#particularly with Christianity-influenced authors

[moonlightseve]

Viktor asks Yuuri what he wants if he wins Onsen on Ice and Yuuri says “to eat with you.” Viktor goes to Hasetsu to serve someone, to be the best coach he can be for a struggling skater who inspired him, and Yuuri turns to him and demands his companionship before anything else.

The vulnerability of eating with someone, the very act of taking food into your bodies and letting your guard down. The intimacy of Yuuri wanting to share his favorite dish with Viktor, presenting a part of himself on a platter and asking him to enjoy it.

The transformative nature of sharing a meal, the way each party exits with something in common with those around them. Viktor and Yuuri come from very different backgrounds and are at very different places in their life, but they are both in Hasetsu, together, and eating katsudon. It is the start of a journey together. It is Viktor’s introduction to Yuuri’s culture and character and Yuuri’s moment to humanize his idol.

[user211201]

Branded

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Originally posted on 2020-05-27 by dumb-and-jocked

Unfortunately dumb-and-jocked's account has been deactivated.

If the original author ever reads this: thank you for all your works!

---

Zane wasn’t particularly excited about going out to his uncle’s ranch. The two had never really known how to connect, with one being from the East Coast and the other in rural Wyoming. Zane had grown up privileged in the urban lifestyle, with many stores, jobs, and more progressive influences around every corner. His parents were also a little richer than most, so he was able to enjoy a luxurious apartment all to himself while he attended Yale. Well... not all to himself. His boyfriend Kaeden visited so often he was practically a second resident, but Zane didn’t mind--he loved the attention.

Zane practically adored his modern lifestyle, and made sure to show it by never leaving a five-mile radius. This caused his parents to worry, assuming if he didn’t start now he’d never know how to go out on his own. Trying to help (like all parents did), his father spoke with his brother and the two set up a little spring vacation for Zane. When Zane’s father had proposed the idea, Zane didn’t exactly jump in excitement. In fact, he didn’t seem excited at all.

“Really?” Zane asked coarsely. “Spring break is for beaches, coasts, actual fun!”

“Zane,” his father replied coolly. “I didn’t raise you to be a leech off of my own money. Go out to your uncle’s ranch and give him a hand; earn something for once. And anyway, Wyoming’s great this time of year--you might enjoy it!”

“Can I at least bring Kaeden with me?”

His father’s eyes went down for a moment. Zane always had a lurking feeling that his father wasn’t truly alright with his only son being gay, his Western Christian roots molding him that way, but his dad always acted like he was accepting. Proving Zane’s point, he swore he could’ve seen his dad’s ears perk up a second after the proposal was made.

“That’s a great idea!” his dad cheered, almost too enthusiastically. “Now someone can relish in the same pain you’ll be experiencing.” Zane rolled his eyes in response to the sarcasm before walking out to his car.

Reflecting back on that moment, his father did seem a little more eager than usual, but Zane didn’t care. It was too late now, as the old pickup truck was pulling into the driveway of the ranch. A huge arch loomed above them, displaying “WELCH” in iron letters across the top. Back when it used to be his grandparents’ ranch, Zane’s father loved this place. He used to thrive as a cowboy, but once he got a taste of the other side of the Mississippi, he left the lifestyle behind him. The rest of the family seemed alright with the transition, with Zane’s uncle being the older brother anyway, meaning he would be taking the ranch, so they decided to let him roam. His uncle had now been running the ranch for almost ten years, just him, his wife, and a small crew to help with the daily tasks.

“Alright, boys, enjoy the trip,” the man in the front grunted as he halted to a stop. Kaeden and Zane slowly jumped out of the truck, grabbing their bags as they looked at the massive farm. Zane swore it looked bigger than the last time he was here, but that was to be expected. The last time he was here was a decade ago for his grandparents’ funerals, so there was probably going to be change. While Kaedan gazed around in awe, Zane spotted what--or who--he was looking for. Leaning against one looming building was a tall man wearing a blue button-up and worn-out jeans. His large boots were placed firmly on the ground and a barn wall, while a beige hat rested proudly on top of his head. He looked like a more muscular, worn-out version of his father, his similar salt and pepper stubble pulling the whole look together.

“Zaney boy, is that yeu?” the man asked in astonishment, the southern accent as prominent as ever.

“Yeah, Uncle Treyton.”

Zane tried to sound enthusiastic, but he never felt like family with the redneck. Not only did the two have completely different perspectives, but they didn’t even look related. Zane didn’t share the same muscular body as the silver fox, but instead had a little too much meat on his bones. He also didn’t get the Welch height, with Zane’s lime-dyed hair barely even reaching his uncle’s neck.

“And this must be Kaeden Sargent, put it here!”

Zane’s uncle shoved a meaty hand in front of him and Kaeden quickly accepted. He was always more optimistic than Zane, putting his best foot forward into every situation. The tall, lanky man took the other’s hand and shook it vigorously, so much in fact that his ginger curls bounced in a rhythm. Fortunately, the baby fat surrounding his face allowed him to act a little childish.

“Firm, that’ll go a long ways here, son.”

“Thanks, sir.”

“Ah, y’all can call me Treyton.”

Kaeden and Zane exchanged looks at each other. For a Christian cowboy, he was awfully accepting of their relationship. Neither of them expected Zane’s uncle to be so understanding.

“Where’s Aunt Joelene at?” Zane inquired as they hauled their bags inside.

“Her and the lady folk already had a vacation planned, so she ain’t gonna be here this week. Just some good ‘ol male bonding!”

He led them to two guest rooms on opposite sides of a hallway, telling them to toss their individual bags into one or the other. Zane and Kaeden exchanged looks again, although this time it was for a different reason. They both knew they might be staying in different rooms, but not sleeping.

All of a sudden, the doorbell rang from the front of the house. After dropping their things, Zane and Kaedan followed Treyton back out to the front door. The trio wandered out to the foyer to see another cowboy smugly standing on the porch.

“Harry!” Treyton shouted as he swung the door open. “‘Bout time ya got here--the nephew’s in town.”

Harry looked over at Zane, inspecting him and then Kaeden with hawk eyes. His tight black shirt didn’t hide the impressive muscles from years on the farm. The same could be said for his faded jeans and massive belt buckle, both of which did nothing to camouflage his gargantuan pouch.

“Is yers that paddy?” he remarked with a deep voice, his accent as thick as Treyton’s. “Or the fag.”

“They’re both fags,” Treyton corrected. “The paddy’s his ‘boyfriend’.”

Kaeden patted Zane’s shoulder in a comforting way. Treyton’s language had just confirmed that they had signed themselves up for a long vacation.

“I don’t mean to be abandonin’ y’all so quickly, but the town’s rodeo’s goin’ on tonight and I’m a volunteerin’,” Zane’s uncle began. “Everythin’ there is free, so I expect to see y’all out there. It’ll be a great time!”

The two hicks strutted over to Harry’s old pickup truck, the engine roaring mighty proud as it came to life. Zane and Kaedan wondered how they hadn’t heard it coming down the driveway.

“Keys are on the counter!” Treyton hollered as they drove off. Kaeden smirked lowering his hand from Zane’s shoulder to his butt as they watched the other pair leave.

“Might as well taint your uncle’s house before we go to the rodeo.”

“You really want to go to that thing?” Zane whined, missing the hint.

“No, but we should,” Kaeden replied. “Until then, let me keep you entertained.” He then started kissing Zane’s neck passionately, dragging him down a hallway.

“Alright!” Zane giggled, following along. He loved his boyfriend.

— —

Kaeden and Zane hesitantly pulled into the parking lot, the dirt flying into the air as they parked the rusty pickup near the back. The whole event took place in some kind of stadium, but instead of a neatly trimmed field with shiny seats, there were wooden bleachers and a dirt floor. They weren’t particularly excited, going from hardcore sex to this dump, but as long as they were at each other’s sides they’d make it through. At least, that’s what Zane kept telling himself.

The two cautiously jumped out, wearing sweatpants and matching concert tees from an event they went to on their fifth date. Zane had thought that if they wore their most casual clothes, they’d blend into the crowd, but it turned out this was truly his first rodeo. Walking up to the front gate, they saw a rainbow of button-ups scattered among the stretched and stained tees. Hicks and cowboys galore excitedly hollered as they entered the rodeo grounds. The strange thing was, it seemed like people were gathering by color. Zane and Kaeden watched the red button-ups slowly separate from the yellow tees, who themselves avoided the purple plaid-clad group. Even with the odd formation, the pair stuck out like two weeds in a freshly-planted garden.

“Alright next!”

Zane and Kaeden had been so perplexed by the entire situation that they hadn’t noticed they had crossed the parking lot, gotten in line, and made it to the front.

“Zaney boy, ya made it!”

Zane’s uncle proudly stood behind a booth, waving as the boyfriends walked up. Harry was placed on the other side, his look much more calculating than Treyton’s inviting smile.

“Are y’all excited?” Uncle Treyton asked, his accent coming out stronger with each syllable.

“Totally,” Kaeden answered, assuming his other half wouldn’t.

“Let us just stamp y’all and yeu’ll be on in.”

“Wait, why are we the only one’s getting stamped?” Kaedan observed. Zane hadn’t noticed, but all the other attendees had gotten in without a mark.

“Remember how I said y’all are gettin’ in free tonight,” Treyton explained. “This is yer free ticket.”

They nodded their heads as Kaeden extended the back of his hand out to Zane’s uncle. Treyton solidly pressed a stamp down on his hand, the blue color left behind sinking deep into his pale skin like a tattoo. Zane proceeded to do the same for Harry, who marked his hand with a black darker than the night itself.

“What do the colors mean?” Zane questioned.

“Whatever ink we’re usin’.” Harry snarked, sending him on his way. Zane sighed as he strolled through the gate.

“I’ll be at a food stand later tonight so make sure to come and visit me!” Treyton shouted as they disappeared into the crowd.

“We can do this,” Kaeden whispered, grabbing Zane’s hand and dragging him to the stands. He sounded reassuring, but Zane couldn’t tell if it was for him or Kaedan himself.

“It’s just for tonight,” Kaedan continued, “After that, we won’t have to deal with Harry, or anyone for that matter. Except for your uncle of course.”

Zane grinned--his boyfriend always knew how to cheer him up.

“And besides,” Kaeden continued. “Look at how much we have to explore!”

It might have been a bit exaggerated, but there was a some space to venture. Besides the stands, there were a few porta potties, some food stands, and a big tent filled with gear for the local country radio station. The tent was their first destination, looking through all the merchandise and advertisements. Although they both hated country music, they had fun exploring the booth, even signing up for a raffle to a Chase Rice concert. Did they know who he was? No--but they didn’t care. Even though they got a few sideways glances from passing families and couples, they were actually enjoying their time at the rodeo. Zane and Kaeden were there to have fun just like everyone else.

