#there’s a certain religious fervor to these discussions

[pommedepersephone]

Have you watched "Jesus Christ Superstar"? If so, what did you think of it?

Jesus Christ Superstar is in my top three favorite musicals - and I lettered in theatre and choir in high school so my list of favorite musicals is hilariously long.

Setting aside any discussion of the music and lyrics first, let's talk about the narrative. The story is very much about the humanity of it all - and how society treats their heroes. The tension between Jesus, Judas and Mary is a debate about how we balance (or fail to balance) our dedication to a movement over our devotion for individuals. And it features table flipping Jesus!!

Mary is devoted to Jesus as a person. "He's a man, he's just a man" she tells us. She focuses on comforting and caring for him. But in her concern for him individually, she has little demonstrated interest in his work to better the world.

Judas is dedicated to the movement. He is (justifiably) concerned that people are losing sight of Jesus as a prophet, making him into an idol instead of a visionary leader. But in his fervor for the movement, he forgets the individual. He seems unaware just how weighed down Jesus is, and likewise disparages Mary asking why Jesus would "waste his time on women of her kind."

As for Jesus? Poor Messiah is conflicted. He is overwhelmed by what is asked of him by both his followers and his detractors. He is reduced by The People to what he can provide to them, and by The Man to how he can give them influence. And he is resigned because he knows that he has obtained a level of notoriety without authority where he has few options left - his death is pretty inevitable for the sake of the movement.

You know who NEVER makes an appearance? God. God is absolutely silent and absent. Because in the end, Jesus Christ Superstar is not about God at all. It's about how the black and white thinking - devotion to individuals OR dedication to movements - both fail to actually provide us with the society we need.

Now, is the musical itself a bit clunky and cheesey? Oh yeah, definitely. But that is the charm of it. Rock opera just has an inherent kitsch to it that I adore. But it's also clever. Outraged religious leaders so often miss the actual point of the story which is also amusing. And I love the 1973 movie version, but I have loved every live performance I've ever seen. The message remains extremely relevant. And our family watches the movie every December.

And yes, in case anyone is curious, I am certain Aziraphale and Crowley saw JCS live. I bet Crowley loved it and spent weeks afterwards humming "Damned For All Time" to himself. Aziraphale probably refused to comment on the content, just being a snide bastard about the quality of the lyrics, then went home and cried over "I Don't Know How to Love Him."

[rebeccathenaturalist]

Are There Evil Animals?

Originally posted on my website at https://rebeccalexa.com/are-there-evil-animals/

There’s a great discussion over on BlueSky about animal species unfairly seen as villains. Folks are posting pictures of species that we feel get a bad rap (I chose to highlight the gray wolf and snakes.) Ironically, I also had a note in my calendar, placed there months ago, to write about whether there are good or bad animals. So–today’s theme is whether there really are “evil animals”, and what makes them separate from “good animals”.

Please keep in mind that I am coming from a western perspective as an American of European heritage, and cultural views of various animals vary from species to species and culture to culture. And, of course, individual people within a community may disagree. But let’s stick with general trends in western viewpoints. Also, I am not going to wade into the issue of invasive species and whether they are “good” or “bad” from a moral sense, though I did get into clarifying what makes a species invasive a while back.)

There are certain animals that seem to draw the ire of people more than others. Spiders and snakes are two groups that are frequently relegated to the undesirable group of “creepy crawlies”, are the subject of many people’s phobias, and are all too often killed simply for existing. I’ve seen people post pictures of their pet snakes and spiders, only to have others reply “If I saw that thing anywhere near me I’d kill it”–something I bet they’d never say about someone’s beloved pet dog or cat. Slugs are seen as gross and slimy, bats will supposedly fly into your hair, and even pet domesticated rats will get looks of revulsion.

While all large predatory animals have seen their numbers plummet in the past couple of centuries due to overhunting, gray wolves and coyotes face extra-venomous persecution. Barry Holstun Lopez’ classic work Of Wolves and Men, and Hope Ryden’s God’s Dog: A Celebration of the North American Coyote, both explore in detail how these canids are not just controlled, but gleefully slaughtered by those who proudly display “smoke a pack [of wolves] a day” on their trucks and hang rotting carcasses of coyotes they’ve shot on fences alongside roads. The reintroduction of wolves in particular has been hindered by the protests of those convinced their livestock will all be killed and their children carried off. And Ryden’s work tried to counter the sentiment of all too many people that “the only good coyote is a dead coyote.”

Lopez in particular tackled the idea that wolves were specifically evil because they had supposedly been sent by Satan himself to plague good God-fearing people. And while many wolf-haters today probably don’t recognize the roots of their hatred, they still pursue the extermination of the species with religious fervor. Snakes, similarly, were maligned not just because a few of them are venomous, but because of the Serpent in the Garden of Eden. The bible is full of parables and metaphors involving animals that place them in either the “good animals” category (like sheep) or the “evil animals” category (like goats.) And while western society is becoming increasingly less Christian, the cultural influences of centuries of Christianity can still be felt.

Thankfully, advances in science have offered a much more nuanced view of animals, and nature in general. We know for sure that the Earth is much, much, MUCH older than 6000 years, and that the many species that have come and gone over the eons came to be through natural selection. At their core, every species of animal (and plant, and fungus, etc.) is a living system whose most primitive purpose is to make sure its genetic material is successfully replicated. Far from making life into a strictly mechanistic process, I feel that this just makes the many adaptations species have evolved over time that much more fascinating.

Take the gray wolf, for example. Long legs help them to run swiftly, but they have solid endurance as well and can trail prey for many miles. Broad feet keep them from sinking into snow, like snowshoes, and keen hearing, sight, and smell help them to locate prey. They can dispatch said prey with sharp teeth which also allow them to shear off pieces of meat which is then broken down by an efficient digestive system. Far from being solo predators lurking in the shadows, wolves have complex social lives, and a pack is generally composed of a primary pair with their young from various years. They work together to raise each year’s pups and find food, and they spend quite a bit of time playing with each other or sleeping off a good meal. All of these adaptations work together to make an organism that has successfully passed its DNA down through many generations. It’s pretty impressive, thinking about the complexity of all of the tissues and organs and systems that go into making one single wolf, and how DNA holds the key to its own preservation and replication in increasingly complex packages.

But these genes and adaptations do not make the wolf “evil”, any more than herbivory (other than the occasional nest of baby birds) makes a deer “good”. And that’s the thing: at its heart, nature is amoral. Not IMMORAL, mind you; amorality means being not at all concerned with right or wrong, good or evil. Wolves and deer prey on their respective foods, and deer and plants have defenses they use to try to keep from being eaten. That doesn’t make them inherently bad, and they aren’t rubbing their paws (or hooves) gleefully together like some cartoonish villain as they think about killing their next meal. It’s just the way of things, ever since the first eukaryotes evolved two billion years ago and began eating other living beings.

So why, then, do we persist in seeing wolves as evil animals and deer as good ones? Well, we’re judging them by human standards, and specifically western, Christianity-influenced standards. We’re pretty biased, because we think that any species that does things we want them to is good, but those that inconvenience us are bad. We like hunting deer and we only really get annoyed with them if they eat our crops (which can also be solved by eating them.) But while wolves may eat our livestock (and the deer we want to hunt), we can’t really eat them, and so their value to us isn’t enough to keep them in the “good” category. Although wolves gave us dogs, the wolves that remain will not bow to our demands, so dogs become the only nice and respectable wolves we will accept in our lives because they directly benefit us, whether as working animals, companions, or both.

We can see this pattern among other species, too. Those that we find beautiful or useful, and which do not significantly impact our lives in any negative way, get to be good. Any that cause us problems end up being bad. Sadly, “I saw it and it scared me” is often enough to relegate a species to being a problem. Even though spiders do a great job of keeping our homes and other environments free of flies, ants, and other insects that might, say, spoil our food, we persecute spiders because we see them as scary. In the vast majority of human-spider encounters there is no way the spider could possibly get close enough to bite, and would only do so in self-defense–yet in many of these encounters the spider loses its life just for being there.

We don’t even think twice about squashing a spider or other “bug” that made the mistake of being visible. Demonizing animals as evil means that we don’t have to feel any responsibility toward their preservation. And, in fact, you can extend that whole idea of “evilness” to nature in general. Nature, until recently, was mainly seen in the west as something to be tamed and tied down, turned to agriculture, industry, and other good human-benefiting pursuits. Preserving wild ecosystems is seen as wasteful by the sort of person who only sees dollar signs. Why should we reintroduce wolves if they get in the way of our raising livestock? Why should we protect old growth forests instead of cutting them down for profit? Why should we restrict fishing to help fish populations recover from generations of overfishing, when it might mean a drop in seafood revenue?

In the end, the whole good/evil dichotomy as applied to animals is just a symptom of our selfishness. Those of us who understand the complexity of ecology also grok the concept of existence value, which I just wrote about in my last article. This concept allows us to get out of our self-centered viewpoints, showing how a species (or ecosystem) is important simply for existing, regardless of whether we can use it for something or not. I also think it’s important to drop that idea that a species can be inherently good or evil, and instead take Henry Beston’s view that they are “other nations, caught with ourselves in the net of life and time, fellow prisoners of the splendour and travail of the earth.” Like them, we humans are also the product of billions of years of adaptations and evolution, no more or less amazing than any other species. We’ve spent too long trying to make the whole world dance to our tune alone; we need to give the other beings space for their music, too, and appreciate its beauty as much as our own.

Did you enjoy this post? Consider taking one of my online foraging and natural history classes or hiring me for a guided nature tour, checking out my other articles, or picking up a paperback or ebook I’ve written! You can even buy me a coffee here!

[seaweedstarshine]

Eleventh Doctor Chronicles: Sins of the Flesh is really good. Really really good. Experience with certain attitudes can be so isolating, surrounded by people who won’t bother to understand the impact of growing up in that environment (because the world's so progressive now, right), and so — I'm so glad it exists. I also liked the discussion in the interview commentary about how being a monster and doing monstrous things are not mutually exclusive. Like most things, homophobia is pervasive because it is structural. Religious fervor is not inherently bad — “your god is love,” Valarie says to Lily — but as soon as hellfire is brandished around, it's used routinely to empower monstrous things, in a way that becomes unsafe to debate. Especially for young & dependent people who can't escape it.

Conditional love. Moral panics. Purity culture. Self-hate. Mob mentality. This audio. It's timely.

I appreciated what they said in the interviews about not only about the research, but the four rounds of sensitivity readings. I wish the TV show had that level of care sometimes…

[crossroadsdimension]

Final Fantasy 1 Overworld Theme in Final Fantasy 16 Represents a Character's Harmful Fantasy (Part 2)

(part 1 here; part 3 here)

As I said in my last post, the FF1 Overworld theme is in FF16's soundtrack. I've posted Part 1, where I discuss the first time it shows up (right before picking up Eikon set #5), and now here are my thoughts on its second appearance, not too long before we pick up Eikon set #6.

Here is the original FF1 music for reference:

Everything else is under the cut because -- once again -- LATE GAME SPOILERS!

(And warnings for some religion talk below for this one -- nothing Earth-based, but there are enough similarities with how a certain character acts that I'm sure it'll set some folks off.)

After listening through the FF16 soundtrack a couple times -- and finding a couple scenes on YouTube where this song plays -- I've noticed it really comes into prominence for 3 characters: Anabella, Barnabas, and Ultima. Their perspectives on life and what they dream of -- or fantasize, if you will -- are why I've chosen to title these posts this way, and I'll explain my reasoning as I work my way through each of them, in order as they appear.

Barnabas' Religious Fervor

Barnabas gets two instances of the FF1 theme. One is called "Mighty Acts of God," and the other is "Salvation." Fitting, considering his mindless, complete obedience to the utter monster that is Ultima.

The first of these two, "Mighty Acts of God," plays when Clive confronts Barnabas on the sea -- or, rather, on the sea floor, after Barnabas has cut the water in two and is trying to prove to Clive that his bonds with others is only going to slow him down. You could argue in this instance that Barnabas is literally an act of god, considering the man is nothing more than a puppet that reacts to Ultima's commands as his master pleases (and oh does that hit a few angsty spots in my brain. If anyone here followed me back when I was deep in Gravity Falls, you know why).

The other song, "Salvation," plays in the scene before Clive has his final fight with Barnabas at the top of the tower of Reverie. It's when Barnabas is waxing poetic about how Ultima plans to save them all, and that the only way for them to be saved is if they give up their free will to the monster. Barnabas has done so himself, leaving him nothing more than an akashic being that feeds on aether and is somehow still able to maintain a human appearance and personality. I called him an energy vampire when I saw him absorbing the dissolving akashic villagers right when Clive arrived at the tower, thinking that was why he was so casual about using his Eikonic abilities and summoning so many Sleipnir-egis. Half-right, that.

But these two versions of the FF1 overworld theme do give us some insight into Barnabas' character -- as much as Sever and The Riddle do, for his boss fight. His fantasy is a cult-like belief that all will be well if everyone believes in his "one true god" and fall into line acting like mindless pawns for Ultima to play with as he pleases. Unlike Anabella's song "Bloodlines," which comes off as desperate and tense as she scrambled to defend herself, "Mighty Acts of God" and "Salvation" are slower, calmer, more sure of themselves -- and more ominous as a result. Barnabas has been moving towards his goal for a long time, and he can afford to wait a little longer for Mythos to come to terms with what must be done.

The problem here from Barnabas' perspective is that humans like their free will, and they aren't going to give it up when a so-called god demands it of them. We value our connections with others, and put our faith in the people around us as much as they put their faith in us. Walking away from that to mindlessly serve a higher power is asking a lot of the people who Barnabas lives with -- severing friends from friends, family from family. And it's asking too much from Clive, who has so much to lose if he follows in Barnabas' wake.

(And I can see some similarities with modern religions on Earth, but I'm not going to bring them up here. What I've said about Barnabas likely has brought up more than enough bad memories for some folks.)

Barnabas' fantasy falls apart when Clive proves that not only can he fight as he is, connections intact, but also as the entire continent of Storm rebels against his mindset and beats back those who have fallen to the best of their ability. They don't plan to fall victim to his mindless mindset -- and neither do we. Barnabas cannot force others to follow in his footsteps, and those who do follow end up pushed past the point of no return, becoming akashic as a means to an end.

If the world is to recover from Origin, there will be an entire continent to repopulate, if the orcs don't take it over first.

[nsfwhiphop]

Incoming Text for Elon Musk and Donald Trump: Title for the Event: "The Musk-Trump Crusade: Rallying 190 Nations Against Corruption and the Anti-Christ in the West"

This scenario would bring unprecedented challenges to global stability, with widespread religious, political, and economic repercussions.

If Elon Musk and Donald Trump were to call upon the 190 nations of the world to expose corruption in America and the UK, and rally them against what they label as the "Anti-Christ" living in these countries, the implications would be enormous. Here's a potential breakdown of what could happen:

1. Global Political Chaos

Polarization of Nations: Countries would likely split into various camps based on their political alliances and ideological leanings. Some nations with strong ties to the US and UK might distance themselves from this movement, while others, possibly those critical of Western powers, may join the cause.

