#then at what point is the move just to get as many refugees into those pockets as possible

[synthient]

I realize that secession usually gets brought up as a bad joke at times like this, but. Have we tried weakening the american empire by fragmenting it from within. What if we tried weakening the american empire by fragmenting it from within

[littlerequiem]

we mourned the sea ˚⁎⁺ chapter 1

> Crossposted on AO3

Levi hasn't seen you in a year, and he wonders how you will find him. Changed, perhaps. Lost, definitely. Or: After the war, you and Levi learn to live in this new world.

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 - Levi Ackerman / Female Reader (Attack on Titan)

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 - Rated Explicit (18+). Post-Canon, Post-War, Romance, Hurt/Comfort, Domestic, Fluff, Angst, Slow Burn, Explicit Content, Mutual Pining, Grumpy/Sunshine, Friends to Lovers, Flashbacks, Grief/Mourning, Chronic Pain, Panic Attack, Depression, Ambulatory Wheelchair Use, Switch Levi (WC: 6.7k)

( Next chapter / WMTS' Masterlist )

-

The first time you see Levi, whispered-about-thug and recently-enlisted Scout, you think he doesn’t seem as scary as everyone paints him to be. Sure, he has a hell of a glare, but that’s not the thing that sticks out.

No, what is most striking is the loneliness.

How alone he looks, shadows like bruises under his eyes.

.

.

.

Levi is lost.

He’s not lost in the physical sense, of course.

Levi very well knows where he is. He has repeated these words to doctors so many times he’s starting to sound like a broken record: My name is Levi Ackerman. I come from Paradis Island. I live in Marley.

No, Levi isn't lost physically.

Rather, Levi is lost in the ways often described in novels. Those cheap-thrill books Erwin liked to read so much, the kind that ensured suspense and chest-clutching moments. Usually, it involved a character going on a journey and finding the thing they lost.

“It’s all a metaphor, you see?” Erwin once pointed out.

But Levi did not see the point of metaphors back then, and he certainly doesn’t get it now.

Levi was a soldier for most of his life: so that he could aid the fight against titans, so that Erwin’s vision to help humanity could come true, so that Hange would not be alone in shouldering the weight of it all, so that the world would not crumble under Eren’s actions.

Now, three years after the Battle of Heaven and Earth, his body is changed, and his mind… well, that's the thing that’s lost, isn’t it? He’s still sane, he knows that, but… there's ways he feels himself slipping.

The first two years after the Rumbling were by far the hardest. There was so much to rebuild, so much to do. Levi spent most of his time in makeshift hospitals and infirmary tents. Refugees all around. People who had lost everything, who were in search of a new home, but who lacked the means to do so (Levi never thought he’d have to witness the sight of starving children all over again).

And then, one day, a new start.

Onyankopon was the one who discovered Mare a year ago. He told Levi that it would be the perfect place to retire from his soldiering days. "Mare," Onyankopon said, "is the town where sky meets the sea."

Levi isn’t sure what to make of that idiom; there’s no such thing as a place where sky and sea connect. Another metaphor, perhaps—another thing that flies right above his head.

But he decided to take Onyankopon's proposal there and then. Levi had been idle for far too long, and there was still fire in him, a will to push on.

To keep going, just as he had in the past.

A month later, Levi moved into his new home.

His one-story cottage is located by the edge of town, overlooking a cliff that descends into sandy shores. It is far enough from the crowds, just the way Levi likes it, while still remaining close to all necessities—just ten minutes away from Onyankopon's home.

Aside from that, everything else is just… strangely ordinary.

Because Levi now has a roof over his head. He has a garden, where he grows herbs. A patio, where he watches sunsets. He gets money from Marley for his so-called war accomplishments (accomplishments is a strange word for murder, he thinks). He sees doctors, all kinds of doctors—specialists that didn't exist back on Paradis.

What keeps him going through it all are his routines. Levi has always been a creature of habit, and that much hasn't changed in his new life.

There’s tea, for one. Despite all the special blends available here in Marley, Levi still prefers the tea he drank back in the Underground, made from cheap black tea leaves—over-extracted, with no added sugar. Piss water, Kenny used to call it, and maybe the old geezer had a point. The tea is bitter to its core, much too strong for anyone to stomach (“I’m going to be on the shitter for days after this,” Hange once declared after trying it.). And yet, Levi likes it this way. 

There’s his knife, the one Kenny gave him decades ago. Levi still keeps it in his boot or tucked under his pillow. He doesn’t hold it out of sentimentality per say; Levi just doesn’t see the point of throwing it away.

As for other patterns in his life, Levi likes to keep busy. Levi sees his doctor on a weekly basis. He works part-time at the local carpentry shop. He tries to improve his body on a daily basis, even when his mind fights him against it. His leg hurts some days; it’s at its worst when it rains. Over the last year, Levi's regained some of his mobility, enough that he can sometimes walk using a cane when his legs aren't too stiff, though most days, he uses a wheelchair. It frustrates him, sometimes, his reduced range of mobility—he misses pushing his body to the limit—but the physiotherapist ensures him that he is just where he needs to be. He feels coddled, and that annoys him.

Then, there are the people in his life. Scarce as they are, they are all that is left of his past and Levi clings onto scraps of conversation where he can find them.

Most of the brats of the 104th are living their own lives. Levi is relieved to see that. When the war ended, he worried that they would linger too much, but they never did. They moved on.

Falco and Gabi, rowdy kids they are, travel from Liberio to see him. They tell him how Falco is taking flying lessons, how Gabi is part of a youth association that’s going to make Marley a better place.

Onyankopon is another familiar face—a talkative one at that. Every time the man stops by Levi's house, he brings something new to show Levi. Sometimes, it feels like Onyankopon is on a personal mission to get Levi up to speed with the new world. Coffee, typewriters, vinyl players… there doesn’t seem to be a thing Onyankopon doesn’t want to show him.

All these machines are met with a somewhat lukewarm reception on Levi’s part.

All except one.

Because if there's one invention Levi is inclined to think is useful, even if a part of him equally loathes it, it's the telephone. Onyankopon was ecstatic about it, and his enthusiasm eventually rubbed off on him too. It's not that Levi likes to use it—the sound waves, the grated voices… they remind him of the sound of planes and machines, of war and guns, and that gets his heart palpating to the point where he sweats (because Levi’s learned that with his growing age, his body sweats faster than ever before, so much so that Levi sometimes has to wash twice a day).

But the first time Levi hears a familiar sound—your voice—on the receiving end of the telephone, his breath stops. His clammy fingers tighten around the phone, and he glances at Onyankopon, who only gives him a thumbs up in response, two dimples appearing on his lifted cheeks.

Levi decides then that the telephone might not be so bad after all.

“Levi,” your distorted voice sounds from the other side. “Can you hear me?”

At first, Levi doesn’t know what to say. He’s seen phones, of course; he remembers Hange using them to communicate with Zeke and the Azumito clan. But he never thought he’d use them personally, and that makes his brain go blank.

“Shit, I think I lost you,” you say, the sound of crumbled papers resonating across the line, “Jean, I think the tele-thing you gave me isn’t working properly. Can you—”

“Hey.” Levi’s voice bleeds into the machine, rough like sandpaper. “I can hear you.”

“Oh, good, I thought I wasn’t using this correctly. Gee, isn’t this just unbelievable? Onyankopon promised me he’d work to set up a phone line in your house, I’m so glad it worked! I know these things are costly but, you know, at least we get to talk, even if it’s brief. Of course, I’ll still write you letters on top of that! And hey—Levi, are you still with me?”

“Yeah, dumbass. You’re the one going on a monologue.”

“I’m just excited! Can you blame me? I haven’t heard your voice in… a long time.”

Levi’s heart jolts in his chest, clinging to the fact that you’re excited to hear him, but mourning the time passed since he last heard your voice. He’s all aware of how long it’s been (347 days, by his account).

“I can’t wait to see you next month,” you add in a lower voice, as if you were trying to whisper into the phone, words only meant for him to hear. “I’ve… missed you, 'Vi.”

Levi’s throat feels thick when he hears your familiar nickname for him. His mind buzzes with words, words he has long thought about, words he wishes he could tell you.

I’ve missed you too. I want to see you again. Please come back to me.

All things he thinks to himself, but doesn’t say out loud.

Instead, he manages a breathy, “Mhm,” because more feels impossible right now, especially with Onkyankopon so close by.

“How are the brats doing?” Levi asks instead.

“Oh, they’re good! Armin cut his hair recently. He looks like a blonde mini-you or err… I suppose he’s taller than you now.” If you were standing by his side, Levi would definitely have glared at you. But you chuckle, oblivious to his souring mood. “Guess he always did admire you a lot; I think he’s learned a thing or two from your leadership style.”

“That so?”

“Yeah, he’s cool. Doesn’t glare at everything that moves like you, though.”

Levi clicks his tongue. “Still haven’t lost your shitty sense of humor, I see.”

“Hey, you always found me funny.”

“I never laughed.”

“But you always found me funny—I could always tell.”

“Delusional thinking can get you a long way.”

“Anyway.” You huff with an indignant tone. “Aside from that, Reiner and Connie have changed a lot too! Reiner is still pining over Historia…”

“Disgusting. She’s a married woman.”

“Yeah… weird, right? I keep telling him to move on, he’s got so much going for him now. But he’s hopeless like that, they all are. Besides that… well, Jean grew his hair! Think he’s secretly trying to impress someone. He’s applying pomade and everything.”

He hears the sound of muffled protest, “I am not, Doc,” blending with your sentence. It is followed by your hearty laugh as you seemingly tell Jean to scram.

“That aside, they’re all good. Growing into real adults, you know? It feels like yesterday I was doing their first medical checks... just stupid teenagers. Your old Levi squad, huh?”

The second Levi squad, he wants to correct.

“Yeah, sounds like they’re still a real handful,” Levi mutters.

You chuckle. A comfortable silence follows, one that reminds of old times—you and him sitting in front of the fireplace; him reading his reports, you drawing. The cracking of the phone lines almost sounds like splitting logs now, and Levi feels warmth spread from his lower belly to his torso.

He hears your breath through the phone, like you were leaning closer. “Hey, so… less than a month, yeah? You’re sure you don’t mind?”

“I told you already, didn’t I?”

“Because if it’s too much, you can still say no.”

“Adler, I promised I’d take care of you all, and that’s gonna be the case until I’m buried below ground.”

