#this is what you get when you’re jewish enough in your blood to be a pseudo intellectual

[mattstoneenjoyer]

sometimes i think abt how many jewish stereotypes matt fits into that he almost definitely doesn’t even know abt. like seriously there would be 10x more great comedy in sp mined out of the broflovskis’ judaism if matt had simply paid a little more attention during his mandatory childhood viewings of fiddler on the roof

#like dude says he’s not a practificing jew but someone described him upon first meeting as dissentient and contentious like bro cmon #i don’t remember the exact words used in the article or even which article lol #but that was the gist #also i firmly believe that matt’s weird intellectual superiority complex is a direct result of him being a self hating jew #this is what you get when you’re jewish enough in your blood to be a pseudo intellectual #but not culturally jewish enough to be socially self deprecating by nature #matt stone #matt

[etz-ashashiyot]

You know how sometimes arguing a point is losing?

Like if you engage the argument at all you are inherently putting up for debate things that should never be up for debate and the argument itself is degrading?

You see this with interpersonal gaslighting:

A gaslighter doesn’t simply need to be right. They also need for you to believe that they are right. In stage one, you know that they’re being ridiculous, but you argue anyways. You argue for hours, without resolution. You argue over things that shouldn’t be up for debate  – your feelings, your opinions, your experience of the world. You argue because you need to be right, you need to be understood, or you need to get their approval. In stage one, you still believe yourself, but you also unwittingly put that belief up for debate. In stage two, you consider your gaslighter’s point of view first and try desperately to get them to see your point of view as well. You continue to engage because you’re afraid of what their perspective of you says about you. Winning the argument now has one objective :  proving that you’re still good, kind, and worthwhile. In stage three, when you’re hurt, you first ask, “What’s wrong with me?” You consider their point of view as normal. You start to lose your ability to make your own judgements. You become consumed with understanding them and seeing their perspective. You live with and obsess over every criticism, trying to solve it.

[Source]

But you also see this on a broader societal level, with people asking unfathomably awful questions about minority groups, such as:

[Source]

It should go without saying, but no group of people should be forced to explain that yes, they really are real people, dickheads. The question doesn't deserve an answer; it deserves at best a disgusted eyeroll + "Are you a Nazi?" and at worst a punch to the face.

There is also the related phenomenon of the "when did you stop beating your wife?" type questions. The question is framed as a yes or no question, but the real answer for the innocent is: "I've never beaten my wife and never would." But even that answer still dignifies the question with a real response and puts the idea in the mind of the listener that hey maybe that's a real possibility and this guy is lying because of course he wouldn't just admit that. Now I don't know what to believe, but I'm skeptical.

Even if he answers, doubt has been cast on his character and many people (maybe even most people) neither have the attention span to listen to his full counter argument and supporting evidence nor are invested enough in strangers' lives to take the time to dig for facts on their own. Critically, it comes from a good impulse that shouldn't be repressed or taken too far in the opposite direction; namely, that we want to believe survivors and make it socially acceptable to speak out about abuse.

This leaves us with the uncomfortable reality that balancing believing survivors and whistle-blowers against not automatically believing allegations that very well may be false and/or in bad faith is a very tricky balancing act indeed. Because of this, people tend to struggle with taking survivors seriously and with presuming innocence until guilt has actually been proven, both. And as for the latter, this is at least partially due to the same psychological factors underlying the Don't Think of an Elephant problem.

Why am I discussing this?

See the thing is that these types of discourse have all been used, heavily, against the Jewish community, especially since Oct 7th, but really going back hundreds of years.

If you want to be our ally, you need to be on guard for how people use this rhetoric to accuse Jews of absolutely batshit cookoo bananas allegations (like being lizard people or having horns, or secretly running the world, or killing Christian babies to use their blood in our matzah, etc. etc.) and get away with it. Now obviously if so many people weren't already racist towards Jews as a people and had a vested interest in maintaining their supercessionist cultural worldview from Christianity and Islam, it would be a lot harder for this to work. Alas, the past 2000 years has created a bit of a snowballing effect.

This culminates in the effect described so well by Sartre:

Never believe that anti-Semites are completely unaware of the absurdity of their replies. They know that their remarks are frivolous, open to challenge. But they are amusing themselves, for it is their adversary who is obliged to use words responsibly, since he believes in words. The anti-Semites have the right to play. They even like to play with discourse for, by giving ridiculous reasons, they discredit the seriousness of their interlocutors. They delight in acting in bad faith, since they seek not to persuade by sound argument but to intimidate and disconcert. If you press them too closely, they will abruptly fall silent, loftily indicating by some phrase that the time for argument is past.