9.8 SECONDS! THAT WAS A GOOD TUSSLE, DAVE!

The pair watched on as the participant was whipped off the horse’s back. The first few rounds had looked painful, but Kaeden and Zane eventually stopped flinching after every contestant. It was the sport after all, so they shouldn’t be worried unless everyone else was worried. The uncomfortable thing was, everyone at the rodeo did seem slightly on edge, but it wasn’t over the participants. Unsurprisingly, it was over them.

“Hey,” Zane said, elbowing his partner to grab his attention. “Is it me or is there something strange about the crowd here?”

“You mean how they’re all looking at us like we’re sick?” Kaeden asked, not tearing his eyes away from the next contestant.

8.7 SECONDS! IMPRESSIVE GRIP FROM HANK!

“Well, yeah, but that’s not what I’m talking about.”

“What’s on your mind?”

“I don’t know, I mean…” Zane stumbled off, noticing Kaeden was still focused on the riders.

9.4 SECONDS! NICE JOB MARV!

“Earth to Kaedan!” Zane snapped, finally snatching the other’s attention. “For example, did we miss out on some color-coded theme? Why is everyone segregated?”

Kaeden glanced around the stands, noticing what his boyfriend was talking about. Although everyone was clumped together, there were noticeable separations. It seemed like groups of men, women, and children were organized by the shading of their clothes. It was peculiar, but so were most small, rural towns.

“Calm down, babe,” Kaeden replied nonchalantly. “It’s probably just some cheerleading thing, you know? Like someone’s family wears orange because their their fanclub.”

“Yeah, I guess that makes sense,” Zane conceded.

10.1 SECONDS! I’D EXPECT NOTHING LESS FROM RYLAN!

“You’re probably just paranoid from all the homophobia around here,” Kaeden reasoned. “But luckily, I know what’ll cheer you up.”

“Oh really,” Zane responded coyly.

“Definitely, meet me at your uncle’s food stand and I’ll get us some snacks.”

“Alright, but I’m gonna head to a restroom first.”

“Miss me!” Kaeden exclaimed as he rushed down the risers. Zane grinned, knowing he was lucky to have snagged his boyfriend.

— —

“Ah! Sorry,” Zane grunted as he shimmied out of the porta potty door, noticing the growing line that had assembled outside. He thought he hadn’t taken too long, but when one’s bowels beg for release, one has to give in. Walking with a little pep in his step, he eagerly bounced his way around the rodeo grounds to find his uncle’s food stand. Kaeden knew Zane had a soft spot for food, which was pretty evident by the soft spots around his hips. He was excited to see what he had gotten for him. After wandering around for a minute, he finally spotted his uncle stepping outside an old trailer.

“Uncle Treyton!” Zane shouted as he approached.

“Eh, Zane! What’s up? Enjoyin’ the rodeo?”

“I guess?” Zane replied honestly. “Have you seen Kaeden?”

“Ah yeah, he was my last customer for the night. I saw him walkin’ over to the picnic area,” Treyton grunted, locking the door to the trailer as he closed up.

“Thanks!” Zane responded, beginning to walk off.

“Hold on there, cowboy!” Treyton demanded, chuckling at his own irony. “I’m gonna be headin’ back to the ranch, gotta long day of work tomorrow, so make sure y’all don’t stay out too late.”

“Sounds good, Uncle Treyton!” Zane started again, desperately wanting to get back to Kaeden.

“AND!” Treyton emphasized. “Harry wanted to see ya ‘bout somethin’ before ya left. He should be at the stables.”

“Great, thanks!” Zane tore off, almost kicking up the dirt behind him as he darted back towards the porta potties. He made it to the picnic area in record time, almost panting as he slowed down. The so-called “picnic area” was really just a group of tables resting behind the bleachers, with no real purpose besides having a surface to eat at. Zane searched for Kaeden, but it seemed like the place was totally empty. The only person he saw was a man sitting alone, ravenously scarfing down an order of nachos. He was wearing a blue plaid button-up and the same straight, overused jeans as every other man at the rodeo. He also adorned a cowboy hat, a quite brawny body, and a bulge much larger than both Kaedan and Zane’s combined. The cowboy looked to be in his late 20’s, but his brunette chin strap and mustache combo made him seem older. Zane approached the other man delicately, noticing the redneck’s very large boots tap eagerly as he chowed on his food.

“Um, excuse me…” Zane mumbled quietly. “I was wondering if-”

“Zane!” the man jumped up from his seat. “I was worryin’ ‘bout you! Thought you might’ve gotten stuck er somethin’.” Zane shook his head, confused at who the low-pitched, southern gent was exactly.

“I’m sorry, who are you?”

“Zane, it’s Clayton!” he paused, waiting for Zane to remember.

“Clayton Sherman?” Zane was still bewildered, until something clicked in his head.

“Wait, Kaedan?”

“No, Clayton. Didja hit yer head or somethin’?”

Zane felt a little crazy, but something supernatural was pulling him towards this stranger. He didn’t know what the force was, but his curiosity guided him.

“One sec, just let me check something.”

Zane grabbed Clayton’s right hand swiftly, finding the same blue stamp that his boyfriend had received earlier. Although it had faded dramatically, it was good enough proof for Zane.

“Kaedan, what happened to you? How did you become like this? What happened after you left the stand?” Zane must have been hallucinating. There was no way his long, slim, ginger lover had become some horse-kickin’, tobacco-spittin’ cowboy, right?

“First off, it’s Clayton,” Clayton responded calmly. “And I did exactly what I said I would. I went to yer uncle’s stand and got us some food. He told me he’d give us ‘somethin’ special’ and slapped my hand, saying it would be on the house. Can you believe it? These darn nachos were free!”

“Alright,” Zane quickly remarked. “Then what?”

“Well, I waited for ya, but the nachos kept lookin’ at me. So, I thought ya wouldn’t mind if I took a bite. One bite became two, then three, and now we’re here.” Clayton showed Zane the empty box, beaming a childish smile.

“Kaedan, I don’t under-”

Suddenly, Zane grabbed his head as he felt a shock go through his skull. He grimaced as it coursed through his brain, causing him to shake momentarily before regaining his thoughts. As fast as the pain had come, it had disappeared too.

“Y’all ok there?” Clayton asked, patting Zane’s shoulder in a brotherly way.

“Yeah, I think so,” Zane blinked. “What were we talking about again?”

“How I ate all the food!” Clayton hollered, laughing at himself in a low guffaw. “We oughta get back to the rodeo though, Little Petey’s going up soon.”

“Little Petey?” Zane mumbled to himself as the two hoisted themselves up. At first, he didn’t recognize the name, but the more he thought about it, the more memories that seemed to appear. Little Petey was Clayton’s little brother of course! Both Clayton and Pete Sherman were expert horse riders, having both broken records for steer wrestling and bull riding. They’d also been the star quarterbacks for the town back in their prime, but now with Pete turning 26 and Clayton having his second kid on the way, they were ready to settle down and start (or continue) their families.

“Yeah! I gotta run on back to Cassie and Trevor. Nice seein’ ya round these parts again!”

Clayton tossed the empty carton into the trash and ran off back to the stands. Zane watched the man dash up the wooden bleachers to his wife and first boy, embracing them as he sat down to continue watching the show. He sunk right back into the cluster of blue, completely camouflaged by the other people in the crowd. Zane didn’t really know Clayton, just remembered him as someone who worked at his uncle’s farm. He seemed nice, but definitely not friend-material. He had a little too much homophobia and country in him. Zane stopped for a moment to correct himself. Clayton didn’t have a little too much; he had a lot of too much.

8.3 SECONDS! LET’S HEAR IT FOR MIKE!

Deciding he had nothing else to do, Zane started heading back towards the parking lot. Although the event seemed kind of interesting, Zane was too lonesome to really find any joy in the situation. Even his uncle’s presence would’ve made him want to stay, but with no one there by his side, Zane decided to head out. Right as he stepped through the gate, he suddenly recalled his uncle saying something about Harry wanting to see him. He didn’t like Harry, and he assumed it worked the other way around too, but Zane knew he should respect his uncle’s wishes.

8.9 SECONDS! DANNY’S HERE TO STAY!

Zane stumbled into the area housing the horse stables, the place completely deserted besides the rolling tumbleweeds. Strolling past a few horse-buses, it didn’t take long to find Harry. He grinned as Zane approached, holding a lasso in one hand.

“‘Bout time you got here, thinkin’ you got lost er somethin’.”

“Wish I would have,” Zane mumbled to himself as Harry tossed an arm around his shoulder. Harry suddenly seemed more cheery than he had been before.

“Did yer uncle tell ya what yer doing here?”

“No, but I hope it’s not too long; I’m getting tired.” To emphasize his point, Zane faked a huge yawn.

“Not that, fag,” Harry chuckled, dropping down one end of the rope. “I mean this vacation.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Back in high school, yer pops, uncle, and I used to be the studs of the town. Valuable players, intimidatin’ cowboys, 100% corn-fed beef. But when yer pops was offered an education out east, the three of us fell apart.”

“Yeah, so what?”Zane was uninterested, finding the cowboy’s bulge as the only thing appealing about Harry. Zane had a bad habit of checking out other men when he was single.

“Well,” Harry continued, dragging Zane into a stable. “When yer pops saw how off-track he had raised ya, he called up Treyton and I to put a little country in ya. We knew we were gonna have fun, but when ya brought along that Irish laddy too, that was just a cherry for the top.”

Zane shook his head in bewilderment. Who was Harry talking about? He had obviously come here alone.

“See, originally Treyton wanted you as part of his ranch, but when yer boyfriend came he decided to pass the sweeter treat off to me. I think yeu’ll really-”

“Woah, slow down a moment,” Zane rubbed his temples, losing track of everything.

“Ah, I fergot about the mental stuff,” Harry contemplated, thinking about how to explain everything. He had to find a way to explain it all to the boy.

“Remember how everyone in the stands was segregated by their clothin’ color?”

“Yeah?” Zane clearly remembered, as he had stuck out like a sore thumb, but he didn’t understand why this was important now.

“Well, they’re all branded to some ranch, that’s why they stick to one color.”

Harry’s answer made sense to him, but Zane was still visibly perplexed.

“Look at Kae- I mean Clayton Sherman,” Harry started. “He works for yer uncle’s ranch. What color to they wear?”

“Blue?”

“Exactly!” Harry slapped Zane’s back, knocking the wind out of the other man.

“Every color here is for someone’s ranch. Blue is Welch, green is Smith, white for Johnson-”

“How... how many are there?” Zane stuttered, the pieces gradually coming together.

“10, ‘cluding myself,” Harry responded proudly.

“So what you’re saying,” Zane reasoned. “Is that these ranch owner’s ‘brand’ people to be part of their ‘ranch,’ claiming them as their property?”

“Eeyup.”

“And why are you telling me this?”

“Thought you oughta know beforehand.”Zane was about to ask what that meant, but before he could speak, something clicked together in his head.

“You own one of these ‘ranches’?”

“The stunnin’ Mueller Ranch.”

“And what color are you?”

