guided his head to her shoulder and let him unleash the rest of the flood inside him.

Complete wholeness. It didn’t seem logical that a person could feel whole when emptying themselves. Yet, for a little while, through tears and choked moans, it felt true.

[dr-hss]

Maryam Jameelah (Margret Marcus), born in New York to a Jewish family explored Judaism and other faiths, converted to Islam in 1961 and emigrated to Pakistan. She is an author of over thirty books on Islamic culture and history and a prominent female voice for Islam. Below is her letter that she wrote to her parents from Pakistan:

“Dear Mother and Father,

I have now been living in Pakistan for more than twenty years during which time you have acquired an entire additional family of loved-ones there, adding much to your happiness. You have reached a ripe age, thank God, living longer in good health than I had ever expected. You have read all my books and Islamic literature I have sent you with a broad and open mind. Therefore you need no introduction to the subject I wish to discuss with you now and nothing I have to say will seem strange and new to you.

I wonder if you realize fully how very fortunate you are. So long as you can keep in reasonable health and are able to take care of yourselves, you can continue to enjoy a pleasant life. But do you ever think of the tragic faith of those hundreds of thousands of other older Americans, the victims of chronic illness and infirmities, who crowd to over-flowing hospitals and nursing homes (which are really charnel houses), the old-age homes and the senile wards of mental institutions? And do you ever think of those still greater numbers of older people who are widowed and live their lonely lives confined to their dingy rooms in constant fear of muggings, physical attacks and robberies by juvenile delinquents who prey on the old and infirm with no remorse or fear of punishment? The maltreatment of older people is a direct result of the collapse of the home and extended family. Does your elder sister – my aunt Rosalyn, a great-grandmother lovingly sheltered in a close and adoring family and a happy home, ever think how lucky she is and how few of her advanced age in America are left like her?

You must know that society in which you were brought up and have lived all your life is in a state of rapid disintegration on the brink of collapse. Actually the decline in our civilization was evident as far back as World War I but at that time few people except some intellectuals and artists were aware of what was happening. But since the end of World War II and especially during the last two decades, the rot has reached such a stage of advanced decay that nobody can any longer ignore it.

The moral anarchy in the absence of any respected, fixed standards of behavior and conduct, the obsession with perverted sex over the entertainment media, the mistreatment of older people, the divorce rate which has climbed so high that among the new generation, an enduring, happy marriage is becoming rare, child abuse, the destruction of the natural environment, the prodigious waste of scarce and valuable resources, the epidemic of veneral diseases and mental disorders, drug addiction, alcoholism, suicides as leading cause of death, crime, vandalism, corruption in the government and contempt for the law in general – all of this has a cause.

The cause of this is the failure of secularism and materialism and the absence of absolute, transcendental theological and moral values. Deed does in the final analysis depend upon creed because if the intention is wrong, the work always suffers.

No doubt that it may bore you to read this. You will protest that if you are not theologians, philosophers or sociologists, then why bother about such “deep” matters when they do not seem to be of any direct concern to you? After all, you are happy and content living just as you are. You only wish to enjoy life right now, live entirely in the present and accept each day as it comes. If life is a journey, is it not foolhardy only to be concerned with pleasant and comfortable accommodations along the way and never to think about the journey’s end? Why were we born? What is the meaning and purpose of life, why must we die and what will happen to each of us after death?

Father you have told me more than once that you cannot accept any traditional religion because you are convinced that theology conflicts with modern science. Science and technology have indeed given us much information about the physical world, provided us with abundant comforts and conveniences, increased efficiency and discovered remedies for many diseases that used to be fatal. But science does not and cannot tell us about the meaning of life and death. Science tells us “how” but it never answers the question “why”?. Can science ever tell us what is right and what is wrong? What is good and what is evil? What is beautiful and what is ugly? And to whom are we accountable for what we do? Religion does.