“Don’t speak like that, Levi! It’s morbid.” Levi hears the sound of your laughter again. He wonders if your eyelids are crinkling, the way they always do when you laugh too loudly. “But, hey, thanks. I really appreciate your help, you know.”

“Yeah.”

“I wonder what it is like, your new life.”

“S’nothing special.”

“Sounds to me like you’re still selling yourself short.”

“And sounds like you’re still talking nonsense.”

After a year of not seeing each other, you are finally coming back to Marley.

You are finally coming back to him.

Levi wonders what you will think of all the ways he’s lost.

.

.

.

Section Commander Erwin Smith seeks you out in the infirmary one day. He tells you that there’s a wound he wants you to check, one he supposedly got during the last expedition.

“I have the new recruit’s file with me. You might have seen him around,” Erwin says as you inspect the wound. "His name is Levi."

In lieu of a response, you give him a nod, not thinking much of this observation. This is probably just trivial small talk. 

You should have known better. Erwin Smith isn't known for triviality.  

“I’d like for you to keep an eye on him.”  

You pause at Erwin's words, eyes shifting away from the stitches. “What do you mean by that, sir?” 

Erwin leans back in his chair. His gaze is clear. “Presently, Levi is flighty and hot-headed. He’s just lost his friends. He refuses to get a medical check. As it stands, this won’t work—I need to know that his condition is stable to place him on my squad. I need him operational.”

“With all due respect, most of these duties you’ve listed fall outside my medical jurisdiction.”

“I know.”

You raise a brow. Erwin shoots you an eyeless smile. You finish the stitch. Erwin pulls his hand back, admiring your work, and shifts his focus back on you.

Waiting on your answer.

“I’ll... I'll see what I can do, sir,” you finally say. 

Erwin stands, interlinking his arms to the back. “I should tell you he’s from the Underground. Will that be a problem?”

“No, sir…" You rise to your feet as well. "Though, knowing this, permission to speak my mind?”

“Please.”

“May I ask what’s so… special about him? If rumors are to be believed, you went through quite the trouble to get him.”

“I didn’t think you listened to gossip, Dr Adler.”

“I don’t. But if that wound on your hand speaks for the labors of your efforts… well, I think I have cause to worry.”

A low hum vibrates out of him. “What’s so special about Levi, you ask?” Something lights up across Erwin’s face. The intensity of the pendulum swinging his way. “Why, I believe Levi can alter the fate of humanity.”

.

.

.

Today is the day.

The morning shines brightly over the little town of Mare, an endless cerulean that speaks of summer and new beginnings. The sun peaks over the horizon, lingering where the sky meets the sea, a ripple of lavender and peach glimmering over the reflection of the water.

At this time of the day, the wind is at its strongest, a breeze that blows the long strands of grass to one side. Beyond the valleys, there's footsteps dotted across white beaches, only to be ushered out of existence as the waves roll in.

Mare. This little town was nothing but fire and dust three years ago. Today, everything has changed. Houses have been rebuilt, trees replanted, and life has begun sprouting again.

Levi wonders what you will make of it.

He spent the first hours of the day cleaning his house from floor to ceiling—a painful undertaking. The cleaning material stings his bad eye; the positions he has to adopt to clean makes his leg hurt. But cleaning has always helped to ground him, and that much hasn’t changed here.

Luckily, he wasn't alone in his task.

“Yo, Levi! You ready?” Onyankopon calls out. The man came early to help Levi get the house ready, and he's now driving Levi to the train station.

“Yeah.”

Levi grabs his favorite cane, an elegant stick made of thick wood from up north. For the occasion, he’s wearing his nicest navy suit, silver cuff-links, and a matching hat—a gift from you, something you bought him the day the Survey Corps first set foot in Marley. You thought it suited him and Levi’s inclined to agree: he doesn’t look half-bad.

The drive to the train station is uneventful and quiet. Onyankopon asks him if he is nervous, which Levi denies. He's not nervous, not really. He just needs silence to gather his thoughts.

After a year of not seeing each other, he wonders how you will find him. Changed, perhaps. Lost, definitely.

Will you be happy to see him?

It’s ridiculous, really, all this uncertainty. In all his years as a captain, Levi never stopped to linger on hesitations, on regrets. No matter what it was—grief, rough expeditions, political coups—he trusted his comrades, he trusted Erwin. Levi trusted himself.

That it would be you, now of all times, who makes him this agitated, seems a strange twist of fate. Perhaps it is his growing age that has turned him into a sentimental fool, perhaps it is the knowledge that it is you, perhaps it’s because Levi doesn’t quite know what to make of the uncertainty... but Levi feels restless.

It took Levi by surprise, your letter. Three months ago to the day. Can I stay with you, Levi? you'd written. Just for a little while, until I figure out what it is I want to do next.

You were gone for a year, helping the Alliance become delegates of peace. Now, Armin and the rest are ambassadors, and Levi no longer needs you letters—he gets to read all about their exploits in the newspaper.

And yet, you never stopped writing to him. Levi's glad of that.  

Following all of this, it was decided: of course you could stay with him. Yes, he would help you. When it came to you, there was little Levi wasn’t prepared to do.

And so, with Falco’s and Gabi’s help, he made sure everything was well-suited for your arrival. He purchased a bed, a night table, and a wardrobe. He built you a desk, with the help of his boss at work. All of it was arranged into the spare room in his house.

Levi remembers Gabi teasing him. “Is she your sweetheart, Mr Levi?”

Levi had just finished hanging a mirror on the wall when she said this; he scowled at the teenager. “No.”

“S’just, it’s an awful lot for an old comrade.”

“Shut up, nosy kid.”

But Gabi raised a point. What were you to him, exactly?

Levi doesn’t know the answer to that question, not exactly. He considers all the people he’s cared about in his life, and he still falls short in finding the right word to describe what you are. He cares for you, that much he knows—he’s cared for you for a long time. It isn’t the same care that he feels when he thinks of his mother, of Isabel, of Furlan, but it’s just as deep. Love, some might call it, but Levi has seldom witnessed it, so he doesn’t know what to make of his feelings.

He supposes if he had to label what the two of you are, it’s connected. Remnants of an old system, a memory of a past when all that mattered was reclaiming the Walls. Two survivors who carry the legacy of those who sacrificed themselves for the cause.

Not that defining it truly matters. Levi’s long accepted his role as the one to carry the torch. He has found stability and peace this way.

Only, Levi wants more for you, even if it means being far away from him.

Yes, it will have to mean being far from him, won’t it? He’s too lost for it to be any other way. He knows that. And yet, it doesn’t stop that tiny wisp of something he sometimes feels in his heart at the thought of you—like air, it fills his lungs, begging to be ignited (if you would choose him, he thinks it might).

But Levi’s life was always that of water, and he knows he will drown you if you come too close, like everyone else he has cared about.

.

.

.

You glance at the injury on his forearm, gushing red. Those damn cadets, ganging up on the new recruit. Erwin’s gamble won’t pay off if everyone else is hostile to his new prodigy.

“Hey. It’s Levi, right?”

Levi’s gaze flickers to yours and you realize it's the first time you're up close to him. His eyes are striking. Freezing gray, like pale moonlight.

“Who the hell are you?” he mutters with a deep baritone.

You give him your full name. “But I actually prefer to be called by my last name, Adler, if you don't mind.” His face stays blank. You sigh. “Listen, Levi, I don’t want to butt into your private affairs... But I just came to tell you this: any injuries you sustain from now on, come to me directly, alright?”

"Please. Those cowards were outclassed. They only landed a hit 'cause they played dirty."

"Even so. Don't let that deter you from seeking help; it's important to take care of injuries before they worsen." A pause, one where you weigh each thought carefully. "That said, you also have my word. Those cadets will be punished for what they did to you."

“Yeah, whatever.” Levi glances at your hands for some reason— transfixed by the way you press on his wound with a clean cloth. “So, what are you, some kind of doctor? You heal people?”

Your lips tug into a half-smile. “I certainly try.”

.

.

.

The train groans as it comes to a stop. Levi knows you dislike trains; even on Paradis, when Hizuru helped to install train tracks across the island, you  blanched at the idea of riding in one.

So Levi isn’t too surprised to see you step out of the train carriage on wobbly feet, your face a little grayer than he remembers it to be. He takes a step forward, walking into the smoke hissing from the train, avoiding the throngs of travelers passing by. He removes his hat, just to make it easier for you to recognize him.

As soon as you do, your expression lifts.

That smile.

Levi could see your smile for the rest of his life and never tire of it. He hasn’t seen it in a long time, and it tugs at his heart, like a bird flapping its wings.

That you choose to run towards him—your travel bag swinging against your hip, arms dangling by your sides—is no great surprise. If there is something he knows about you, it is your never ending supply of excitement. It makes him want to smile back, but his mouth slightly parts instead.

“Levi,” is the first word that greets him, that swirls through the air and fills his lungs. You seem to catch yourself just a breath away from him, rooted to the spot in front of him. You dip your head down, coy amusement on your features. “It’s really you.”

Levi swallows loudly. He can hear his heartbeat climbing to his head, and he wonders if you somehow can hear it too.

“Your hair has grown,” you say. In the last month, Levi's only kept up his undercut; the top is getting longer now. He knows he should get a haircut, but he's experimenting letting it grow. “It looks good… it suits you.”

The coil in Levi’s stomach tightens. He shields his expression by tilting his head and placing his hat back on his head. 

“Hey, um…” 

“Just spit it out, Adler.”

His peripheral catches a crooked smile. “Would it be alright if…if I hugged you?”

Oh.

That certainly isn’t what Levi expected you to ask. No, he expected many things just not... that.

In his stupor, Levi can't think of the right words to say to you, so he manages a nod instead.

(He’s grateful you ask before you touch him—you always ask.)

And unlike your earlier display of excitement, full of frenetic energy, your hands treat him with more care. They interlace gently around his back. Levi feels his chest lock as your fragrance sweeps across his brain. The scent can only be described as one thing... Home. Levi grows stiff, not knowing what to do with his hands, so he just lets them dangle along his body. You stay put just for a few seconds longer, and when you break apart, there’s something akin to relief on your face.

(Relief for what, he doesn't know.)

Your hands briefly linger on his forearms. “Just needed to do that. My brain can’t make sense of the fact that you’re really standing in front of me. Like you’re not a figment of my imagination, you know?”

Levi’s gut reaction is to glance down. He doesn’t want to see all the ways you inspect him, all the ways he falls short of the portrait you have of him.