Zane already knew the answer, hoping to distract the other man, but he wasn’t fast enough to dodge Harry’s launch. The older cowboy tackled Zane to the ground, the stench of hay and manure infiltrating Zane’s lungs as his face graced the dirt floor. Zane, not one to be athletic, surprisingly twisted himself out of Harry’s grasp, rolling sideways before getting up and escaping. He started running to his truck, desperately shuffling through his pockets to find the keys. Frantically scurrying away, he didn’t even notice his foot slip right out from beneath him.

“Gotcha!”

Harry cackled heartily as he looked upon his captured prey, who was clawing at the rope helplessly. It seemed like a scene from an old western cartoon: the fool stepping into the lasso and getting caught. Harry had already tied the other end of the rope to a stable post, approaching Zane with a face gleaming with malice. Zane trembled in fear, giving up hope on flight and nervously accepting the fight. As Harry took the final steps, Zane's cowered timidly as he gave up. He didn’t know what was going to happen, but he knew something was going to be over. Then, to Zane’s pure surprise, a hand stretched out to help him up.

“Come on,” Harry welcomed warmly.

Zane’s heart stopped. Was Harry… serious? Was this all some prank just to scare him? Zane didn’t know what was going on, but he decided that once he got out of this mess he’d stay in the sweet shelter of his uncle’s ranch. After the week was over, he was never coming back to this pathetic town, or Wyoming for that sake.

“Are ya gonna take it or what?”

Zane sighed, clasping his hand into Harry’s. As soon as they connected, Harry’s flowery smile instantly twisted back into the thorny smirk.

“It’s just too easy.”

Before Zane could react, Harry flipped the other’s hand over and tapped the black stamp. Instantaneously, time stopped around them. The whole moment felt electric, almost as if everything in existence had shifted, but it was simply only a light touch. Zane gasped as he got up, struggling to speak.

“What… what did you do?”

“Eh, nothin’ yeu’ll remember,” Harry chimed. Zane investigated the back of his hand, noticing a slight pulse as the black stamp began to fade. He was shocked to see the color slowly draining from it into his veins, noticing the same inky shade pumping into his bloodstream.

“Oh no,” Zane cried as a small crackling came from his knuckles. It sounded similar to an orchestra of crickets, the hundreds of minuscule pops signifying the growth of his average hands. Zane’s palms grew thicker at a sluggish pace, bloating with meat as his fingers grew into calloused sausages. Zane groaned in pain while his hands became paws, now feeling like he was wearing bulky, leather mittens instead of skin.

The raven color flew through Zane’s arms, gliding across his chest before venturing vertically. To Zane’s dismay, his unused tendons stretched intensely, expanding as they made room for the arriving muscular tissue. Biceps proudly emerged as their brotherly triceps erupted from underneath Zane’s flesh, causing him to writhe. His forearms gained some meat too before a tan wave swept across the surface of his skin. The classic shade darkened Zane’s pale skin as a field of hair was planted on top. Before long, Zane’s arms looked like an avid gym-goer’s, yet for some reason his mind told him they were from the farm.

After improving the upper appendages, the ink moved downwards, cutting through Zane’s chest. His deltoids pushed outwards as his collarbone expanded, barely extending his traps as his torso began to shift into the shape of a “T”. His pectorals ballooned outwards, forming into meaty packages with two perky nipples, obviously erect underneath his shrinking tee. After the pecs squared out, Zane moaned as a sturdy six pack pounded in, each abdominal packing a punch as it pushed forward. A light covering of fur erupted from his chest while the tan wave made sure to paint itself once more. Zane began panting for air violently, each breath sucking in a little body fat. It didn’t remove all of his fat, but enough to maintain something barely below a body-builder’s standards. His shirt also stitched itself back together, having been torn apart seconds before. The cheap concert tee grew black as it painted itself back onto Zane’s torso, the dusky color hiding its overuse.

Following were Zane’s legs, as the black blood dove deeper. His juicy thighs began to tighten, retaining their above-average size, but now containing more muscle than meat. After his quadriceps had hardened, his knees cracked violently, stretching out Zane’s calves to max him out at 6’2. The bottom of his sweatpants violently tore to reveal two meaty forelegs, both veiny, firm, and covered in a lathering of hair. His pale skin darkened as his legs were covered in a loose denim, locking away his lower appendages.

With Zane’s lower body now covered in an old pair of Wranglers, the ink took hold of his feet, which were currently snug in a pair of Sperry’s boat shoes, the only shoes he had brought with him. In an instant, the leather and cloth tore apart in the middle, blossoming open like a flower to reveal gargantuan Size 15 feet. Zane was appalled to see the hairy, meaty, and awfully rank monsters attached below his ankles, but to his luck, the shredded shoes began to reform. The leather gracefully became cowhide as it expertly resowed itself around Zane’s feet, traveling up to his midcalves to create two authentic cowboy boots. Zane however didn’t feel relieved, in fact all he could feel was the sweat of his massive feet filling up the shoes. His socks hadn’t reformed, so it appeared he was going commando in his boots.

The ink swam up to the top, touching up on any missed spots. After filling in Zane’s pits with a hearty amount of hair, the black blood filled in his neck, adding girth to support the maturing Adam’s apple. Vocal chords stretched as the Zane’s register reached new depths, causing him to violently cough and sputter as he adjusted, allowing the ink to shoot upwards. Zane cried out in pain as the black blood clutched his skull, pulling apart at the bones to give him a thicker head. While the baby fat was removed, his jaw was stretched horizontally, giving him a prominent chin just large enough for a cleft. His lips shrunk while his nose expanded, filling in along with his expanding brows. Zane’s eyes shifted from a bland brown to easy-going blue as his hair shaved away, leaving a no-effort buzzcut where a manicured mane once laid. The vibrant green color rapidly faded, giving way to a light brown that easily shaded in Zane’s new haircut and thickening chinstrap. Across his body, his skin tightened barely as his body packed on a few extra years. It wasn’t a noticeable difference, but Zane no longer had the same glow of young adulthood.

“Ah Lordee,” Zane grumbled, getting up as his language center reorganized itself. “What’d y’all do to me?”

“Well, there’s still one more thing to go,” Harry replied, watching Zane shakily ascend. When the other man stood straight, he now faced eye to eye with the other cowboy.

“What in tarnation is left?”

“Just give it a sec-”

“I ain’t got no time for games, I’m gettin’-”

Suddenly, Zane felt an electrifying pulse throughout his groin, the rest of the ink finally reaching his reproductive center. The black blood infiltrated his testicles, killing off the weak sperm as it overtook his pouch. Zane’s balls bloated as they became heavy with cowboy sperm, dropping dramatically due to the increased weight. The ink traveled into his medium-sized penis, engorging it almost instantly. At first, Zane felt like he was having the most powerful boner of his life, but he began to realize his dick was in fact growing. His member began pulsating with the foreign blood, elongating as it grew to a mighty 10 inches. In the back end, his buttocks blew up into two massive, hardened globes, pushing against the confines of one end of the jeans while his pouch took the other.

Losing all sense of reality, Zane furiously palmed himself through his jeans, the feeling of his newly-materialized boxer shorts rubbing against his sensitive tip driving him crazy. Precumming in seconds due to the pent up stress, Zane was too horny to realize what he was doing, or what he was losing. His prized Yale education evaporated like powdered milk into his ballsack. Next went his East Coast upbringing, his progressive ideas and urban lifestyle disappearing into the void that was his semen. In tow was his homosexuality, which was thrown into the fire inside his testicles. Even a sizeable chunk of his IQ was tossed into the mixing pot. Everything about Zane was sucked down into his sperm, ready to be expelled permanently.

“C’mon boy,” Harry shouted eagerly. “Ya know what ya want to do!”

Zane grunted as he groped himself once more, feeling a burst of static electricity coarse across his body. Grabbing a nearby fence, Zane steadied himself against the stable wall as he felt the rush coming.

“Wow-ie!”

A huge load of sperm coated the front of the Wranglers, causing the area beneath the giant belt buckle to darken dramatically. Not bothering to clean himself up, the young cowboy basked in the afterglow of ejaculation, truly content with himself. He adjusted his pouch one last time, with his other hand still secured to the fence.

“There ya go, that felt better, didn’t it?” Harry slapped a hand around the other man, securing the black cowboy hat on top of the other’s head while doing so.

“Ah yeah, Sir, that one was a goodie,” the other replied, the two slowly making their way back to the main grounds.

“Tell me, Wayne, where the wife and kids at? Shouldn’t they be at the rodeo?”

“They are, Sir,” Wayne responded quickly. “They’re sittin’ near the back of the bleachers with the other ranch families.”

“Ah I see.”

10.5 SECONDS! PETE’S WOWED US AGAIN FOLKS!

Harry paused in front of the main gate, shuffling his hand through his pocket to find his keys and some Copenhagen chew.

“I best be headin’ out,” he stated. “We got a long day at the ranch tomorrow, lots of hay bale shipments to move out.”

“Sounds good, Sir.” Wayne extended his hand out, “I’ll see y’all bright and early tomorrow mornin’.”

“See y’all then, Wayne.”

The two vigorously shook hands, with Harry delighted to see the disappearance of a certain black stamp. They waved each other off as Harry walked back to his truck. After watching his boss leave, Wayne was elated to go back to his family, with one beautiful wife and three handsome sons to entertain. Turning 29 in a matter of days (his birthday shared with Pete Sherman’s, or “Little Petey” as the town called him), Wayne had already accomplished his major goal in life, growing the Woods family. It only seemed like yesterday that he and his wife were high school sweethearts, but now they owned their own little home with three rowdy chaps running around everywhere. It was going to be Wayne’s job to teach them the right morals just like how his father taught him. Over the years, he’d teach them about Christianity, voting Red, being country men, and how to swoon ladies. But, with the oldest one only in first grade, he thought it might be best to wait a bit longer.

Inspecting the bleachers, it didn’t take Wayne long to find his family. He ran up to them and sat down immediately, ready to keep enjoying the show. He quickly explained to his wife what his boss had wanted him for, saying Harry had just wanted an update on the coming fourth child. Wayne then kissed his wife passionately before giving his attention back to the rodeo, applauding as the last participant finished off the night.

10.3 SECONDS! CHRIS ENDED THE NIGHT STRONG!

ANOTHER GREAT YEAR WITH A DARN GREAT CROWD! THANKS FOR COMIN’ OUT FOLKS, WE’LL SEE Y’ALL AGAIN NEXT YEAR!

[planet-gay-comic]

Love in the Changing History of Ancient Rome

The love between a merchant's son and a gardener slave is a striking example of the fluctuating history of homosexuality in the Roman Empire. It stands as a symbol of hope and resistance in the late Roman Republic or early Imperial period. While not necessarily accepted, romantic relationships between men from different social strata were not uncommon. The two men likely had to live their love clandestinely and discreetly.

In the early Roman Republic, homosexuality between men was accepted and even considered normal. Mythology and art depicted relationships between men and gods that celebrated homosexuality. Several Greek and Roman gods and goddesses were associated with homosexuality, such as Eros, the god of love, who was often depicted with a young man.