Today America is in many ways a repetition of ancient Rome in the terminal stages of her decline and fall. Thinking people know that secularism has failed to be a sound foundation of our social order. They are anxiously searching in other directions for a solution to the crisis but do not know yet where to find it. This is not of concern only to a few sociologists. The disease of national disintegration directly affects you and me and each one of us.

During its most critical period, ancient Rome adopted Christianity as its salvation and henceforth the Church dominated Europe for more than a thousand years. This put an end to many of the worst social and moral evils of decadent Rome and greatly raised the moral and spiritual standards of the people. Unfortunately during the formative period of its history, the Church compromised with paganism and secularism, adopting an elaborate priesthood and incomprehensive theology which could not resist the impact of the renaissance, the revival of the natural sciences and the radical secularism of the French Revolution. While Christians in Europe and America have deserted their faith wholesale leaving the churches almost empty, the missionaries continue to represent the vanguard of western imperialism and exploitation in Asia and Africa.

After Christianity, the Jews comprise the second largest religious group in America who dominate politically, and economically, as well exercising considerable control over the media. But Judaism has always been parochial and tribal, seldom welcoming converts. It is not and has never been a universal faith. The Zionist movement which resulted in the establishment of the state of Israel, is the secular expression of Jewish nationalism and tribalism. The dreadful atrocities committed by the Israelis in occupied Palestine, the unprovoked aggression in Lebanon and adjacent areas and attempted genocide of the Palestine Arabs, depriving them of all human and political rights, is the logical result of this same narrow parochial outlook. This is the reason why even the most orthodox of the rabbis refuse to believe that Israel can do any wrong and uncritically support everything she does. These glaring moral and spiritual defects automatically disqualify Judaism as the faith of the future.

The Muslims comprise the third and fastest growing faith in America today. No longer is Islam confined to remote regions of the deserts and jungles of Asia and Africa. No longer is Islam foreign to the American scene. There are more than three million Muslims in America today and their numbers are increasing fast. There are thousands of students from all Muslim countries studying in American universities, and well-educated, highly-trained Muslims are busily at work in all professions. In the last two decades, hundreds of native-born American converts have swelled their ranks. At first most of the converts were black people who found in Islam, dignity, honor, self-respect and racial brotherhood as did Malcolm-X, but in recent years more and more white converts of European origin, searching for guidance in all the affairs of their formally chaotic lives, have also embraced Islam, making many sacrifices and enduring much hardships to do so. Few of them are fortunate as I am to have loving parent like you. Most of them suffer severe frictions with their non-Muslim parents and relatives. Today churches and synagogues are almost deserted but the newly-built mosques and Islamic centers, springing up in every important American city and town, are attracting rapidly growing numbers. Most of the new Muslims in America are young, intelligent and well-educated. What attracts so many young Americans to Islam?

Americans today, both young and old, are desperately searching for guidance. They know from bitter experience that the personal freedom and opportunities they as Americans enjoy are meaningless and self-destructive without reliable guidance, direction and purpose. Secularism and materialism are powerless to provide any positive or constructive moral values for Americans either individually or collectively. That is why after Christianity and Judaism have failed them, more and more people in America today are turning towards Islam. In Islam as new Muslims, they find a sane, healthy, clean and honest life. And for Muslims, everything does not come to an end at death. They look forward to an Eternity of bliss, peace and perfect happiness (in the Hereafter).

This Guidance found in the Holy Qur’an and the recorded words and deeds of the Holy Prophet Muhammad, upon whom be peace, is not only for foreign races in some far-away corner of the East, centuries ago. Here are to be found the solutions to all economic, social, moral and political problems which face us right here in the West today. Furthermore, Islam is not cold, remote and impersonal. Muslims have complete faith in a very personal God who not only created, sustains and rules the universe but also loves and deeply cares about the fate of each of us. The Holy Qur’an tells us that God is nearer to everyone of us than our jugular veins!