Economic and Diplomatic Fallout: Accusing powerful nations like the US and UK of harboring the "Anti-Christ" would strain global relations. Trade agreements, treaties, and international organizations like the United Nations could face severe disruption.

International Sanctions and Retaliation: Western powers, especially the US and UK, might retaliate economically and diplomatically. There could be sanctions, asset freezes, and restrictions on those countries siding with Musk and Trump.

2. Public Perception and Media Coverage

Sensational Media Reaction: The claim of an "Anti-Christ" would attract massive media coverage, and the narrative would likely be divisive. News outlets could focus on the religious, moral, and ideological aspects, intensifying global debates.

Conspiracy Theories Flourish: Social media and alternative media platforms could explode with conspiracy theories, heightening fear and confusion. Musk’s influence, especially on platforms like X (formerly Twitter), could mobilize millions to his cause.

3. Religious and Ideological Divide

Religious Fervor: The invocation of the "Anti-Christ" would stir religious fervor in various parts of the world. Some groups may interpret this as an eschatological event, while others may dismiss it as political rhetoric.

Extremism and Fanaticism: Religious extremists and conspiracy theorists could use this as fuel to incite violence or destabilize regions. This might lead to protests, riots, or even armed conflicts.

4. Technological Influence and Economic Shifts

Elon Musk’s Role: Musk could leverage his technological empire (SpaceX, Tesla, etc.) to promote his vision of a post-corrupt, anti-establishment world. He might propose technological solutions or even a "digital revolution" to counter the systems he deems corrupt.

Crypto and Alternative Economies: There could be a push to shift away from traditional economic systems. Musk might advocate for decentralized currencies like Bitcoin, framing them as a way to break free from corrupt financial structures tied to the US and UK.

5. Possible Conflict and Uprisings

Civil Unrest: Within the US and UK, these claims might galvanize certain political factions, particularly those already disillusioned with the government. This could lead to civil unrest, protests, and possibly violence.

Military Responses: If such movements gain traction globally, the US and UK governments may deploy military resources to defend against what they perceive as a global insurgency or rebellion.

6. International Support

Support from Rival Powers: Countries like Russia, China, Iran, and North Korea, which are often at odds with the US and UK, might support Musk and Trump’s call as a way to weaken their adversaries.

Diplomatic Maneuvering: Many nations might remain neutral or attempt to mediate, trying to avoid getting embroiled in such a conflict.

7. Cultural and Moral Debate

Philosophical Discussions: The battle against a supposed "Anti-Christ" would spark deep discussions about morality, ethics, and religion across the globe. It would also prompt questions about the role of faith in modern governance and global affairs.

Division within Religious Communities: Christian denominations, in particular, might fracture, with some viewing Musk and Trump as prophets or protectors, while others may see them as dangerous demagogues.

8. Long-Term Implications

Global Realignment: This could lead to a significant realignment of global alliances. Western dominance could be challenged, leading to the rise of new power centers and alliances.

Rise of Alternative Leadership: Figures like Musk and Trump could amass new political and ideological followers, challenging traditional leadership models and presenting themselves as champions of a new global order.

[mahg-stuff]

𝑛𝑜 𝑟𝑜𝑜𝑚 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑒 ℎ𝑜𝑙𝑦 𝑠𝑝𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑡 ~

"...that sugared place..." 𝜗𝜚

─────

AN: Hello there!! It feels gr8 to be back & writing for y’all. I decided to kick it off with a short but sultry? drabble as I wanted something quick to fill the appetite I left you angels in. 💋 My first time writing something for the era btw (it feels like I’m cheating on bde..)!!! I also have absolutely no idea how this plot came about or how it’d end so I quite literally typed away ‘til my heart was content…

Hopefully my writing skills aren’t too off or unclear due to the long writers block I was in. And, for the unanswered requests in my inbox I am doing my best to get to all of them don’t think I’ve forgotten about you!! <33

(pls exuse any errors! i still need to go bck & check for misspelling and or typos!)

kay, enjoy my lovely angels!! 🪽

wc: 2-3k words?? Summary: Experiencing the pure bliss of an untried orgasm as Elvis puts the blame on himself for how poorly he’d been loving on you. (prob gonna tweak/change this later but for now this dull summary shall stay, ig…) Pairing: '69-70!elvis x afab!reader Warnings: 18+, p in v, unprotected, smut (described rather mildly, i think, in comparison to my other works but it won't disappoint..I hope!), elvis' faltering innocence!kink, slight dubcon??(reader comes across quite the slow-witted girl), mentions religious acts & discussion

“W-Wait, El—“ Your cry came out rather bellowed underneath him as he barbed in and out of that lovely snatch he’d been looking after with such caution. Working that pelvis as if he had discarded the whole 'handle with care' label and was now fully taking charge over his girl. Indeed, you were more than willing to surrender, lying on your back within pale blue satin sheets with legs spread like the pages of a book, set up for him to explore at his leisure. His darling blues now blown out with lust as his black locks began to mat against his forehead, his pouty mug concentrating solely on the task at hand rather than your call on. Your painted toes nestled in silken bedding beneath, moving eagerly to dance against his calves, your body and soul urging to adhere to his foreign propulsion.

His way felt somewhat renewed, as if experiencing a sense of novelty all over again.

Still being so sweet but, vulgar, he didn't even bother to remove your slip, had you in bed before you knew it, only tearing those precious cotton undies before he fixed himself right at your center. And was he already stripped when you'd walked in? You would never know with how quick he had you in classic missionary, a smothering embrace with your knees bent to his own accord and his abdomen to yours.

𝜗𝜚

Elvis had always mused about leaving room for the 'Holy Spirit,' as if the act itself wasn't already far from holy. But rather than being a bible's length apart, a different length was embedded deeply inside you at the moment. He was a swayed man at times, so in his listening, leaving room for the Holy Spirit was simply, to acknowledge His presence.

How? …

To halt, before he bottomed out,

to moderate and limit his movements,

for his lovemaking to be almost merciful because he was to be justified afterwards if he did.

Now, whichever birdy claimed to him this, they knew very well that the man buried between your legs was easily influenced on occasion and would even take his established beliefs to the grave. Perhaps his finest boyish quality. Did he have the greatest degree of credulity possible?

Even so, this mindset that he's held so high on a pedestal seemed to get lost on its way, he was practically impaling into your sweetness, his hips driving forward with a fervor that bordered on desperation. It was as if he was trying to prove something—to take you to that sugared place only he was certain you'd never been. How did he fail to notice up to a couple nights ago… He'd been denying you that glorious delight for so long, putting two and two together, finally taking notice that you'd never have your fill but he'd always have his. …

And so, while he strived to conjure your big O, you grew wide-eyed, like a startled doe, as a dissimilar, delicate bloom of delight began to unfurl itself within. Your lips parted once more, but just before you could call out to him, he nuzzled your cheek with his bristly one to softly hush you. Breathlessly. "L-Let me, I've been refusin' my lil' girl for far too long." The way he kept moving, joined by his velvety voice and the faint smell of brut on him, left you rapt, unable to verbally oppose again, just sweet little breaths weeping out your kisser for him. He moved his cheek from yours, his dark gaze on your pretty, bedewed face with your once perfect hair splayed out above you. You looked as if trying to attune while startled, but yet, so taken. You poor thing, how couldn't you've been startled? he thought. So habituated to his selfish ways that you weren't tuned in to the knot that was beginning to form in your midsection.

Even in the earlier times of any coupling between you two, he was especially tactful of this mentality, considering the progression from initial hesitance to eventual intimacy.

Consisting of heavy petting until he was sorted out from all the fondling, then it led to him only probing the smallest proportion of his hooded tip into your untried virgin hole, and then finally, before you knew it, all of him entirely.

He'd been bent on starting off slow with you and being so very gentle too, never wanting to do any harm or damage to that precious fruit between your legs when he’d sink himself inside and out of his beau's peach, almost like he was striving to keep up an imitation that you were still all intact down below and not yet poked.

And you, so completely unaware of it, just settling for his better judgment, as he’d expect of you. He felt like a cruel man and the neglectful lover, even if he'd only been doing it for the righteous in the eyes of the Lord.

Giving you one more glance over, an underlying apologetic look in his icy stare, but his hips spurring out a shudder as he felt your snatch douse him—refreshingly unwonted. Elvis' mouth abruptly fell open, "O-Oh, baby," he bit back, a handsome scowl painting his face. You had no notice of how carefully he'd been staring, too occupied exploring the uncharted depths of what you didn't know was being veiled from you with shut eyes. Without attend, you had your hips shifting experimentally, creating filthy, sticky sounds as both limbs intertwined along the blue silk. Oh, that look on his face as he felt how wet his novice baby doe was beginning to grow, elevating his head some more to watch how your cheeks were blotched in rose, and how your chin was drawn up. Lookin' so pretty taking her first steps to that sugared place. He attached his lips to yours, scattering laden kisses as he whispered, "You sweet, sweet, girl." Sweet girl, because you yourself never realized how long you'd gone without it.

He continued to kiss away, from your lips to your nose, then your forehead, before he tucked his perfect chin at the crown of your head. This was it. He was letting himself be swallowed, entirely forgetting the Holy Spirit all in one, the precious blushing missy underneath him was his one and only acknowledgement now.

In that moment, your eyes shot open as he pressed into you some more, your core completely full and snug as he cocooned you between himself and the mattress. Your hands swiftly latched onto his shoulders, peachy pink manicured nails digging into his tan skin, a tension was building, and its unfamiliarity began to confuse you. “E-Elvis.” A weep at last managed to fall out of your very kissed-out lips as you jostled at his shoulders and wriggled your legs, a helpless attempt to calm the way his hips were moving and his rough thatch of hair was grinding on your perked pearl just right.

Elvis was disappearing, his large hands tangled through your hair, elbows to the bed as he dug his nose into your tresses, snuffling the feebleness of powdery floral shampoo. Rather than halting for you, he found the way you cried his name sickly sweet, instead, he cradled you in his arms some more, your face now embedded into his damp chest as his bushy mound continued to graze at your tender button. "Needs'ta show her what she's been missin'." He muffled out airily within your head of hair, continuing his relentless assault on your senses. Your body was fawn-like in his arms, so small, helpless, and completely at his mercy. Whimpering into him as he huffed, your warm, lush folds opened around with each thrust.

Elvis suddenly hissed at the thought of having taken this long to finally mold your sweet, cute cunt around him. Kissing down on your head almost mercifully. You attempted to meet his gaze as you felt his lips press down on you, but failed miserably when he pulled you back to his chest. The knot in your tummy was beginning to tighten from the friction he was creating along your bundle of nerves. It didn’t help that your perked nipples rolled against the thin fabric of your slip as his body continuously brushed into yours.

And every time he pulled away just to sink back into you, he’d hear a hoarse little cry spill out from your lips before you got the chance to swallow it. You were near coming undone, your body beginning to act of its own accord, unconsciously bucking your hips to meet his own. He found it adorable—his yearling of a girl doing her best to mimic and brush up on his shrubbery thicket. Elvis’ breath drew in through his teeth, and as you struggled to meet his bearish pace, swiftly he moved a hand to your backside, tensely beckoning you to wrap your legs around him. “C’mon, wrap 'em—wrap ‘em ‘round me, hon’.” Giving your bubble bottom a pat.

Unable to form any words with your face practically smushed into his firm sternum, you did your best to loosely get them around. Just to instantly regret the new position, a yelp tore out of your chest—his tip was near kissing your cervix. In all the way he was, forcing your slippery petals farther apart than he'd ever done, completely immersed in the tiny fawns pink flesh. A tear urged to slip through the wisps of your lashes, he had every pulsing inch and curve of his hardened length jamming at your tiny canal. His grip cruelly tightened as you attempted to raise up and dismount, too busy shuddering, even spurting a little at how much warmer and softer it felt here for him to give a damn that he was blistering his nice girl from within.

Goddamit! He condemned himself once more for how much he held back on exploring his sweet little girls snatch.

You'd been too benevolent, too forbearing, not to beckon him in the past, letting him do what he thought was best. When really all his nourishing, protecting, and enduring was only going to lead you to languish in the bittersweetness of it all. He'd been so very careless out of pure conformity intent.

Still. It was you.

He needed you to forgive him, to let him kneel before you with his head bowed at your lap, for how terribly and wrongly he's done bedding you. To let him avow as you bear witness, just to bathe him in the soft, forgiving light that was your embrace. Yes, that was to be the preplan. 

It'd not been long before he began skidding to it again with these thoughts whirling in mind, aware for a fact that you felt like he was spearing you outside your ability, yet it all the rather burned delicately, your pearl all the lively with slick and getting the best rubbing she's ever had. His hips were moving laboriously, whilst leaking a litany of contrite things through his fatigued exhales. "…'ve done m-mah baby wrong." His mangled mumbles went unheard, filtered out to your heed, all you could pick up on was his lovely wrecked breathing and the slippery, molten mess forming where you both were joined. "I-its feeling too h-hot, E-Els," you mumble against his chest, your voice strained and shaky. But despite the suffocating heat, you can't bring yourself to move away from him. "Only a-a good hot, darlin'," he drawled out, "U-Uh lil' burnin' love can do ya real good."

But as you lay there, wrapped up in his arms, feeling the sweat permeating your bodies, you couldn't help but feel a bit scared. His words were soothing, his touch heavy and comforting, but it felt as if something was bound to be driven out of you. The room filled with the sound of limbs intertwining and haggered exhales, as it all was becoming too much. You’d gone half lidded, your mind was totally elsewhere, going blank as bliss began to engross your entire being. “Wh-what’s, oh, E-Elvis o-“ you purled, becoming confuzzled when your tummy began to cave in and convulse, your weakening body looked about ready to shrivel in his hold, those pretty nails frantically wringing angrily at his bicep in disarray. You can't help but allow your head to thrash in a muddled protest a few times before a bitten off shriek of startled ecstasy tumbles from your mouth. His darling doe has made it. Seeing stars as he held you in his big arms, the slippery fabric sticking to your back from all the perspiration that'd been created.

Elvis' lips puckered and his mouth damn near watered, feeling the first fluttering pulses of your orgasm squeeze around him, his breath catching in his throat as he felt himself begin to falter in his movements. He clutched you closer, his face still very much buried in your mess of locks, letting your body tremble against his own, a soft sound escaped his lips—a quiet snicker that slipped out unbidden. "A-Atta girl, let it have ya." "Let it have m-my pretty 'ittle baby," he cooed just as he began circling his hips to stir more of those cute fusses out of you, and succeeding, not only had you become a noisey, thrashing mess under him but a faucet too, spilling all over his tump of curls and staining the sheets a deep blue.

Lord up above knows, he had to have you like this every time now.

Your throat seemed to begin going dry as you rode the wave of this unsettling bliss that has you believing you've just been reborn, flushed out face still deeply lodged in his chest, the radiant heat of both bodies was practically suffocating, so, tentatively, you made an initial move to pull away.