— Jean-Paul Sartre

Right now, Jews are facing extreme levels of these types of rhetorical abuse, and are receiving very little help in the way of pushback.

We have to stop trying to explain ourselves and start just naming these tactics instead.

#antisemitism #המצב™️ #jumblr #how to argue

[thebrightestwitchofherage]

hi um how r u? I would rlly like to see some sources for you saying this is antisemitism. I’m Jewish, and Israeli, and this is genocide. It took me a while to change how I thought about it but I really think that we need to accept that Israel is not the victim here. I know not everyone in the idf is bad bcuz my parents served in it but just look through some tags for a moment. Civilians are being murdered. I know it’s the government’s fault, bcuz again, I am Israeli but ppl speaking up is not antisemitism. This isn’t hate, I just don’t understand your point of view and I want to. Please don’t get mad or report me I am legitimately trying to understand why u think this is antisemitism

Hi, I’m not saying criticising the Israeli government is antisemitic, I literally posted that I hate them earlier today. Here’s a summary of I what I wrote in previous posts about this:

-First of all- I obviously don’t support Civilians dying on neither sides. Unfortunately, the assumptions most anti Zionists make is :

Israeli -> evil genocidal murderer-> deserves death

And if they’re antisemitic enough , it’s more about the religion than the country you’re from.

-suddenly when it comes to Israel/palestine everyone’s involved are the expert (usually they’re factually wrong).

Nobody cares when Palestinians are being slaughtered in Syria/lebanon/yemen etc. for years. Hundreds of thousands displaced and killed .

if they are aware, it’s somehow Israel’s fault.

-this war wasn’t initiated by us. Israel was invaded , hundreds of Civilians were slaughtered and hundreds were kidnapped. People were celebrating the same day and saying our retaliation is a genocide. It is not.

October 7th was a war started on deliberately on our holiday (once again).

It’s antisemitic to constantly demand humanitarian aid for Gazans (which is provided) while not caring that the Israeli hostages held are not getting any medical treatment and have not been visited by the Red cost once since kidnapped.

-the ratio of casualties is unheard of in the history of modern urban warfare. If I’m not mistaken it’s 1:4:1. The idf makes every possible effort to not hurt civilians and that’s not enough for anti Zionists. No other army in the world does all of that in a war . That’s antisemitism.

-The passion and hate against Israelis is unparalleled in every aspect.An Israeli can’t breathe in the public space / online without getting attacked in the comments, let alone feel safe abroad.

They’re yelling death to all Zionists (Jews) and other antisemitic chants. Jews are barricaded in their homes while these anti Zionists are preventing them from gathering, wearing any religious symbols or entering their colleges ffs.if they are “made” as a Jew/ Israeli Jew they’re immediately attacked. It’s not just about anti Zionism/ hating the Israeli government, it’s about hating them the most. Combine that with ignorance , Arabic funding and Jew hatred , and you get the current rise in antisemitism- which has been happening for years.

-people are denying what happened in October 7th or saying it’s justified at best, and mock the Israelis slaughtered , kidnapped and raped at worst.

-Official organisations like UN didn’t call Out what happened or get involved with investigating the sexual crimes until months later.

-often use of blood libels and antisemitic tropes in describing Israel. (Not to mention Nazi propaganda).Eg the recent conspiracy that Israelis are organ harvesting Palestinians.

-using the word “Zionist” as a slur, while

1. Zionism simply means that Jews have the right for self determination in our homeland Israel.

2. It basically means Jew as most Zionists are Jews/ approximately 95% of Jews are Zionist.

-I’m not saying Palestinians don’t suffer, they do. Hamas had every opportunity to make their lives better. Instead they kill them, use them for hiding places for weapons and steal the aid.

—

This is what I remember from the top of my head. I’m sure other fellow Israelis here can tell you more in the comments/DMs. And honestly, talk to your parents about this if they’re Israeli. Ask them about what life was like here, the constant terror attacks , wars and rockets. The complete lack of apartheid.

Edit: I’ve added more, hope that this helps and that people that already reblogged this see.

#sweet asks #israel #jewish #israeli #jewblr #israel palestine conflict #gaza strip #ישראל #טאמבלר ישראלי #hamas is isis #middle east #Gaza #Iran #jumblr #Palestine

[neverwritewhatyouknow]

I don’t often share hate I get because it’s not productive, but this is an anon I got a few hours ago.