Since the Holy Qur’an is divine revelation, it cannot and will never be changed. Because it is perfect, it cannot be improved, revised or reformed. Since Muhammad, upon whom be peace, is the final Prophet, his guidance can never be superseded by any other. The Qur’an and Sunnah are addressed to all peoples, in every country of the West as well as the East. Since it is relevant for all times, in all places, it can never become obsolete or out-of-date.

You are both of very advanced age and there is so little time left. Yet it is not too late if you act now. If your decision is positive, your ties with your loved ones in Pakistan will not only be by blood but also in faith. You cannot only love them in this world but be all together with us forever in eternity.

If your decision is negative, I am very much afraid that your happy, comfortable and pleasant life will very shortly come to an end. As soon as the inevitable occurs, it is too late for remorse and regrets. The punishment will be u from which there is no refuge and no escape.

It is as your daughter who loves you and hopes to the end that you will be spared this fate. But the decision rests entirely with you. You have complete freedom to accept or reject: Your future depends upon the choice you make now.

All my love and best wishes.

Your devoted daughter,

(Maryam Jameelah).

..sam31aout24

[themculibrary]

Ana/Edwin Masterlist

All of Me (ao3) - Selena T, 2k

Summary: Between countries, between languages, between death and life: Ana Jarvis has been all of this for years. Portrait of a survivor.

A New Arrangement (ao3) - Beatrice_Otter T, 3k

Summary: Edwin and Ana love each other, and they're grateful to Mr. Stark. But there are still a lot of details to figure out in their new life.

Desperate Measures (ao3) - andrastesgrace (emmijadeshow), gallifreyslostson T, 6k

Summary: As conditions worsen throughout Europe, Edwin takes matters into his own hands. However, when his plans go awry, Howard Stark is compelled to step in.

A more thorough version of Jarvis’s explanation of his treason charge.

Free to a Good Home (ao3) - DinerGuy G, 1k

Summary: The night started with Mr. Jarvis late returning from the store. Somehow it ended with Howard Stark’s house overrun by energetic bundles of fur.

history never repeats (ao3) - theclaravoyant T, 1k

Summary: ...but sometimes it rhymes. - Guardians of the Galaxy, Vol 1:Legacy

When Anna is gravely injured, Jarvis relives the last time he thought he'd come this close to losing her.

In Good Hands (ao3) - Sholio T, 1k

Summary: Edwin Jarvis helps Ana get clean after bringing her home from the hospital.

In Sickness and in Health (ao3) - MarvelousMusings M, 3k

Summary: Even falling gravely ill isn't enough to keep Edwin Jarvis from his duties, until it is.

Keep the World at Bay (ao3) - All_That_Jazz_93 G, 877

Summary: Ana and Edwin share a quiet afternoon post-2x10.

Motek, Destroyer of Clothes (ao3) - lillianmmalter ana/edwin, peggy/daniel

Summary: She's a sweetheart of a dog, but she is still a puppy. Ana adores her anyway.

New Beginnings (ao3) - Captainironhawk ana/edwin, peggy/steve T, 19k

Summary: A year after Whitney Frost and Zero Matter, Ana and Jarvis are happily living out their lives in New York City. With Howard and Peggy working on a big project, there are bound to be plenty of changes and surprises to come to all of their lives.

The Alpha Gas (ao3) - bonusholegent M, 588

Summary: Edwin's scientific experiment has some unique results on Valentine's Day. His inhibitions drop. If only he can remember this.

The Jewish Girl and the Englishman (ao3) - SheOfManyShips G, 1k

Summary: Just a small fic depicting how Ana first met Edwin and what happened after she sold him the tie in the Tailors shop.

The Sound of Silence (ao3) - Jac_Danvers T, 24k

Summary: On the eve of the German invasion of Hungary, Anna Zellner was a Jewish shop girl who wanted nothing more than to keep her head down and her family safe. She never thought that selling a tie would draw her into a dangerous world of secrets and spies. A world where her only hope is a bumbling British attache. The story of Edwin and Anna Jarvis, featuring a healthy dose of Howard Stark.