However, Roman laws became increasingly repressive over time. In the 1st century BC, laws like the Lex Scantinia and the Lex Iulia de Adulteriis prohibited homosexual relationships between free men and between married men or men in domestic partnerships. The Lex Papia Poppaea granted tax benefits to married men and women, which led more people to marry and made homosexuality less acceptable.

The reasons for the tightening of these laws were multifaceted, including the rising influence of Christianity in the centuries after Christ, which viewed homosexuality as a sin. Additionally, homosexuality was believed to undermine the discipline of the Roman army and the traditional family.

Attitudes changed once more in the Late Antiquity. Homosexuality became increasingly accepted in Roman society, particularly due to the growing influence of paganism, which led to greater tolerance of homosexuality.

The polytheistic nature of paganism may have contributed to this reacceptance of homosexuality during a time when Christianity was no longer the dominant religion. In a polytheistic religion, there is no single source of authority that could prohibit homosexuality. Instead, there are many different gods and goddesses associated with various values and beliefs. Additionally, it was a period of change and uncertainty, during which people may have become more open to new ideas and convictions.

Text supported by Chat GPT 3.5 and Bard

These images were generated with StableDiffusion v1.5. Faces recalculated with inpainting.

[nerdy-grrl79]

The article "Today’s Reflections: Persecution or Provocation?" examines a TikTok video broadcast by Fox News or OAN, depicting a Subway employee refusing service to a group in Wanaukee, WI, with the claim of Christian persecution. When asked if their shirts were the cause of the refusal, the employee cited a personal matter. The group's shirts, not shown in the video, were later identified as bearing anti-LGBTQIA+ and anti-reproductive rights messages. The author highlights that one group member was David Grisham, known for provocative actions against Christmas traditions, and another was Rich Penkoski, who frequently posts homophobic content online. The author's mother immediately agreed that the incident was Christian persecution, reflecting her susceptibility to media influence despite her education. The author, who is queer, feels unable to come out to her family, particularly due to her father's belief in conspiracy theories about LGBTQIA+ individuals, reinforcing the family's self-victimization narrative against those who oppose their bigotry.

[blueiscoool]

‘Extremely Rare’ Ancient Stone Seal Discovered in Jerusalem

An "extremely rare and unusual" ancient stone artifact-thought to be around 2,700 years old-has been discovered in Jerusalem.

The artifact in question, a seal made of black stone, was uncovered during an excavation conducted by the Israel Antiquities Authority and the City of David organization near the Southern Wall of the Temple Mount (also known as Al-Aqsa)-a site in Jerusalem's Old City that is considered holy by Jewish people, Muslims and Christians.

The stone seal bears a name inscribed in the paleo-Hebrew script, as well as an image of a winged figure. It is thought to have been used both as an amulet and as a stamp to seal documents, Filip Vukosavović, a senior field archaeologist with the Israel Antiquities Authority (IAA), told Newsweek.

"The seal is one of the most beautiful ever discovered in excavations in ancient Jerusalem, and is executed at the highest artistic level," Yuval Baruch and Navot Rom, excavation directors on behalf of the IAA, said in a press release.

The seal has a hole drilled through it lengthwise so that it could be strung onto a chain and hung around the neck. In the center, a figure with wings is depicted in profile, wearing a long, striped shirt and striding toward the right. The figure has a mane of long curls covering the nape of the neck, and on its head sits a hat or a crown.

The figure is raising one arm upward with an open palm, perhaps indicating that it is holding some kind of object.

Depictions of winged figures such as these are known in neo-Assyrian art of the 9th-7th centuries B.C. and were considered a kind of protective magical figure, according to Vukosavović. The artifact, thus, demonstrates the influence of the Assyrian Empire-a major civilization of the ancient Near East that had conquered the Israelite Kingdom of Judah, including its capital Jerusalem.

"This is an extremely rare and unusual discovery. This is the first time that a winged 'genie'– a protective magical figure-has been found in Israeli and regional archaeology," Vukosavović said in an IAA press release.

On both sides of the figure, an inscription is engraved in paleo-Hebrew script. In English script, this inscription translates as: "Le Yehoʼezer ben Hoshʼayahu."

"[Yehoʼezer] was a common name," Ronny Reich, a researcher from the University of Haifa said.

The researchers believe that the stone object was originally worn as an amulet around the neck of a man called Hoshʼayahu, who held a senior position in the administration of the Kingdom of Judah. He may have worn the object as a symbol of his authority. "It seems that the object was made by a local craftsman-a Judahite, who produced the amulet at the owner's request. It was prepared at a very high artistic level," Vukosavović said in the press release.

The working hypothesis of the experts is that upon Hoshʼayahu's death, his son, Yehoʼezer, inherited the seal, and then added both of their names on either side of the figure. The names were added in negative, or mirror, script-so that the impression would appear in positive and be legible-according to Reich.

"The combination of figure and script, and particularly a neo-Assyrian figure is uncommon in Judah," Reich said.

By ARISTOS GEORGIOU.

[socialistmary]

Pairing: Reader x Joel Miller

Warning: NSFW, 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI, smut with very little plot, age gap (Joel's in his 50s & Reader's in her late 20s), cheating, delicious catholic guilt, afab!reader, pet names (no use of Y/N), no outbreak!AU, unprotected sex (no one said adults are responsible, but you should be), p in v steamy car sex, bit of angst?, very minimally proofread, sorry about that bby

Summary: fun times after Sunday service, forgive me mum, pastor Craig (😉);

Word count: 2.2k

Author's Note: this is part of my 'Devil on my back' series, where lovely Reader is a lonely little married Christian woman; not really sure where this sits on the timeline yet, will see when more parts come out. 👁️👄👁️🌸✨ in the meantime, lemme know what you think and if there's anything you'd like to see in this series (or outside of it), i am very easily influenced

That dainty golden cross nestled just over your cleavage sparkled and shone in the sun, almost blinding Joel with every thrust upwards into your wet pussy, squelching sounds of your bodies meshing together, filthy and delicious, almost enough to drive him over the edge.

He wasn’t entirely sure how you got here today, in the back of his truck after a particularly boring Sunday service, tits spilled out of your dress, panties pushed to the side as you grind deeper onto his cock, mouth slack and eyebrows furrowed in pleasure, riding him for all he’s got. Christ, he hadn’t been to church in ages.

This wasn’t supposed to happen, he thought, reaching out to take a pebbled nipple into his mouth, and relishing in the way you arched your back into him, leaning further into his touch. Just last night he’d decided to take a break from you and your good girl charms, finding it increasingly difficult to justify all the attention he’d been giving you.

“Joel,” he heard you whisper in your raspy, fucked out voice, followed by a loud squeal as his palm came down with a loud SMACK! on your right ass cheek, thick fingers digging into the skin hard enough to feel but not hard enough to leave bruises Dax might question later at home.

You felt him shift underneath you, feet planted firmly on the floor of his truck, left hand moving up to the grab handle, mouth releasing your nipple with a pop and a string of saliva, the sight of which had your face blushing and your pussy throbbing around his cock.

“Hold on, baby,” you heard him say, and before you could think about it, Joel was slamming himself into you, hard and deep, cock barely out of your pussy with each thrust, hips rolling into yours at an angle that had you screaming with white-hot pleasure. He smiled up at you, brown eyes half-lidded and pupils blown, still thrusting with unrelenting fervour. He groaned and sucked a breath of air into his mouth as he felt your wet pussy contracting around him, juices dripping further down, mixing into his pubic hair and making for a downright pornographic image he was sure to file away in the dark corners of his mind and remember for a long time.

“Eyes on me, sweetheart,” he coaxed, hand leaving its place on your hip to brush the hair off your wet and sticky forehead. You didn’t even realise your eyes were so tightly closed until you opened them, glancing down to see Joel looking better than you’ve ever seen him, hair dishevelled and tanned skin glistening with sweat. “Good girl, that’s it,” he whispered, voice roughed up, eyes cloudy and glossed over with desire.

You were the picture-perfect modern Stepford wife as you stepped into church that Sunday morning, hair done up, modest summer dress chosen for the occasion, and golden cross resting daintily on your chest. A far cry from the scene Joel had in front of him now, and which made his insides swell with pride at being the one who gets to ruin you this way. His good little Christian girl, a drooling, moaning mess on top of him. Joel groaned, strong arms digging into your middle to bring you even closer, face pressing in the curves of your breasts, peppering soft kisses over your burning skin. You still smelled faintly of the coffee you had that morning, and the sweet and tangy blueberry muffins you had baked for church. Soothing and smooth, and so fucking tempting at the same time.  

He could feel you were close, pussy clenching around his cock, moans getting more breathless and needier with each hard thrust.

“Joel…” he heard you say again in a heady voice, heavy with desire, that he’d never heard from you before. It made him want to lose control, to grab you by the meat of your hips and fuck you into oblivion, until you only remembered his name. Somehow, surprising himself, he managed to slow down, smiling when he heard you whine softly in disapproval. “Please…”

“‘Please’ what, darlin’? Use your words, pretty girl,” he teased in a slightly condescending tone, rolling his hips slowly and deeply into yours, thick cock brushing that soft spongy area inside you with every thrust, leaving you unable to form words coherently. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, greedily drinking in the smell of your skin, sun lotion and blueberry muffins, with a thick layer of just the most unbiblical sex, that selfishly made him hope Dax would happen about to see what’s going on.

But this really wasn’t supposed to happen. He’d really promised himself last night that he’d stay off you in some way, try to see you a little less often, leave for work only after you finished your daily morning coffee on the porch – hell, anything – just to get this sweet cunt and angel face out of his head, and get one good night’s sleep. Wasn’t really helping how you had also started to seep into his waking thoughts with your clothes on, and in really mundane scenarios too. Most of all, he found he really wished you spent the night in his arms sometimes.

“Please make me cum, Joel.”

That was all he needed to hear. He grabbed your thighs with both hands and shifted slightly upwards to get in a steadier position, not missing the way your face scrunched up in the cutest way at the feeling of his cock dragging inside your sopping pussy. You were a sight, skin flushed red, lips puffy and swollen, and your up-do now sprawled across your shoulders, golden cross stuck to the warm skin of your neck in an upwards position that made all of this just so ironic. He swallowed hard before looking deeply into eyes and rising a warm hand to your face, which you leaned onto in such a familiar way, a thousand tiny aches filled his lower belly, travelling up.

Your heart was pounding in your chest as Joel’s thumb travelled lightly across your cheek, moving towards your mouth and across your bottom lip, sending a wave of warmth through your body. You lean further in, breath mingling with his, air charged with electricity.

When your lips finally meet, your kiss is slower, more tender than either of you expected, seemingly a dance of vulnerability and desire. Joel’s lips are gentle yet possessive, exploring yours with a deepening hunger that mirrors your own longing for him.

Your fingers find their way to the back of his neck, grabbing into his hair and pulling him closer, your body instinctively pressing further against his, all this friction eliciting a load groan from each of you. Joel left hand grabs your thigh roughly, causing a new hot flash of arousal to flow through your core, his other hand interrupting your kiss. He doesn’t have to say anything before you take his thumb into your mouth, sucking softly and running your tongue around it, looking into his eyes with that fucked-out look you know he loves.