His face hardens and he takes a step back, sheltering himself. “C’mon, we’ve been standing here long enough.”

“Alright,” you answer in a tone that’s no less bubbly than before. “Show me home.”

As you walk in tandem, away from the train tracks, Onyankopon comes to greet you. He envelops you into a hug where he lifts you off your feet. You chuckle, patting his shoulders, and when Onyankopon’s eyes find Levi’s, there’s a glint in them that Levi swears is speaking volumes of Onyankopon’s thoughts.

A look that seems to indicate: Should’ve kissed her, you damn fool.

Levi promptly ignores that look. Instead, he sets his glare in an altogether different direction.

The walk back towards the car is painful and slow. Levi tries not to let it show, but coming with his cane instead of his wheelchair really was not his brightest idea. He grits his teeth, trying to ignore the throbbing sensation shooting up in his leg; his knuckles turn white the more he leans on his cane.

You take notice.

“Is your leg hurting?” he hears you ask.

Levi dismisses your concern with a one shoulder shrug. “S’fine.”

It’s not fine. Levi overexerted himself with cleaning today. The sun is too strong. His leg is throbbing.

Despite that, Levi has no intentions of telling you all about that, because you have a tendency to care, to shower him with attention he doesn’t want, and right now, he just can’t deal with it.

You stop right in front of him. “Hey, are you sure? I can—”

“I said it's fine, didn't I?”

Levi's ears are ringing as he steps past you.

Shit, shit, shit. He didn’t mean to snap at you just now. He’s just no good at this, don’t you see? Already five minutes in, and he feels like he fucked up.

(It's like there's poison on his skin; Levi wants to peel it off.)

But you don’t even seem to pay his temper any mind; you hum and turn to look at the train station’s newsstand instead. From the corner of his eyes, he watches you purchase three lemonade bottles, a hand-out for this summer day. 

The drive back is filled with more words than the journey here. Onyankopon and you engage in easy conversation, talking about all manners of things—how the 104th brats are doing, how the world is looking three years after everything that transpired, how Onyankopon’s husband and family are faring.

Levi sits in the passenger seat next to Onyankopon while you sit in the rear. That doesn’t stop you from leaning forward, your hands resting on the head of the seats as you talk (“Put your seat belt on, Adler.” “It’s on!”). Occasionally, your fingers even tap his left shoulder, a heads up for you to point to interesting things you notice outside. Levi tries to ignore the sparking sensation that’s engraved in his skin.

(Sometimes, Levi wonders if your touch is actually electric.)

“What about you, Levi?” Levi feels your attention settle on the back of his head, drilling heat into his nape. “What do you make of your new home? Mare, the town where the sky meets the sea.”

“It’s fine,” he replies. And he means it—the town is just that. Fine. “The townsfolk are nosy, you’ll fit right in.”

“Consider my interest piqued. I can’t wait to see your new life.” You hum. “I’ve never started over. Not like this. I mean, I suppose I did, once. The last time was when I first enlisted for the Survey Corps a decade ago… phew, that brings back memories. I remember the looks I got from everyone then—they all thought me very strange to enroll.”

“That’s because you were a suicidal maniac, enrolling to save the lives of soldiers who’d soon be titan fodder. Normal civilians usually have safer aspirations, Adler.”

“I’m not sure if you’re one to talk, Ackerman.”

Levi huffs at that. The portrait that flashes through his mind is vivid, as were the words that went alongside them: Him, an ex-thug from the Underground and you, the crazy doctor. A pair of strange misfits, the Survey Corps' gamble in every sense of the word.

“Oh, Walls!” You’re gasping at something behind him, and Levi glances up to see what you’ve seen. It’s the sea—all shades of blue and as mesmerizing as ever. “This is where you’ve been living? Your descriptions in your letters do not do this place justice.”

“What? You expected me to turn into a poet?” Levi grumbles.

“No, but look at this—ugh! It’s everything. The valleys! The beaches! The bay! This feels just like…” you let your voice trail off, not finishing off your words, but Levi knows what you meant to say.

This feels just like the way it was when we first saw the sea.

And yeah, Levi sees your point. The sea here truly does glimmer like jewels, the way Armin always described it, and the breeze does carry that scent of salt that feels like it’s cleaning the air out of his lungs.

Just like it felt to witness it the first time.

“This must be what paradise looks like,” you say.

And just as they pass a curve of the road, something new comes into view: between the soft clouds, a flying boat appears—not one carrying weapons, but instead, carrying with it the tale of a youth whose only sin was a passion for flying.

.

.

.

The medical check is done in silence.

Levi is underweight. His lack of sun exposure has left his skin and eyesight sensitive. You prescribe things to help, though you think some ailments might be a lifelong battle.

When it comes to checking his heart rate, however, that’s when you realize the full extent of Levi’s upbringing. Levi undoes his shirt and your eyes take in the cost of his survival—Levi’s torso, marred with scars. Some of them seem recent, while others are old, stretched-out skin that tells you enough.

These come straight from his childhood.

Just how much violence has Levi witnessed in a single lifetime?

.

.

.

“So?” Levi asks, looking directly at you. He leans his weight against the door’s frame leading to your bedroom, crossing his arms over his chest. “You can redecorate if you like.”

“Why would I do that? This is perfect.”

Levi thinks you might be touched, but he isn’t sure—he was never good at reading your more subdued emotions. Anger, sadness, happiness: those, he can read. Everything in between becomes more complicated.

You continue to step around the furniture of your bedroom, inspecting it like you are discovering details of a new kingdom. Your fingers fumble over the bed frame. “These bed sheets are my favorite color.”

Levi knows. He picked them for a reason.

(He’ll never tell you as much.)

“There’s drawing supplies in the desk drawers,” he says.

He hears it then, the way you suck-in your breath, catching it in the back of your throat. He swerves his attention onto you, only to find you fixing the desk with a stupefied expression.

“You remembered?”

There’s bewilderment in your tone.

Why do you seem surprised? Isn’t this the least you deserve? Levi almost says that there is even more—that he has all your sketchbooks from Paradis, that they were recently delivered by his request. But he abstains from it. He thinks it might be too much right now, though whether it’s too much for him or for you, he’s not sure.

Instead, he just replies gruffly, “It was hard to forget.”

You take a step towards him, eyes softening. “Levi, thank you so much.” You gesture at the room. “For all of it.”

Somehow, those words make Levi want to look away. It isn’t that he doesn’t appreciate you expressing your gratitude, but he’s never known what to do with it served on a silver platter. He prefers to ignore it when he can.

“S’not a big deal.” He shoves his hands in the pockets of his jeans, glancing towards the carpet on the floor. “Couldn’t let you starve on the streets, now, could I?”

“Hah, I don’t know,” you say softly. You've moved to the windows, your fingers feeling the beige curtains. “You might be underestimating me. I can be very persuasive; I’m sure I’d manage to survive out there.”

“Please. You wouldn’t last a day out there.”

You scoff at him, feigning offense. “And why not?”

“You’d want to help some poor fucker giving you puppy eyes, and they’d just end up mugging you.” Or worse.

“Well, alright. You got me there.” You glance away, raising your fingers to run along the scar on your cheek.

Levi follows your movements, studying the way your hands conceal your old injury. He wonders if it still hurts, if you forget it is there only to be reminded of its existence when you catch your reflection in the mirror.

It happens to him, sometimes.

“Seriously, thank you.”

The gentleness in your tone cradles his ears. Levi takes a step back.

“No need to get emotional on me.” he mumbles.

You chuckle. “Still. Sometimes, it’s good to say things out loud.”

“If you say so.”

Levi turns around, fumbling with the handle of the door. 

But just as he’s about to head out, to leave you to unpack, there's a distinct sound that comes from the other side. Levi hears that familiar "Meow," before he sees the tabby cat sliding in between the cracks of the door.

“Oh..." you say, "what's this?” 

Right. Levi probably should have mentioned this minor detail in his letters.

“Scout,” he supplies, eying the kitten currently rubbing her head against his right leg, a loud prrr vibrating against his calve.

“You… you got a cat?”

"Yeah."

"Like a pet?"

Levi crosses his arms over his chest, tapping a rhythmic beat of five counts against his forearm. “Do you need to get your eyes checked or what?”

You ignore his surly attitude, the same bafflement still present in your tone. “And you named him Scout?”

“Her. She's a female cat.”

You look down at the cat for a moment, your eyes wide like saucers. Then, with a low, hushed tone, you let out a strangled, “Walls, you're a cat dad,” before pinching your lips tightly, like you were trying very hard not to burst out in fits of giggles.

Levi’s jaw instantly clenches. “Stop laughing.”

“I wasn’t laughing!”

“You were about to.”

“Yeah, alright, I was about to.” And then, as if saying those words out loud gave you the right to do as you please, you stifle out a snort, shooting up a hand to cover your half-contained laughter.

This time, Levi doesn’t bother hiding his glare.

Paying this interaction no mind, Scout looks at you with a quizzical stare, her big, green eyes taking you in. Just like you, the feline creature is now discovering the new room and the furniture that goes with it, and she now seems to want to understand what to make of the new occupant that is to share this space.

And so, with a last parting mrrp, the cat skitters towards you, her fast steps tiptoeing against the oaken floor. In response, you crouch down, outstretching a delicate hand in Scout's direction.

With a combination of grace and suspicion that only cats are really able to muster, Scout sniffs your fingers, her slit pupils observing your every movement. Whatever she was looking for must have pleased her, because not a moment later, she lets out a high-pitched mewling sound and rubs her cheeks against your digit.

A smile forms on your lips.

And when you look back up, there’s a sparkle in your eyes that makes Levi’s heart skip a beat. "Oh, she's cute," you coo, scratching Scout's chin. "How old is she?"

"I don't know."

"You didn't ask?"

"I don't speak cat, Adler."

"She didn't have an owner?"

"No, she was alone when I found her."

"Oh."

Levi had found the kitten half-dead under some debris less than three months ago; no one in town knew where she had come from, or how old she was. Most likely, her mother had abandoned her, but it was hard to know for sure.

All he knew is that the kitten had been alone, and that was enough for him to want to help the frail thing. Taking her in was only meant to be a temporary thing and yet, here she still was. 

"Well," you interrupt his thoughts, head tilting as you inspect Scout, "I reckon she can't be more than four months old."

Levi lets out a grunting sound, not really knowing enough about cats to refute or agree with your observations. Instead, he half-turns away, grumbling parting words, “I’m gonna make us some tea while you unpack.”