Only to be beckoned back, "S-Stay…'st bit more." His movements were sloppy and weakening as he embarked on his own release, yet his hold on you didn’t falter. Forging you to comply and stay put. Relishing the way you were smothering his thighs, he was hardly concerned with how hot you were burning and undulating beneath him. His cock weeping with joy while he’s burying his elbows into the mattress, lifting his hips a bit higher than before (a tendency to pull out) with each thrust as that beloved lip curl begins to frame his pouty mouth. Within seconds, a yelp is let loose from you as you're released from his embrace, and he has his pulsating length in and out of you, bunching your slip up and keeping it in place with his fist for his leaky pecker to find solace against your bare tummy.

It was routinely his favorite way to finish.

His eyes were too busy screwed shut, but he was sure you were all the scandalized, fragile looking thing right now. “L-Lord—fuck.” A pained cry erupted from his lips as both weakened bodies slid up and down, up and down against one another, his hooded crimson tip digging into your supple skin on the brink of ecstasy. You shove gently at his smooth shoulder blade, your hinde eyes downcast to look between the two of you, your mouth emitting soft gusts of air, curiously running your delicate hand upon your muff, eager to understand all the wet that had spilled from you. Breaths continuously strike your forehead while he snarls above you.

Then.

Before you know it, he’s whimpering softly and resting his forehead against yours firmly for leverage, rubbing a few more times, clumsily, drawing up just as hot milky white spurts come flying out, his body going taut for a second before he’s shivering against you. Your stomachs are coated in the stickiness and messiness of it all, but all the while, you can't help but feel overwhelmed by all this, him creating a beautiful mess amongst you two was no unusual thing, but a distinct part of you felt pleasantly defiled.

He sucks in a final breath when he feels himself starting to soften, giving one final unwilling thrust before inclining upwards with the help of his elblows on either side of your head, his visage blissfully spent and exhausted. His striking face acends from yours before his lips poorly land a kiss on your forehead, his slumped gaze finally takes a moment as you lie there, a fawn fragility heavily decrying your appearance.

A little wide eyed thing with pink blooms on your cheeks that blotchily dragged down to your jaw. And your lips, a perfect O of disbilef, your hair beautifully ravegged from all the tugging his hands performed, strands of hair falling haphazardly across your face as you recollect on the otherworldly sensation that had been withheld from you on his behalf. It was captured across your entire face—unadulterated bliss.

You feel his weight shift as he finally draws away, his eyes watching his pearly spunk glide down your belly button hole before they land at the small hand that was still ghostly feeling at herself. Only for his gaze to wander back over across your face, the lack of awareness in its expression suddenly mirrors a revived ache in his chest, a tangible reminder of how half-baked he'd been having you.

He helped pull your slip down to cover modesty, it’s sapped material now glued to your exterior, then sank to his side next to you while still facing you, taking ahold of your prettified hand and gently squeezing it. "H-Had ya hidden in the dark for so long," he whispered, his voice barely audible in the hazed room. You lazily sat up half way, trying to register his muffled words, "…What?" Your voice soft and awkward due to the remaining sensitivity your body is still feeling, which has been causing you to jerk every so often. "Ya ain’t know any better," he murmured, completely disregarding your inquiry and brushing a strand of hair away from your aflush, impeccable face. Kissing your hand swiftly before he sat up himself, as he recalled, "Hafta forgive me.." Observing the confusion that formed in the curve of your mouth when you tilted your head at him, how the gentle arch of your brow furrowed in contemplation, observing as his sweet missy found herself lost in the labyrinth of her man's indecipherable words. Of course, you didn't know any better. He began pulling his gorgeously tanned, naked form off of you, giving you a sort of guilty glance, if you weren't mistaken. "H-Hey, where you—" you trailed off quietly as you watched him blunder off and then descend to his knees before you, in front of the baby blue draped bed, where your legs dangled from the edge. "Elvis?" you called demurely.

With a deep breath, he raised his hand to his forehead, then down to his chest, across to his left shoulder, and finally to his right shoulder. The sign of a cross before confession.

For that to be righteous in your eyes, regardless if you hadn't a clue as to why this gorgeous beast of man was kneeling at your feet.

Fin…

Master List

₊ ⊹Taglist (updated): @fallinlovewithurlove @doll-elvis @j-v-9-2 @myradiaz @codalysssssworld @caitskywalker14 @claire-elvisgirl @jaqueline19997 @ash-omalley @spooky-hazex @that-hotdog @1dluver13xx @iloveelvisss @presleysweetheart @dkayfixates @littlehoneyposts @ladelinee @librababe99

(u can let me know if you’d also like to be untagged as well!)

₊ ⊹ Get added to Taglist for future stories here. ♡

[blackmagecat]

Tumblr fandom discourse is like being in kindergarten and a classmate gasping at you on the playground like: “but you can’t like him! He’s a baaaaad guuuyy”

Newsflash. You can enjoy the characterization of a fictional antagonist without it being a concrete statement of your personal beliefs and values

You can appreciate the nuance and thought put into multidimensional characters, even when said characters did horrible things

One of my favorite characters in a song of ice and fire is Cersei Lannister. I appreciate her character arc and how she contributes to the story over all, as well as how her actress depicts her on the Game of Thrones tv show. It doesn’t mean I stan incest and murder

Marvel is best known for its layered villains with complex motivations. We find characters like Thanos and Loki and Magneto and Killmonger compelling because more thought was put into them than simple mustache twirling. They make these conflicts (which mainly boil down to CGI punching at the end of the day) worth watching and engaging with

It’s why I’ve been frustrated with DC for shoving lazy edgelord versions of Joker down our throats for more than a decade now. Apparently he’s popular enough that now all the DC characters are becoming desaturated edgleords. The conflicts and stories are not nearly as compelling as a result

I know. That’s a Rant for another time

Anyway Zemo is fine. if you’re feeling uncomfortable because he’s likeable now that is also fine. That means Marvel is doing a good job with its story. Evil should be tempting. It should make itself attractive, not just in its physical presentation but also in its ideals. Otherwise why would anyone do it?

What is not fine is this trend of essentialism that has crossed over from what I’m guessing is celebrity stan culture. For ex: “This pop star is problematic so if you like him you’re essentially an asshole.” Except these are not real people. They’re made up comic book characters. Yes they have complex publication histories and those histories matter. Yes we can analyze how Marvel changes and retcons origin stories in order to reach changing tastes and audiences. But I’m not seeing a whole lot of nuance here. I’m seeing kindergarten playground pearl clutching

Also the story isn’t over yet so maybe it’ll be helpful to see where these characters ultimately end up before passing judgment on their fans

[scribespirare]

is there a word for like...that specific christian/protestant brand of worship? the one with too much fervor?  i’m talking like, firebrand preachers and snake handling, pentecostals, speaking in tongues, straight up cults like mormonism and jehovah’s witnesses. the kind of worship that strips you of personhood and becomes your entire identity 

[benevolentbirdgal]

“Thirteen″ Tips for Writing About Synagogues / Jewish Writing Advice / Advice for Visiting Synagogues

So your story includes a Jew (or two) and you’ve a got a scene in a synagogue. Maybe there’s a bar mitzvah, maybe your gentile protagonist is visiting their partner’s synagogue. Maybe there’s a wedding or a community meeting being held there. For whatever reason, you want a scene in a shul. I’m here as your friendly (virtual) neighborhood Jewish professional to help you not sound like a gentile who thinks a synagogue is just a church with a Star of David instead of a cross. 

Quick note: The are lots of synagogues around the world, with different specific cultural, local, and denominational practices. The Jewish community is made up of roughly 14 million people worldwide with all sorts of backgrounds, practices, life circumstances, and beliefs. I’m just one American Jew, but I’ve had exposure to Jewishness in many forms after living in 3.5 states (at several different population densities/layouts), attending Jewish day school and youth groups, doing Jewish college stuff, and landing a job at a Jewish non-profit. I’m speaking specifically in an American or Americanish context, though some of this will apply elsewhere as well. I’m also writing from the view of Before Times when gatherings and food and human contact was okay.

Bear in mind as well, in this discussion, the sliding scale of traditional observance to secular/liberal observance in modern denominations: Ultraorthodox (strict tradition), Modern Orthodox (Jewish law matters but we live in a modern world), Conservative (no relation to conservative politics, brands itself middle ground Judaism), Reconstructionist (start with Jewish law and then drop/add bits to choose your own adventure), and Reform (true build your own adventure, start at basically zero and incorporate only as you actively choose).

Synagogue = shul = temple. Mikvah (ritual bath) is its own thing and usually not attached to the shul. Jewish cemeteries are also typically nowhere near the shul, because dead bodies are considered impure.   

A Bar/Bat/Bnai Mitzvah is the Jewish coming of age ceremony. Bar (“son”) for boys at 13+, Bat (“daughter”) at 12+, and Bnai (“children”) for multiples (i.e. twins/triplets/siblings) or non-binary kids (although the use of the phrase “Bnai Mitzvah” this way is pretty new). 12/13 is the minimum, 12-14 the norm but very Reform will sometimes allow 11 and anybody above 12/13 can have theirs. Probably a dedicated post for another time. Generally, however, the following will happen: the kid will lead some parts of services, read from and/or carry the Torah, and make a couple of speeches. 

Attire: think Sunday Best (in this case Saturday), not come as you are. Even at very liberal reconstructionist/reform synagogues you wouldn’t show up in jeans and a t-shirt or work overalls. Unless they are seriously disconnected from their culture, your Jewish character is not coming to Saturday morning services in sneakers and jeans (their gentile guest, however, might come too casual and that’d be awkward).  1a. The more traditional the denomination, the more modest the attire. Outside of orthodoxy woman may wear pants, but dresses/skirts are more common. Tights for anything above knee common for Conservative/Reform/Recon, common for even below knee for orthodox shuls. Men will typically be wearing suits or close to it, except in very Reform spaces.  1b. Really, think business casual or nice dinner is the level of dressiness here for regular services. Some minor holidays or smaller events more casual is fine. Social events and classes casual is fine too.  1c. Even in reform synagogues, modesty is a thing. Get to the knee or close to it. No shoulders (this an obsession in many Jewish religious spaces for whatever reason), midriffs, or excessive cleavage (as I imagine to be the norm in most houses of worship). 

Gendered clothing:  3a. Men and boys wear kippahs (alt kippot, yarmulkes) in synagogues, regardless of whether they’re Jewish or not out of respect to the space. Outside of Jewish spaces it’s saying “I’m a Jew” but inside of Jewish spaces it’s saying “I’m a Jew or a gentile dude who respects the Jewish space.”  Outside of very Reform shuls, it’s a major faux pass to be a dude not wearing one.  3b. There are little buckets of loaner kippahs if you don’t bring your own and commemorative kippahs are given away at events (bar mitzvah, weddings). Your Jewish dude character not bringing or grabbing one is basically shouting “I’m new here.”  3c. Women are permitted to wear kippahs, but the adoption of a the traditionally masculine accessory will likely be interpreted by other Jews as LGBTQ+ presentation, intense feminism, and/or intense but nontraditional devoutness. Nobody will clutch their pearls (outside of ultraorthodoxy) but your character is sending a message.  3d. Tefillin are leather boxes and wrappings with prayers inside them that some Jewish men wrap around their arms (no under bar mitzvah or gentiles). Like with the kippah, a woman doing this is sending a message of feminism and/or nontraditional religious fervor.  3e. Additionally, prayer shawls, known as tallit, are encouraged/lightly expected of Jewish males (over 13) but not as much as Kippahs are. It is more common to have a personal set of tallit than tefillin. Blue and white is traditional, but they come in all sorts of fun colors and patterns now. Mine is purple and pink. It is much more common for women to have tallit and carries much fewer implications about their relationship to Judaism than wearing a kippah does.  3f. Married woman usually cover their hair in synagogues. Orthodox women will have wigs or full hair covers, but most Jewish woman will put a token scarf or doily on their head in the synagogue that doesn’t actually cover their hair. The shul will also have a doily loaner bucket. 

Jewish services are long (like 3-4 hours on a Saturday morning), but most people don’t get there until about the 1-1.5 hour mark. Your disconnected Jewish character or their gentile partner might not know that though. 

Although an active and traditional synagogue will have brief prayers three times every day, Torah services thrice a week, holiday programming, and weekly Friday night and Saturday morning services, the latter is the thing your Jewish character is most likely attending on the reg. A typical Saturday morning service will start with Shacharit (morning prayers) at 8:30-9, your genre savvy not-rabbi not-Bnai mitzvah kid Jewish character will get there around 9:30-10:15. 10:15-10:30 is the Torah service, which is followed by additional prayers. Depending on the day of the Jewish year (holidays, first day of new month, special shabbats), they’ll be done by 12:30 or 1 p.m. Usually.  After that is the oneg, a communal meal. Onegs start with wine and challah, and commence with a full meal. No waiting 4-8 hours to have a covered-dish supper after services. The oneg, outside of very, very, very Reform spaces will be kosher meat or kosher dairy. 

To conduct certain prayers (including the mourner’s prayers and the Torah service) you need a Minyan, which at least 10 Jewish “adults” must be present, defined as post Bar/Bat/Bnai Mitzvah. In Conservative/Reform/Recon, men and women are counted equally. In Ultraorthodox women are not counted. In Modern Orthodox it depends on the congregation, and some congregations will hold women’s-only services as well with at least ten “adult” Jewish women present.

In Conservative and Orthodox shuls, very little English is used outside of speeches and sermons. Prayers are in Hebrew, which many Jews can read the script of but not understand. Transliterations are also a thing.  In Reform synagogues, there’s heavy reliance on the lingua franca (usually English in American congregations). Reconstructionist really varies, but is generally more Hebrew-based than Reform. 

We’re a very inquisitive people. If your character is new to the synagogue, there will be lots of questions at the post-services oneg (meal, typically brunch/lunch). Are you new in town? Have you been here before? Where did you come from? Are you related to my friend from there? How was parking? Do you know my cousin? Are you single? What is your mother’s name? What do you think of the oneg - was there enough cream cheese? What summer camp did you go to? Can you read Hebrew? Have you joined?  A disconnected Jew or gentile might find it overwhelming, but many connected Jews who are used to it would be like “home sweet chaos” because it’s OUR chaos. 

In Orthodox synagogues, men and women have separate seating sections. There may be a balcony or back section, or there may be a divider known as a mechitzah in the middle. Children under 12/13 are permitted on either side, but over 12/13 folks have to stay one section or the other. Yes, this is a problem/challenge for trans and nonbinary Jews.  Mechitzahs are not a thing outside of orthodoxy. Some older Conservative synagogues will have women’s sections, but no longer expect or enforce this arrangement.   

Money. Is. Not. Handled. On. Shabbat. Or. Holidays. Especially. Not. In. The. Synagogue. Seriously, nothing says “goy writing Jews” more than a collection plate in shul. No money plate, no checks being passed around, even over calls for money (as opposed to just talking about all the great stuff they do and upcoming projects) are tacky and forbidden on Shabbat. Synagogues rely on donations and dues, and will solicit from members, but don’t outright request money on holidays and Shabbat. 