Tingling Ears (ao3) - lirin G, 897

Summary: Anna trusts her husband to always be honest with her, but she's also picked up on the "not always truthful" half of the equation...and she's a tad grumpy about it.

[jyndor]

im the anon you told to fuck off here to say thank you.

i had read about terrorist organizations using that slogan and i had a gut reaction. im a jew and i fear for both muslims and jews with everything that is going on right now. because i read what you wrote and i researched again and i see where propaganda got the better of me (even if those words have been used by terrorists). and i see time and time again where propaganda gets the better of most of us on something as fast paced as the internet.

as i read i remembered. the naz*s took a symbol that was once peaceful and turned it into something the world cannot look at the same way ever again-entirely their fault not the fault of the original culture from which the symbol came.

i dont want to see that happen with words that are truly important and stand for something i do believe in which to be clear: is a free and peaceful palestine where no one has to live in fear.

in saying what i did based off of a gut reaction i made a mistake. i did the same thing i hate from others on the internet which is speaking on an issue before doing further research and i am ashamed of that.

but i am also committed to learning and doing better tomorrow. no one can become an expert in any part of this as quickly as plenty have claimed to. im writing this to share my perspective and as a reminder of fallibility for whatever that is worth.

i think its important for ensuring we dont become what we wish to stand against.

thanks again for sharing your research. you told me to fuck off but ill sign off by wishing you well

anon I'm shook no okay so hold! on the fucking off pls do not fuck off I recant the fucking off. its how I handle anons (I'll explain later) until yall prove you're not trolling or bots or whatever.

it's worth a LOT. like really it's worth a lot. Unfuck off, I would love more people in my orbit who don't just critically engage with criticism but also go on to look into it for themselves. instead of just taking my or someone else's word for it. I try to do that myself because I can be such a fucknugget and sometimes need a good smack lol.

I just want to say I'm sorry that you're experiencing the fear you're experiencing. and um I have jewish cousins and family who I am scared for always, I try not to bring them up bc it feels kind of gross in this context but yeah, I don't want to invalidate your fears.

I mean what the n*zis did with that symbol is a whole other thing and I don't feel like I should speak on it other than to say fuck n*zis they ruin everything they touch. I liken this more to the way that black lives matter gets misconstrued because I know more about the history of that phrase than I do about that symbol you're talking about. I also don't like to bring up n*zism in the context of israel/palestine because actually almost every time I have seen that comparison with israel, it is a cheap shot at jewish people. Like in a youtube comments section or something, not thoughtful discourse - because tbh these are very, very different situations and the comparisons could be made of almost any other genocide, but like the commenter knows it's a painful thing for jewish people and so like I said, it's a cheap shot that's easy to take and says more about them than it does about palestinian liberation or israeli apartheid.

I know plenty of anti-zionist jewish people do actually talk about the shoah in the context of why they support palestinian rights but for me it just doesn't feel right.

and yeah i understand falling for shit - I've done it, it's easy as hell to read something and feel like it's right, like yeah I personally don't actually say from the river to the sea all that often, you won't find it as a tag on my blog because I think it's best coming from palestinians?

you're totally right - no one can possibly learn the history quickly. It's taken me 16 years to feel like I am actually relatively well versed in the history and I'm not even well versed, I'm just decently versed lol. and if you add into it the propaganda that we've all been told for years, and then the added generational trauma you have? of course it's hard to fight gut reactions because often they're somewhat based in experiences we've had or others have had.

the reason I told you as an anon to fuck off is because of my history and views towards anonymous asks more than anything else, btw. THAT is a gut reaction but it is also informed by my experiences. I hope this maybe explains why I may sometimes come off a little harsh towards anons (and why I decided to turn them off - until rebelcaptain secret santa forced me to open them back up lol).

so I used to love to keep anonymous on because I know that a lot of people don't feel comfortable reaching out for a number of reasons and I wanted to remain accessible as a user of this shithole site lol. however what happens is sometimes, a lot of times, people will just be saying anything. and then they'll say "I'm an x person and y is true" and often people getting those anons will be really well-meaning and just accept it at face value. because genuinely so many people want to be on the side of marginalized groups and want to be good allies. and so shitty people will just be saying bullshit about whatever, and people who may not understand the details of whatever situation anon is talking about will say, "oh shit I didn't realize that! Thanks for educating me!"