“Your bitter old tea, huh?”

He means to ask if you’d prefer something else, but it comes out all wrong, again. “Got a problem with that?”

Shit.

Your eyes lock with his.

And your smile widens. “Not at all. This feels like being home.”

Levi clears his throat, turning away. Home. Is it really like that?

No, of course, it’s not.

Home doesn’t exist anymore.

And he’s not the same man you once knew.

-

A/N: This story has been in the works for the last year, and it's been a very precious project for me. This fic seeks to shed some light on Levi's life after the war, with its ups and down - but ultimately, it's a story of love and healing <3 Furthermore, English isn't my mother tongue, so you know the spiel - don't hesitate to let me know if you spot mistakes, but pls be patient!

( Next chapter / Join my taglist )

[rebel-girl-queen-of-my-world]

As a Jewish advocate for Palestinian rights, let me tell you something. I’m fucking hurting right now.

I hate Hamas because they have made the plight of Palestinians so much worse with their actions in that now even fewer people will be willing to acknowledge their 70 years of suffering.

I hate that they will be used as an excuse to demonize all Palestinians, and the US is already upping their already astronomical military funding for Israel.

I hate that they’ve committed unforgivable violence in the name of a cause that is just.

I hate the Israeli government and the IDF for creating the conditions for this tragedy and countless others stretching back to the Nakba.

I hate how they have perverted my culture into a settler-colonial ideology and perpetrated on the Palestinians the very kinds of pogroms my own family fled Europe to escape.

I hate that so many Jews in Israel and throughout the diaspora face ostracism from their communities and families for speaking out against the atrocities Israel has been committing against Palestinians.

I especially hate how many of my fellow Jews have bought into an ideology that can handwave the bulldozing of homes and schools, the imprisonment of children, the bombing of residential homes, the displacement, the massacres. Virtually all things we have suffered as Jews at points in our history.

My heart aches for the innocent people murdered across the board - no matter who the bombs came from. Even though part of me thinks settlers aren’t innocent, what can you really do if you just happened to be born there? And even if you moved to Israel, do you really deserve to die? No.

But neither do all the children in the Gaza Strip currently being bombed in a revenge attack that, with the denial of food, water, and medical aid, violates the Geneva convention.

But to everyone who is posting now about Israel and these “unprecedented tragedies” - yes, these are tragedies, and my heart is so heavy with them. But they are not unprecedented. Where were you when the same things were happening to Palestinians for decades upon decades? There’s a monumental amount of video evidence of atrocities against Palestinians, but somehow people have managed to miss all of that. If you’re only paying attention to the suffering of certain people, ask yourself why.

If you’re only now posting about “of course Palestinians should be free” in posts primarily about mourning the killing of Israelis, where were your voices before now? Those of us trying to organize and fight for Palestinian human rights could have used you.

If more people had spoken out against our government’s support of what Amnesty International and countless other human rights organizations have called an apartheid regime, who knows what could have been possible.

Edit: Since this is getting a little traction, I wanted to leave these links here. Both are very reputable organizations that are providing humanitarian aid:

[neil-gaiman]

“Two Minutes to Run”

Thank you. But (or maybe And). . . .

 “What will you take you?” is a question people think they can answer, but can’t until it happens.  It’s like being faced with the danger of death - some people freeze, some people run, some people laugh and charge. But you don’t know which you will do until faced with such danger. Same with the moment of fleeing. People don’t think, they react. 

Some people react practically. They grab official identification and jackets and water. 

Some people react sentimentally. They grab stuffed animals and photos and books.

Some people react frantically. They grab the coffee grinder and. . . .and. . . .time’s up. They have the coffee grinder. 

I am a professor of archaeology who studies diaspora and immigration and identity through the things people keep and collect and move with them. I have found bodies of refugees who have died along the US border fleeing to a better life. Many of my fellow archaeologists have too. And our graduate students - one who did an exhibit on the objects found in temporary camps and on the bodies of the dead.  So we know what people take, but we also know what people shed as they flee and it gets harder and harder and harder to stay alive. But you know what the bodies of those who didn’t make it almost always have on them? Identification. Sometimes in a pants pocket, sometimes sewn into a coat, sometimes grasped in their hands. A final plea. Do not forget who I am. Tell my family. 

My point? I don’t know. You are one of my few remaining living heroes, your writings have been a companion to me since I stole my ex-boyfriend’s Sandmans from him in 1990 when in college. And I know I am not special in this (well, the stealing of Sandmans maybe). Your words have a power that mine do not. Whether fiction or non. So I guess I just wanted you to have more information so you can continue to make the world an even better place. 

I guess that is my ask - continue to make the world a better place, which is response enough to my inquiry. 

Thank you for writing this.

[sugarlywhispers]

Yk that lava girl fix you made? I thought about how she can cover herself in lava..what if rain and water hurt her?

During fighting a super evil villain with bakugou (they're married) he starts speeding out rain and it injured her badly turning parts of her skin that was touched into sort of obsidian?

✨️these are really good questions that made me think of them for a few days so i could imagine the actual answers~

This is mostly what I took as inspiration for Y/N in this drabble:

Her body elevates in temperature to the point were you can see the lava running through her body, and her hair becomes complete lava, long locks or stings of lava she can use as weapon to capture things or villains (if the villain is something like those monsters of metal–she is not that heartless to burn people alive, even if they are villains).

Because she is basivally lava, the general answer is yes, Y/N can't fight in her lava form when it's raining. It actually hurts when her body transforms into obsidian–which is hard rock. I imagine that she becomes really good at fighting in her normal-human body so when this type of weather comes, she actually doesn't need to use her lava–if it's not for forming some kind of refugee or it's actually useful to help other heroes and civilians. She just stays on the helping civilians and rescue team during that kind of weather.

But I also imagined the first time Bakugou saw Y/N become obsidian because a villain threw water at her. He almost lost it when he heard your painful scream as you suddenly became rock. Like a statue, figure laying on the floor, hugging yourself in fetal position because of the pain. And nothing but simple rock.

He saw red. He went on a rampage, vengeance mode, so ready to tear and break and kill, that Deku and Red Riot had to interfere.

The villain was sent to the hospital, with custody of course. And Dynamight... he fell to his knees by your side, tears streaming down his face, body trembling with adrenaline and pain. You have told him water was your weakness, but he had never imagined it to this point. He didn't know it could kill you. He could have been more conscious, more careful of what villains crossed your path. He could have done so many things. He could–

The rock that surrounds you starts to break, the sound making everyone at the scene gasp as it moves. Bakugou doesn't understand what's happening...until it finally breaks completely and you emerge, taking a deep, long breath, in your normal form.

He watches you with big, wet eyes, almost not believing what he's seeing, as you say, "Fuck! Well that fucking hurt..."

People around start to clap and laugh because you're so... you.

And Bakugou feels... like he can breathe again. Like all that pain he felt seconds ago just dissipates in the air like the smoke that came from the rock breaking and making you born again, like a Phoenix rebirth from its ashes, so beautiful and so majestic.

He looks down and sobs, which immediately alerts the rest of the heroes and they start to pull everybody away from the scene.

"Oh, baby, I'm okay..." your arms surround his neck and he instantly reacts, hugging you back and hidding his face in your chest and neck.

Least to say, that image, Dynamight kneeling on the ground crying, with his wife comforting him, were the talk of the month. And what actually gave him the stop of Number One Pro Hero on the list for almost six months, until Deku beat him again with some other bullshit he did. But at this point, no one is concerned about the spots on that list. Dynamight and Deku go up and down between the first and second place all the time.

That is, until Y/N finally gets her breakthrough and wins first place for almost 5 years in a row.

And Bakugou can't shup up about how awesome his wife is.

[anneapocalypse]

Why I Love the Hinterlands

The Hinterlands in Dragon Age: Inquisition get kind of a bad rap, and for kind of understandable reasons. For anybody who doesn't know the story, some context. The Hinterlands are the first open world area that unlocks for the player, a vast and highly explorable map full of quests, worldbuilding, and NPCs. So what was the problem? The problem was that the Dragon Age series had set two games' worth of precedent that the player could get locked out of an area and lose access to sidequests and other content—and the devs seemed not to fully realize they were fighting this precedent, or how strong it was, until the game came out and completionist players were getting exhausted and annoyed running around this huge map trying frantically to knock out all the side content before moving on. We still make jokes about devs on twitter trying to tell players that they could leave the Hinterlands. Lines were later patched in for the starting companions urging the player to go to Val Royeaux and advance the plot; you'll hear those lines if you play the game today, but they weren't there in the beginning.

The game's executive producer Mark Darrah has even spoken about this problem in his Dragon Age: Inquisition Memories and Lessons video on YouTube. From a game design perspective I do not dispute this issue. It definitely represents an oversight in the way the area is presented to players and the context they are given for what they should do next.

All that said… I love the Hinterlands, and with every replay (I have beaten the game four times at this point) my appreciation for this area and what it brings to the story has deepened. And as recent polls have raised discussion about the merits of various maps, I've felt moved to rise to their defense, so... here's why I think the Hinterlands are Good Actually.

Every map in Inquisition has its own overarching story, introduced by Scout Harding when the map unlocks and revealing itself through exploration and completing the quests within. Crestwood has the story of the flood during the Blight. The Exalted Plains have the story of the Orlesian Civil War. The Hissing Wastes have the story of Fairel and the surface thaig. And so forth. For this reason, I've come to feel that once you've progressed far enough in the main quest to have collected most or all of your companions, the most rewarding way to experience each area is at one go, as much as possible. Popping in and out of maps to complete one quest at time is, in my opinion, really detrimental to exploration and makes it harder to see the big picture. This is also one place where I really appreciate the invisible approval meter, because it discourages me from always stacking my party to game approval, the way I pretty much always play DA2.

At first glance, the story of the Hinterlands is the story of the ongoing war between the rebel mages and the renegade templars. This is one reason the Inquisitor may go there: to make contact with the rebel mages. They have been offered refuge in Redcliffe and are presently entrenched in the castle and adjoining village; the templars continue to attack the mages' position, and thus there is concentrated fighting in this region. Splinter factions of both mages and templars are also entrenched elsewhere in the area.

But this is just the setup. What the Hinterlands is about, its real story, is the common people.

The Inquisitor is first sent to the Hinterlands to make contact with Mother Giselle, in hopes of gaining some Chantry support. Seeking her out requires the Inquisitor to fight their way through the conflict to reach the Crossroads, where many refugees have gathered.