Outside of Reform and very nontraditional Conservative spaces, no instruments on Shabbat or holidays. No clapping either. Same goes for phones, cameras, and other electronics outside of microphones (which aren’t permitted in Orthodox services either).  11a. In the now-times an increasing number of shuls have set up cameras ahead of time pre-programmed to record, so they don’t have to actively “make fire” which is “work” (this is the relevant commandment/mitzvah) on Shabbat, so services can be live-streamed. 11b. After someone has completed an honor (reading from the Torah, carrying the Torah, opening the ark, etc), the appropriate response is a handshake after and the words “Yasher Koach” (again, Before-Times).

Jewish services involve a lot of movement. Get up, sit down. Look behind you, look in front of you. Twist left, twist right. A disconnected Jew or gentile visitor would be best off just trying to follow along with what an exchange student we had once termed “Jewish choreography.” Some prayers are standing prayers (if able), some are sitting prayers. It’s just how it is, although a handful of prayers have variations on who stands. 

[samwisethewitch]

Practicing Witchcraft in Secret

I love things that are traditionally “witchy.” I love dressing candles with herbs. I love setting things on fire. I love making poppets and charms. But not everyone is able to be so obvious in their craft. For various reasons, some witches choose to be secretive about their magical practice.

Why Would You Want to Keep It a Secret?

Historically, witches kept their practice a secret because it wasn’t safe to be open about their beliefs. In the late middle ages, the Catholic Church began to actively persecute witchcraft, herbal medicine, and folk spirituality with the publication of “witch hunting guides” like the Malleus Maleficarum. This witch hunting fervor would continue even after the Protestant Reformation, with some of the most famous witch hunts (such as the Salem trials) carried out by Protestants.

It is important to remember that the witch hunts were political at their heart and that very few of the people executed for witchcraft were what we would recognize today as witches. They were mostly women, poor folks, or members of ethnic or religious minorities. But even so, the danger of being accused of witchcraft and/or devil worship drove many medieval witches, herbalists, and pagans to hide their practice.

The United States experienced a modern witch hunt of sorts in the 1980s with the “Satanic Panic.” We still don’t entirely understand what caused this cultural phenomenon, but what we do know is that it resulted in widespread paranoia about devil worship. Anything that could be misconstrued as “satanic” was shunned or outright persecuted, from Dungeons & Dragons to heavy metal music to nature-based religions like Wicca — and, yes, witchcraft. People who had been comfortably open about their spirituality suddenly found themselves practicing behind closed doors. If you’re over 30, you may remember this. If you’re under 30, the Satanic Panic probably shaped how your parents view witchcraft and paganism, and they may still be grossly misinformed as a result.

Even today, a lot of witches choose to keep their practice a secret because it would be unsafe or uncomfortable to go public. Many witches have family members, friends, or coworkers who would be uncomfortable if they knew about their witchcraft, and may even choose to end the relationship because of it. Some witches live in culturally Christian areas where it might be harder for them to get jobs or make friends if they were openly self-identifying as a witch. Some of us live in places where an outdoor ritual could get the cops called on us, or have missionaries showing up to save our souls.

On the other hand, some witches just like privacy. You may feel like your spirituality is nobody’s business but yours, and for that reason you may prefer to do witchcraft in a way that is more subtle and secretive. Desire for privacy is a perfectly valid reason to stay “in the broom closet.”

There are also some magical traditions that require members to swear a vow of secrecy and to keep the group’s secrets. However, these traditions usually require an in-person initiation, so I won’t be discussing them here.

Inconspicuous Witchcraft

If you haven’t read my posts about magical journaling and kitchen magic, I highly recommend you check them out. Those are two forms of magic that are very easy to practice discretely.

No matter what your reason for keeping your practice a secret, here are a few tips for making magic without drawing attention.

Use scented candles. Candle magic is one of the easiest and most versatile forms of spellwork, and all it requires is a candle and your intention. Scented candles are perfect for undercover witches because, rather than adding herbs and oils, you can simply buy a scent that matches your intention. (For example, a vanilla candle is great for love, while a pumpkin spice scent will attract wealth.) Plus, they’re so commonplace that no one will think twice about seeing one in your bedroom or on your desk at work. If you’re a purist and want to make sure you’re using real plant materials, you can get all natural candles scented with essential oils — but lots of witches use artificial scents and get good results, so don’t feel like you have to go with the more expensive option.

Diffuse essential oils. Essential oils contain the concentrated essence of a plant, which makes them a must-have tool for witches. Essential oils are also extremely popular right now, both for holistic healing and for aromatherapy, so you definitely won’t attract any negative attention for using them. You can get a good essential oil diffuser for under $20 online. Some brands overcharge for their oils, but you can find good quality oils for under $10. When choosing an essential oil, look at the magical correspondences for the plant it is made from. You can diffuse oils to infuse your space with their energy, similar to the way you would use incense.

Enchant your perfume. You can choose a perfume to match your intention or make your own custom perfume by mixing essential oils in a carrier oil. Focus on your intention as you spray the perfume, letting it infuse your energy field with magic. You can also buy magical perfume blends from witch-owned businesses online or on Etsy.

Learn shufflemancy. “Shufflemancy” is a modern form of divination that is done by putting a playlist on shuffle — whatever song plays first contains an intuitive message for you, either in the lyrics or in how it makes you feel. You can find playlists specifically made for divination by Googling “shufflemancy playlist,” or you can make your own by compiling a playlist of songs from different genres that deal with different topics. Just be sure to keep it diverse — if your playlist only has love songs on it, you might not get very helpful messages if you have a question about your career.

Learn bibliomancy. This divination method is similar to shufflemancy, but much older. Bibliomancy is done by asking your question while holding a book, focusing on your question while connecting with the book’s energy, and then opening it to a random page. There is a long, long tradition within Christianity of doing this with the Bible — if you feel connected to a certain sacred text, you could use it for bibliomancy. You could also use a book of poetry, a novel, or even a dictionary. However, I think it’s important to use a book you feel a connection to, rather than something randomly grabbed off the shelf.

Use Pinterest and Spotify as manifestation tools. You may have heard of vision boards, a tool used to manifest something by creating a detailed collection of images that match your intention. Pinterest boards are already essentially virtual vision boards, and creating one with focused intent can be a spell by itself. Likewise, you can use Spotify playlists for manifestation. To do this, create a playlist of songs that match your intention (songs about money or love, for example) and listen to it while meditating on your desired outcome.

Choose your outfits with intention. You can pick clothes based on color correspondences (see this post for a guide to color magic), the material they are made from (a wool sweater vs. a cotton T-shirt), or some other symbolism. For example, if you want to feel empowered, you might wear leopard print to channel the energy of a fierce predator.

Enchant a piece of jewelry for a specific purpose. You can choose your jewelry based on the correspondence of the metal or gemstones it is made from, make your own piece, or use whatever you already have on hand. You can enchant this jewelry by passing it over the flame of a candle or through the vapor of an essential oil diffuser. State what purpose you want this charm to serve, either out loud or in your mind. Wear this jewelry whenever you need to tap into that energy, and make sure to cleanse it often.

Create magical art. If you want to manifest something, draw or paint a picture of it. You don’t have to be a skilled artist — what matters is that you are taking your mental image of what you want and bringing it into the physical world. Fold up the picture and keep it in your pillow, or in some other special place. Likewise, if you want to banish something, draw or paint a picture of it and then rip it into little pieces and throw it out. This ritual allows you to purge yourself of the negative emotions tied to the thing you are banishing.

Take a magical bath. We rarely have more privacy than when we’re in the tub. Taking a bath is already a ritual of sorts, and it’s easy to add magic. You can, of course, make magical bath salts by mixing essential oils into Epsom salt, but you can also create bath spells with household objects. For example, a bath with salt and vinegar will clear up nasty energy, while adding milk to your bath will attract love and abundance.

Practicing in secret does not have to mean a less deep or well-rounded practice. There are lots of magical acts that can be done subtly or kept private. The suggestions in this post are by no means exhaustive, and I hope they will give you some ideas for other ways to fill your life with undercover magic.

Resources:

“Introduction” from The Malleus Maleficarum at http://www.malleusmaleficarum.org

The Fat Feminist Witch podcast, “Episode 34 — Witches, Midwives, and Doulas”

“Most witches are women, because witch hunts were all about persecuting the powerless” by Bridget Marshall for The Conversation

New World Witchery podcast, “Episode 118 — The Satanic Panic”

[yamayuandadu]

Hecate: falsehoods and myths

While my blog generally focuses on China and Japan, occasionally other topics related to religion and mythology warrant a post too. Due to Halloween being right around the corner, I decided to finally cover something I've been meaning to for a long while – the large number of misinterpreted, misreported or outright made up information about my favorite minor figure from Greek mythology, Hecate. While only rarely present in myths, she's a mainstay of not only popculture, but also of what I think warrants being called “pop-spirituality”. Under the cut I will examine a number of claims commonly seen online, and provide both the necessary debunks as well as some interesting genuine information.

Falsehood #1: Hecate's three bodies represent the neopagan virgin, mother, crone trinity This claim, as  baffling as it is, made its way even to a number of academic publications – what prompted me to write this post was in fact stumbling upon it in a paper about a completely unrelated topic. In truth, there wasn't even such a thing as an universal “virgin-mother-crone” trinity in Greek mythology – the whole idea is a product of dubious 20th century scholarship, mostly that of Robert Graves, a man whose notable deeds include writing a number of seemingly entertaining historical novels, cheating on his wife with his “muses” (some of them teenaged), and introducing the world to a wide array of myths and interpretations he came up with himself, but presented as genuine (he want as far as lament that more credible authors refuse to spread his ideas further). The most prominent of them, outlined in his book White Goddess, was his belief in the existence of some form of universal goddess figure with three aspects, which he himself named rather inconsistently, and which he claimed corresponded to the phases on the moon. What is true is that Hecate was associated with the moon from the Hellenic period onward, with neoplatonic writers in particular highlighting this affinity. This appears to be derived from Hecate's role as a “light-bringing” deity, frequently depicted with torches in art. Her arguably most prominent appearance in a myth presents her as Persephone's guide on the way back to her mother, lighting the way through the underworld. A shift from a general light-bringing role to just an association with the moon likely occurred due to conflation occuring between Hecate and Artemis – however in earlier times she was also frequently associated with Apollo, who even held the title of “Hecaton” in some sanctuaries. It has also been suggested that originally the connection was based on Apollo being depicted as a “builder” deity, while Hecate's principal role was that of a guardian of homes, gates and roads, which made their purposes overlap. Due to the aforementioned moon connection, combined with the fact she was commonly depicted with three bodies in art, Hecate became a postergirl for Graves' theory. Of course, this association has no foundation in reality – Hecate is not described as triplicate in Hesiod's Theogony, the oldest source mentioning this goddess.

The oldest known depictions, both sculptures and pottery decorations, likewise depict her with only one body. Some later sources seemingly discussed the three bodied version as merely an art motif. Pausanias's travelogue presents the three bodied Hecate statues as an invention of the sculptor Alcamenes, and contrasts them with a single-bodied depiction: Within the enclosure [in Aegina] is a temple; its wooden image is the work of Myron, and it has one face and one body. It was Alkamenes, in my opinion, who first made three images of Hekate attached to one another, a figure called by the Athenians Epipurgidia [on the tower] It should be noted that yet other sources consider them to have religious importance as guardians of crossroads, though these claims are obviously not contradictory.  Additionally, a few pieces of art, such as the Pergamon altar, depict Hecate with three bodies despite presenting myths in which she only possessed one.

Hecate was consistently portrayed as a young woman (some pieces of art, like the one above, depicted her in an Artemis-like manner, in a knee length garment) and with some small exceptions, usually relying on conflation with various nymphs, ancient Greeks seemingly considered her a virgin goddess. There are no widely agreed upon ideas regarding any other figures being regarded as Hecate's children, and even after becoming only a distantly remembered boogeyman she was not depicted as an elderly woman. Falsehood #2:  a “pan-european” set of “witchcraft traditions” was derived from Hecate Most claims online related to witchcraft try to add a degree of complexity to what was senseless violence caused by moral panics, not dissimilar from the 1980s satanic panic. There was no “pan-european” component to them (beyond all instances of large scale witch hunts being motivated by religious fervor, of course), and in particular the worship of Hecate was neither extant at the time associated with witch hunts and the development of the modern western image of a witch, nor was it ever “pan-european”. If anything, an argument can be made that outside Greece and Anatolia, Hecate was more of a popular import in the east than in the west. Some Roman sources present the existence of Hecate household altars in Greece as a puzzling curiosity, which further strengthens this impression. The late version of her cult, presenting her as a witchcraft goddess spread to Egypt and Mesopotamia, while an older, more positive image of Hecate seemingly survived in far off Bactria. as evidenced for example by Agathocles’ coins with Zeus holding Hecate, seen below.

Neither version ever spread to western or northern Europe, though, and pretty clearly it did not survive in any form into the middle ages and beyond. Wikipedia mentions a truly outlandish modern association between Hecate and germanic wild hunt folklore, which strikes me as completely random. An actual well documented example of Hecate syncretism with a figure from outside Greek mythology involved the Mesopotamian underworld goddess Ereshkigal, however.

What's rather curious is that the very concept of Hecate as a witchcraft and underworld goddess might have been a relatively late development, and as such not an accurate representation her original character – and even in antiquity it wasn't an universally embraced association. Earliest Greek accounts of Hecate cast her in a positive, benevolent role. In the Theogony she's a titan siding with the Olympians and then aiding them during gigantomachia as well; in certain versions of the Persephone myth, for example in the Homeric Hymn to Demeter, she's an ally of Demeter offering her counsel and finally escorting Persephone back to her mother. Many of her epithets also point at a benign character.

The deity whose role was most likely the closest to Hecate's own before the negative associations made her little more than a boogeyman was Cybele. Iconography and surviving accounts of rituals to both of these figures bear many similarities, which is considered one of the strongest arguments in favor of Hecate being an Anatolian goddess adapted into the Greek pantheon due to contact between Greek colonist in Asia Minor with local inhabitants such as Carians. It's also worth noting that in Greece both Hecate and Cybele were generally worshiped at household shrines rather than official, large temples. Sometimes Hecate and Cybele were also depicted together, though it's generally agreed they were never conflated. It is still uncertain to what degree Hecate was associated with the underworld before becoming a goddess of witchcraft – some authors assume that she was already in part cthtonic as a Carian deity, while others assume she only started to fulfill this role due to the later witchcraft associations, or due to conflation with the goddess Enodia popular in Thessaly, who was depicted as a crossroad deity like Hecate and was associated with ghosts. Falsehood #3:Hecate was always depicted with animal heads While not entirely made up, this claim is rooted in the Argonautica Orphica, a text only written in the 5th or 6th century, and likely inspired by neoplatonic, gnostic and magical sources. A probable origin of animal-headed Hecate are Egyptian magical papyri, likely influenced by Greek perception of Egyptian religion, and to a large degree disconnected from worship of Hecate in, say, Caria or Phrygia. Earlier sources and art depict Hecate with a single, human, head on each body, as discussed above. The animal-headed image only developed when Hecate started to be perceived exclusively as a goddess of witchcraft and similar arts. However, even though that was always the perception of this deity in Roman sources and in most Greek ones from 5th century BC onward, a number of cult sites in Anatolia, for example the temple in Lagina, continued to venerate her under the regular guise, and one of the most prominent indications of a lasting devotion to her comes from Greco-Bactrian coinage depicting entirely human, single-headed and single-bodied Hecate with Zeus.