I reported and blocked them, because people like this can’t be reasoned with. Luckily, I hope more people read and learn from the response.

Here it goes…

This anon claims all Jews are white mass murderers. Let’s break that down.

Besides being just antisemitic as a whole, it’s also factually untrue in all the ways.

All Jews aren’t white. Firstly, Jews of color exist so already it’s obvious that not all Jews are white. Boom, Anon is defeated. Secondly, when it comes to Jews and “whiteness” there is a long history especially in America with what that means for Jewish people. You’ve probably seen the “No Dogs; No Jews” allowed signs that were popular well into the 1950s. I wish I had recorded Ari Axelrod’s insta story from the other day where he broke down everything about this. Basically Jews are seen as white when people want us to be (usually to remove us from being a minority and a group that needs help and protection), and seen as ��other” and “non-white” (in a negative way) when people want us to be (see; the Nazis). Jews exist in this weird in between where some have the privilege of lighter colored skin, but if someone hates Jews, they’ll hate you anyway. Jewish last names and prominent physical features are constantly changed to be more “white.” Also, not all Jews are from Eastern Europe. There was a bunch of assimilation to make Jews fit more into the “white American” society. There’s so much. But the moral of the story is that while Jews can identify as white, when looked at by society in history and now in the rising heat of antisemitism, white becomes a weapon used against Jews. You’re white, so you’re not a minority in need of help. You’re white, so you can’t be a victim of discrimination. You’re white so you don’t need representation on TV or in movies. Jews aren’t white, they’re full of dirty blood (literally Hitler’s main thing was that Jews were too subhuman to be white). Jews are whatever the person who hates us wants us to be. We’re either too white or not white enough. If you’re all gonna hate us, you should get your stories straight. Many Jews, in the face of hate, have started to reclaim being Jewish as an indigenous race as well as their ethnicity. Antisemitism is legitimately a form of racism, as seen in David Baddiel’s book and others, but because western culture has a certain view on what “race” means, Jews who claim they have experienced racism (as I have) have to explain what race means in the context and the whole history of everything. Jews being their own race said in a derogatory way is obviously bad (i.e. Hitler), but since Jews do experience racism through antisemitism and therefore do have factors of race it’s all a lot and a pile of ethnicity, religion, culture, genetics, community, belief, history, and more. Jews can identify however they want, as long as nobody is insultingly accusing us of something we aren’t…

Jews aren’t mass murderers. I feel like I don’t need to explain this one. What I’m confident the anon is getting at, is that all Jews are somehow murderers because there’s a conflict in the Middle East that’s been going on for forever and in modern times, longer than the majority of Jews today have been alive. Tell me how a random Jewish preschooler is a murderer, tell me how American Jews have any impact on something happening literally across the world. Bringing the I/P conflict into a conversation about Jewish people where it has no relevance will always be antisemitic. Claiming all Jews are murderers, a false statement, is antisemitic. It’s just wrong and it’s just hate.

1945 (September) was the official end of WW2 (though pogroms and attacks didn’t end when the war did). Funny that this anon specifically said to “stop living in 1945,” because that’s exactly what happened to 6 million of us. They were murdered. To put that into perspective, 6 million people is the size of:

All of these places. Imagine there not being a single living human being in Wisconsin. Or in Connecticut AND Nevada. 6 million is a lot of people.

And Jewish people are still dying. There was a mass murder at a temple only a few years ago. There are countless bomb threats and gun scares every week. We have police officers outside for our safety. Jews are stabbed on the street in broad day light.

No, it’s not 1945 anymore. But antisemitism never stopped, only the gas chambers did. And it hasn’t even been 100 years since the start of them.

Are Jews oppressed? No. We can own land, go to the doctor, work, have a family, study, etc.

But the real question is are Jews severely discriminated against? Yes. See above where I list how physical attacks never ended. I, born at the turn of the 21st century, personally have nearly been attacked or killed dozens (yes, plural) of times based solely on the fact that I “look Jewish” and my house had a mezuzah. I used to live in a town where I couldn’t walk safely down the street without fear that someone would attack me for being Jewish. I had an Uber drop me off a street away from my temple so they didn’t know where I was going. Jews aren’t safe.

The only difference between The Holocaust and now is that there were concentration/labor camps and baseless laws. The attitudes have never changed, the attacks have never changed, the way Jews are viewed has never changed.

This is why Jews need representation in media. Because we aren’t “white mass murderers.”