In these big, sweeping stories about heroes and villains, I think it's easy for the perspectives of common people to get kind of lost. One thing I do appreciate about the Dragon Age series is that every game does make a real effort to give voice to the commoner perspective. Origins has its city elf and casteless dwarf origin stories, and the player encounters many commoners throughout the game and gets to hear a bit of their perspective. Dragon Age 2 wouldn't be Dragon Age 2 without Darktown and Lowtown and the elven alienage and our interactions with the people who inhabit those parts of the city. Oddly enough, though, every human character we've ever had the chance to play in Dragon Age has come from a noble family; sure, Hawke starts out living as a commoner, but doesn't stay that way for long.

In Inquisition especially, we don't have the option of a commoner prologue to really drive home that perspective and carry it through the story. And while a Dalish elf, a Carta dwarf, a qunari mercenary, and a Circle mage certainly live very different lives than a human noble, they also live very different lives than Giles the farmer—not necessarily more privileged, but still different, with differing priorities and different stakes in this conflict. Bron the farmhand has no reason to be at the Conclave; he's here mucking out stalls, knowing the horses still need to be fed even if there is a rift spewing demons over there in the middle of the neighbor's pasture. Elaina the farmer is putting away cabbages for winter and hoping the barn doesn't get burned down by a stray fireball. And Elaina is one of the fortunate ones: her family's home and livelihood are still intact, for now. The Crossroads now hold many ordinary people who through no fault of their own have lost their homes, their crops, even family members.

Theirs is the perspective we get in the Hinterlands.

You don't have to stick around for all that. You can take Mother Giselle’s advice immediately, go to Val Royeaux, go deal with bigger and more important things and people. You will need 4 Power to go to Val Royeaux, but Power is easy to come by. Close a few rifts, and you’re good to go. You don’t have to care about these refugees and their problems.

But you know, something I notice is that the founders of the Inquisition spend a whole lot of breath talking about "the people." How they have to restore order for the people. How the people are looking to us—to you, Your Worship. The people need you. The people need to believe in you. That’s why we’re raising an army and building a cult around you! For the people.

Well, here are the people.

And if you talk to the people at the Crossroads, it turns out that what they actually need is less faith in Andraste’s chosen, and more blankets for the cold nights, medicine for the sick and injured, and food so they don’t starve. They need the war ended and the Breach closed so that they can return to what’s left of their homes and salvage what crops and livestock they can.

It is easy to feel a bit smothered by the Inquisition’s overwhelming Andrastian-ness, especially when playing a character who has their own religious beliefs, or none at all. We have a lot of characters trying to tell us about the importance of faith—their faith, specifically. We’re told that the people need to believe, and that’s why we have to play the role of this figurehead. And you can run with that idea and play it straight, if you want to. But there is, in fact, a different story to be found here, if you want to look for it—a story told in the world itself and the people who who inhabit it: people cannot eat faith.

And Mother Giselle, the person we are sent to the Hinterlands to find, knows this. She is certainly a devout Andrastian and deeply influenced by a life in the Chantry—but she also chooses to be on the ground helping people in need rather than arguing with her fellow clerics in Val Royeaux. After the attack on Haven, Mother Giselle and the Inquisitor have a conversation about faith, in which the Inquisitor points out, in one way or another, that faith may not be enough. Giselle may seem to disagree. Yet it is she who then leads the survivors in a song that does not mention the Maker or Andraste even once. The much-maligned “The Dawn Will Come” is so frequently assumed to be a Chantry hymn because it is Mother Giselle who starts it; even the fan wiki lists it as such. But I hear something much more akin to a folk song, a marching tune—not a high holy chorus for a cathedral choir, but a song with a simple tune and repetitive lyrics, about hope in dark times.

Perhaps she was rather more persuaded than she appeared.

When you ask your ambassador Josephine, “What do the people make of us?” she tells you how many noble allies you’ve gathered. And that’s not unimportant; this boots on the ground shit costs money, and most of that is coming out of noble coffers. But when you ask Mother Giselle, “How are the people?” she speaks of the terror and suffering of the people in the Hinterlands, and warns of mass starvation if the farmers cannot return to their fields.

This is the story of the Hinterlands.

And the density of side quests on this map reflects that. In addition to aiding the refugees with food, blankets, and medicine, there are so many more opportunities to help people in small but meaningful ways. An elven widower who cannot reach his wife’s grave through the fighting asks the Inquisitor to bring flowers there as is his custom. A grieving widow asks for the retrieval of her husband’s wedding ring from the templars who murdered him. A beloved ram has gone missing. A mage mourns her templar lover and the war that has come between them. A note speaks of two brothers, templar and apostate, torn apart by the war. A son has gone off to join the cult in the hills (no, not our cult in the hills, another one), and his mother needs the special remedy for her breathing problems that only he knows how to make. And so many more. Even the Winterwatch cult itself asks us to consider what it is the people truly need: the Inquisitor can enlist them as Inquisition agents, or ask them to aid the refugees.

Are all these sidequests vital to the plot? No. You can skip them if you want to. Are they relevant to the plot? Absolutely. Are they meaningful? To me, yes. Maybe they didn't change the whole world, but they changed something for these people.

It is so important to me that we get to actually meet the common people whose lives are depending on us. Whatever you think of the Inquisition itself, people actually are dying because of both the rifts and the war, and many more will die if these problems aren’t resolved. Meeting them, giving them names and faces and side quests dealing with their more mundane needs is so much more meaningful to me than standing around back at base being told “People are starving in the Hinterlands.”

It's understandable that the Hinterlands had to fight the precedent set by Lothering getting locked off, because in many ways the Hinterlands serves the same narrative purpose as Lothering: showing the effects of the present crisis on the common people and what's at stake for them.

I should note that the Hinterlands are not the only part of the game that addresses the impact on common people—far from it, in fact. The Exalted Plains give us a taste of how many have died for the Gaspard's attempted coup; Emprise du Lion shows us commoners kidnapped and tortured by Red Templars; the Winter Palace puts the bloody reality of the "Grand Game" in stark contrast to its gilded veneer with the indiscriminate murder of servants for expediency.

But it’s important that we are introduced to the suffering of the common people early in the game, when the Herald—not yet the Inquisitor—may still feel pretty shaky on their motivations for even sticking around.

While I've mostly been talking about non-mage commoners here, I do want to say a few words about the rebel mages as well, since they too are a part of the story of the Hinterlands. I hope that no one reading thinks I am blaming the rebel mages as a whole for what's happening in the Hinterlands, for what the common people here have suffered. The templars, notably, are not entrenched in the Hinterlands. Their present stronghold is Therinfal Redoubt, an old Seeker fortress, which is a significant distance from Redcliffe. The fact that the bulk of the fighting is taking place near Redcliffe, while we've no evidence of a mage offensive against Therinfal, makes it pretty clear that it is the templars who are pursuing the mages at this point, not the other way around. Certainly some in the region may not bother to make that distinction while their crops are on fire, but let's be clear about the story the map is telling us: it is the mages who are under attack here, not the templars. It is sometimes said that Inquisition deliberately draws a false equivalence between the mages and templars in this war. I would like to point to this piece of environmental storytelling as evidence that that is not entirely true.

Sometimes, it seems like pointing out that collateral damage happens is read as condemning an oppressed people for defending themselves. I want to make it clear that this is not what I am saying. I simply feel that those characters who have lost homes and livelihoods in this conflict are also worth seeing, and talking about. But I also don’t think it’s an accident that this is the map whose story is all about the suffering of ordinary people, and it is also the rebel mages who have their base on this map; the templars do not.

So, that’s why I think the Hinterlands are Good Actually! They contain an absolute wealth of worldbuilding, and their story frames the game’s central conflicts around the people suffering for them, early in the game when that perspective is most needed.

[matan4il]

I don’t know if you or anyone can really answer this accurately, but are GoFundMes for people living in Gaza trustworthy at all? or even trustworthy on a case by case basis? a musician I like (Maisie Peters) shared several today, with “help (these families) move out of Rafah,” and it gave me pause because I wholly believe in helping people who need it, but how can we possibly know if that contribution will go to the worthwhile places and families who need it? so much aid is being stolen by Hamas and UNRWA even still, and I have no idea how well researched any of those individual fundraisers are. I’m sure people mean well but it seems like there must be a more reliable option?

Hi Nonnie!

You're so right to be doubtful. Every humanitarian crisis brings with it a bunch of scams, but when we talk about a situation where there can be terrorists getting the aid, I think being cautious with people asking for money is extra justified. I'm glad you already know about the theft of humanitarian aid in Gaza, and are being careful.

First, I will say that the ones setting money to get people out of Gaza completely are very suspect to me. Especially now. Egypt has not only been extremely reluctant to take in refugees from Gaza, even on a temporary basis (for historic reason I won't get into, and which have little to do with "preventing ethnic cleansing"), they've doubled down on closing their border with Gaza to the point of not even allowing humanitarian aid in through their border anymore. Even before this recent development, they were only allowing in medical cases. We do know some people, related to Hamas, got out of Gaza, likely by pretending to be a medical case. This would suggest that maybe, up until the recent Egyptian crackdown, there was a way to bribe some Egyptian personnel to look the other way, and pretend regular people were medical cases, but it would take substantial amounts of money, and would be limited in how many could actually get through that way. In essence, you had no way of knowing who legitimately would take your money and use it to get out of Gaza, and who would just take your money, and do with it God only knows what. At best, just keep it to themselves, at worst use it for terrorist purposes. There is NO WAY for people outside the region to be able to check how the money will be used, or if any of the claims made by a campaign runner are legit, so anyone telling you, "This is safe, it's been vetted!" is either fooling you, or is being fooled themselves.

Inside Gaza, people don't actually need money to get out of Rafah. They can just... move out. Israel has already set up an improvised shelter city within walking distance from Rafah, it also already allows evacuation to other safe parts of south Gaza, and we know that hundreds of thousands of Palestinians have already moved out of Rafah and away from the zones designated for military action. And this costs nothing. Especially with humanitarian aid being poured non-stop into Gaza, including temporary shelters. Are those great? No. But if the goal is to get out of Rafah, it's possible to do that without paying a dime.

Bottom line, I'm not saying every fundraising campaign is untrustworthy, I'm saying that there is no way to know which one is and which one isn't, and that I personally wouldn't donate to any, because I wouldn't want my money to go to terrorist activities no matter what, and when I know that people do have alternatives and can get by, even if they don't get my donations, I'd rather be safe than sorry, meaning having to live with the possibility that my money directly got someone murdered.