While Hecate was not depicted with animal heads before the dawn of Hellenic Egyptian magical papyri, from the very beginning she was associated with a number of animals, most importantly dogs, but also martens and polecats. Occasionally her animal companions were assumed to be humans cursed with such forms. While some versions of associated myths claimed Hecate cursed specific individuals (such as Gale or Hekuba) to live as animals, in others she instead took pity on victims of another deity's curse – for example, Antoninus Liberalis notes that it was believed that the polecat was a woman named Galinthias who was transformed into the animal by the Moirae and “Hekate felt sorry for this transformation of her appearance and appointed her a sacred servant of herself.” Occasionally Hecate was also depicted with lions, like Cybele and a variety of other Anatolian, Levantine and Mesopotamian goddesses. Falsehood #4: Statue of Liberty represents Hecate While the three falsehoods discussed earlier intersect and overlap, this one, as far as I can tell, developed separately, though it also was influenced by the idea of Hecate as a malevolent witchcraft goddess to a degree. Debunking it is much easier and doesn’t require any complex research – the Statue of Liberty was simply based on the personification of liberty depicted on the Great Seal of France:

While Statue of Liberty's crown does resemble that worn by one of the three bodies of a famous statue of Hecate, currently displayed in the Vatican Museum, this style of crown was associated more with solar deities, especially the late Roman god Sol Invictus, and I have been unable to find any other depictions of Hecate wearing it.

Bibliography:

Fragments from a Catabasis Ritual in a Greek Magical Papyrus by Hans D. Betz            

Hecate Cult ın Anatolia by Coşkun Daşbacak

Hecate: Her Role and Character  in Greek Literature From Before Fifth Century B.C. by Carol M. Mooney; some arguments on the contrary can be found in Hecate:  Greek or “Anatolian”? by William Berg

Theoi Hecate and Hecate cult pages - great source of quotations

COININDIA gallery of Agathocles’ coins

[dragons-bones]

The White Vault Season Three Roundup

Posting this as the tenth and final episode of the season is now in public release!

So I listened to the early release of the season finale on Saturday, screamed a lot, and immediately sat down and re-listened to the whole season. The following post is being put behind a read more for both length and season-wide (finale included) spoilers and includes discussion and theorizing for season four, which Travis confirmed is the penultimate season. (IS IT OCTOBER YET.) Please DO NOT READ until you listen to the finale!

First and foremost, I was originally a little concerned that season three would end up hitting all of the same story beats as the first two seasons without anything new, particularly on the matter of the mystery: lots of puzzle pieces that still don't quite fit together. Arguably we still don't have any clear answers...but we have a lot more pieces that I think we're seeing the overall shape. There is definitely some sort of centuries-and-continents-spanning conspiracy, one dedicated to keeping the shadow monster(s) and totem monsters fed, or appeased, or something, along with the people and civilization that revolves around these creatures. We don't know the why, we don't know the how, but I am personally surprisingly at ease with not having anything answered at this point--honestly I am having an incredible amount of fun speculating in my own mind and reading other fans' takes on tumblr and reddit. Travis and Katie confirming we have a fourth and fifth season to finish telling the story gives me a lot of confidence, particularly since season four is going to take a vastly different tack than the first three seasons.

The Documentarian confirms in the opening of episode one that she had come into possession of the information she presents to whom we knew as of episode five to be Graham "Fuck You I Have A Shotgun" Casner just a few days ago. Episode ten confirms that the events of season three literally occurred within the last few weeks and Dr. Zhou "Fuck You I Have A Frying Pan" Liu, Dr. Josepha Guerrero, and Simon "Fuck You I Am Getting Off This Mountain If I Have To Tobogan Down It" Hall may still be alive up in the caves. I am practically frothing at the mouth with excitement because this really raises the stakes for next season, and while I'm more than certain the entire cast isn't making it out alive...enough might. And in this situation: the dangers are known by both the rescue party and the scientists; and the scientists are the kind who might be able to begin putting our puzzle pieces together, along with whatever the Documentarian acquires elsewhere.

I want to give an especial shoutout to Peter Lewis as Graham Casner. I remember when I first listened to The White Vault, I was a bit uncertain about his voicework: he has a very deliberate, almost stilted-sounding delivery as Graham. His performance really clicked for me when we got the segue ways of him narrating Russian journal entries into an English translation: his Russian, to my ear, sounds very smooth with no hesitation. My thought is, English isn't Graham's first language, and his measured way of speaking is how he ensures he organizes his thoughts properly to be understood. And just--his performance this season was SO GOOD. Especially in the finale, he sounded so raw and angry and just a little bit broken over the discovery that the body Dr. Liu and Dr. Guerrero found truly wasn't Dr. Ureta (I thought, in episode nine, that they're comment of "that's not Dr. Ureta" was more a metaphoric "that's not her anymore" based on what they knew of Simon's experience so far), but Rosa. Like. Holy shit. 10/10 Peter Lewis, godDAMN.

(Aside: props to all the voice actors this season. We really heard them come into their stride as the season progressed, but special props to: Danilo Battistini as Lucas, who showcased Lucas’s descent into (religious fervor inspired?) madness; Eric Nelsen as Simon, who got saddled with a lot of the technical archaeological talk and made it sound natural (really evident when you listen to the bloopers); and Diane Casanova as Eva, who did a fantastic job showing her dealing with the stress of the situation while still remaining snarky and defiant.)

And now to Rosa--who was, unquestionably, my favorite member of the Fristed expedition, so I was, in fact, yelling like a mad thing while my heart went icy and broken when the body was identified as hers. So, I remember reading in a post-episode speculation thread on reddit earlier in the season that maybe the tunnels between Svalbard and Patagonia were connected and this was the same shadow monster as the Fristed team encountered. I thought this was particularly far-fetched bullshit, but, uh apparently not? Good job, fellow speculator! You called it! Perhaps they're not physically connected (that stretches my suspension of disbelief beyond the breaking point, considering Svalbard and Patagonia are on literal opposite ends of the planet), but maybe it's a space-time distortion, and the deep caves between Svalbard and Patagonia (and Heilongjiang Province in northeastern China, and wherever else this strange civilization has pockets of activity) are linked via supernatural means. And a space-time distortion would explain why to Graham, it didn't seem too much time had passed for him in the tunnels before he found a way out, even though it was weeks if not months before he was located.

(Brief side note: definitely the Svalbard totem monster that got him, that strange walrus-like entity with the super-elongated phalanges. Also features in Artifact. That totem monster scares me and scares me deeply.)

So does this mean the shadow monster at Fristed and Piedra are the same, able to travel between locations depending on which ones have people near them? (SPOILER FOR ARTIFACT: it's implied there's more than one and they can "travel" via the totem animal artifacts END SPOILER) Does this mean we might see "Jonas" again? Oooooh, two shadow monsters, das bad, das really bad.

(Another brief side note, since I didn't do an episode nine roundup: the dark part of my mind that loves the creepy horror elements of this podcast was overjoyed at being slam-dunked right into the fucked-up-edness of the return of the still-beating heart and teeth in a stone box. Just. Good shit, lots of nightmares, jumping at shadows that night, S U P E R B.

...Wait, Rosa's is the first body actually found, even though we know the shadow monster killed her. Karina's, Walter's, and Carito's bodies never showed up, and we know their hearts and teeth ended up in the stone boxes. Does that mean Rosa's didn't? Is there specific significance to this?)

The sites do seem to be very different: China was a mountain village, most of the village open air with their private ritual rooms carved into the mountainside; Svalbard's might be under a glacier, and is an entire underground village, with its ritual sites buried beneath it; and Patagonia is less a proper village and more a winding system of living quarters and open public/ritual spaces. Svalbard is also currently the only one (that we know of, we have no information about the interior of the China site) using teeth to pave its stairs so, uh, take that as you will.

Teeth appear a lot. I have a thing about teeth, and yet The White Vault doesn't ping it? It's rather strange.

RAIMY. RAIMY YOU GO GET YOUR MAN. PROUD OF YOU, PLEASE DON'T DIE. (Honestly, though, I get the feeling if the shadow monster breathes anywhere in the general vicinity of Raimy, Simon will go batshit and beat the thing to death himself. He is injured but he is pissed.)

I continue to have low expectations about Eva's survival. That she got off the mountain is a surprise--stalked by the shadow monster, perhaps hoping she lures more people to the caves?--and that her 'infection' (excuse me as I continue to have flashbacks to Jane Prentiss in TMA Season One and cry uncontrollably because oh my gooooooooood) hasn't, y'know, gotten properly ugly yet. But goddamn I love her spirit, I love that she's so determined to get the rest of the team out. I WANT her to survive, but all the clues are pointing at REALLY BAD SHIT happening to her.

I remain deeply curious about whether or not Dr. Ureta’s previous trip to the Patagonia site is what primed her to be the first victim of the Piedra team. This might very well be something we don’t ever receive a proper answer to--sometimes some mysteries remain so, after all--but I do find it telling that we have very little of her personal thoughts, unlike the other members of the team (aside, of course, from Lucas).

Dr. Guerrero remains the loose end for me: Simon and Dr. Liu have both shown an utter lack of fucks to give about not letting this monster have them, but Dr. Guerrero was so tunnel-visioned on the science of the find that we notes and thoughts we have her don’t give us a conclusive enough picture about what to expect going forward. But we might end up surprised.

I’m very interested to see what Maheer and Dragana bring to the table: Maheer is obviously the Documentarian’s man because of a very nice paycheck, and Graham’s grumbling about Dragana’s prodding for details has me on alert mostly because Graham is my guy and he deserves a fucking nap and a vacation for all the shit he’s had to deal with.

The White Vault: Iluka is coming up this month on Patreon; I’m willing to bet this is what the Documentarian is preoccupied with while Graham and the rescue team head into the mountains. I’m really curious to see whether or not this might have anything to do with the events of the short Acquisition? I feel we’re due for that to come into play...

There is just. So much. So damn much.

IS IT OCTOBER YEEEEEEET.

[cincinnatusvirtue]

Let’s talk tactics: Highland Charge

The Scottish Highlands historically has maintained its own unique culture which touches on virtually all aspects of life, food, drink, fashion, family, religion and even warfare.  In the art of warfare the Scottish Highlands contributed in two ways one its rugged topography leading to a guerilla style of warfare and two in its infantry tactics and one that conjures almost a romantic vision, the Highland Charge.   Before we discuss the tactic itself, we need to know the history of the region from ancient times until the modern era and how topography and tradition shaped the Highland Charge.

Historically, Scotland has been viewed by many an invader to be wild and untamed land.  This was true of the Romans during the age of Roman Britain from the 1st-4th centuries AD.  The Roman legions encountered a number of various Celtic tribes that caused them troubles in the modern day regions of England, Wales and the Lowlands of Scotland.  The areas that often leant the Romans the most difficulty were areas of rugged topography, namely the Britons of Wales in particular the Ordovices and Silures of the mountains of North Wales and valleys of South Wales respectively.  Topography in war is a sometimes underappreciated part of strategy and it took many years and much loss of life and the development of forts and garrisons to finally subdue these tribes in Wales.  The same can be said of the Highlands of Scotland.  The Lowlands known to the Romans as Caledonia was conquered but this remained the greatest extent of Rome’s northward expansion.  To the north in the Highlands with its rugged mountains, hills and many glens were a related but distinct Celtic people, the Picts, who spoke a language identified as Celtic but somewhat distant from the Common Brittonic southern tribes.

The Romans associated the Picts as pirates in later Roman Britain along the coasts and fierce warriors in the interior of the country, conducting raids and disappearing into the Highlands before the Romans could send legions after them.  Rome’s response to this was to build and garrison Hadrian’s Wall along the modern English/Scottish border.  The Picts were never subdued by Rome unlike the rest of Britain and this was to have a ramifications overtime and echoes throughout history in the Highlands in which they resided.

In time as the lower portions of Britain saw the Romans retreat, leaving the Romano-Britons to their own defense and the subsequent establishment of the Welsh and Cornish as distinct Celtic nations so to would the Picts meld with their fellow Gaels from Ireland and Western islands of Scotland’s coast giving birth to the modern Scots.  While the southern Britons in the start of the Middle Ages faced the Anglo-Saxon threat.  The Scots merged into their own kingdoms with the Gaels becoming overlords of the Picts and eventually both Celtic confederations synthesizing into one distinct entity.

In time Scotland, like the rest of British Isles was subject to Viking raids and the establishment of Viking petty kingdoms, but unlike England and even parts of Ireland, Scotland’s Viking rule was largely relegated to the Hebrides, Orkney and Shetland islands on its periphery, the Highlands and much of lower Scotland remained the Scots Gaelic speaking land that forged out of the blending with the Picts.  The topography of the Highlands as always contributed to this isolation.

As the Middle Ages wore on, the Kingdom of England would see troubles in its attempts to subdue Scotland, especially of note was the Scottish Wars of Independence against England under Edward I and Edward II of England.  Despite some English successes their overall rule of Scotland remained somewhat limited due to in part to Scotland’s difficult to manage geography and its Clan system.

The Clan system had been a tradition found in Scotland and Ireland throughout the centuries, an important dynamic that social groups were built around.  The Highland clans had a fierce sense of independence from both the English and Scottish crowns and from each other at times, alliances were formed and rivalries as well.  Murder, warfare alternating with peace and cooperation were part of Clan lifestyle throughout the centuries.  The romantic and distinct image of the kilt and tartan clad Highlander Clans really forged in the 15th-17th centuries.  Gradually, English rule, settlement and influence over the Lowlands of Scotland lead to the spread of the English language being spoken along with a distinct derivative Germanic language called simply “Scots” quite separate from this the Highlanders retained their Scots Gaelic language and Celtic traditions.  Once again geographic isolation a contributing factor.

The Highlander Clans alternated their allegiance to the Crown of Scotland when it suited them.  Some clans would rebel against the Crown while others supported them, less out of honor bound duty to the king and more pragmatically for the chance to rid themselves of a rival and gain riches and territorial expansion for their own clan.  Clans were led by chieftains who in time were granted titles of nobility and rewarded with wealth and land for their service to the Crown.  Highlander Scots became famed for their prowess in combat and became mercenaries throughout Europe, serving in various armies at various times.  Some Highlanders became involved in England’s conquest of Ireland, namely after the Elizabethan era establishment of the Plantation of Ulster in the North of Ireland, Highlanders would side with both the native Gaelic Irish and English and Lowlander Scots depending on motivation ranging from cultural and familial ties to money and the promise of wealth.  Ultimately, the English gained control over Ireland and the Scottish Highlanders added to the mix with Lowlanders and English to form the Scots-Irish or Ulster-Scots community of Northern Ireland.