We’re people. People who, against literally all odds, are alive. We’re diverse. We’re more than what you see on TV. We’re an ethnicity. We’re a culture. We’re still trying to recover from being mass murdered. We’re worthy of life and appreciation.

#talking with anon #jewish #jumblr

[olivia-anderson-fanfic]

Into the Unknown, Part 55

First

Previous

Damian pressed up against the glass, staring up at the fossils with wide eyes.

“Wonder what he’ll be when he grows up,” Marinette joked quietly, adjusting the tiny box of cupcakes she had prepared for their unofficial party at the science museum. “Maybe a weatherman.”

Tim snickered, his chin coming to rest on her shoulder. He was wearing a dorky little party hat, and Marinette rolled her eyes when he purposefully twisted his head to poke her with the point.

“He’s going to be the cutest little biologist the world has ever known,” Tim said proudly.

Marinette hummed her agreement.

~

You know, Hanukkah isn’t actually a huge deal in Jewish culture. There has been a rise in people talking about it in recent years, as to combat Christmas being thought of as a completely secular holiday, but it’s not really meant to be a Big Thing.

Why did Tim care about it so much, then?

Tim wasn’t a particularly pious man. He did some things, and forwent others.

But Hanukkah… was the only thing his parents cared enough to come home for every year. They would get criticism for leaving Tim alone during ‘such an important time of year’, everyone was asking about what their plans were and they couldn’t risk people wondering why Tim never seemed to be involved.

Hanukkah — for him, at least — meant family. Which was why he was so grateful that Marinette was willing to celebrate the holiday despite not being ethnically or religiously Jewish in any way.

And it was also why he was currently pissed off at Jack and Janet Drake.

Not his parents, they were long dead, but instead an alternate version of them. Which, apparently, couldn’t be assed to visit this year.

Part of him wanted to use Kaalki to teleport to wherever they were and punch them both in the face.

He wanted to punch them for what they’d done to this alternate version of him. This version that was curled up on his couch, wrapped up in his boyfriend’s arms, sobbing and wondering what he’d done wrong.

He wanted to punch them for what their counterparts had done to him. He’d never really gotten the chance to tear them a new one in his reality. He’d not realized the extent of their harm when they were alive, and there was nothing but a grave to scream at by the time he’d fully processed it.

It would have been easy.

He still might do it later.

But there was something far more pressing. Tim stared at the alternate version of him.

That could have been him.

It was him, technically.

A version of him that, despite the mental nickname for him saying that he was a worse version of Tim, had done everything right. It was just that doing your best, sometimes, just isn’t enough for some people. And sometimes the best thing you can do is take that first step, confront those terrible feelings you want nothing more than to push down and smother in hopes that one day, maybe, they will love you (if only you can meet their impossible standards)… and decide to simply move on.

Not run away.

Move on.

“You’re never going to be able to get their love,” Tim said, quietly. “No matter what you do. It’s not your fault. Sometimes people just aren’t meant to be parents, and the kids have to suffer for it.”

Worse!Tim… no, Other!Tim… looked up at him with wide eyes.

“You’ve done everything you can, okay? It’s unfortunate that you ended up giving your love to people that will never really be able to return it.”

Other!Tim started crying harder. Whether that was a good sign or a bad one, Tim wasn’t sure, but he did know that this was what he had needed to hear all those years ago, and if this version of him was anything like him at all, then this information might be good for him.

“But… the thing about family is that blood, ultimately, means nothing. You can choose someone else, if that’s what you want.” He sighed. “It hurts a lot at first, trust me… it still hurts a little now, from time to time… but you can’t really heal until you take that first step.”

He shoved his hands into his pockets, trying for a smile.

“It just so happens that I know a family that might just be a perfect fit for you, if you’d like to try.”

Other!Tim was quiet for a moment, other than the sobs that were steadily petering off.

And then he nodded, a steely look in his eyes.

Tim got the feeling that Other!Tim may be doing this with spite in mind, with emotions as raw as they were… but just because someone didn’t have the best intentions in mind didn’t mean that they couldn’t accidentally stumble onto something good for them. Tim’s motivation back when he had become Robin wasn’t entirely pure, either, after all, even if he hadn’t admitted it to himself until much later — he’d wanted a family, people that would be there for him and would have his back through thick and thin — but he’d gotten better, both at understanding his role and responsibilities as Robin and at learning to truly care for the family he had suddenly found himself a part of.

He wanted to give this version of Tim the same chance.

(A similar chance that didn’t involve all the almost dying, at least.)