I hope this helps! Take care! xoxox

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

[breelandwalker]

@sonnabug reblogged your post:

#is myth the right word if they were the ones who felt they were being persecuted? #not siding with them just wondering about word choice and technicalities #because its true our history was founded on what they decided to tell us but is it an outright lie or did they truely feel persecuted

Oo oo oo, a teaching opportunity!

Okay, so the Puritans came to power during the First English Civil War - the one where they axed Charles I afterward and abolished the monarchy. Their whole beef was that the new Anglican church wasn't STRICT enough and still had too many Catholic trappings (and way too much tolerance for the remaining Roman Catholics in the country). So they kept pushing for Purity and Piety, in personal and business spheres, basically insisting that a strict Protestant moral doctrine should govern every aspect of life, from the management of the home to the running of businesses to interpersonal relationships to the governing of the country and its' policies abroad.

Sound familiar? Their whole rhetoric puts me in mind of a particular line from Elvira: Mistress of the Dark: "The local council is horrified if someone in Fallwell, wherever or whatever, is having a good time."

Anyway, all this religious kerfluffle (plus a couple of other factors) eventually led to the complete destabilization of the English government and the execution of Charles I. And then when the monarchy was restored under Charles II and the country was like, "Oh thank goodness, we can have things like beer and Christmas again and maybe a little less religious conservatism," the Puritans promptly went, "Well this won't do at ALL." Most Puritan clergy with separatist leanings resigned from the Church of England and many Puritans packed up to move to the colonies, where they could "practice their religion in peace." (Read: "Where they could be as stodgy and strict and bigoted as they wished and created a system of laws based on religion instead of common good.")

There's a lot more to it than that and I'm simplifying and glossing over quite a bit, but that's the nuts and bolts.

The mess the Puritans made both in England and in America was one of the reasons the vaunted Founding Fathers insisted on Separation of Church and State, as well as why Freedom of Religion is part of the First Amendment. They'd seen England tearing itself apart over a Wabbit Season / Duck Season tug of war between Catholicism and Protestantism for a good century and more, and they did NOT want to repeat those mistakes in the new country they were trying to build. (They got a lot of stuff wrong, but at least they had the sense to be like, "Yeah maybe religion shouldn't run the government.")

So while it's true that the Puritans may have felt persecuted, it was for basically the same reasons that conservatives and fundamentalists claims to be oppressed today - people generally don't like it when their stodgy uptight neighbors try to beat them over the head with a Bible and demand that one particular interpretation of a single religion should be the driving force behind the running of every aspect of an entire country.

But since they got to write the earliest chapters of American history with no one to provide a strong counterargument, we get this pervasive self-created myth that the Puritans were these poor ragged refugees, fleeing religious persecution for a new land where they could live in peace and harmony and...decimate the local indigenous population and murder their own neighbors in the name of piety. The Pilgrims were assholes and we've been fed pretty lies in our schoolbooks for decades.

(For modern context, religion wasn't a strong part of American politics until McCarthyism happened, at which point we got the God references in the Pledge of Allegiance and on our currency. Then the Moral Majority movement got Reagan elected in 1980 and we've been fighting modern Puritans in government ever since. America has never been a Christian nation, but conservatives keep doing their damnedest to try and turn it into one.)

Hope this helps to clarify things! 😊

[bharv]

*taps mic* Hello! I was wondering if you had any director's commentary, as it were, for the fabulous 'Stonemilker' (if you haven't done so before)? How did the idea start? What scenes did you have in your head first and which is your favourite? Anything you threaded into it that few/no-one picked up on? Feel free to yap :)

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR LETTING ME TALK ABOUT MY BELOVED STONEMILKER!

I will try to keep this kind of brief but I'm always up to expand on any point.

So, hilariously, the fic was originally intended to just be that second scene of them in bed together in the apartment in The Wide, and it was supposed to be a short kink fic combining two kinks that really didn't end up in the piece at all (people who were around in the small server about The Dark Urge I frequented will know that I was challenged as part of a challenge to combine two things, and for once they were things I personally find hot for once.) I started writing it, and then the sexual contact just didn't feel like it would organically go the way I had envisioned when I started, so I put it down for a little bit and had a look at some other things. I then wrote the last section, again thinking it would be something else, and realised oh, actually, there's a story thread between these two scenes. It was only when I went back to re-read Monster, Mine and The Portrait and really asked myself what both of those stories were exploring (being in love with an idea of somebody and not being able to be honest about that, and wanting to capture something that cannot be captured are themes in both, though with slightly different weighting) that I found myself landing on the theme of language. I've personally had a number of short, intense, probably unhealthy connections in my life - they always melt away when you start to try and hold onto them too tightly, like hugging a snowman lmao, and I wanted to look at that sort of imminent collapse that would be the risk in the kind of relationship in many durgetash pairings that were more than a brief flirtation.

I'd say my favourite is a tie between the penultimate and ultimate scenes (though I enjoyed bringing back Wisteria Jannath, that scene was one of the ones that took a long time to get the moving parts working!) There's something in those final moments in Gortash's estate, the things they can and cannot say to each other, that felt like such a personal piece of writing.

I'm always so grateful that readers see so many of the breadcrumbs I leave! But I do wish I'd been able to give a little more space to the relationship between Manva and Orin. I cut a couple of scenes with them because it felt like it was meandering off too much, but the pattern of Orin following her, imitating her, and ultimately threading those things through bait for her in the timeline of the game was something I wish could have been made more obvious. When Manva goes to her stash, where she keeps precious things, that is where you later find Stillmaker, the blade made for her. It's also the same path the Bhaalists take into the temple, and where the refugees are killed. I always loved the idea that Orin is at her peak theatricality when baiting her sibling, and I wanted to explore that somewhat.

Thank you, again, for letting my yap about this one particularly. It was my favourite thing I wrote, even if readers may have preferred some others, and will always be something special to me!!!

[canmom]

re gaza fundraisers situation

i don't think most of these escape-from-gaza fundraisers going around are likely to be scams. there probably are some scammers who jumped on the situation opportunistically, but there's less convoluted ways to make a buck. similarly, i think the people who are going to the effort of trying to verify them fit the profile of people who stepped up to do a difficult and quite thankless task and got in over their heads. why are there so many fundraisers? well if i was stuck in a refugee camp during a genocide and i word got around that there was a website with generous strangers who might pay for me to leave, i would probably give it a shot. so would you, I suspect. "elaborate conspiracy by porn bot operators to scam tumblr users, setting up a spurious system of 'vetting' to justify their scam" doesn't seem particularly parsimonious as a conclusion to jump to (the porn bot operators are in general just using tumblr as a free hosting service for seo shit), but if you fixate on the idea that's what's going on, and feel like you're the smart one for not falling foot it, there's very little evidence that can't be framed as part of the conspiracy. so a few people i sorta know over in the rat sphere threw out this accusation and now it's a whole furore.

even beyond that, though, there's plenty about the situation that is, through no fault of these gazan refugees, plain fucked. just like with e.g. trans fundraisers, with a loosely finite amount that people are likely willing to spare, you get a game of who can write the best appeal to emotion. for example, if you can point to a middle class occupation you used to have to supplant the stereotype of a poor refugee, that's effective rhetoric and maybe your fundraiser will go further. this is ugly and it shouldn't work like that, but that's the shape of it.

thus, the refugees end up looking at a wall of potentially hostile strangers and trying everything strat they can think to persuade them to part with money, while the tumblr user side is being constantly presented stories of strangers in pain; some of them end up trying to purchase satisfaction of moral principle, relief from feelings of complicity, etc etc. there are some personal connections between the two, but for most, that's the extent of the interaction. unfortunately, where they're continually confronted with a lot of people in very similar situations of misery, people (without some personal stake or connection keeping them invested) are likely to start mentally grouping everyone into one abstract figure of 'palestinian refugee', tuning out, finding excuses to dismiss them, etc etc. so on the refugee side, it ends up a very finite-sum game. and scammers just make that worse by mixing in an extra element of 'FUD'.

and worse, even if everything works out, mostly this money is going straight into the pockets of Egyptian border guards who set the (essentially) bribe price for putting someone on the exit list. similar to when the cops lock someone up and you have to raise bail, they can set that price to whatever they think they can get away with. there is absolutely no reason why it should cost $10,000 a head to cross from one side of a wall to another, except that the circumstances of this genocide produce an opportunity to fleece refugees - and anyone who decides to help them.

but if my friends were in Gaza you can bet I'd ask anyone who'd listen to pay those guards off for me. and if they refused, it would fucking hurt - that's my friend, they could die. a life saved is a life saved.

in general we are much more likely to move for a friend we have a personal connection to, or even a stranger who we perceive as relatable, than a total stranger, no matter how dire that stranger's situation. on some level this really feels wrong like, to each according to their need, right? somehow though applying the cold calculus of lives saved per dollar feels utterly cracked. if you're not filthy rich, there isn't really a good course to follow, because it's just a bad situation.

this isn't advice. there are always more people in need than you are capable of helping - the situation in Sudan is very dire as well for example, I've made online friends with a young gay guy at another refugee camp over there, and there's not much I can do to get him and his friends out except hope that he has some luck with certain Canadian charities. but every city on earth has people ending up destitute, right outside your door. helping someone is always a gamble. ultimately the call of which person you choose to help is quite arbitrary. so re gaza, I'm personally sending a decent chunk of monthly money to unrwa and I donated to a few fundraisers, but ultimately I'm already giving nearly all of my disposable income away to specific friends who are currently depending on me, so... is that the 'right' allocation of resources? i don't know and just have to accept the decisions i made.

charity is not a relationship that brings out the best in people, in general - it is inherently unequal, and there is a sense of shame, anxiety and suspicion that surrounds the whole thing on both sides, and that tends to find escape somehow. nobody likes to feel like a mark, nobody likes to feel like a pity case, and even in situations of legitimate suffering, nobody likes the hard sell. but as long as the genocide continues (and it shows no sign of stopping), this will continue, people will need the help. i have no solution.

[dalekofchaos]

Havik NEEDS Hotaru

I think my biggest complaint about Khaos Reigns aside from the Sektor & Cyrax design change is No Hotaru.

For those who did not get around to playing Deception & Armageddon. Let me tell you about Hotaru.