By the late 17th century Scotland had much upheaval due to Stuarts of Scotland becoming the royal dynasty of England as well.  They remained separate kingdoms under one monarch.  The War of Three Kingdoms and the English Civil War along with religious fervor all caused Highlanders to alternatively suffer and profit, largely depending on which winner they would back.  By the year 1688, James II of England/VII of Scotland with his Catholic leanings was overthrown and in the so called Glorious Revolution by his Protestant daughter Mary and her husband and his Dutch nephew and her cousin William, Prince of Orange and Stadtholder of the Dutch Republic.  They were crowned William and Mary of England and a de-facto personal union now existed between the Kingdoms of England, Scotland, Ireland and the Dutch Republic.  James II/VII fled to France and later to Ireland to conjure up support among the Irish Catholic populace in hopes of regaining the throne, he also raised some support from loyal Scots and French soldiers too.  This started the Williamite War, the British theater of the Nine Years War.  William III of England now forged an army of Protestant forces made of English, Scottish, Irish, French, Dutch and Danish troops.  Famously in 1690 at the Boyne River north of Dublin, Ireland, James and William’s armies met.  However, the better trained Protestant forces won the day and James fled Ireland ultimately returning to France.  However, he never accepted in theory that he or his direct Catholic descendants were not the rightful rulers of Britain.  This was to have repercussions in the form of the Jacobite Rebellions and it would play out its final stages with the Highlander Scots and the famed Highlander charge.

The House of Stuart tried to regain the British throne in exile with French support in the early 18th century.  William and Mary had no children and they were succeeded by James other daughter, Anne.  Anne like Mary and William was raised Protestant and under her rule Great Britain was formed with the 1707 merging of the Crowns of Scotland and England officially as one with a single parliament based in London as opposed to a separate Scottish one as had been the case for the last century.  Anne in turn passed away without an heir and was replaced by her closest Protestant relative, the Elector of Hanover from Germany, now George I of Great Britain.

The Jacobites were supporters of the Stuart royalist cause in exile and hoped to restore them to the throne of Britain.  Jacobites were so named for the Latin name for James was Jacobus.  Jacobitism as an ideology had Stuart restoration as it central tenant but the individual motivations were varied largely depending on the country the Jacobite supporter was located in.  In Ireland, it was support for a Catholic monarch in and the promise of religious toleration that James II had granted earlier.  In England and Wales a Catholic minority showed Jacobite support but largely its greatest support was found among royalist conservatives or Tories who believed in the divine rights of kings and felt the Glorious Revolution had been an unlawful usurpation and was in violation of what they saw as God’s natural order.  Nevertheless, the vast majority of England and Wales were Protestant and anti-Catholic so it is a matter of academic debate among historians just how strong Tory support of Jacobitism really was.  In Scotland the reasons were also varied.  For some, the Jacobite cause was in solidarity amongst the Scottish Catholic minority.  For Highlanders, their own feudal Clan system prized a tradition of feudal service to a landlord, namely the King.  Despite the Highlanders varied legacy of service and opposition to the King was a matter of pragmatism but the essential relationship between Highlander Clans and the Crown was still rooted in a traditional belief in the divine rights of a monarch as feudal landlord of all Scotland and the Clan chieftains were loyal subjects granted a certain degree of autonomy in exchange for their recognition of King’s nominal authority and service to the Crown in times of need.  This established a looser form of nobility than the later English influenced tradition.  However, the traditional ideological and religious causes were in reality only the surface for Highlander support for the Stuart cause, as always economics, a sense of autonomy coupled with what they saw as a defense against an encroachment on their way of life was the primary motivation.  Opposition to the Act of Union 1707 which united Scotland and England into one nation under a common monarch and Parliament was viewed by some Highlander Clans, particularly in the northwest of Scotland as to the detriment of Scotland namely for economic reasons and due to certain laws barring Scottish nobility from serving in the House of Lords in London, opposition to the Union was also strong in Edinburgh, the modern capital of Scotland and seat of its own Parliament.

From their positions in France and later Rome, Italy the Catholic Stuarts with French funding often tried to stir rebellions to their cause back in Britain.  From 1689-1745 a number of Jacobite Rebellions occurred with the goal of Stuart restoration being central to their goals.  1715 and the final one of 1745-46 were the most notable, particularly for their support among the Highlander Scots.

1715′s rebellion was a clash of Highlanders in some ways.  Under John Erksine, 6th Earl of Mar Highlander clans were rallied to the Jacobite cause and army was assembled with took over the Highlands and spread on down to Stirling Castle in the heart of Scotland.  They had declared James II’s son James  Francis Edward Stuart the new King of Scots, he was also referred to as the “Old Pretender”.  In opposition to him was the Hanoverian British government and its commander in Scotland, John Campbell, 2nd Duke of Argyll.  Campbell was a well known Highlander Clan with the Earls and Dukes of Argyll as its primary chieftain, the Campbells of Argyle had become very wealthy and politically well connected, perhaps the most well connected Highlander Clan in Scotland by the 18th century.  Argyll led his force against Mar the Battle of Sheriffmuir in November of 1715.  Both sides would claim victory but it was inconclusive, the Highlanders fought on both sides of the battle, largely depending on which clan one was a member.  Ultimately, the Jacobites were beaten at the later Battle of Preston and the cause was frustrated in its goal once more.

1745 would see the most famous Jacobite Rebellion, it was an outgrowth of the concurrent War of the Austrian Succession.  During the greater European wide War of the Austrian Succession, France and Prussia formed a coalition with Spain and other German and Italian states against Austria, Great Britain, the Electorate of Hanover and the Dutch Republic with other German supporters and limited Russian support.  The new Jacobite leader was Charles Edward Stuart, known to the Jacobites as the “Young Pretender” after his father and to the Scots he was affectionately called “Bonnie Prince Charlie”.  Charles was smuggled into Scotland to start an uprising when British military power there was weakest due to the bulk of Britain’s military being on the continent in war against the French coalition.  Charles had hoped for French support to help knock Britain out of the war and raise him to the throne but bad weather prevented this from happening.  Nevertheless, he gathered local support mostly from the Highlanders of northwestern Scotland.

He captured Edinburgh and was declared King and subsequently the Highlander Jacobites routed the Hanoverian British government forces in September 1745 at the Battle of Prestonpans, thanks to the Highland Charge.  Further success was later had at Falkirk Muir in January 1746, once again the Highland Charge was instrumental to Jacobite success.  However, by spring of 1746 the good fortunes of the Jacobite cause was fading.  That winter they had marched into England toward London which caused a panic.  They made it as far as Derby but realizing the French support they long hoped for never materialized and now facing a large, disciplined and experienced government army fresh from war on the continent, under the command of Prince William, Duke of Cumberland and son of King George II, the Jacobites returned to Scotland in high spirits but achieving no last strategic outcome.  With Cumberland in pursuit the Jacobites retreated to the Highlands themselves, there they hoped to blend in and lead the government force on to ground of their own choosing where they could defeat them decisively.  

Since 1689, government forces had been often been overrun by the Highland charge tactic in battle. Largely this was due to lack of discipline in government troops and the Highlanders fighting on topography of that catered to their advantage.  The Duke of Cumberland was aware that these elements had lead to government defeat in the past, he was not apt to repeat the mistake of past commanders.  The battle that finally took place in April 1746, known as the Battle of Culloden, fought near Inverness in the Scottish Highlands was not fought in the hilly or mountainous terrain that favored the Highlanders but instead on a boggy moor ground which slowed their advance in the face of modern weaponry (muskets and canister shot from cannons), the result was an hour long battle culminating in the last Highland Charge in history and the last major battle on British soil.  It ended in bloody fashion for the Jacobites, Charles was thoroughly defeated, though he escaped Scotland back to the continent, disguised in drag.  His Highlander force was butchered in the aftermath of the battle and so with Culloden died the Highland Charge tactic and effectively the Jacobite cause with which it had become so linked...

The Highland Charge tactic itself was essentially a infantry shock tactic.  It required speed and relied on overwhelming force, it was psychological weapon as much as a physical weapon.  Enhancement to its success was the charge being initiated downhill from the high ground head on into the enemy’s front or flank.  The Scottish Highlands being rife with hilly and mountainous countryside, were a logistical nightmare for large armies used to fighting pitched battles, a lesson the Romans on down to the English had learned.  In turn, they were the perfect place for a loose fighting formation like the Highlander Clans which operated as functionally a guerilla army against their opponents, they possessed local knowledge of the terrain and could blend in to hide from the enemy and then ambush and disappear seemingly at will.  The tactic developed overtime from the original Scottish Highland tactic of fighting in tight formation.  The Scots overwhelmed the enemy with their ferocity in battle, heavy weaponry and unsettling war cries.  in battle they fought with battle axes or two-handed heavy swords called claymores.  By the 17th century with weapons shifting to gunpowder based firearms and artillery, these tight formations were becoming vulnerable to ranged weapons which could cause many casualties at a distance.  The Highlanders instead adapted the formation to one more reliant on terrain, looser and faster in format overall but still using the goal of traditional overwhelming force with unsettling war cries.  The weapons and clothing were also adapted to better accommodate the charge.  Instead of a claymore, the Highlanders carried a single handed broadsword which was large but lighter, they also carried a targe shield for defense and a smaller dirk thrusting dagger.  Their clothing below the waist was reduced to a kilt.  

The Highland charge was launched downhill on firm open ground at great speed in a wedge formation with loud war cries to raise the attacker’s morale as well as frighten a hopefully inexperienced and ill-disciplined enemy.  The charge was meant to hit the enemy as high speed and break their lines with the “savagery” of their fighting, sometimes the mere sight and sound was enough unnerve and overrun the enemy.  The Highland charge always anticipated a number of casualties due to a initial musket volley from the enemy, but the speed would be too much for them to reload in an era of single shot firearms.  By the time the enemy was reloading they were struggling unnerved by the wails of the Highlanders and already being engaged with swords and dagger hacking and stabbing them to death.  In many cases like at Killiecrankie, Prestonpans and Falkirk Muir the charge was successful due to the essential elements, speed, terrain and ill-disciplined enemies.  Psychologically terrifying and well timed it proved to be a classic shock tactic.  It shortcomings however were the danger of modern ranged weapons like artillery and muskets hitting the enemy at range, especially those fired by a professional disciplined army not inclined to turn and run at the sound and fury of the charge.  Additionally, its implementation over broken ground or flat terrain or a combination of two in the face of modern weaponry like at Culloden could yield fatal consequences.  The Highland charge has its roots and a resemblance in the ancient shock charge tactics of the Scots Celtic forbearers of Britain against Roman legions and other enemies.  It embodied an ancestral connection and became a romantic image in and of itself, forever etched in the minds of historical memory when we think of the Scottish Highlands, kilted-tartan clad men running at full speed with sword, shield and dagger in hand, screaming like a banshee right into the enemy’s front, cutting down their opponent with fierce and wild abandon.  The ultimate image of the barbarian fighting to preserve his way of life and freedom in the face of modernity.  That’s the kind of image Killiecrankie and Culloden conjure, the image Walter Scott in the later Victorian era somewhat revived.  The ultimate picture of Scottish romanticism on the battlefield...

[tamedbyafox]

Aziraphale's British Bake-Off

Aziraphale doesn't own a television, but he does frequent the pastry shops of London. And a surprising number of them have been baking his old favourites. He finally notices the pattern, and finds out what - and who - caused it.

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Aziraphale doesn’t own a television. He certainly doesn’t pay for a cable license. He knows that people watch television on their computer through streaming companies, but he doesn’t actually know how one accesses them. But, he does stay generally up to date on human news - he still likes getting the paper(s). He’ll check out the TV Guides and see what, generally is getting played nowadays, just to make sure they haven’t strayed too far into demonic territory. (Truthfully, for much of the twentieth century, some woman named Mary Whitehouse was doing quite a job trying to make television even more holy and staid than heaven would approve of.) However, most of what’s on looks like Crowley’s work and so he just goes back to reading and drinking.

So you can only imagine the shocked and excited wiggles Aziraphale exhibits when the generic little pastry shop in SoHo has a pastry he hasn’t seen in ages.

There are gorgeous little pork pies, hand raised, and the flavors are the ones he remembers from ages ago. It looks just like the ones they used to do with the little wooden dollies, pushing it up and twisting as they… he stops dead as he notices. The wooden dollies. They’re on the shelf, just behind the counter. There are three that have got flour on the handle and he’s certain the proprietor used one to shape these little packets of porcine pleasure.

Now, truly, pork pies and such had never really gone away but they hadn’t been make like this for ages, not since aluminum became cheap and tins were so easy to come by. Especially not in a standard little bakery like this one. Aziraphale thinks it “charmingly common”; by which he means this is a pastry shop that makes its living off some solid bread, the standard buns, birthday cakes, and the nostalgic fare of the current middle aged British man. Nothing as adventurous as a 100 year old pie making technique.

He buys one and revels both in the pie and in the nostalgia, the memory of this pastry from another lifetime.

Another day, another stroll through SoHo, another little pastry shop.

The kouign amann had been invented hundreds of years ago and he was quite fond of it. The perfect ratio of flour, butter, sugar to create a fluffy yet solid  and slightly crunchy cake. He had a soft spot for a more personal reason as well. When the insult “cream puff” had become popular, Aziraphale felt the sting of knowing he was, most certainly, a cream puff. But Crowley had drunkenly announced one night that if anyone knew their baked goods they’d know that Aziraphale was a kouign-amann – yes, soft and buttery and fluffy, but he had a hard shell and could probably break your teeth if you caught him on a bad day. Aziraphale had been able to find the delectable pastry on and off in more discerning bakeries in the city. But he had certainly not expected to find it in this place. It wasn’t the same pastry shop as the pork pies – but it was of a similar vein. A solid shop, nothing remarkable.

He sees the giant, classic kouign-amann – a rounded cake cut into slices that glistened in the pastry case and noticed that there were several slices already missing. Below it, there were scattered little kouign-amanns; tiny cupcake like things all pinched into a flower shape. He bought two little ones and a slice of the big one; indulging in the caramel shellac on the rich butter pastry.  He saw several more kouign-amanns over the next few months, and was thrilled the little pastry had made a comeback.

These regular strolls for pastry kept Aziraphale well updated to the changes of London. He’d noticed that lately, there were more cute little pastry shops. A veritable bakery explosion. These were ones with adventurous owners, willing to dredge up older European recipes and bring them to the forefront. He was thrilled that all of a sudden his favorites were back and people were putting modern spins on old classics. He started adding pastry shops to the list of alternative rendezvous spots for he and Crowley.

It’s during one of their ostensible meetings to discuss the end of the world, and they’re on their way to a pastry shop Aziraphale thinks quite highly of. A cute place, small and modern. The proprietor liked a soft turquoise and lilac décor, reminiscent of spring. She had set up small mismatched tables and chairs in the front of the space, and had drip coffee and tea available. She displayed her work in the usual counter-come-pastry-case, as well as refurbishing some gorgeous old bookshelves and curio cabinets as cases for her cakes and pies. It was, frankly, vaguely reminiscent of Aziraphales’ bookshop – as though it were the cute niece of a stodgy old uncle. A clear family resemblance, one might say.