You release his thumb with a pop! and lick your lips at the loss, savouring the way he’s looking at you right now, like you’re some sort of goddess, intense and unwavering, with a sense of awe, reverence, and a hint of uncertainty.

Joel can barely control himself from snapping his hips into yours and taking you fast and hard across your threshold. Instead, he gazed into your eyes more lovingly than you ever remember him doing and placed a strong hand flat across your chest, gently lowering you back until your shoulders are pressed to the driver’s seat. One knee on each side of him, you watch Joel suck in a sharp breath. This new angle, dress ridden up above your hips to give him a better view of your glistening pussy, fat cock inside and stretching you out, the head of it nudging that soft spongy place inside of you that makes you see stars, and he can tell.

“Joel, I can’t –“

“Shh…” he cuts you off with a gentle whisper. “Have I ever left you hanging, darlin’?” he starts rolling his hips into your own, smiling to himself, seeing your eyes defocus and your pouty lips form a most delicious “o”. Your moans are sweet and quiet, always trying to keep the volume down when he fucks you somewhere outside. So considerate, he thinks to himself, running his tongue over the same thumb that was just in your mouth, before bringing it down where your bodies meet and running slow, tight circles around your clit, all the while starting to pump his cock in and out of your sopping hole.

By this point, you’re a heady, moaning mess on top of him, skin sleek and shiny with sweat, face beautifully contorted in pleasure, your fingers pressing against your lips in a self-soothing, agonizingly charming little gesture. Joel can feel your cunt tightening around him with every push upwards, and waves of arousal pooling out of you to coat his cock with every stroke downwards.

He knows you’re close, he can feel you starting to grind a little harder into him, mouth open and panting, your tits bouncing slightly in his dazed face as you mindlessly try to chase your orgasm. He’ll help you through, and he’ll help himself too. Joel grabs your hips hard, lifting you off his cock and dragging you back down with ardour, revelling in your loud, breathless moans and the way your pussy has him in a vice-like grip, sucking him back in, dripping and squelching with your cum as you let him fuck into you like a man starved.

“FUCK, Joel!” you cry out in a hushed whisper, feeling that coil inside you snap and your insides pulsing around his cock. You stand up a little straighter with him still inside and grab his face with both hands to kiss him deeply, taking control of all movement between the two of you. Too surprised to fight back for it, Joel leans into your kiss, hands kneading the soft skin of your hips, fingers digging in firmly, no longer that worried about leaving visible marks.

You smile sweetly against his soft lips and Joel could swear he felt his hear skip a beat. The tenderness of your touch, the warmth of your embrace, this is why he can’t stay away from you. Joel moans a little louder when you start grinding down on him in a particularly delicious way, hands flying from your hips to your tits, kneading and pinching and alternating wet kisses between your hardened nipples. “Just like that, baby – fuck,” he pants, going to loudly slap both your ass cheeks, fingertips grabbing firmly to spread you even further apart on his cock. He loses it when he feels your warm breath on the shell of his ear, softly moaning, coming undone on top of him. Joel snaps his hips upwards, thrusting in and out of you at a pace you’re somehow always surprised by, his face buried in your neck, showering you with sloppy open mouthed kisses, nibbling the little golden necklace and feeling sinfully proud of himself.

You can feel his movements becoming more erratic underneath you, hips snapping up hard, fast, and haphazardly to meet yours. “Fuck, sweetheart, always takin’ me so well,” Joel groans breathlessly, thrusting his hips upwards a few more times, before his hot, sticky cum is filling your pussy, some of it spilling out and around his cock. A minute later, when he feels your soft arms going around him in an embrace, nimble fingers playing through his wet and sticky hair, he lifts his face towards yours to capture your lips in a gentle kiss.

***

The air inside Joel’s truck was heavy with the remnants of your hot, steamy fucking, alongside a thick atmosphere of unspoken feelings that never seemed to weigh as much as it did now. You and Joel sat side by side, still catching your breaths and trying to regain your composure.

Your heart felt like a battlefield, torn between the exhilaration you felt with Joel and the deep guilt and shame you felt for betraying your wedding vows and Dax. Oh, Dax, you worried, hand going automatically to smooth down your hair and dress. You knew this couldn’t continue and yet you somehow always ended up in the same place, not even sure exactly what triggered all these intimate moments between you.

Joel swallowed hard. He could tell you were just running around in your brain guilt tripping yourself over what had happened yet again, and he remembered with a sigh this was one of the reasons he’d decided to get out of your way initially. And no matter how hard he tried to resist, he found himself drawn back to you every time. Your entire being was intoxicating to him, and as much as he tried to be the voice of reason and protect you from the consequences of your actions, he couldn’t that easily deny his own desire and longing for you.

You broke the silence first, voice trembling slightly as you spoke. “I should go,” you said, eyes turning towards Joel’s, searching for some form of reassurance.

He nodded, knuckles turning white from the grip he had on the steering wheel. “Yeah, you should,” he replied softly, hoping either one of you would gather the strength to walk out first and stay the hell out of the other’s way.

[panlight]

What do you think of the "Everything in twilight is because of Mormomism" theory going around? I'm always in some random comment section that's discussing twilight(either the lore, the characters, or SMs writing) and that's the only thing anybody will ever bring up

I think she was definitely influenced by her religion and the culture she grew up in, but I don't think most of it was like, intentional.

In fact she seemed to intentionally try to avoid Mormonism in the story; Charlie is Lutheran, Bella doesn't really have any faith, Carlisle is/was 'Anglican' and Edward seems to be vaguely Christian. She chose not to make any of the characters canonically Mormon, but they sometimes feel Mormon to readers because of how she wrote them.

SM herself had this to say:

The main theme that I consider to be LDS is that of free agency. These books are all about choice to me–people’s ability to rise above (or sink below) what is expected of them. There is a little bit of Helaman’s stripling warriors with the pack, too (they fight to protect their families, who are not able to fight the way they can). There is some overt discussion of religion, particularly in New Moon, and a little in Eclipse. For me, that is more about realism rather than my specific religion. Religious or not, real people have to wonder sometime about where they came from, why they’re here, and where they’re going. Characters who didn’t ponder that a little would feel pretty shallow to me.   As an author, I consider NOTHING, ha ha ha. I just tell a story. All the symbolism and themes and archetypes are things I discover after the fact. All that stuff in the above paragraph–I didn’t think of any of those things until after the story was done. Then I would read through it and think, “Hey, the pack kind of reminds me of those Ammonite kids. Wonder if that’s where I got it from?”

So I don't think she set out to make Carlisle 'look like Joseph Smith' but can imagine that when she was trying to imagine a young leader she might have been influence by Smith. I can definitely see how her attitudes toward marriage, motherhood, Indigenous peoples and race could have been influenced by her faith and culture. Imprinting seems to be related to a common trope in early Mormom fiction (tl;dr - everyone exists as souls before we are born and sometimes pair up in that spirit realm and have to find each other on Earth and when they do it's this instant, powerful recognition), and this based on an essay by a fellow Mormon (tw: for religion talk). And the whole idea of eternal families relates to ideas about 'sealing' and the Mormon afterlife.

But I don't think she set out like, "bwahaha I'm going to write a MORMON vampire romance!!!" She's not that deep, she had a weird dream and wrote it down and then built on that going wherever her imagination took her, but that imagination was certainly influenced by her faith and lived experiences.

And plenty of conservative religious types hate the books on principle for having vampires and werewolves in them at all because that's occult and that's of Satan. Also because of the 'sexual content.'

[sillylotrpolls]

(Unnecessarily complicated reason for poll below poll)

So, a prominent character in the Silmarillion is Lúthien. She is the precious only daughter of a powerful elf king and a demi-goddess, and she's very beautiful and good at dancing and sings like a bird and is 100% Tolkien's insert character for his wife (awww). She is also called Tinúviel, which means Nightingale.

Later, when Aragorn first meets Arwen, he calls her Tinúviel in reference to a famous song about Lúthien's beauty and grace. Arwen is all, lol, fun fact, that's my great-great-grandma you're talking about, makes sense. (She kindly does not mention that Lúthien is also Aragorn's ancestor if you go back far enough.) So if you haven't read the Silm (sensible of you), you can just picture Arwen when answering this poll.

Now, hypothetically, someone might be trying to write a fanfiction in which Legolas is compared to Lúthien for assorted reasons (mostly because it's funny). But this potential author is not really up on birds, particularly song birds, and so they are uncertain what the best/funniest bird comparison for Legolas would be. This possible author might desire the wisdom of tumblr on the topic, but prefer to keep things hypothetical, because heaven forbid they commit to creating anything.

I assume you understand.

tl;dr If Gimli came upon Legolas in the woods and had to compare him to a bird, what would be the most appropriate bird for him to choose? Bonus points if Thranduil is highly offended or gratified by the choice.

PS: Any Tolkien scholars in the audience want to weigh in on whether Jirt was at all influenced by the Hans Christian Anderson fairy tale The Nightingale? Since I have recently learned just how much of LotR is referential I keep wondering about these things.

[bookreviewcoffee]

Ariel

Sylvia Plath

It is difficult to write about Sylvia Plath's work. On the one hand she is one of the founders of the genre of "confessional poetry" and for her poetic works she was awarded the "Pulitzer Prize" in 1982 (posthumously).... On the other hand, the very public activity of Sylvia and her tragic death (suicide). However, the official version (suicide) was initially questioned by Sylvia Plath's relatives, who considered it a murder, arguing that similar mysterious deaths of Asya Vevil and her daughter Shura, which suggested the existence of a "series", and its "protagonist" was Sylvia Plath's husband Ted Hughes and at the same time Asya Vevil's lover. However, the matter did not go further than the assumptions. However, the poetry of Sylvia Plath perfectly characterises the environment in which she had to exist. This is particularly clear in the poems: "Sheep in the Fog", "Elm". "Death and Company", "On the Way There", "The Hanged Man", "The Edge" .... In the circumstances of the death of Sylvia Plath remains much unclear. It has been suggested that this suicide was actually a kind of thwarted staging: if the neighbour downstairs read the note addressed to him, the tragedy would probably have been prevented. The neighbour himself, Trevor Thomas, who had been unconscious for several hours - under the influence of the same gas that had leaked onto his floor - believed that Plath had switched on the cooker as a "distress call" for him to come to her rescue. That it was indeed a suicide is indicated by the testimony of the same neighbour, Trevor Thomas, that he had seen Sylvia the night before. "She had gone round to his house to get a stamp she was going to use to send a letter to America. She seemed unwell and nervous to Trevor. Plath insisted on reimbursing him for the value of the stamp. When he suggested that she not worry about it, Sylvia said that "otherwise her conscience before God would not be clear." The case of Sylvia Plath weaves together incompatible things - faith in God and suicide, which in Christianity is treated as one of the deadly sins. As for the poetry of Sylvia Plath and her first posthumous collection "Ariel", in my opinion an edition of such quality lacks the parallel text of the original. Without the latter at hand, it is difficult to assess the quality of the translation and the author's thought. Often one mistranslated or inaccurately translated word changes the whole idea of the work. But the fact that Sylvia Plath's poetry is really sincere and penetrates into the very soul allows her to classify it as confessional poetry.....