And… well, he could feel something coming. He could tell Marinette could feel it, too. A change in the air, a whisper that something will happen soon…

He wasn’t sure what would happen, but he did have one thing he was sure of:

He didn’t want to have any unfinished business.

For now, though, he smiled and poked the other version of him’s nose. Right where Kaalki’s glasses sat on his own face.

“Are you feeling better now? Because I want to go back to calling you Worse!Tim in my head and it feels weird to do that when you’re crying.”

“You call me what in your head?”

~

Listen, when you’re a kid, you think odd things. Like parties thrown in your name are actually about you, rather than excuses for your parents to bring over their friends with kids and have them distract each other for a few hours.

Why was this relevant?

Because that was exactly what Paige, Ava, and Marinette were doing with their kids (Floyd, Jasmine, and Damian respectively).

And also this:

“I’m older than you!” Floyd huffed. “So, I’m in charge!”

“No, I’m older than you,” Damian said.

Floyd turned to his mother, who paused in painting Jasmine’s nails. “Tell him I’m older!”

“You’re not, though,” Paige said, gently, patting him on the head.

Floyd blinked. “But… I’m taller, so I’m older.”

“No,” Ava said, her lips twitching. “That’s not how that works.”

“Though, seriously, Paige, what are you feeding that kid?” Marinette joked lightly, fanning Damian’s glittery green nail polish to get it to dry faster, since Floyd was insisting on them two playing with their action figures together. Damian wasn’t actually against it, he just wanted to wait for his nails to dry, which was where the original argument had come from.

“No clue,” Paige sighed. “The doctor said he might end up over seven feet.”

“… I just realized all our kids are probably going to be taller than me,” Marinette said, her eyes widening in horror. “I don't think my old, frail heart will be able to take that.”

Ava made a face at that. “Don’t say that. Jasmine, honey, you’re not going to be taller than me, will you? You’re going to stay my baby forever, right?”

“I’m going to be taller than everyone, momma,” Jasmine said.

Ava groaned.

~

Steph crossed her arms over her chest. “Oh, so you invite your long lost twin brother to your weird psuedo-family Hanukkah gathering but not me?”

“Uh…” Tim was torn between pointing out that inviting a supposed family member to a family gathering made sense (he was trying to keep the lying to a minimum), admitting that he had mostly only done it because Worse!Tim was sad (not his story to tell), or just staying quiet and hoping for the best (likely to end in Steph being more annoyed with him). “Yeah?”

She huffed, wiping a fake tear from her eye. “Really makes a fake sister feel neglected, you know.”

“Well, if you want to go…”

“Of course I want to go, Tim!” She swatted at his arm. “I’m a college student do you really think I’m going to pass up a chance at free food?!”

~

“Marinette,” Steph said, pointing at two of the different pictures she had printed out. “There’s a difference between these types of cells. Don’t you see? This one has more of a round shape.”

Marinette who had finals coming up and was very much tired of staring at these things looked at Steph with dead eyes.

“Don’t play with me, Stephanie, they’re both round.”

“But this one is more round, see?”

Marinette did not.