and often it is legit! and it's also important to remember that no group is monolithic, so if an anon comes into my ask box saying that they are from, idk let's say, venezuela. i don't know a whole lot about venezuela. I know there is a lot of propaganda and shit from the us, and I know that there are class dynamics and racial dynamics that I vaguely understand because I have a relatively okay understanding of the entire region but it's not good enough to hold up more than a little bit under any kind of actual pressure like being told something by someone who claims to be venezuelan and says that everyone is actually indigenous (which i do understand to be indigenous erasure), and so it would be more comfortable for me to just say, "okay thanks for the info, my bad!" etc etc etc which... okay but like what if they're not venezuelan? what if they are and they're actually just anti-indigenous? what if they're a right-winger or a bot or idk just wrong lol. some people can be just incorrect without it being disinformation, right? so if I post that without any pushback or skepticism, I'm now spreading misinformation that is used to harm indigenous people.

so for me, because anons necessarily get to hide their identities more than even these already relatively anonymous social media accounts do, my policy has always been to handle them with skepticism and frankly to assume the worst.

not everyone does that and also like I don't have a big following but I don't have a TINY following either so I do feel some responsibility to provide accurate information. and that's just from years of experience and not always doing that lol.

anyway sorry for being long-winded, and thank you for reading what I wrote and more importantly for not just taking what I said at face value but for doing the research yourself. that's what is most important.

[thenightling]

Carnival Row season 2 episodes 1 and 2 review

I just watched the first two episodes of Season 2 of Carnival Row.   There was a very long recap of what happened in Season 1. There was an unusually long gap between season 1 and 2, nearly a full four years between seasons, something rare for TV or streaming but Covid got in the way of Season 2′s already lengthy production and I think they ended up scrapping the original plan for Season 2 to make this wrap up all the loose ends of season 1. First a reminder of what the premise is of Carnival Row.  Carnival Row is about a fantasy world that resembles our own world in the Victorian era.  Carnival Row is the name of the ghetto similar to London’s White Chapel or New York’s Hell’s Kitchen of the nineteenth century.  Faeries (known as pix), trolls, fauns, centaurs, Kobolds, and werewolves.  Supernatural creatures are treated as second-class citizens and are known by the racist slur of “Critch.” (a bastardization of “creature.”)       

The main character is Philo Rycroft, a half-fae who (until the events of season 1) was “human passing” and worked as a police inspector.  Philo’s former lover, a faery named Vignette comes to The Burge (The city-country) as an indentured servant.  She gains her freedom and soon finds herself wrapped up in the activities of a small crime syndicate acting out of Carnival Row.  Vignette (who is bisexual) has a former lover, Tourmaline (a prostitute working out of Carnival Row).

Through many plot twists it is gets revealed that Philo is the bastard son of the Chancellor, Breakspeare (a high ranking political figure).  And he has a half-brother, Jonah.  Jonah is busy stirring up racial hatred for the sake of political manipulations with his lover and supposed political rival who is actually his sister, Sophie. A late-middle aged gentleman named Runyan Millworthy, who has deep sympathies for the fae managed to establish himself in the good graces of Jonah, and so is able to try manipulate things for the better. And a high class human woman named Imogen runs off with a faun lover.

In season 2 of Carnival Row the story begins with Carnival Row sealed off with barbed wire and looking alarmingly like a a World War 2 Jewish ghetto. This is the result of the Chancellor's murder in the pervious season as the fae are being blamed.  

There have always been obvious allegories for immigration, what happened to the Irish during the “Potato famine,” colonialism, and other social allegories but this season is very quick to dive into that darkness.  There’s an illness that resembles tuberculosis plaguing the fae and medicine is scarce. 

