Read Every Day In October
And so now begins my next challenge. October starts a special challenge for me, as I am raising awareness (and funds) for the American Cancer Society. I am asking my personal friends and family to either read with me and also find sponsors, cheer me on and hold me accountable, or sponsor me as I read. Some people are donating per book I finish, some are donating per hour I read, some are just giving a total at the end. I love doing this because it takes something I love and uses it to make money for a cause close to my heart. I mean, sure rats die of cancer and I want that ended, but both my Star Trek family and my personal family have lost members to cancer. I read for the memory of all of them, to raise awareness and funds in all their names.
This October, I'm using my Genre Bingo card to pick my books from. The goal is to need another card by the end of the month. Will I make it? Fingers crossed.
0 notes
86 year old Shlomo Manzur is the oldest hostage currently held in Hamas captivity.
He was born in 1938 in Iraq, and as a young child he survived the Farhood pogrom.
The Farhood took place during the Jewish Shavu'ot holiday. Between 180 to over 1000 of the Jews of Baghdad were murdered in the pogrom. A Jewish intelligence report had stated that about 120 Jewish patients were murdered in hospitals via toxic injections. Mass robberies took place, which targeted some 50 thousand Jews. Jewish businesses were marked in red beforehand, as targets. Homes were robbed and then flooded by turning on all the water taps inside. People were raped and butchered in broad daylight, including children and the elderly. The events, which went on for two days, were later nicknamed "The Kristallnacht of Iraqi Jews". Some see it as a turning point and a key event in the chain of antisemitic events which eventually motivated Iraqi Jews to flee the country.
Many of the Farhood victims were buried in a mass grave in the Jewish Cemetery in Baghdad - a cemetery which was later relocated with the intention to build a skyscraper on its grounds.
Hadassah, Shlomo Manzur's sister, said last month: "He was kidnapped weighing 58 kg. We hope that he is not starving, and that he receives the conditions to live. Precisely on the day when the International Holocaust Day is celebrated, I want to ask: how is he going through such a tragedy again - and the world is silent? They murdered, raped, abused babies, kidnapped, beheaded, looted and burned stores marked with red paint ahead of time. It was the Kristallnacht for Iraqi Jews and the world was silent. Shlomo saw sights that accompanied him all his life. If we thought then 'never again' - we never imagined that such scenes would return when we have a sovereign state. My brother Shlomo was kidnapped from his home, his fortress, and these days he is going through another Holocaust in his old age. The heart aches with longing and thinking what goes through him in the dark. I talk about him, and my heart skips a beat."
17 notes
·
View notes
Saturday Six (Stuff)
I haven't posted one of these in a bit and it's due to too much life bs happening.(¬д¬。)
Work has been meh. Though I did get this project done recently. (★^O^★)
My Bff's Mom passed away on the 13th. So that sucks. She was like my other mom. Her memorial will be in November.・゜・(ノД`)
My Dude's (@super-ultra-mega-kami-guru-blog) grandpa passed on the 17th. They're going to Colorado this week, for like a week and a half. (╯︵╰,)
I've been dealing with stupid neck pain that's causing a migraine for a while. It was going away, but now idk.ヾ(´A`)ノ゚
The only thing keeping me sort of sane are the kittehs. Leeloo (the kitten) especially, is a silly girl, who gets the zoomies a few times a day. She's a terror, and all you can do is laugh. (=^-ω-^=)
3 notes
·
View notes
October 24th
Festival
Ah, a slightly ambiguous one, I shall not lie.
Dedicated to @maglor-my-beloved and @arofili who have been great inspirations in my short writing career. ❤️🔥
Words: 718
Warnings: Sadness, ambiguity...Be advised, it's not Bad!Fëanor all the way
Ñolofinwë didn’t want to go.
He had pleaded his case with his mother – not daring to disturb his eminent father in his critical dealings with monumentally eminent dignitaries come from afar – but she had simply ruffled his braids and told him to wear the blue tunic and to make haste.
Biting down on his lip now to keep it from trembling with dismay, he looked at the gawky youngster staring back at him from the looking glass despondently. He hated those feasts where people kept milling around endlessly, chattering about this and that and – no doubt – looking upon him, that other, lesser son, with disappointment and disapproval.
Of course, he could not be like Curufinwë, nobody was, and nobody ever would be.
Maybe, he thought desperately, if he pretended to be taken ill, they’d let him stay in his chambers; it was highly unlikely that anyone other than his siblings – his mother’s children, not Fëanáro, as he preferred to be called – would even notice let alone regret his absence.
“Ñolofinwë…” The bored drawl of the older brother he had just been musing about crept into the room like a venomous snake much too mighty to be wrestled into submission by a mere princeling.
“Your mother desires to see you in blue,” Fëanáro went on as he stepped into the chamber confidently, “and I am here to fetch you. Why are you not dressed? Why is your hair not done?”
Shame flooded Indis’ son like an overwhelming, suffocating tide and he had to clench his fists to prevent himself from patting his half-undone braids helplessly.
“Come here, you fool,” the other commanded and – pulling the younger boy rather forcefully towards him by a slender wrist– he yanked a brush through the dark, silken hair that was so much like his own.
“I don’t want to go,” Ñolofinwë whined and bit down on his tongue as he heard how pathetically weak and shrill his words had sounded; no doubt, that son of his father’s, who stubbornly denied being of his kin, would now reprimand and mock him harshly.
To his utter surprise though, Fëanáro’s hands stilled immediately and he let them sink heavily onto the bony shoulders of the boy standing – tense and miserable – before him, staring still into the mirror at an awkward angle that only highlighted his sharp, handsome features into which he’d no doubt grow faster than the seasons could change.
Their eyes met and there was unlooked-for understanding in the flaming gaze of the eternal prodigy; an echo of loneliness and stubborn ambition resonated dully in the cool air of a room that was halfway between a child’s bedroom and a lord’s chamber.
“We each have our role to fulfil,” Fëanáro hummed finally, pensive, “and we must do our father proud. Finwë has sired great sons and it is his prerogative to display them for all to see.”
“I am not great,” Ñolofinwë sighed, lifting his yet spindly arms to flap the wide sleeves of the overcoat he was shrugging into while his hair was no longer being tugged at.
“Not yet,” came the sombre, premonition-laden answer, “but – I well fear – that the day will come when the tides shall shift.”
That generous mouth which was the fountain of so much wisdom and cruel jibes tightened into a pale line of discontent and the brush returned, all the more vicious after this short reprieve.
“I shall be loyal to you,” Ñolofinwë promised under his breath, not sure if he wanted his brother to hear him, ashamed of the childish gratitude soothing his frayed nerves. The creature in the looking glass resembled a prince – thanks to his brother’s competence – and Ñolofinwë felt heartened by the sight.
“Let’s go down and be scions of a king,” Fëanor huffed in a choked voice as he wound the last silver ribbon around the end of an expertly crafted braid and righted the cloak around the other’s shoulders needlessly.
Despite his misgivings and innate jealousy, he held his brother’s slender hand encouragingly in his own as they descended the stairs and walked up to the big ballroom.
Fëanáro – the great and mighty smith and inventor – did not know then that he had lifted a heart from misery and dejection and that it would be, for better or for worse, his forevermore.
@fellowshipofthefics we're almost done, almost...
I hope this will not get me into too much hot water lol read it as you wish...I love you all and I promise that I did not mean to force down your throat what you didn't want to read!
Lots of love
-> Masterlist
20 notes
·
View notes