“Man, I’m so going to fail.”

~~~~~

Next

@unoriginalmess @hammalammadamdam @astrynyx @laurcad123 @927roses-and-stuff @toodaloo-kangaroo @queenz-z @imarivers8 @jeminiikrystal @adrestar @twsssmlmaa @literaryhiraeth @trippingovermyfeet @ev-cupcake @its-maemain

#this chap is somehow even more filler than usual #its all necessary #but uh #blegh #maribat #into the unknown #timari #timinette #shutterbug #timmari #tim drake #red robin #marinette dupain cheng #ladybug

[evita-shelby]

Finn’s mums and dads

Or the 5 times Finn called Eva mom and the one time he called Tommy dad

Gif by @outerbanksxpeakyblinders

“Bye, mum.” Finn said as he rushed out the door after getting his packed lunch from Eva.

She knew Finn had a crush on her, but somehow him thinking her as a mother figure made her apprehensive.

Should she tell Polly about it, or Ada?

No, it would be awkward enough as it is. How do you say ‘Finn called me mom and I am not concerned because now I feel old and responsible, but because I don’t know if that is okay with you, his real family’ without dredging up things that are difficult to speak of already.

Martha Shelby had gotten the baby blues and her idiot husband, the arrest of both Arthurs and not having the money to give Thomas a chance to use his potential in university had driven her to step into the canal.

Or that was what Polly had confided in her, and something Ada doesn’t know she knows.

Yeah, that seems sensible.

Keep your mouth shut and carry on, Evita, the witch tells herself as she goes back to her chores.

“Come here, kid.” Eva crouched a little to get a good look on the blood on Finn’s lip. “Does anything else hurt?”

A fight in class, one boy had called him names and called Ada a slut and Finn responded to those words with his fists.

Polly didn’t know yet, but she would be livid. Not at Finn, but at the boy and his mother who was already on Polly Gray’s black books.

“No. I’m fine, mum.” He said, still sniffling from being blamed for all of it.

“Finn calls me mum all the time, Ada too, he thinks the world of you. I hope you aren’t put off by it, Eva.” The older witch said as Finn played with colored pencils on the dining table.

This time Eva can’t keep quiet, especially when she tells Polly about Finn’s altercation in school.

“No, not at all. I just wasn’t sure if you were comfortable with that, Pol.” The witch said relieved. Some don’t like that; some utterly hate the idea of anyone thinking of other people being seen as a mother figure.

“Are you comfortable with that? With the idea of being a honorary Shelby?”

“I don’t think it is healthy that he calls your mother.” Grace expressed her opinion quite boldly after Finn called her mum as he thanked her for the ice cream she had bought him.

Finn had never seen a museum, and Eva had taken observing the Irish broad like a scientist observing bacteria in a petri dish.

She came here often, met up with a man Eva didn’t know and today, Finn tagged along.

“Mrs. Gray is fine with it, as is Ada Shelby.” Eva said coolly.

Grace was jealous of her friendship with the Shelbys. Apparently, she wasn’t quite sure her boy toy’s no at Uncle Jack’s proposition weeks ago was a real and firm no.

The witch feels guilty for using him as an accessory, but the kid also got to see the museum that Ada expressed a desire to work for until a background check revealed she was a Shelby, a communist and engaged to a Jewish man.

But Eva doesn’t give a shit her subject of interest is jealous of her, that is of no consequence to the retired spy.

What she does give a shit about is a lying rat telling her not to show love to a child.

So she pricks her with her next words.

“Besides, if I do end up becoming Mrs. Thomas Shelby, it will be easier for him to adjust to my presence.”

“Mum!” Finn runs to her, and Eva is relieved when the Billy Boy trying to show off being Kimber’s driver buys into the lie.

In the next second Eva stops being Miss and turns to Mrs even though she would have been eleven or twelve had she been Finn’s mother.

“Oi, you sweet talking my sister-in-law?” Esme lies with ease and a scowl that sells it even to John who is with her.

The driver stutters an apology and returns to the vehicle as the three Shelbys and Eva walk down the street to her grandmother’s house.

Finn comes over every chance he gets, more especially now that he has asked her to help him catch up to the other boys in school.

“That’s Tommy Shelby’s wife you’re speaking to.” John said making it worse.

He's planning to surprise Polly with an acrostic poem written and recited by him on her birthday.

A surprise Thomas knows about because the boy pilfered one of his books on poetry.

Well worn and well loved, and the last thing the witch had expected to know about the gangster she has only spoken to once.

“Your brother won’t think it funny, John.” Eva warned as the newly married widower jokingly called her his long-suffering sister-in-law.

“Let him and blondie fight over it, least we could do to him after what he did to Ada and Freddie.” Esme laughed.

“Happy Mother’s Day.” Finn stands there on her doorstep, with his hair combed and neat, in his Sunday’s best and holding a small but rather adorable bouquet of sunflowers.

“He’s giving all of the women he considers mother figures flowers,” Thomas explains as he stands there at her doorstep and the witch finds herself replaying that strange little fantasy where they are something more than friends.

But she wants him, loves him in the way she loved Antonia.

“They’re beautiful, Finn. I and honored that you consider me one of your mums.” Eva thanked him genuinely and the boy turned beet red and stammered a ‘you’re welcome’.