[women-throughout-history]

Hypatia of Alexandria

Hypatia of Alexandria, a brilliant mathematician, astronomer, and philosopher, lived in the 4th century AD. Born around 370 AD, she was the daughter of Theon of Alexandria, a renowned mathematician and philosopher. Growing up under her father's guidance, Hypatia developed an extraordinary understanding of mathematics and science, which laid the foundation for her remarkable career. By around 400 AD, Hypatia had become the head of the Platonist school in Alexandria, where she lectured on mathematics and philosophy. Her teachings were particularly focused on Neoplatonism, a philosophical school founded by Plotinus in the 3rd century AD. Neoplatonism posited that there was an ultimate reality beyond human comprehension, and advocated for a life of philosophical and spiritual exploration to understand this reality. Hypatia's teachings were notable for their scientific rigour, emphasising empirical observation and logical reasoning. Hypatia's influence extended far beyond her academic circle. She was known for her charismatic lecturing and intellectual presence, attracting many students, including prominent Christians like Synesius of Cyrene, who later became the Bishop of Ptolemais. The correspondence between Synesius and Hypatia reveals deep admiration for her intellect and guidance in scientific matters, including the construction of scientific instruments like the astrolabe and the hydroscope. As a pagan living in a predominantly Christian society, Hypatia's position was complex. She was seen as a symbol of intellectual resistance against the rising Christian authority. The political climate in Alexandria during the early 5th century was tumultuous, with tensions between the Roman authorities and the emerging Christian leadership. Her close association with Orestes, the Roman prefect of Alexandria, further complicated her standing with the Christian community led by Cyril, the patriarch of Alexandria. Tragically, Hypatia's life was cut short when she was brutally murdered by a mob of Christian zealots in 415 AD. The exact motivations behind her murder remain debated, but it is clear that her intellectual prominence and perceived threat to Christian authority were significant factors. Despite the loss of her original works, Hypatia's legacy endures through her contributions alongside her father. She assisted Theon in his commentaries on Ptolemy's "Almagest" and Euclid's "Elements," ensuring that these foundational texts were preserved and accessible to future generations. Hypatia also wrote commentaries on Diophantus's "Arithmetica" and Apollonius's "Conics," which, although lost, are remembered for their impact on the development of mathematics and astronomy. Hypatia's life and work represent the intersection of science, philosophy, and the struggle for intellectual freedom. Her dedication to knowledge and education continues to inspire scholars and students, highlighting the enduring importance of intellectual inquiry in the face of adversity.

[finelythreadedsky]

could you elaborate on vergil and medieval wizard legends from your tags to the christian vergil reception post? :o

i am probably not the best person to do so since i'm not at all familiar with the actual medieval legends and texts, but my understanding is that these legends of vergil being a wizard or a magician probably grew out of the idea that he predicted the birth of jesus in eclogue 4-- once there was the established idea that vergil had prophetic powers and also was not entirely pagan and thus a safe(r) figure for later christians to play with, a whole set of other legends grew up around him, apparently entirely divorced from the actual written works of his that survived.

as a magical figure, he gets particularly associated with the city of naples, which i think is where a lot of these traditions originated. they seem to be set in a sort of historically-nonspecific fairy-tale roman empire that maps on to the contemporary medieval italian landscape. for example, castel dell'ovo is called that because of a legend that vergil buried a magical egg in the foundations of the castle. there are also stories about his love life, his interactions with the emperor, and his magical revenge on those who wrong him-- actually a pretty standard set of folktale elements and motifs, with nothing that particularly points to vergil as a writer or any of his texts.

but christian readings of eclogue 4 opened the door to this idea of vergil as a proto-christian prophet, so by the medieval period he transforms into this folk hero magician with little resemblance to what we know of the historical vergil or his work, a folk hero who probably circulates mostly among people who had no familiarity with ancient literature. and then that folk hero who developed out of the author vergil in turn influences the way people read his work.

[satanicallypanicky]

Disclaimer: I am making no claim to Capital T Truth here. This is about MY PERSONAL PRACTICE. This post has been edited from it's original version and is a very simplistic version of a complex spirituality.

I believe that Satan originated as a spirit/demon in early Judaism called ha-Satan ("the Adversary") that was an occasional ally of the Jewish and/or Christian God, but more often was (as the name indicates), an adversary. Satan gained a reputation as an evil and powerful demon over time and with the influence of the Christian church.

Satan is a god that is made powerful and fearful both by his own worshippers (theistic Satanists) and the fear and recognition of Christians. Satan is the god of rebellion against authority, particularly the harmful and destructive cultural and religious authority that the Christian God and Christians attempt to place over all of humanity. Many other spirits or beings have become connected to the name Satan and can be included as "Satans" or having become an aspect of the being called Satan. For me, these include Azazel, Leviathan, Belial, Asmodeus, and Lucifer. These each have powers, personalities, and domains of their own, but are all included when I call upon the god called Satan.

SATAN - opposition, rebellion, justice, transgressions against oppressive moral codes or "sins" in service of being one's true self, pride, lust, greed, death, trials, hostility, accusations, temptation, secrets, forbidden knowledge, rejection of authoritarianism, fire, power, psychological dominance, punishment, challenging dogma, magic, rejection of Christianity

Azazel - disorder, impurity, all that is "sent away" from people who consider themselves holy or pure, questioning authority, base drives and desires considered to be sins, corruption, impurity, disobedience, temptation, wickedness, indulgence

Lucifer - pride and enlightenment, light that emerges from darkness, flashes of inspiration from the darkness of a person's mind, change, rebirth, innovation, logic, truth, knowledge, wisdom, revolution, creation, destruction, enlightenment, freedom, the arts, and the Morning Star

Belial - independence and self-sufficiency, instinct, steadiness, patience, foresight, perseverance, prudence, protection, discipline, responsibility, restraint, relentlessness, fairness, balance, justice, gravity, death

Leviathan - primal secrecy, chaos, the element of water, the direction of the west, and the chalice during ritual, the subconscious, dreams, loneliness, isolation, solitude, despair, mystery, darkness, the cold void of space, the unknowable depths of the sea

Asmodeus - wrath and lust, humanity's "animal" nature, indulgence, pride, valour, courage, inner-strength, dedication, protection, compassion, healing, destruction, passion, sex, desire, willpower

[queenretcon]

I think Ted’s a really interesting example of how people assume characters are WASPs by default, even when there’s not a lot of evidence. Comics is a medium so grounded in the experience of the many many Jewish creators who built it, and I think that shows through more than people sometimes realize.

As far as I’m aware, the only evidence against Ted being Jewish is him wearing a Santa hat while drunk at someone else’s Christmas party in the last issue of Justice League Task Force. Which isn’t particularly compelling to me even if it’s a pretty cute panel.

On the other hand, Ted uses Yiddish fairly regularly across writers, including Giffen & Dematteis, Augustyn, & Vado in the examples above. Both the character he’s based on (Spider-Man) and the character based on him (Nite-Owl) are canonically Jewish. He’s dated women who also use Yiddish (Melody Case) and women with traditionally Jewish names (Janice Feingold) which isn’t much evidence on its own, but I think is at least noteworthy considering Melody in particular, imo, seems to be from a similar background to Ted.

He’s also been written by numerous Jewish creators who have brought their culture and identity to the character. I think Len Weins comics in particular are pretty commonly influenced by him being Jewish, and to me, you can definitely feel that influence on 80s Blue Beetle. Ted also tends to be the author insert for JM Dematteis, who grew up in a mixed Jewish/Christian household.

All of this on its own might not seal the deal, but I think it all together is meaningful. Despite comics Jewish roots, a lot of times Jewish characters are still left to subtext and passing mentions, and it would be cool to have more of them confirmed and unambiguous.

[dailyanarchistposts]

A.3.7 Are there religious anarchists?

Yes, there are. While most anarchists have opposed religion and the idea of God as deeply anti-human and a justification for earthly authority and slavery, a few believers in religion have taken their ideas to anarchist conclusions. Like all anarchists, these religious anarchists have combined an opposition to the state with a critical position with regards to private property and inequality. In other words, anarchism is not necessarily atheistic. Indeed, according to Jacques Ellul, “biblical thought leads directly to anarchism, and that this is the only ‘political anti-political’ position in accord with Christian thinkers.” [quoted by Peter Marshall, Demanding the Impossible, p. 75]

There are many different types of anarchism inspired by religious ideas. As Peter Marshall notes, the “first clear expression of an anarchist sensibility may be traced back to the Taoists in ancient China from about the sixth century BC” and “Buddhism, particularly in its Zen form, … has … a strong libertarian spirit.” [Op. Cit., p. 53 and p. 65] Some, like the anti-globalisation activist Starhawk, combine their anarchist ideas with Pagan and Spiritualist influences. However, religious anarchism usually takes the form of Christian Anarchism, which we will concentrate on here.

Christian Anarchists take seriously Jesus’ words to his followers that “kings and governors have domination over men; let there be none like that among you.” Similarly, Paul’s dictum that there “is no authority except God” is taken to its obvious conclusion with the denial of state authority within society. Thus, for a true Christian, the state is usurping God’s authority and it is up to each individual to govern themselves and discover that (to use the title of Tolstoy’s famous book) The Kingdom of God is within you.

Similarly, the voluntary poverty of Jesus, his comments on the corrupting effects of wealth and the Biblical claim that the world was created for humanity to be enjoyed in common have all been taken as the basis of a socialistic critique of private property and capitalism. Indeed, the early Christian church (which could be considered as a liberation movement of slaves, although one that was later co-opted into a state religion) was based upon communistic sharing of material goods, a theme which has continually appeared within radical Christian movements inspired, no doubt, by such comments as “all that believed were together, and had all things in common, and they sold their possessions and goods, and parted them all, according as every man has need” and “the multitude of them that believed were of one heart and of one soul, not one of them said that all of the things which he possessed was his own; but they had all things in common.” (Acts, 2:44,45; 4:32)

Unsurprisingly, the Bible would have been used to express radical libertarian aspirations of the oppressed, which, in later times, would have taken the form of anarchist or Marxist terminology). As Bookchin notes in his discussion of Christianity’s contributions to “the legacy of freedom,” ”[b]y spawning nonconformity, heretical conventicles, and issues of authority over person and belief, Christianity created not merely a centralised authoritarian Papacy, but also its very antithesis: a quasi-religious anarchism.” Thus “Christianity’s mixed message can be grouped into two broad and highly conflicting systems of belief. On one side there was a radical, activistic, communistic, and libertarian vision of the Christian life” and “on the other side there was a conservative, quietistic, materially unwordly, and hierarchical vision.” [The Ecology of Freedom, p. 266 and pp. 274–5]

Thus clergyman’s John Ball’s egalitarian comments (as quoted by Peter Marshall [Op. Cit., p. 89]) during the Peasant Revolt in 1381 in England:

“When Adam delved and Eve span, Who was then a gentleman?” The history of Christian anarchism includes the Heresy of the Free Spirit in the Middle Ages, numerous Peasant revolts and the Anabaptists in the 16th century. The libertarian tradition within Christianity surfaced again in the 18th century in the writings of William Blake and the American Adam Ballou reached anarchist conclusions in his Practical Christian Socialism in 1854. However, Christian anarchism became a clearly defined thread of the anarchist movement with the work of the famous Russian author Leo Tolstoy.