Vignette is viewed as a hero for leading raids out of the ghetto to steal medicine. Her former lover, Tourmaline, has gained the powers of a deceased witch who used entrails to see the future. (There’s a gruesome and unnecessary death scene of a child’s cat in the first episode). Philo wins a favor of a minor crime lord in “The Row” (another name for Carnival Row) who helps him free a former soldier friend (a werewolf) from prison, as being a werewolf is an automatic life sentence or death. Imogen and her lover escaped The Burge but find themselves in the domain of The New Dawn (which is very blatantly their world’s version of The Soviet Union).  Last season had The Pact, which was a Nazi-Germany like country driving the fae out of their homeland, which is how they ended up in The Burge.

  During a political dinner Philo intended to reveal his true lineage (with the aid of Runyan) as to try to get Carnival Row opened up again (as it’s a sealed off ghetto now).  This was not likely to work because even if Philo was believed and he inherited his biological father’s title, there is the matter of the racism against him for being half-Critch. Before he could do this, however, Vignette (wearing a mask) and some of her criminal compatriots show up at the dinner in order to present a dying fae woman to show the people in power what they are doing to them. This doesn’t seem to win sympathy or mercy, however, as the heads (and wings) of those Vignette was under in her Criminal organization, are soon nailed to to the wall surrounding Carnival Row. The wall had already gained the heads of four fauns who were used as scapegoats (I just noticed the symbolism of fauns as scapegoats. I’m thick...) for the death of the councilor.  One of these behead fauns, I believe, is the missing brother, of Sophie’s favorite servant, though it’s hard to tell if Sophie actually realizes this or not. Jonah and Sophie are talking about spreading out The Burge as an empire “like it once was” (clearly The British empire) including taking the fae homeland (which is pretty blatantly Ireland). There’s been one unsolved murder in the season, caused by someone who can fly but apparently has leathery bat-like wings and not the fluttery fae wings (My guess is some type of vampire that hasn’t been introduced in the show yet). And that’s pretty much where the plot is right now.  

The pacing of season 2 is decent. Like in Season 1, Runyan Millworthy (the older human character) is my favorite character so far.

The World War 2 allegories are a bit ham fisted and darker than than classism and immigration allegories of the first season, which I used to consider ham-fisted but these are much more blunt.  I get their purpose and meaning but it’s so intense and amplified that I almost wonder if it’s disrespectful to the real horror of what happened in the holocaust.                       A lot of the symbolism is pretty blatant but it’s good to see the world-buliding such as with the “New Dawn” which is a government sprung from revolution (much like the Russian revolution) and feels like an early Soviet Union equivalent for this world. 

I do wish more fantasy shows would tap into the genre of Gaslamp fantasy. It’s as if people have it in their head that if it isn’t Urban fantasy (set in present day in our world) that it should then be medieval-esque fantasy.  A fantasy world that is not actually our world but just similar, and looking a lot like our Victorian era is a refreshingly new visual.  I can almost imagine this world as being the same one from The Witcher, just a few centuries in the future.   I like the setting and the world building.  The special effects are also decent.  But it’s just gotten so bleak.  I would like the show to finally show a little hope.  Gothic does not mean depressing or ugly.   Something can be Gothic and also hopeful. 

[ghastmaskzombie]

this blog is a safe place

this blog is safe for queers of all kinds: it is safe for gay men and lesbians, for bi and pan people, for aro and ace people, for allosexual aromantics and alloromantic asexuals, for polyamorous people, for trans people and nonbinary people, agender and pangender and genderfluid and others i haven’t heard of, for he/him women and she/her men, for cis people with unconventional gender presentation who are tired of being called ‘eggs’, for two-spirit people, and probably for someone else i haven’t thought of.

this blog is safe for people of all faiths and races and nationalities. it is safe for people white or black, asian, indian, hispanic, the natives peoples of all places, and anyone else i may have missed. for people atheist, christian, jewish, muslim, hindu, buddhist, sikh, for believers of obscure mysticisms and religions most think of as old mythology, and so on.