“There’s a poem too, Tommy helped me write it.” Finn said and Eva’s immediately drawn back to the man she cannot want.

“And who’s the lucky lady getting those?” Eva asked seeing the forget-me-nots Tommy was holding.

And it is because of that that she must refuse his offers of courtship at every turn.

“We saved the best for last; these are for our mother.” There is a pained undertone to his voice, a sweet sadness that is becoming on him.

“Tell her I said hello, then.” She said and sent them on their way.

“I love you, dad.” Finn mumbles in his sleep and clings to Tommy who doesn’t bother hiding the heartbreak those words cause him.

Eva is no stranger to him and the things he hides beneath the surface, and yet this makes him feel as if he’s somehow bare to the bone before her.

This was just supposed to be a drive to the countryside where they’d pick a pony for Finn, just Tommy, Finn and Eva.

It had been a beautiful fantasy, him with a woman he loves on his arm, quietly pretending Finn is theirs doing something any family does.

He should be used to it, Finn liked to make up for the lack of a father by calling those he finds worthy of the title by it.

And then it comes careening down when Finn says those four words after falling asleep on the picnic blanket.

Tommy, Arthur and John were his primary fathers, then Jeremiah, Charlie and Curly and now, Freddie fucking Thorne.

But it had stopped when they had come back and never with something as strong as an ‘I love you.

“I love you too, Finn.”

#eva smith shelby #tommy shelby x oc #eva x tommy #thomas shelby fanfic #finn shelby

[atheostic]

I'm interested to hear how educated you are on the differences between judaism and christianity, especially how their value systems, i saw your conversation with rose and it was nice to see someone questioning theism without being condescending and acting like theists are bad people

Hey, sorry for taking a while to respond.

I'll readily admit that I'm way more familiar with how atheist Jews view the differences between the two religions than I am with how theist Jews view it. I consciously seek out atheist Jews' interpretations and views of Judaism and Judaism vs, Christianity partly because, as an atheist myself, I want to hear what other atheists have to say. The other part is that I find that atheists in general don’t have hangups about calling out the bad stuff in their past culture/religion so you get to actually hear about the problems (which every religion without exception has – just like they all have good parts too).

I know that Christianity started out as a denomination of Judaism (there were heated discussions in the early days of Christianity over whether one had to convert to Judaism before being considered a Christian). I know that if Bible!Jesus is an accurate portrayal of a real historical figure he didn’t intend to create a new religion but rather to reform Judaism. That being said, I also know that, much like how language dialects eventually become distinct enough to be separate languages, it has been a VERY long time since Christianity was part of Judaism. It has some aspects that are similar, but for the most part it’s now its own thing (kind of like how all Great Apes share similarities but are clearly different species).

I know (thanks to Karyn Glasser) that the main similarity between Christianity and Judaism is that the Old Testament and the Torah are mostly the same text when compared side by side, with the biggest difference being how some stuff is organized. That being said, in theology you’re supposed to treat each religion’s text as unique even if they’re literally word-for-word identical, which is why I always explicitly refer to the two texts as being separate.

I know that, while part of their holy texts are virtually identical, how Christianity vs Judaism approaches their holy texts is very very different. Traditionally in Judaism, the Torah is meant to be a living text, which means that things being open to interpretation was a feature, not a bug. As far as ancient Israelites were concerned, if there was no new meaning to be found in the text then the text was dead and useless. Christianity, on the other hand, likes to view their holy text as a lot more cemented (“my way or the highway” if you will)... though it doesn’t keep people from interpreting it six ways from Sunday anyway. The inflexibility in Christianity is likely part of why violence and animosity between denominations seems to be much higher than in Judaism.

I also know that how most Jews view God is very different from how most Christians view God; Jews aren’t typically afraid to be like “Yeah, that thing he did was an asshole move, God’s a dick sometimes” whereas most Christians consider God to be all-good and perfect and above reproach, so to say he did something bad breaks their brain. I remember seeing this post once where a Jewish person was basically like “whether good or bad, since everything happens according to God’s will I hold him responsible for what happens in my life”. Jews also don’t typically have a hangup about arguing with god (which makes for a much healthier dynamic in my opinion).

From my personal experience, it seems that Jews tend to be a lot more relaxed and have a more playful attitude toward religion that white North American* Christians. Jews, for example, will get into fun friendly debates over whether it’d be kosher for a vampire to drink pig’s blood if it was to avoid drinking from a human (if memory serves about that post someone asked their rabbi and they said yes) or whether it’d be okay for a dragon to light the shammash using their breath. North American Christians, on the other hand, tend to be way more serious when it comes to how they approach theology in general.