Tolstoy took the message of the Bible seriously and came to consider that a true Christian must oppose the state. From his reading of the Bible, Tolstoy drew anarchist conclusions:

“ruling means using force, and using force means doing to him whom force is used, what he does not like and what he who uses force would certainly not like done to himself. Consequently ruling means doing to others what we would not they should do unto us, that is, doing wrong.” [The Kingdom of God is Within You, p. 242]

Thus a true Christian must refrain from governing others. From this anti-statist position he naturally argued in favour of a society self-organised from below:

“Why think that non-official people could not arrange their life for themselves, as well as Government people can arrange it nor for themselves but for others?” [The Slavery of Our Times, p. 46]

This meant that “people can only be freed from slavery by the abolition of Governments.” [Op. Cit., p. 49] Tolstoy urged non-violent action against oppression, seeing a spiritual transformation of individuals as the key to creating an anarchist society. As Max Nettlau argues, the “great truth stressed by Tolstoy is that the recognition of the power of the good, of goodness, of solidarity — and of all that is called love — lies within ourselves, and that it can and must be awakened, developed and exercised in our own behaviour.” [A Short History of Anarchism, pp. 251–2] Unsurprisngly, Tolstoy thought the “anarchists are right in everything … They are mistaken only in thinking that anarchy can be instituted by a revolution.” [quoted by Peter Marshall, Op. Cit., p. 375]

Like all anarchists, Tolstoy was critical of private property and capitalism. He greatly admired and was heavily influenced by Proudhon, considering the latter’s “property is theft” as “an absolute truth” which would “survive as long as humanity.” [quoted by Jack Hayward, After the French Revolution, p. 213] Like Henry George (whose ideas, like those of Proudhon, had a strong impact on him) he opposed private property in land, arguing that “were it not for the defence of landed property, and its consequent rise in price, people would not be crowded into such narrow spaces, but would scatter over the free land of which there is still so much in the world.” Moreover, “in this struggle [for landed property] it is not those who work in the land, but always those who take part in government violence, who have the advantage.” Thus Tolstoy recognised that property rights in anything beyond use require state violence to protect them as possession is “always protected by custom, public opinion, by feelings of justice and reciprocity, and they do not need to be protected by violence.” [The Slavery of Our Times, p. 47] Indeed, he argues that:

“Tens of thousands of acres of forest lands belonging to one proprietor — while thousands of people close by have no fuel — need protection by violence. So, too, do factories and works where several generations of workmen have been defrauded and are still being defrauded. Yet more do the hundreds of thousands of bushels of grain, belonging to one owner, who has held them back to sell at triple price in time of famine.” [Op. Cit., pp. 47–8]

As with other anarchists, Tolstoy recognised that under capitalism, economic conditions “compel [the worker] to go into temporary or perpetual slavery to a capitalist” and so is “obliged to sell his liberty.” This applied to both rural and urban workers, for the “slaves of our times are not only all those factory and workshop hands, who must sell themselves completely into the power of the factory and foundry owners in order to exist; but nearly all the agricultural labourers are slaves, working as they do unceasingly to grow another’s corn on another’s field.” Such a system could only be maintained by violence, for “first, the fruit of their toil is unjustly and violently taken form the workers, and then the law steps in, and these very articles which have been taken from the workmen — unjustly and by violence — are declared to be the absolute property of those who have stolen them.” [Op. Cit., p. 34, p. 31 and p. 38]

Tolstoy argued that capitalism morally and physically ruined individuals and that capitalists were “slave-drivers.” He considered it impossible for a true Christian to be a capitalist, for a “manufacturer is a man whose income consists of value squeezed out of the workers, and whose whole occupation is based on forced, unnatural labour” and therefore, “he must first give up ruining human lives for his own profit.” [The Kingdom Of God is Within You, p. 338 and p. 339] Unsurprisingly, Tolstoy argued that co-operatives were the “only social activity which a moral, self-respecting person who doesn’t want to be a party of violence can take part in.” [quoted by Peter Marshall, Op. Cit., p. 378]

So, for Tolstoy, “taxes, or land-owning or property in articles of use or in the means of production” produces “the slavery of our times.” However, he rejected the state socialist solution to the social problem as political power would create a new form of slavery on the ruins of the old. This was because “the fundamental cause of slavery is legislation: the fact that there are people who have the power to make laws.” This requires “organised violence used by people who have power, in order to compel others to obey the laws they (the powerful) have made — in other words, to do their will.” Handing over economic life to the state would simply mean “there will be people to whom power will be given to regulate all these matters. Some people will decide these questions, and others will obey them.” [Tolstoy, Op. Cit., p. 40, p. 41, p. 43 and p. 25] He correctly prophetised that “the only thing that will happen” with the victory of Marxism would be “that despotism will be passed on. Now the capitalists are ruling, but then the directors of the working class will rule.” [quoted by Marshall, Op. Cit., p. 379]

From his opposition to violence, Tolstoy rejects both state and private property and urged pacifist tactics to end violence within society and create a just society. For Tolstoy, government could only be destroyed by a mass refusal to obey, by non-participation in govermmental violence and by exposing fraud of statism to the world. He rejected the idea that force should be used to resist or end the force of the state. In Nettlau’s words, he “asserted … resistance to evil; and to one of the ways of resistance — by active force — he added another way: resistance through disobedience, the passive force.” [Op. Cit., p. 251] In his ideas of a free society, Tolstoy was clearly influenced by rural Russian life and aimed for a society based on peasant farming of communal land, artisans and small-scale co-operatives. He rejected industrialisation as the product of state violence, arguing that “such division of labour as now exists will … be impossible in a free society.” [Tolstoy, Op. Cit., p. 26]

Tolstoy’s ideas had a strong influence on Gandhi, who inspired his fellow country people to use non-violent resistance to kick Britain out of India. Moreover, Gandhi’s vision of a free India as a federation of peasant communes is similar to Tolstoy’s anarchist vision of a free society (although we must stress that Gandhi was not an anarchist). The Catholic Worker Group in the United States was also heavily influenced by Tolstoy (and Proudhon), as was Dorothy Day a staunch Christian pacifist and anarchist who founded it in 1933. The influence of Tolstoy and religious anarchism in general can also be found in Liberation Theology movements in Latin and South America who combine Christian ideas with social activism amongst the working class and peasantry (although we should note that Liberation Theology is more generally inspired by state socialist ideas rather than anarchist ones).

So there is a minority tradition within anarchism which draws anarchist conclusions from religion. However, as we noted in section A.2.20, most anarchists disagree, arguing that anarchism implies atheism and it is no coincidence that the biblical thought has, historically, been associated with hierarchy and defence of earthly rulers. Thus the vast majority of anarchists have been and are atheists, for “to worship or revere any being, natural or supernatural, will always be a form of self-subjugation and servitude that will give rise to social domination. As [Bookchin] writes: ‘The moment that human beings fall on their knees before anything that is ‘higher’ than themselves, hierarchy will have made its first triumph over freedom.’” [Brian Morris, Ecology and Anarchism, p. 137] This means that most anarchists agree with Bakunin that if God existed it would be necessary, for human freedom and dignity, to abolish it. Given what the Bible says, few anarchists think it can be used to justify libertarian ideas rather than support authoritarian ones and are not surprised that the hierarchical side of Christianity has predominated in its long (and generally oppressive) history.

Atheist anarchists point to the fact that the Bible is notorious for advocating all kinds of abuses. How does the Christian anarchist reconcile this? Are they a Christian first, or an anarchist? Equality, or adherence to the Scripture? For a believer, it seems no choice at all. If the Bible is the word of God, how can an anarchist support the more extreme positions it takes while claiming to believe in God, his authority and his laws?

For example, no capitalist nation would implement the no working on the Sabbath law which the Bible expounds. Most Christian bosses have been happy to force their fellow believers to work on the seventh day in spite of the Biblical penalty of being stoned to death (“Six days shall work be done, but on the seventh day there shall be to you an holy day, a sabbath of rest to the Lord: whosoever doeth work therein shall be put to death.” Exodus 35:2). Would a Christian anarchist advocate such a punishment for breaking God’s law? Equally, a nation which allowed a woman to be stoned to death for not being a virgin on her wedding night would, rightly, be considered utterly evil. Yet this is the fate specified in the “good book” (Deuteronomy 22:13–21). Would premarital sex by women be considered a capital crime by a Christian anarchist? Or, for that matter, should “a stubborn and rebellious son, which will not obey the voice of his father, or the voice of his mother” also suffer the fate of having “all the men of his city … stone him with stones, that he die”? (Deuteronomy 21:18–21) Or what of the Bible’s treatment of women: “Wives, submit yourselves unto your own husbands.” (Colossians 3:18) They are also ordered to “keep silence in the churches.” (I Corinthians 14:34–35). Male rule is explicitly stated: “I would have you know that the head of every man is Christ; and the head of the woman is the man; and the head of Christ is God.” (I Corinthians 11:3)

Clearly, a Christian anarchist would have to be as highly selective as non-anarchist believers when it comes to applying the teachings of the Bible. The rich rarely proclaim the need for poverty (at least for themselves) and seem happy to forgot (like the churches) the difficulty a rich man apparently has entering heaven, for example. They seem happy to ignore Jesus’ admonition that “If thou wilt be perfect, go and sell that thou hast, and give to the poor, and thou shalt have treasure in heaven: and come and follow me.” (Matthew 19:21). The followers of the Christian right do not apply this to their political leaders, or, for that matter, their spiritual ones. Few apply the maxim to “Give to every man that asketh of thee; and of him that taketh away thy goods ask them not again.” (Luke 6:30, repeated in Matthew 5:42) Nor do they hold “all things common” as practised by the first Christian believers. (Acts 4:32) So if non-anarchist believers are to be considered as ignoring the teachings of the Bible by anarchist ones, the same can be said of them by those they attack.

Moreover idea that Christianity is basically anarchism is hard to reconcile with its history. The Bible has been used to defend injustice far more than it has been to combat it. In countries where Churches hold de facto political power, such as in Ireland, in parts of South America, in nineteenth and early twentieth century Spain and so forth, typically anarchists are strongly anti-religious because the Church has the power to suppress dissent and class struggle. Thus the actual role of the Church belies the claim that the Bible is an anarchist text.