this blog will never condemn ordinary people for the actions of the governments that have authority over them or the religious institutions that have indoctrinated them. i have no ill will for the collective populaces or the individual people of red states and conservative nations, or common believers of historically destructive christian denominations and the like (i can’t just condemn every catholic now, can i?). some people are kind gears in cruel machines.

this blog is safe for people with neurodivergences and mental illnesses that are stigmatised and demonised even among people familiar with psychiatric ableism (is there a proper term for that?). i don’t know what many of those are but suffice it to say i’m working to scrub words like ‘psychopath’ and ‘narcissist’ from my casual vocabulary.

i will not interact with bigots or exclusionists on this blog in any way. i will never subject my followers to the sight of a debate about the validity of their existence, no matter how well i think i or anyone else can defend them. this blog will not share bad opinions for the sake of mocking them, or attempt to ‘own’ someone trying to make a point that doesn’t deserve consideration to begin with.

if it’s ever necessary, i will attempt to resolve conflicts privately, where they are not seen, such as in DMs. this is civility, not cowardice. anyone trying to get me to argue with them on a public post will be given this warning once, then blocked. (not that anything like that’s ever happened to me, anyway.)

this blog does not confuse doomscrolling for activism; it will not reblog out of guilt. there is a time and place to learn about the horrors of current events and i don’t know when that time is but my silly little blog is not the place.

this blog attempts to tag common triggers and phobias* and gets the obvious ones right sometimes, but i don’t know what i’m doing so always feel free to ask for your triggers to be tagged.

this post will be edited as time goes on, as i learn new things and i remember things i’ve forgotten to mention and i think of better ways to say what i’ve already said. this post takes suggestions. i think everyone who isn’t perfectly privileged is a little bit afraid that someone will claim to be safe and inclusive but then turn around and say “no, but not you,” when it really counts. i never want to be the source of that fear. i want you to know that you (yes, you), are safe here, and what ‘safe’ means when i say it.

*i use “#[trigger] cw” as my standard syntax for these tags

...Gosh, this post needs an update. I'll work on that.

[toontowncreepypasta]

Miles Upshur headcanons because ive been real autistic since outlast went on sale on the switch

heres just a huge dump of all my miles headcanons and interpretations im sorry it’s so fucking much ive been obsessed with this fag since i was like 13

 I think Miles grew up pretty poor, his father in the military and his mother was a stay at home mom who struggled with drug addiction. he had four other sisters with him being the oldest. He ended up raising most of them, the third sister being nonverbal autistic. He was responsible at home but not really anywhere else. He also didn’t get along with his mom very well. He left the house the moment he turned 18 and didn’t look back. He’s transmasc and gay, i can’t see him being into women im sorry. hes like the only horror protagonist i can think og that isnt like oh my gof.ds...... oh my god boobs....

I think a lot of Miles very strong core values come from how he was raised and that mostly pushed him into journalism and needing to shine a light on things. i also think he was in a band when he was in highschool, and still plays guitar pretty frequently (or well, heh, did when he had his fingers.) i also think he sold his adderal and any other meds he was put on all through out highschool and college and got in trouble for it a couple times. He was one of those shitty highschool kids who were like way too smart for their own good so they spent all of their time trying to break every rule they could.

Miles and Lynn Langermann became extremely close in college, and Miles and Blake also dated in college for like two months before that imploded on itself and they never spoke to eachother again.

He’s an aries, he has ADHD and c-PTSD (and you know, now regular PTSD) and is a HORRIBLE chain smoker like it’s really fucking bad. he’s jewish. He is EXTREMELY drawn to anything dangerous or mysterious like it’s a problem he has almost no survival instincts. He is an animal to his own emotions and desires and it’s a problem, if he gets scared of something he chases after it, he doesn’t back down, he’s insanely stubborn, he’s quick to anger. But I will say he is pretty good about assessing situations, he’s lived off blind luck his entire life because he is GOOD at what he does. he always acts like he knows what he’s doing and shit usually ends up in his favor so it’s hard not to believe him.  He is unaware of how mentally unwell he is, mostly because he has a habit of repressing pretty much anything traumatic that happens to him. Puts it in a little vault and keeps trudging on.