Hotaru is a General from the realm of Seido, the Realm of Order, and devotes himself to preserving law and order at any cost - to the point that he can be considered a fanatical zealot. Hotaru is more of a lawful-type of neutral (equivalent to his opposite pole Havik, who spreads discord and chaos) because he preserves law and order and harshly punishes those who dare break it, but he is not above preserving it to a higher authority (such as the Dragon King Onaga).

Not to mention what a sick design he had

Plus his special move was lava arrows.

There is so much you can do with him on gear alone.

Hotaru has so many things going for him.

Tall and imposing af which is rather unique for none-Shokan characters

Has cool carapace armour

Has a Naginata, a weapon that nobody else on the roster uses

Has cool lava themed abilities, something else rather unique to him that can be incorporated into so many combo chains, specials, finishers ect along with his Naginata.

His name means firefly in Japanese and he has a special called grasshopper. Take the lava burst and exoskeleton armour on top of this and do something cool with the fire bug theme.

A general from the Orderrealm or head of the Sedio Secret Police, you could not only delve into his conflict with Havik and make Havik more relevant in the main story but you could also give him some kind of rivalry with Shao, another general of a similar stature who shares Hotaru's militaristic themes and a warped mirror image of his disciplinism. Hotaru is actually on Outworld with other refugees from Seido as Mileena let them in so this could be set up quite easily.

His potential for badass outfits is limitless

Like how CAN YOU NOT SEE THE POTENTIAL????

And let's take a look at Havik's bio from MK1

"A citizen of the realm of Seido, Havik is sworn to take down its oppressive regime and free his people. There, order is prized above all else. Lawbreaking is met with strict punishment. Its citizens live in strictly regulated castes. As a member of Seido's lowest caste, Havik had neither rights nor privileges. He seethed with anger at the injustice. When he is brutally punished for a minor crime, Havik finally decides to act. He sets out to destroy Seido's regime and replace it with an anarchist utopia. Once he breaks Seido's social order, Havik will free its citizens. Together, they will live in blessed anarchy."

And you mean to fucking tell me you couldn't put someone in charge of Seido's oppressive regime or even the leader of Seido's secret police in the game? You're seriously telling me there was NO place for Hotaru in this story? Get the fuck out of here with that shit "Notaru" shit, Ed.

Also? They kind of gave Darrius story to Havik as a revolutionary. Speaking of Darrius, again WHY are they giving two revolutionaries but no goddamned oppressive figure from Seido to fight against???

Hotaru being absent from MK1's narrative is a creative failure. Like, they could've painted a shade of grey on Liu's character by having him recruit Hotaru to help maintain order in his timeline. The fact that there is no Chaos Realm just tells me Liu Kang just forced Hotaru and Havik to co-exist and that led to potentially Hotaru enforcing oppressive Order by any means necessary while Havik becomes an anarchist.

Hotaru would be fantastic here, especially as a overtly order obsessed character who yes, is aligned with the good guys, who slowly realize "aw shit this guys gonna be a problem too" as his methods and beliefs and goals aren't perfectly aligned by any means beyond "stop havik"

I think it’s kinda baffling how we have a story expansion where Havik is the villain and they just leave out the golden opportunity to bring back Hotaru.

Havik is chaos personified. Hotaru is the worst aspects of Order. He can go from saving you, liberating villages and setting up a fucking police state and NRS STILL does not see the potential in Hotaru?

[desceros]

[Earth shattering stomps heard in the distance comes closer and closer]

[Halts and in a quiet voice]:

Symphony donnie and viola chans' wedding.😊😊

[Stomps away into the distance]

i don’t think they’d be married, actually!

i think what would happen in the bad time is a very different progression of their relationship. i think violist-chan would have been a refugee-type in the beginning, who tried to use music to keep everyone’s spirits up.

(i imagine this would annoy donnie quite a bit. that noise could attract unwanted attention, after all.) (noise?? excuse you. it’s music, and it makes people happy. aren’t you one of those guys saying hope is our most important weapon??) (that would be my brother. and his taste in “music” is almost as terrible as yours.)

but eventually you start going out on supply runs. you don’t do well sitting on your hands, and people need things. and donnie starts noticing that people really do seem to be in a better mood when you’re around. fuck, he’s in a better mood when you’re around. the hell is that all about.

and eventually the two of you have this just. insane sexual tension. that probably snaps one day to ravel’s habanero or something. you’re telling him it’s sexy. he’s telling you you don’t know what sexy is. oh yeah. yeah. then. well.

and after that he still hates classical music but you, oh. how he admires you. you with no special powers. unmutated. weak. how strong you are. how you bear everyone’s weight for them. how you insist on talking to everyone until they feel better despite how many pieces of you you have to trade away for their happiness. how you’re the last one to spill your troubles, and only after he or leo needles them out of you. how you get along so so well with everyone and just brighten the entire world with your smile. how you love so fiercely, even him, especially him, when he’d been so cruel to you in the beginning.

(leo never stops teasing him for his 180 on his opinion of you. not until after youre gone and it’s no longer funny to anyone.)

but you both were always busy. always moving. you’re both workaholics. both needing to be busy to feel like you’re being useful. making time for the other but never having enough of it. he’d have time for less important things when they got a foothold against krang, he’d think. until people really started dying. then it was more of a panic. he’d have to make it a little safer before he could take the time for something so frivolous and unnecessary. what was marriage after all but just a different word for what you already were? and when you got pregnant it was even worse. the world wasn’t safe enough for your child. any moment he wasn’t with you, he was fighting. working. clawing desperately at an imagined haven for his daughter. for you.

i think it would hit him the moment someone came up to him and mistakenly said “i’m sorry about your wife” that it was something he really did want. and just. never let himself imagine. never gave himself the time to have. but by that point, it was too late. all he had left were old recordings of music that ached and a mask never worn except by him.

anyway can you step on me now so i can get crushed and die? thanks

[pixeljade]

Had a dream that they came out with another Distant Lands episode of Adventure Time which actually explained all the cosmic entities, framed through an explanation of where Prismo's sleeping old man came from. In the dream, the old man's name was just Paul and he was a guy on earth during the days leading up to the mushroom war who slept through everything. His family made jokes about how he would probably sleep through the apocalypse, and he couldnt hold down any jobs because he was always so sleepy. He had a wish to someday make the perfect pickle, but nobody took him seriously. He also had a small dog who always got jnto mischief. Meanwhile, in his dreams, he was communing with various gods, especially the cosmic owl. At some point the cosmic owl just casually says to him "Oh actually the apocalypse IS coming lol" and he just freaks out, and cosmic owl just says something about seeing if he can get him a job with his boss, changing the subject awkwardly. Paul says "yeah sure, whatever", and then wakes up to an air raid as bombs are dropping in his neighborhood. He runs, and falls down into a sewer, which somehow lets him survive the initial blast, but he get irradiated. From then on out we see Paul moving from refugee camp to refugee camp, surviving the final days of humanity, while his dreams seem empty, and he laments that even what he thinks are his imaginary friends have given up on him. Meanwhile, we're shown Cosmic Owl going to their boss, who we only ever see as a ball of pulsing light which changes color constantly, and speaks through a monotonous drone. The Cosmic Owl then gathers all the cosmic entities to discuss Paul, and all of them agree that Paul is worth saving--of interest is that Scarab is amongst those saying this. But that direct interference just to save one guy isnt okay. But what they CAN do is pull out his inner cosmic essence and ascend him to godhood, something Cosmic Owl laments as not being ideal. So then Cosmic Owl comes to Paul, as he's ain a group of survivors, the children of which have animal hats, and Paul is about to turn into one of the goo monsters that result from radiation. Cosmic Owl says he has a way out of his horrible fate, but its kinda a monkey's paw type deal. Paul simply says sure, and Cosmic Owl tells him to shut his eyes, and focus on what his inner cosmic essence tells him he should do. Paul just smiles sadly and says, he's met so many people who never got to see their wishes to fruition, he just kinda wants to be able to bring their wishes to life. Suddenly, Paul's shadow starts turning pink, and Cosmic Owl whisks him away from earth, knowing that he cannot be there any longer, pulling him to one of the many random floating rocks in space. And then boom, suddenly, reality unfolds into the cube Prismo lives in, right above Paul, and Paul heals up and falls into a deep sleep. Prismo and Cosmic Owl have a quick conversation, where its clear Prismo has no memory of Paul's life, but Cosmic Owl makes some comment about pickles, and Prismo lights up talking about making pickles. Cosmic Owl smiles gently, appreciating that there's still a little bit of Paul in there, even if Prismo isnt him. Cosmic Owl explains his job as wishmaster real quick, and goes on his way to report back to the others. Prismo starts flipping through channels, fast forwarding through ones, and ends up seeing Jake making bacon pancakes and smiles. Then we cut away to Cosmic Owl with the other entities from earlier, explaining Prismo, and Scarab gets pissed. Scarab apparently really loved talking to Paul, and now Paul was forbidden to ever awaken, so long as Prismo was free to be himself. He swore vengeance on Prismo then and there, saying that if he made even the slightest mistake, he would take him down and bring Paul back. And thats when the episode ended.

And yes, i do dream entire episodes of things sometimes with complete plot points. My brains just like this.

[dragoneyes618]

There’s a popular slogan in Israel that appears on car stickers, jewelry and suchlike: Ein Li Eretz Acheret, “I have no other country.” The phrase comes from the title of an iconic and extremely moving song written by Ehud Manor, with music composed by Corinne Allal, and originally recorded in 1986 by Gali Atari; we will mention those names again later. Its opening lines and chorus are Ain li eretz acharet, gam im admati bo’eret, “I have no other country, even if my land is burning.”

A neighbor of mine, who was experiencing considerable war anxiety about the land burning, told me that he didn’t relate to it at all. He said, “But I do have another country. I can go back to Teaneck!” And he said that if things got worse, he would seriously consider doing so.

At the beginning of the war, I was wondering the same thing. I do have another country – two, actually. I have UK citizenship and my wife has U.S. citizenship, and our children have both. Maybe we should go back to live somewhere safer? One of the commentators on the previous post was talking about Lakewood as being a safe and excellent place to live with a rich Jewish life.

Now I could continue by talking about how special and beneficial it is to live in Israel, about how it’s both the Promised Land and our historic homeland, about how it’s the only country with Jewish sovereignty. Which would all be true. But there’s a different point that I want to discuss in this post.

Yes, I do have another country that I could go to (though it wouldn’t be at all straightforward, especially for my children). So do lots of people in Ramat Beit Shemesh and the rest of Israel.