In addition, most social anarchists consider Tolstoyian pacifism as dogmatic and extreme, seeing the need (sometimes) for violence to resist greater evils. However, most anarchists would agree with Tolstoyians on the need for individual transformation of values as a key aspect of creating an anarchist society and on the importance of non-violence as a general tactic (although, we must stress, that few anarchists totally reject the use of violence in self-defence, when no other option is available).

[officiallordvetinari]

Wikipedia Featured Article Poll, Biographies Edition. Summaries and links below the cut

Margaret Ives Abbott (June 15, 1878 – June 10, 1955) was an American amateur golfer. She was the first American woman to win an Olympic event: the women's golf tournament at the 1900 Summer Olympics.

Lilias Eveline Armstrong (29 September 1882 – 9 December 1937) was an English phonetician. She worked at University College London, where she attained the rank of reader. Armstrong is most known for her work on English intonation as well as the phonetics and tone of Somali and Kikuyu. Her book on English intonation, written with Ida C. Ward, was in print for 50 years. Armstrong also provided some of the first detailed descriptions of tone in Somali and Kikuyu.

Morris Berg (March 2, 1902 – May 29, 1972) was an American catcher and coach in Major League Baseball, who later served as a spy for the Office of Strategic Services during World War II. Although he played 15 seasons in the major leagues, almost entirely for four American League teams, Berg was never more than an average player and was better known for being "the brainiest guy in baseball." Casey Stengel once described Berg as "the strangest man ever to play baseball".

Edward Dando (c. 1803 – 28 August 1832) was a thief who came to public notice in Britain because of his unusual habit of overeating at food stalls and inns, and then revealing that he had no money to pay. Although the fare he consumed was varied, he was particularly fond of oysters, having once eaten 25 dozen of them with a loaf and a half of bread with butter.

Harold Francis Davidson (14 July 1875 – 30 July 1937), generally known as the Rector of Stiffkey, was a Church of England priest who in 1932, after a public scandal, was convicted of immorality by a church court and defrocked. Davidson strongly protested his innocence and to raise funds for his reinstatement campaign he exhibited himself in a barrel on the Blackpool seafront. He performed in other sideshows of a similar nature, and died after being attacked by a lion in whose cage he was appearing in a seaside spectacular.

Marjory Stoneman Douglas (April 7, 1890 – May 14, 1998) was an American journalist, author, women's suffrage advocate, and conservationist known for her staunch defense of the Everglades against efforts to drain it and reclaim land for development. Moving to Miami as a young woman to work for The Miami Herald, she became a freelance writer, producing over one hundred short stories that were published in popular magazines. Her most influential work was the book The Everglades: River of Grass (1947), which redefined the popular conception of the Everglades as a treasured river instead of a worthless swamp. Its impact has been compared to that of Rachel Carson's influential book Silent Spring (1962). Her books, stories, and journalism career brought her influence in Miami, enabling her to advance her causes.

George Went Hensley (May 2, 1881 – July 25, 1955) was an American Pentecostal minister best known for popularizing the practice of snake handling. A native of rural Appalachia, Hensley experienced a religious conversion around 1910: on the basis of his interpretation of scripture, he came to believe that the New Testament commanded all Christians to handle venomous snakes.

Margaret Alice Murray FSA Scot FRAI (13 July 1863 – 13 November 1963) was a British-Indian Egyptologist, archaeologist, anthropologist, historian, and folklorist who was born in India. The first woman to be appointed as a lecturer in archaeology in the United Kingdom, she worked at University College London (UCL) from 1898 to 1935. She served as president of the Folklore Society from 1953 to 1955, and published widely over the course of her career.

Dom Pedro Afonso (19 July 1848 – 10 January 1850) was the Prince Imperial and heir apparent to the throne of the Empire of Brazil. Born at the Palace of São Cristóvão in Rio de Janeiro, he was the second son and youngest child of Emperor Dom Pedro II and Dona Teresa Cristina of the Two Sicilies, and thus a member of the Brazilian branch of the House of Braganza. Pedro Afonso was seen as vital to the future viability of the monarchy, which had been put in jeopardy by the death of his older brother Dom Afonso almost three years earlier.

Elias Abraham Rosenberg (Hebrew: אליאס אברהם רוזנברג; Hawaiian: Eliaka Apelahama Loselabeka; c. 1810 – July 10, 1887) was a Jewish immigrant to the United States who, despite a questionable past, became a trusted friend and adviser of King Kalākaua of Hawaii. Regarded as eccentric, he lived in San Francisco in the 1880s and worked as a peddler selling illegal lottery tickets. In 1886, he traveled to Hawaii and performed as a fortune-teller. He came to Kalākaua's attention, and endeared himself to the king with favorable predictions about the future of Hawaii. Rosenberg received royal appointments to several positions: kahuna-kilokilo (royal soothsayer), customs appraiser, and guard. He was given lavish gifts by the king, but was mistrusted by other royal advisers and satirized in the Hawaiian press.

[qqueenofhades]

I love your essays; they are fascinating. Thank you for sharing your perspective! I have a follow up question, if you have the time or energy: in your last, you said, “It's a blueprint for a tiny group of extreme right-wing theocrats and fascists to get their way regardless of what the broader public says about it…”. Who ARE the tiny group of extreme right wing theocrats and fascists? Is it the politicians whom we see all over the news, like Vance and Boebert ands Haley and DeSantis? Or are they puppets whose strings are being pulled by donors behind the scenes, like…I don’t know, the Koch brothers and the Uleins (sp?)? I feel like whoever it is must have mind boggling amounts of money, to overcome the sheer number of people who don’t think like that, even people nominally republican who believe in traditional low taxes and small government, but are not completely bananapants. Or maybe that’s why they tagged trump, bc no one before him was willing to act like enough of an outright gangster to seriously move the needle…? How much more rich than disgustingly rich do they need to be?

Perhaps surprisingly, it's fairly easy to identify the Hall of Shame who are busily trying to end American democracy, not least because they have become increasingly open about it. Their motives are diverse but all terrible. The quick rundown is as follows:

First, the alt-right billionaires club such as Peter Thiel, Elon Musk, Harlan Crow, and Leonard Leo (the last two are some of the chief funnelers of dark money to SCOTUS; Crow is Clarence Thomas's sugar daddy). They have reasons ranging from grandiose delusions about "remaking" the world in their preferred image (not at all terrifying) to attaching themselves to fascist politics in order to defeat workers' rights and labor unions, who they view as a threat to their mega-wealth. Thiel is the primary sponsor of JD Vance and the alt-right cryptobros clubs that draw the young right-wing white men who also primarily form the membership of neo-Nazi and white nationalist groups. They want to end democracy in order to punish women, minorities, LGBTQ+ people, and anyone else who Nazis always hate. Crow and Leo have lavishly funded the corrupt SCOTUS in order to influence their preferred right-wing rulings, and there are undoubtedly more who we don't even know about. This is just the tip of the iceberg and I have no doubt that it's far, far worse than anything that has been publicly reported.

Next are the extremist right-wing interest groups that have cohered around and advocated for Project 2025, which is basically just the conservative-extremist wet dream put in one place and written down. They include the Heritage Foundation (the primary Project 2025 author) the Federalist Society and the John Birch Society of right-wing judges and policymakers, and Opus Dei, the secretive Catholic right-wing influence group who are straight out of a Dan Brown novel but are in fact some of the most consequential and powerful players in MAGA World. Their name means "work of God" in Latin, which is very much what they see themselves as doing, and their reach in DC is vast, particularly in the far-right evangelical and fundamentalist Christian groups that have attached themselves to Trump as a vehicle to push through their regressive-reactionary social and cultural politics, especially on abortion, women's rights, LGBTQ+ rights, and other things that they view as "unholy." These are the diehard true believers who really, truly think that it's better for the US to be a fascist theocracy espousing "Right and Moral" religious views than a flawed, pluralist, and secular democracy. Hard Yikes.

Thirdly we have the useful idiots, such as Vance, Ron DeSantis, Boebert, Greene, basically pick-a-Republican-politician-here, who are pursuing fascist politics out of careerism, opportunism, some amount of genuine belief, and exploiting the age-old fissures of American racism, nativism, xenophobia, and other original sins that have dogged the country since its founding. Of course, Trump himself is chief among these useful idiots, because he's completely willing to end American democracy and install himself as Dictator-for-Life if it exempts him from having to face the consequences for all the crimes he did last time (and frankly, his entire life, which is now catching up with him). I don't think Trump has an actual consistent or coherent policy bone in his body; witness how quickly he was willing to flip-flop on the Florida abortion issue depending on what he thought was useful (and then after the backlash he received from his base). He's a malignant narcissistic sociopath who is incapable of complex reasoning and long-term planning. His only and overriding interest is himself, he will do absolutely whatever he has to in order to save himself, and as long as he has his death grip on the GOP, everyone who wants to succeed in the party or even have a future in it has to slavishly kiss Don Corleone Trump's ring. That is why many lifelong Republicans have been breaking ranks to say they will vote for Harris, because "being a Republican's" one and only qualification is now "being utterly loyal to Trump." That's it.

These are all actors based more or less in the US, but we also can't forget the fact that basically the entire Republican Party is in deep, deep hock to Vladimir Putin and other foreign autocrats (but most especially and dangerously Putin). We just had the DOJ indictment of MAGA influencers who were taking Russian black cash by the bucketload in order to spread damaging lies about Biden/Harris and pump for Trump, and this is consistent with Russia's pattern of extensive interference in American elections going back to at least 2016. It is hard to overstate how much Putin hankers to end American democracy for many reasons. He is a former KGB agent trained in the black-and-white us-and-them logic of the Cold War where the US was the USSR's archenemy, his constant mourning for the USSR's collapse has been well documented, and it would be the absolute defining and singular achievement of all of post-imperial Russian history for Putin to effectively end American democracy with a second Trump term.

This is for the simple reason that Trump is utterly in thrall to Putin and will do whatever he asks, whether it's cutting off aid to Ukraine and forcing them to accept annexation by Russia, pulling America out of NATO and letting Putin set his invasion sights on Poland and the Baltic states, and anything else. That is genuinely terrifying but very likely if Trump was re-elected, aside from the end of American democracy and the worldwide ramifications it would have to empower fascist authoritarians everywhere. Putin is trying to achieve this through a combination of good old-fashioned Soviet-style dezinformatsiya, paying off MAGA influencers, putting the entire resources of the Russian state into defaming Harris-Walz, and recruiting useful idiots like his asset Jill Stein, who has extensive Russian ties and only pops up every four years for idiot leftists to spoil their vote and ruin Democratic electoral prospects. So. Again. Hard yikes.

So that's the quick rundown of the people who are vested in Trump and Project 2025's success and why, and as you can see, while they're all different, they're all terrible. But yes: that really is a very, very small group of people, relatively speaking. And a vote for anyone except Kamala Harris and Tim Walz is a vote to empower them and also to ensure that you will never have the chance to vote again, due to living in an authoritarian fascist regime. Choose wisely.