He’s anti authority and has a hard time taking orders or directions, even just from people he loves/respects. He resents any kind of restraint put on him. Miles biggest fear is death, him dying, specifically. He is scared to die before he’s ready. His second biggest fear is being forgotten/ignored. He’s somewhat of an attention whore, negative, positive, he likes to act out or preform or be wild and “out there” and have everyones eyes on him. he wants to be THE guy. no matter what hes doing he’s doing it with a hypothetical audience. That’s specifically something he struggles to drop at any time, its hard for him to be intimate with people or slow down because of it. he isn’t a narcissist though, it isn’t to an extreme extent. it’s just enough to be noticable in times of crisis. Despite all of these, Miles biggest and most dominante traits are his empathy, passion and his fixation on justice. he’s a good person all around, even if he’s a bit of trouble. he rarely if ever has ill intents to anyone who isn’t a dangerous person, and even then, he can find himself sympathizing and understanding almost anyone if given enough time.

he’s pretty fashionable but... doesn’t utilize it what so ever. he dresses like a very stereotypical binary trans masc, with a bit of occasional gothic/southern flair. he’s no stranger to eyeliner. before his transition he was very similar but in a “feminized” way, think those white southern punk girls with the chunky blonde/black streaks and bedazzled black ripped tanktops and flannels. He just went from one end of the spectrum to the other.

[galaxy-manticore]

Finally making a pinned post after being on this site for 6+ years

Art commissions Here

About Me

You can call me Jules, but galaxy or manticore or whatever is fine

Currently 20 as of 2024

Trans masc nonbinary. Trans bear. I got a ton of microlabels too but they don’t really matter to anyone but me.

They/He pronouns for me please, with masculine descriptors. I also use neopronouns if you’re interested (rat, bear, teeth neos specifically)

Physically disabled. Hypermobility spectrum disorder + chronic pain and fatigue. Suspected EDS but don’t have a diagnosis yet

Ethnically Palestinian, religiously Jewish. I consider myself a Palestinian Jew and Mizrahi

Autistic. My special interests are The Elder Scrolls, Mononoke, and The Dark Crystal. My hyperfixations come and go. Most of what I reblog is those

DNI

If you support problematic people or condone their actions. Try to separate the art from the artist if you can, but sometimes they can’t be separated.

If you’re homophobic, transphobic, or generally anti-LGBT.

If you’re antisemitic or Islamophobic, just generally hateful or intolerant of other religions

If you support the Israeli government and its actions

If you’re ableist, racist, sexist, etc.

If you support NFTs and “AI art”

If you make Vivec x Molag Bal jokes I’m blocking you on sight.

Other generally problematic stuff. I don’t have the brain capacity to think of everything rn

BYI

I’m a bit iffy on minors interacting with me, but as long as you’re cool and don’t go into mature topics than it’s whatever

I might post 16+ content so if that bothers you you can not interact

I am mentally ill - I’m not asking you to validate my delusions. But if you reality check me without me asking first I’m blocking you with 0 hesitation

Please use tone tags when possible. I have a hard time understanding tone over text

If I post or say anything problematic please tell me, I don’t want to be problematic at all and I’m a bit stupid but I’m trying to educate myself as best as I can.

I am Palestinian and I am Jewish. Please don’t take either of these parts of my identity as an invitation to debate Palestine/Israel. I’m open to respectfully talk about religion, but I’m tired of being bombarded by zionists and anti-zionists alike. If you try starting anything with me I’m just going to block you

I’m always open to making friends, so if you want to message me please feel free! That being said, don’t start being aggressive or sexual with me right off the bat. I don’t know you and I’m not comfortable with people I don’t know doing that stuff.

My memory is genuinely so bad so please be patient