 Of course, the pastries are delectable. Aziraphale wouldn’t frequent a place if the pastries were not up to snuff. But in addition, the variety of little pastries was absolutely astonishing, the flavours were inventive and novel, and the cakes are gorgeous. The owner is a lovely young woman who is kind and loves people as much as her baking. The only questionable thing is the framed artwork of Mary Berry as the Holy Mother over the cash register. But, no one is perfect, and Aziraphale can overlook a little tongue-in-cheek blasphemy for a nice hot cross bun and the gentle suggestion that the young lady give a little bit of her profit to charity. As… heavenly licensing fees, you might say.

He and Crowley are strolling down the street, yammering about something – they had started with the Anti-Christ, moved to shocking and unusual modes of death, and somehow wound up talking about the viciousness of waterfowl. Crowley is trying to come up with the details of some story as they enter, and Aziraphale has tuned him out to marvel at the pastries on serve today. There’s gorgeous mille-feuille, eclairs, profiteroles – those actually may be religieuses, good lord – assorted biscuits and fondant fancies, a Battenberg Cake, and…. No. No. That cannot be what he thinks it is.

Aziraphale stops in his tracks and throws his hand out to stop Crowley.

“Crowley!” – the angel interrupted a commentary on geese and Crowley looked around, shocked. Aziraphale, when sober, was an incredibly polite conversationalist and would only have interrupted for an emergency.

“Tell me, what do you think that is?” Aziraphale was pointing to the monstrosity in the place of honor on the cake shelf.  The light caught it and it nearly sparkled. If a cake could look proud of itself, this one would. This is the sort of cake you imagine on the table of particularly opulent minor kings; with more money than sense.

Thick discs of snow white meringue piped into intricate swirls. Glossy whipped cream peeking out between the layers.  A hint of a strawberry, hiding inside the middle layer. Dainty crystalized flowers scattered along it. It looked as light as a feather and as though if you so much as breathed on it, it would scatter like a daydream.

Crowley scowled, but visibly relaxed as he realized there wasn’t any danger. He blew a raspberry and leaned back, as if getting a wider view would help. “I don’t know, but looks like a thing you ate in Austria…ooooh, years ago.” Crowley’s “oooh” told Aziraphale he was right. This cake was ancient. Museum levels of Ancient. Impossibly ancient.

Beneath it was a little sign – Aziraphale strode up to read it, and in neat script it proclaimed “Spanische Windtorte”, underneath, in slightly smaller script, “The Fanciest Cake in Vienna”.

It came rushing back to Aziraphale. A quick trip to Austria, much like his quick pop over to France, for some miracles and some local delicacies. He had known Crowley was over in that part of the world, and they had seen each other at parties, balls held by nobles. It was the height of the Baroque period, and everything was over the top. Aziraphale remembered the opulence, the decadence, the almost tortured aspect of the era. The Catholic church had encouraged opulence as counter to growing Protestant asceticism. Aziraphale didn’t have strong opinions on the art or architecture – but the “more is more” approach to pastry suited him just fine, thank you very much.

He attended the parties for the arguable purpose of encouraging the religious fervor of the time and smattering some blessings around. The fact that his blessing rate directly correlated with the quality of the deserts was just a coincidence. The fact that he only stayed long enough to bless people if Crowley was there was, also, a coincidence. Crowley justified attending in order to push this new opulence over to outright hedonism, and because demons loved a lavish party. Crowley, however, hated parties, and would often simply stroll around causing small mischief until he figured out whether Aziraphale would show up to thwart him. If it became clear Aziraphale wasn’t coming, he would throw out one last temptation for someone to stick another bauble on a church somewhere with money they could have used to help people and call it a night.

Aziraphale hadn’t seen a Spanische Windtorte in eons. And certainly not one so well done as this. He looked over, the young woman who owned the place was helping customers and grinning. She was no more than 30, there was no way she had ever seen these in their heyday- her great  grandmother probably hadn’t even seen these. So what inspires a girl to make a fussy, difficult, ornate confection that people probably have never seen? What ancient book did she drag this out of?

Aziraphale hung back, appearing to peruse the pastry case for much longer than was necessary. He wanted the line to dwindle so he could introduce himself properly to the owner and find out more about her passion for outdated pastry. Crowley sighed as he stood by, but knew better than to try anything to hurry this up. Any infernal acts against this bakery would be met with a quick reprimand.

Finally, the shop emptied out and Aziraphale stood up primly and walked over.  Crowley followed behind him, hands in his pockets and bored look on his face. Aziraphale folded his hands in front of him as he waited, and sprinkled a little bit of a suggestion into the air – encouraged the owner to recognize him, and ask his name.

She smiled as she finished closing the cash drawer.

“Good mo- oh, hey.” She switched to a warmer, informal greeting when the suggestion took hold. “You and your friend come in quite often, but I don’t think we’ve ever actually met. I’m Lil.” She extended a hand to Aziraphale, looked down and saw the powdered sugar on it, and pulled it back quickly while flipping it up, “Sorry – baker’s life, constantly a little powdery.”

“No offense taken, my dear,” Aziraphale assured her “I am Ezra Fell, this is Anthony Crowley.” Crowley gave a nonchalant nod as the girl smiled, and Aziraphale plowed on. “Tell me, where in the world did you get the inspiration for that absolutely decadent Windtorte? I haven’t seen one of those in, oh, it feels like centuries. Long before you would have even made your first cookie.” He ended with the indulgent smile he knew people found comforting, the one that made him seem a friendly old confirmed bachelor.

Lil huffed a light laugh but looked a little confused. “You don’t know?  Ezra, you’ve tried every pastry in this case, and you’re telling me you don’t know where I saw a Spanische Windtorte?”

Aziraphale couldn’t tell if he was more offended by her presumptuous attitude or by her pronunciation of Windtorte- with an almost exaggerated accent.

“I certainly don’t, they’re quite an old dish and I haven’t seen one in some time, regardless of how many pastries I do or don’t eat.” Aziraphale drew himself up to his full height and frowned primly as he watched Lily’s eyebrows shoot up and she glanced at Crowley, trying to suss out what she had done wrong. The realization dawned on her face, and suddenly she looked contrite.

“You don’t watch the Great British Bake Off, do you? The cooking competition? I’m sorry, I just assumed anyone as interested in pastry as you are would jump at it, and that you knew it from there too! I’m so sorry, that probably seemed really rude!” She tripped over herself to apologize, and Aziraphale sensed that the exaggerated pronunciation had been a reference to a character on the show. He softened immediately, and replied “No, I don’t, I don’t own a television. More of a reader, or a listener.” Were radios still something people used? He wasn’t certain. They were listening to something all the time but he wasn’t sure what it was.

Crowley interjected “Yeah, he’s hooked on podcasts – my fault, shouldn’t have gotten him into them.” Aziraphale could hear the shit-eating grin on Crowley’s face. He knew that he probably would not like podcasts, whatever they were.

Lily turned to Aziraphale and said “You’d love it, it’s a reality show….competition, folks have to bake a three dishes every week, and they bring up a lot of older or less popular bakes. It’s been on for a few years now – and they did one a while back with a Spanische Windtorte, and I thought I’d give it a shot. That’s the first one good enough to put in the shop, they’re tricky. You should get into it! Its online now, I know Netflix has a few seasons. Enough to whet your appetite at least.”

“I don’t have Netflix either, I’m afraid.” Aziraphale knew vaguely that Netflix was a streaming service, and that “Netflix and Chill” was something indecent, but he had always classed it with the rest of the modern things he didn’t need.

Lily shook her head, “Alright, well, I think you’d really like it so if you want, I’ll give you my login. I don’t mind sharing, but only if you promise me you’re gonna watch it.” Aziraphale wasn’t sure how to handle this offer – it seemed generous and genuine, but also too much and of dubious legality.

“I’ve got one, no worries.” Crowley had jumped into the conversation, saving Aziraphale from trying to do the math on how much he could accept from this woman.

“Well, you’ll just have to bring this luddite up to speed then Anthony.” Lily smiled at Crowley, and Crowley gave a rare smile, soft and pleasant. Aziraphale was impressed that Lily had gotten that from him so quickly.

“And Ezra! Let me know who your favourite baker is!” Lily called as they left.  Aziraphale had asked for about 15 different pastries, and Lily had offered him the Windtorte, and quoted a price much below was Aziraphale knew it was worth. He told her yes, but asked if he could pick it up tomorrow, because that sort of artwork would need to be on display for a little longer in order to inspire a revival.

Aziraphale walked down the street with Crowley, musing over the show. “So tell me, dear, was that show your idea? Force fiddly, old fashioned, obscure baked goods onto the British public, punish some bakers, and see how unpleasant you can make the bakeries of the United Kingdom?”

Crowley shrugged while walking, an impressive feat; “Nah. Not entirely my doing. The idea was already there. All I did was get the ear of the folks who decide what the Technicals are. Paul’s even worse for torture than I am, I just get him information he’d never have otherwise. You figure 6000 years of time, and at least 3000 of them watching you drool over European pastries, I know what no one else does. I would know what would really hurt to make.” After a pause, he continued: “Backfired a bit though, people loved it, got into baking and started owning bakeries and bringing back lost recipes. Now baking isn’t scary and more people are spending quality time together in the kitchen.” He slipped into a sneer at the very end, like he couldn’t imagine a worse thing than increasing the amount of love-filled baked goods in the world.

Aziraphale glanced sidelong at Crowley as they walked, and recognized the indulgent exasperation there. Crowley had made the same face many years ago, in a theatre not too far from where they walked. A little miracle, just to make Aziraphale happy, was all he had asked Crowley for. Just this one play, to show Shakespeare he could do more than comedy. Crowley had gone above and beyond, knowing that a few successes would ensure that something Aziraphale loved stayed around forever. They were constantly putting on Hamlet, classic versions, modernized ones, ones with strange twists. Disney had re-done Hamlet with Lions, and a happier ending, ensuring that even children were exposed to the story of the father-avenging Danish prince. And this…Technicals business was quite similar. Crowley, who didn’t even eat and could barely be bothered to pay attention to anything but a wine list, had specifically meddled in a baking show. Seeding it with all of Aziraphales’ favourites, probably justifying a few miracles to help it take off and reach maximum frustration when people tried to recreate it at home. And instead, people had brought back all the bakes that Aziraphale had been missing. He thought about all the quaint bakeries he and Crowley had spent time in. About all the complicated, old, fiddly little pastries he had watched Aziraphale eat in the past few years.

“Well.” Aziraphale wiggled his shoulders as he stepped up onto the bottom stair to the bookshop. He looked back at Crowley. “I, for one, am quite grateful” – at his pause, Crowley started to open his mouth in protest – “that your wiles were so thoroughly thwarted.” He opened the door and gestured Crowley inside. “After you. I’ve got some lovely dessert wines in the back, if you’d set up this Bake-Off?”

Three weeks later, Aziraphale and Lily are in the back of her shop, gushing about Chetna’s Orange Savarin over a plate of éclairs. Crowley is peeking through her recipe books, trying to surreptitiously find the name of the angel’s favourite little cookie from Lebanon.

[howyoutalktostrangers]

So,

When trans rights activists began to mobilize in opposition to feminist thinker Meghan Murphy's appearance at the Toronto Public Library in October 2019, I was only half-interested in the controversy. Several literary figures I admire had become swept up in the pseudo-religious fervor, and I was shocked to see them enthusiastically championing censorship. I figured this person they were protesting must be some ghoulish anti-intellectual, spewing hate speech and vilifying marginalized communities. I assumed that a quick Google search would result in a list of published works worthy of this sort of opposition, or maybe news items about her provocative past.

Imagine my surprise, then, to learn that not only was Murphy innocent of the hate speech accusations she was being doggy-piled with, she was actually advocating on behalf of marginalized populations and rape victims — something I'm personally passionate about. Her highest profile dust-up was with a pedophile trans activist named Jessica Yaniv, a true villain if there ever was one, and now she was facing death threats for publicly questioning whether convicted child killers who self-identify as female should be allowed in women's prisons. As far as I could tell, she was a strong-willed social crusader making a real positive impact in the world.

So how come everyone was treating her like the Antichrist?

In the week leading up the event, I followed the controversy via Twitter and began to educate myself on the subject being discussed: trans rights. I learned that this new slur "TERF" is an acronym for "trans exclusionary radical feminist", though it was being used as a catch-all for anyone who disagreed with their rhetoric, and it wasn't immediately apparent what trans people were being excluded from. I learned that "dead-naming" someone means using someone's name from before they transitioned (like calling trans icon Caitlin Jenner by her birth name Bruce) and that there were a few koan-like mantras everyone felt strongly about: "Trans rights are human rights" and "trans women are women."

As I engaged on Twitter, posting a few comments and questions, I became increasingly aware of how toxic this discourse was. These trans rights activists were looking for people to crucify, drunk on self-righteousness, and were incapable of having a nuanced conversation about this new worldview they were wielding like a weapon. As I consumed their vitriol, following accounts on either side of the spectrum, it occurred to me that all of this anger wasn't only being funnelled towards anti-trans bigots. It was also sliming well-meaning leftists who weren't sufficiently up to date on how this conversation has been progressing (learn your acronyms!) and people blissfully unaware that this esoteric social justice battle is even happening. According to their standards, not only was I a TERF but so was everybody else in my family, from my toddler niece all the way up to my grandparents. We all believe in something we've been taught since childhood, biological sex, and that makes us the enemy.

But how could I make my own position known without offending and alienating the trans people in my life who I love, regardless of how I feel about this new gender ideology? Could I oppose the indoctrination while embracing trans people themselves? Was there some sort of middle ground I could take, where I could express my support and love for them while simultaneously refusing to drink the Kool-Aid?

Then the big night came. By this point the Toronto Public Library scandal had taken up three or four days of my attention, and I remained glued to social media so I could follow every development. I read an extremely thoughtful prepared statement by a city councillor named Gord Perks and thought "finally, a voice of reason!" only to see his contribution written off and misrepresented. Hundreds of people took to the streets, necessitating a police presence to keep the audience and speakers safe. Videos posted on Twitter showed this hate mob, led by Governor General Award-winning author Gwen Benaway, shouting violent epithets at cowed women while pretending they were the victims. These bullies were out for blood, and anything less than full surrender wouldn't satisfy them.

The thing that struck me the most during all this was that the two sides of the political spectrum were arguing different points. While one side was insisting that Meghan Murphy deserved free speech, the other side was arguing about the perceived content of her talks as they pertained to trans rights. They weren't meeting anywhere near the middle, because they weren't even having the same conversation. The result of this was that trans rights activists were passionately mobilizing certain nuances of their worldview, and demanding these tenets be accepted, while the other side was simply saying "let her talk". The protesters had smeared her as an anti-trans speaker, though that wasn't how she self-identified. For a movement so obsessed with self-identification, this was a huge blind spot. Just like misgendering someone, they were accusing her of being something she's not.