But there’s also lots and lots and lots of people who don’t.

There are millions of Jews in Israel who just don’t have anywhere else to go. There are those who simply don’t have the money for it and would find it too difficult to find employment in a country where they don’t even speak the language. There are those who are too old or ill or who have young children that would suffer from a move. There are those who have crucial responsibilities here. There are those who are just too deeply embedded here.

Even more to the point, there are also millions of Jews who literally don’t have any passport other than their Israeli one. What other country will let them in? The Jews who came from Iran and Egypt and Syria and Yemen are certainly not able to go back to those countries! Nor are Russia and many European countries a safe place for Jews. And even countries which are relatively safe and allow some immigration are not going to accept millions of Jews (and if they did, those countries would likely quickly become not very safe for Jews).

In fact, that’s one of the main reasons why Israel came to exist in the first place. As antisemitism grew in Europe, many Jews realized that they needed to get out, but simply had nowhere to go. Twenty years before the Holocaust, at least 100,000 Jews were massacred in pogroms in the Ukraine, which also created 600,000 Jewish international refugees and millions more who were displaced and threatened.

At this point, many people realized that an even greater catastrophe might happen. But the countries to which the largest numbers of Jewish refugees were fleeing all revised their immigration policies to prevent further Jewish immigration. This included not only Poland and Germany (which obviously wouldn’t have been a good long-term solution anyway), but also the United States, Argentina, and British Palestine. In the U.S., Henry Ford’s newspaper published pamphlets about the Jewish problem, claiming that the national debt was Jewish-inspired to enslave Americans and other such hateful slurs to keep Jews out.

Then things got even worse in Europe, with the rise of Hitler. Some people managed to get out. The parents of Ehud Manor, writer of Ain Li Eretz Acheret, fled Belarus and managed to get into Palestine.

Yet still no country was willing to take in millions of Jews. The U.S. convened the Évian conference, bringing together 32 countries to find a home for Jewish refugees. But aside from the Dominican Republic and Costa Rica, no country, including the U.S., was willing to accept Jewish refugees in any remotely significant number. Consequently, millions of Jews were killed in Europe.

And even after the horrors of the Holocaust, many Jewish survivors still had nowhere to go! Some of them went back to their home towns in Poland and were killed in a pogrom. Others languished in Displaced Persons camps for years, some of which were actually in concentration camps. My late mother-in-law spent the first years of her life in a DP camp; her parents were lucky enough to have a relative in the U.S. who eventually managed to bring them over, but most Jews did not have such an option.

Many Jews, very understandably, realized that a Jewish homeland was needed. It wasn’t about it necessarily being the safest place for a Jew to live. Everyone always knew that Palestine was in a hostile and dangerous part of the world, and that there would be a challenge with the resident Arabs (though it was generally assumed that some sort of compromise would be worked out; there was no broad plan to drive them out). And on the eve of the War of Independence, it was assessed that there was only a 50-50 chance of survival!

Israel has not yet been, and still is not, the safest place in the world for Jews. But not everyone has the option to live in the safest place in the world – many people just need somewhere that is safer than where they currently live. And in any case, having a homeland is not about attaining the greatest safety – it is about having a home, a place that Jews historically belong, a place that Jews can always come to when they fear persecution or experience discrimination, where we can take responsibility for our own safety, and where we can put being Jewish into action and expression.

While Israel won the War of Independence – at a cost of 1% of its population – this created a crisis for nearly a million Jews in Muslim countries, who were persecuted and had to make immediate use of Israel as a refuge. The parents of Gali Atari, singer of Ain Li Eretz Acheret, fled Yemen for Israel, while composer Corinne Allal’s family fled from Tunisia. But it should be born in mind that even if Israel had not come into existence, the existence of Jews in Muslim lands was difficult and very precarious.

And so we reach the situation that we are in today. Israel is home to over seven million Jews. Most of them do not have another country to go to, even if they wanted to (which they don’t). Ain lahem eretz acheret.

(As Haviv Rettig Gur notes, this is the fundamental mistake made by many Palestinians and their supporters, who believe that they can rid of the Jews with violence just as the Algerians successfully used violence to get the French colonialists to go back to France. They don’t grasp that most Jews just don’t have a country to go back to, and thus violence won’t achieve anything and will even be counter–productive.)

Now, there are some Jews who only look at things in terms of their own personal interests. “Where is a safe place for me to live? What is a spiritually safe environment for my children?” And if, as a result, others are less safe physically and spiritually and have to take on an even larger cost to their families and jobs and religious life, then that’s just too bad.

But others feel a sense of responsibility to the rest of our people. It’s not “me” and “them” – it’s us. The correct formulation is not ain li eretz acharet or ain lahem eretz acharet. It’s ain lanu eretz acheret.

Millions of Jews need Israel. And Israel needs a strong army and a strong economy to finance it and a flourishing national Jewish life. Each and every one of us has a responsibility to help with that.

[vuldak-juneau]

@temperednuvi Location: Catacombs/caves traveling to Nornwatch Tower Time: Initial flee to Nornwatch/prior to the Blight outbreak & Last Night 

The slow, single-file shuffle through the narrow channels under the mountain felt agonizing to Juneau. Almost every head hung low in defeat between sagging shoulders and it made Juneau question whether or not everyone felt they’d as much as admitted defeat. Regardless, she thought they looked like a herd of cattle being led to the slaughter, though at this point their fate was still uncertain. Uncertainty wasn’t something Juneau particularly appreciated, and she was sorely wishing she would have cut and run for Lysara instead of joining the masses of sojourn refugees. 

No matter what happened, she was determined that she would make it to the neighboring kingdom where she had delivered so many before. She cursed herself for ever having an altruistic bone in her body–though since being reborn as a voldak she had shed much of her goodwill along with her former self. No one looked out for her, so why should she act out of self-sacrifice for anyone else? Least of all a human. She doubted most of the humans around her would withstand the sheer demand of the journey or any challenges that arose, and that suited her perfectly fine. 

And if only they’d just move faster… Her temper flared as the already glacial pace of the small group in front of her slowed even further. It seemed that something was distracting them. Once they finally managed to move it along, following the lacking glow of the witcher’s lights that led the way, Juneau discovered the source of everyone’s pace-slowing interest. 

As Juneau observed the fellow traveler, she wondered if she had looked so pathetic herself after the night she was killed, but not burned, and awoke somehow new with nothing to do but collect herself and figure out what it meant to move on. It was curious how someone could make themselves so small, fold in within themselves, and shrink in increments. Sure, no one seemed particularly comfortable in those shadowy channels of the caves, but it almost looked like the woman expected she would break into a million pieces if she didn’t wrap herself so tightly in her own arms, or she half expected to vaporize if so much as a pore of her skin touched the cavern walls. 

“If you keep moving this slow, you’re going to get left behind,” Juneau commented from just behind her. Nothing in her voice suggested she was not particularly concerned about the woman’s wellbeing. It wasn’t a warning, though it wasn’t necessarily meant to be as antagonistic as it likely could have been perceived as. Her bedside manner with refugees and travel companions had suffered greatly in the past few weeks.

[qqueenofhades]

Ok I seriously hope you don’t take this as bad faith but I’d like to genuinely understand this, and I’m not even sure if I’m articulating this thought well, but I don’t understand why it’s not also considered inhumane to allow a ton more people into a system so broken that it can’t even support the poorest that are in that nation…? I understand it’s important to hella reform immigration and that’s in the works, and that these people are fleeing far worse conditions, but I also feel like the rich are just looking to make yet another slave class out of these desperate people. Is it yet again a case of multiple broken systems in a trench coat? If so, I’d like to know the most prominent areas so I can try to start fighting it (the rights abuses, not the immigration)

Okay, but I'm not entirely sure what your point here is. It sounds like "we shouldn't allow immigrants into America until we can help every American first," which is probably not what you mean, but still. Yes, America as a culture, society, and economy has many, MANY problems. Nobody is denying or disputing that. But it is also literally a nation built on immigrants, and why is it "inhumane" to let them come here when they are so desperate to reach it that they will risk their lives in any number of ways...? Is it just that you're afraid you aren't being Socially Aware Enough on any particular economic or social issue, and need to find something else to worry about?

People come to America, or want to come to America, for many reasons. They are being persecuted, or their country is politically unstable, or they have few job opportunities, or they have family here, or whatever. They are not coming here because they're being passively manipulated "by the rich to make another slave class." The way we treat them can often be disgraceful (see: Ron DeSantis and Greg Abbott), but there are also many, many communities and resources for welcome and support. Immigrants can often get jobs and save money. They can build new lives. This is something we should welcome, and because the right wing in America, with all its racism and xenophobia, has so long dominated the immigration debate as "scary brown people," this is long, LONG overdue.

Any strategy that wants to reduce "illegal immigration" must offer valid and safe pathways for legal immigration. That's why the UK is in the middle of such a clusterfuck: the hardline Tories who want nobody to move to Britain ever are trying to stop the small boat crossings across the Channel by being even more cartoonishly evil and deliberately unhelpful to the poor souls who do make it. They feel that if they can make a "hostile environment" (their own words) for refugees and asylum-seekers, eventually none of those irritating brown people will ever bother to try again, problem solved. Which of course, hasn't worked, not least since Britain refuses to allow any pathways for safe and legal immigration/resettlement from unsettled and/or third world countries. Even highly skilled workers have lots of trouble getting a UK settlement visa these days, so your average refugee/economic migrant? Forget it.

Because Biden is allowing generous quotas of legal migrants, that cuts down on the chaos and brutality of people-traffickers and other criminal enterprises who make their money by extorting desperate people who have no other option. Also, lest we forget, we are less than four years removed from the Trump policy of tearing children away from their families and putting them in literal cages, under the same "make it so bad for them that they'll stop coming!" fetish for institutional cruelty that drives the Tories.

There is also an additional moral responsibility for former empires to be open to immigration, given that they built their political systems' wealth and power by moving to OTHER people's countries and invading, exploiting, and enslaving them. Now when the descendants of those people want to come to your country in turn, the racist white conservative pearl-clutching is both depressing and predictable. But yes, let's not read people making the choice to come to America, for one reason or another, as either an attempt to siphon overstretched resources from Real Americans, or as helpless dupes manipulated by the capitalist class to just live more lives of drudgery and misery. They are real people making real choices, and the fact that they're still so eager to come to America, even with all its problems, is something that should be supported, in a sustainable way, as much as possible.