As the think pieces and news articles began to come out in the following days, I read opinions from both sides and searched for even a shimmer of mutual understanding. This divisionary rhetoric was going to have devastating consequences, I figured, including within the literary world. And if people were continuing to be scared into silence for fear of being mobbed like Murphy, how could we ever have a meaningful dialogue? Who would be the next person to inspire one of these hateful clown parades?

This was the headspace I was in when I came across a story in Flare written by Benaway in which she narrates her experience addressing representatives of the library during a feedback session leading up to the event. With purple prose, silly histrionics and self-aggrandizing rhetoric, she singles out Head Librarian Vickery Bowles (who didn't speak a word during the exchange) and accused her of being transphobic simply for supporting free speech. In the most embarrassing passage she repeatedly challenges those present to tell her which bathroom she should use, which is so off-topic it comes off as nonsensical. I couldn't take it anymore. I left a comment under the article, calling Benaway "so dishonest" for misrepresenting Bowles and Murphy, and accused her of "tilting at windmills, hard."

This was it. The first public stance I'd taken on the issue. I knew that nearly every literary figure I was associated with on Twitter probably disagreed with me on principle, and would probably only experience this as some privileged white dude punching down on a poor trans activist. That being said, I really believed in what I was saying and legitimately believed trans rights activists who were vilifying librarians and feminists needed to be fucking stopped. I felt a twinge of vertigo as I let go, allowing myself to tumble head-first down this howling rabbit hole. I'd heard that these activists are militant, sometimes going after people's livelihoods if they disagree with you, but I was feeling ready for a fight.

It was around this time that a Twitter account started retweeting some of my comments, tagging my employer Humber Literary Review, adding melodramatic captions about how I was a trans-hater. This Internet stranger made me uncomfortable, but I didn't engage, comfortable in the knowledge that my editors had known me for five years and understood I was incapable of hatred. Anyone who took a moment to read my timeline would see that I wasn't a zealot; I was just a newbie to this particular conversation, trying to make sense of what was going on in a respectful manner. Also, I wasn't interested in having a conversation about trans rights -- the issue is hardly relevant to my day-to-day life -- I was interested in talking about Meghan Murphy's right to free speech, a right that had been thoroughly trampled for no good reason.

One thing that occurred to me was that the library protest ultimately had the opposite effect of what was intended. Rather than silencing Murphy, they'd elevated her to a new level of prophet-like prominence. I'd never heard of her before, but now she was being profiled in newspapers and discussed all over social media. I'd gone from having no idea who she was to being one of her most ardent fans, keen to hear what she was up to next. And pretty soon there were titans of the entertainment world stepping in to take her side, including J.K Rowling and Ricky Gervais. The haters tried to silence her but instead set her on fire, leaving us all to watch her dance wreathed in holy flames.

Then they came for me. Three days after my comment on the Flare article, which inspired a long back and forth with a Toronto poet, Humber contacted me to say that I no longer had my position as interviews editor. According to them they were restructuring, but we were in the middle of an issue and that made no sense. I sent a few exploratory emails, one proposing a book project that would be a collection of the interviews I'd done over the years, and I was mostly met with silence. Was it possible? Would they actually pull something like this? Would they take sides with the trans mob over me? And why?

The way I figured, if the move to take away my position was actually motivated by my Twitter interactions then their real motive was both to shut me up and to distance themselves from me professionally. The hate mob who had attacked would be waiting for word that I'd been turfed, and I wouldn't give them that satisfaction. For the following weeks, and then months, I made sure to routinely tag Humber in my posts, reminiscing about my interviews of the past and looking forward to the one that hadn't yet been published with Yasuko Thanh. I sent my editor an email and asked her to retweet some of these posts, which she said she would, but then didn't. I started escalating my rhetoric, criticizing trans activists and calling out their bonkers nonsense, all with Humber's twitter handle nice and prominent in my bio.

Finally, just before the holidays, vindication came. The founding editor of Humber Literary Review, Meaghan Strimas, contacted me to say that the collective had "grave concerns" about my Twitter content (even though she admitted she rarely uses the platform) and then demanded I remove her magazine from my bio, even though my interview with Thanh had not yet been published. Her email confirmed all my concerns: they had a staff meeting without me to discuss my conduct, they took issue with my views on trans rights, and they were hoping to make an example out of me. It was two weeks before Christmas and they were picking a fight with one of their employees for no good reason. The positive relationship we'd enjoyed for half a decade wasn't enough to shield me from their poorly researched dogmatism.

I knew what to do right away: I alley-ooped the email, and a bunch of screen-shotted Twitter posts, to a journalist named Anna Slatz. She was an active participant in the trans rights conversation, and had appeared at an event in Vancouver in which activists showed up wearing a guillotine for TERFs. She was just as outspoken as Murphy, I knew, and would be just as infuriated by this turn of events as I was. This was a minor freelance gig for me, but what if it was my main livelihood? Would they come after my other job next? My fiancée was six months pregnant with our first child and now I had to worry about these pitchfork-wavers? Slatz was thorough, professional and tactful: within 24 hours my story was live on the Post Millennial website. Watching the story rack up engagements was one of the most vindicating feelings of my life.

Within hours I was contacted by the Justice Centre for Constitutional Freedoms. I'd heard of them through the Yaniv debacle, and I was thrilled to learn that their potential involvement in my case would be free of cost. I took them through what happened over the phone, step by step, and revelled in how appalled they were. I wasn't the only person who thought these activists had gone too far, targeting people's jobs and smearing them in public. They told me that if it went forward my case would have the potential to affect a huge number of people's lives, perhaps setting a precedent that would dissuade these clowns from using sinister tactics like this in the future. And I wasn't the only person this was happening to -- online there were examples of people like Maya Forstater, who lost her job for saying that biological sex is real, and others who lost gigs for something as simple as retweeting a gender critical account.

The stress and sudden attention from all this hoopla had me panicked. I was worried both about my employment, and for the financial future of my baby. As my case drew the attention of names I recognized, like Jordan Peterson, I worried that I would be submerged by this trans rights tidal wave. I knew my misgivings were shared by many, both in the literary world and everywhere else, but people were too afraid to speak the truth. For a few nights I couldn't sleep. I didn't feel like fighting; I just wanted to be left alone.

But then I began to reflect on what actually mattered. I have a number of trans friends who are intensely important to me, and it's them who are suffering the worst consequences of this toxic rhetoric. As activists continue to over-reach and inflame controversy, the blow-back is hitting people who would just like to quietly go about living their lives. They don't believe in some of the more ridiculous aims of these activists, like plugging biological males into female sports or subjecting female prisoners to the company of murderers hiding behind self-identification. They're just as embarrassed by the Gwen Benaways and Jessica Yanivs of the world, and believe just as strongly as I do in Meghan Murphy's right to free speech. They don't believe in vilifying strangers, or taking away their jobs, because that's the purview of idiots and assholes.

As J.K. Rowling recently wrote on Twitter: this is not a drill. The time for ignoring or being complacent about the trans rights conversation has passed, because it is now doing real harm not only to trans people, but also everyone else. With my daughter en route to Earth, I want to create a future where this dystopian rhetoric is a thing of the past, and I don't have to worry about her being indoctrinated into a worldview where biological sex doesn't exist. I believe that inclusion is non-negotiable, and that trans people should be embraced and supported, but that should never come at the expense of people who reject their ideology or have beliefs of their own. It's possible to love someone even if you think their worldview is nonsensical, and trying to speak sense to them is the opposite of hate speech.

You could even call it love speech.

The Literary Goon

[wisdomrays]

Knowledge that Distances a Person from God

QUESTION: What are the lessons to be drawn from the hadith reading, “If a person’s knowledge increases but asceticism does not, the only thing that really increases is his distance from God”?

ANSWER: The ways that help a person reach God are as myriad as the breaths His creatures take. This is because every person has different talents and abilities. Accordingly, those on the spiritual road with tender characters state that the most important path leading to God is love. Some of these journeyers of love have expressed their longing by saying:

O God, make me familiar with the trouble of love; Do not let me be devoid of the trouble of love.

Another spiritual master said:

Give your heart to such a Beloved, that will make you happy at heart. Hang on to such a skirt, that will take you to the target.

Yet another hero of love depicted the inner world of a lover of God with the following lines:

What an ascetic desires in his heart is Paradise, In the heart of a true lover, is but the one he loves.

On the other hand, some of the journeyers on the path of truth have tried to reach God by means of asceticism, and valued this road above all others. Asceticism (zuhd) means, in a way, forsaking this world and what it contains, and restricting one’s belongings to their essential needs. A person naturally needs to meet bodily needs such as eating, drinking, and sleeping. However, one who wishes to lead an ascetic life does not want to benefit from such blessings of the world to the full degree, thinking that they lead a person to heedlessness. Such people act under the guidance of the principle

As for certain inquisitive souls who possess wisdom and try to know God by means of deliberation, discussion, and reflections, they have always scrutinized phenomena by reading into this universe like a book of Divine wisdom. They have made some connections with this book and the Miraculous Qur’an, and they have always tried to behold these two books through the lens, projector, or observatory they provided for one another.

Those who lose their way in the valleys of imitation

Apart from what we have mentioned, there are people who have not yet freed themselves from leading a superficial life based on formality. They are captives of imitation, and it is rather difficult for them to make progress. In terms of imitating the ways of their ancestors, their situation resembles the unbelievers who said,

“Enough for us (are the ways) that we found our forefathers on” (al-Maedah 5:104).

A person in this situation needs to ask himself, “Had I been born in a region where another religion is prevalent, I wonder if I would still become a Muslim, be it in this poor degree of mine?” Though it should be noted that scholars from the mainstream understanding of Ahl al-Sunnah wa’l-Jama’ah stated that faith based on imitation is also acceptable – namely, people who go to the mosque because their fathers did, and who observe the Ramadan fast because their grandmothers did. These people will also be saved.

An inflation of Mahdis

Actually, these points about “imitation” faith can be used to describe our generation. None of us left our beds in the middle of the night and went around like mad, saying like Umar ibn al-Khattab’s uncle Zayd ibn Amr did, “My God, I yearn for You!” We have not engaged in a crazy quest for the sake of finding Him, but have always consoled ourselves with imitation.

If some people still applauded this poor Islamic life of ours and we foolishly see ourselves as ideal Muslims, then we have been deceived completely. Some poor people have even given in to populism in the face of applause and flattering remarks, and lots of mahdis have appeared as a consequence. There have been so many of them in our century that it is not an exaggeration if we talk about an inflation of mahdis. While some people wonder in self-criticism whether they can even be considered ordinary Muslims, others see themselves as heroes, who will save humanity with a single move, who will bring down emperors with a single breath. But in reality, all of them have been poor slaves of imitation without a thorough recognition of God or knowledge of the Prophet. They have lived unaware of the Rightly Guided Caliphs and the Blessed Companions. As they are unaware of where they have been, and of their inability to make any progress even in favorable conditions, it has been difficult for them to advance.

A person with sound belief must constantly ruminate and reflect for the sake of setting sail for seas of knowledge and love of God, and move on with an unquenchable enthusiasm. In response to the bowls of knowledge of God offered to him, he should say:

See now, how this poor servant is, Crazy for a single strand from the Beloved’s locks The honey of love I take on and on, Give some water for my heartburn!

Like a person who drinks seawater, a person who takes Divine love should ask for more and more. While setting sail deep into knowledge of God, he should never give up the following considerations:

“If I could truly feel what is supposed to be felt, and experience the truth of

‘...it is in the remembrance of, and whole-hearted devotion to God, that hearts find rest and contentment’ (ar-Rad 13:28),

and if I could perceive the glad tidings in,

‘Those (whose hearts have attained rest and contentment) who have believed and do good, righteous deeds—for them is the greatest happiness and the most beautiful of destinations,’ (ar-Rad 13:29)

then I would establish a much deeper connection with God Almighty, always voice tunes of love and yearning for God, lower my wings of humility to the ground before believers, and behold the entire creation with an immense compassion. Accordingly, what I am actually doing can be considered as crawling miserably on the ground.”

Look shallow but be deep!

In fact, real servanthood lies in combining exceptionally high endeavor and exceptional modesty. On the one hand, a person must ascend so high that when angels look at him, they should say, “What a surprise! A being with a physical body shares the same horizons with us angels!” Or they should say, “(he) is flapping wings, even ahead of us!” But this person must at the same time be able to see himself as the nothing of nothings. When they tell him to put his signature somewhere, he should be able to spontaneously sign “nothing.”

In terms of accomplishing human perfection, there is no greater person than the Pride of Humanity. But in spite of that, he implored God by saying, “Make me insignificant in my own eyes, but great in the eyes of people (with respect to my mission).” A spiritual master altered this prayer a bit, saying, “My God, make me insignificant in my own eyes, but profound in my religion.”

A person should see himself as petty as a fly’s wing, but with respect to religious profundity he should say, “My God let me attain such religious perfection and let me be so well equipped religiously that when my inspirations are distributed to the whole of humanity, let it suffice for all of them to enter Paradise.”

With reference to his Companion Maiz, the Messenger of God, peace and blessings be upon him, stated, “He repented in such a way that if it were distributed to 70 people in Medina, it would suffice for them all.” That person had committed a sin (fornication) without the knowledge of others, and as a result of his repentance for this sin, he came to the Messenger of God and stated that he wanted to be purified. Although the blessed Prophet sent him away four times, he came back every time, in spite of knowing that his demand to be duly punished meant his execution, and repeated his wish. And after the punishment was carried out, the noble Prophet stated the words we quoted.

A person should constantly try to deepen their focus on faith, knowledge of God, love of God, spiritual delight, fervor, and enthusiasm. But together with that, the person should see himself shallower than the shallowest ones. Actually, if a person has truly attained a depth of heart, he will see himself as the lowliest of people. And the reverse meaning also holds true: If a person sees himself superior to other people, then he is the meanest and poorest person in actual fact. Be this person a believer, hypocrite, or unbeliever, it doesn’t matter.

“Knowledge” means knowing yourself

A person who imagines exalted ranks for himself and thinks, “So it seems that I am a chosen person sent by Divine Providence as specially equipped to fulfill an important mission and guide humanity to the peak of perfection,” has no true value at all, not even to the degree of a fly’s wing. The true indication of greatness is modesty and self-effacement—and the indication of worthlessness is vanity.

True knowledge is a person being able to crown the knowledge he possesses with such considerations. And this can be achieved by people who have sipped perfection, attained maturity, and turned their theoretical knowledge into practical deeds.

Without this knowledge, it is not possible for those who depend on the appreciation of others to progress a single step forward. Even if others say things like, “So and so is praiseworthy! See how he helps people, guides them, and takes them out of the quicksand they were stuck in,” this will do them no good at all.

To make an evaluation with respect to the hadith mentioned in the question, if a believer cannot push aside the world and what it contains in spite of his increase in knowledge; if he is still preoccupied with worldly concerns and is running after worldly ambitions; and if he looks for the next worldly title as soon as he gains one and is dying to retain the worldly benefits he has gained, then that person has been distanced from nothing else but God.