That being said, of course there are exceptions in both cases, as no group is monolithic and people are hella complicated. From what I’ve read and from what I’ve heard from Jews on Tumblr, Orthodox Jews tend to be more Christian-y in how they approach the Torah in that compared to other denominations they tend to take things a lot more literally. I remember reading an article once about how some bigwig in the Canadian Orthodox Jewish community had suggested not taking Genesis too literally and it was a big scandal.

And because no group is monolithic, it’s worth emphacizing that what I know about Jewish culture is primarily from a North American viewpoint (and mostly American at that), and therefore what I know isn’t applicable to all Jews as a whole (I recently got s book for the school library I work at all about how Passover is celebrated differently around the world, so it’d be silly for me to think that how Jews approach Judaism would be monolithic).

And all this is, of course, when talking about theist Jews. Because since Judaism is an ethnoreligion it’s possible to be both an atheist and a Jew at the same time. And how atheist Jews approach Judaism as a religion varies wildly (not surprising, since getting atheists of any kind to agree on anything beyond the nonbelief in any deities is like herding cats). Some, like the previously-mentioned Karyn Glasser, sometimes go to worship services as a way to connect with their culture and ancestors. One of my colleagues sometimes goes to the synagogue if there’s a party going on because “who doesn’t love a good party?”. Others, like an Israeli  caller to the Atheist Experience a while ago, think that atheist Jews should be referred to by a different word than theist Jews because their perspective regarding the religion is so different (his suggestion was for atheist Jews to be known as “Hebrews”). Others don’t care about the religion aspect at all but still celebrate the holidays as a tie to their culture. Yet others aren’t tied to their culture or religion at all. 

* No topic is taboo about being made fun of in Brazilian culture, so how Brazilian Christians approach religion is very different and much closer to how I’ve seen Jews approach religion.

#response #religion #judaism #abrahamic religions #questions #christianity

[imnotoverlyobsessive]

Moodboard by @softhecreator

Don’t Blame My English Blood For This American Heartache

Chapter Six: Take U With Me

AO3 info prologue one two three four five six seven eight nine ten eleven twelve

All my work is 18+.

I try to resist, but the light’s getting low to a glow till you’re touching my lips. I wanna stay when I shouldn’t, wanna go but I wouldn’t, wanna say no but I couldn’t. So meet me in the dark; kiss me in the shadows of every spark.- Marianas Trench, Rhythm of Your Heart 

October, 1984

Hogsmeade, Scotland

The Scottish weather wasn’t too cold yet, and most people got by without any sort of coverings whatsoever, but Sera was a Californian, so she needed something to keep her warm.

She quickly discovered that she very much liked Hogsmeade. It didn’t have the warming charms that the castle did, but it was a cute little village with a bunch of magical stores. Most of the other people there were decked out in that fancy wizarding shit they all wore, but the so-called Muggleborns—what a ridiculous concept, blood purity; as if it mattered—were in regular clothes the way she was. She liked her knee-length black dress; it was fairly low cut and had a little V-shaped thing that she kept closed with a tie, and she wore black leggings, an old pair of Converse, and a long knitted purple sweater.

So yeah, she was protected from the fifty degree weather adequately enough to enjoy a deliciously sweet—and slightly alcoholic—drink at a small bar-slash-inn called The Three Broomsticks. She was listening to her Walkman, humming along to Freddie Mercury singing about how girls with big butts—such as herself, which was nice because, like, how many songs actually praised her body type?—apparently made the world go round. She honestly doubted his claims, but he was Freddie Mercury, so who was she to argue? 

Anyway, point was, she was enjoying her sweet drink, snacking on the magic candy she’d gotten at a place called Honeydukes, and leafing through one of several magical books—mostly romance novels, if she were honest. She’d never had sex and she was curious, alright?—she’d purchased at the local bookstore. It was peaceful.

Until, that is, someone with an irritatingly long body sat down in the chair across from her. She looked up from her book, yanking her headphones down around her neck with a sigh of annoyance.

“What do you want, Regulus?”

He grinned that sickeningly attractive grin of his. “Nobody else who claims to dislike me calls me by my first name, you know.”

She stared at him, nonplussed. “What am I supposed to call you?”

“My surname is the standard.”

Sera pursed her lips. “Your surname is normal. Your first name is weird. I prefer to point out your weirdness.”

He frowned. “My name isn’t unusual in my family.”

“Neither is inbreeding,” she said flatly. “Again: what do you want?”

“To spend time with you, of course,” he said with a grin.

Sera scowled. “No.”

He didn’t seem to hear her. “Did you get my letters?”

“Nope.”

Regulus hummed, drumming his fingers on the wood of the table and looking very much like he didn’t believe her. “Pity. I sent you a birthday present.”

Yes, I know. You sent me a fucking family heirloom, you goddamn weirdo.

“What are you wearing to the Christmas ball?”

She stared at him. “I don’t celebrate Christmas.”

He frowned. “You don’t? Why not?”

“I’m Jewish.”

He thought for a few long moments. “Is that a religion?” When she nodded, he hummed, looking at her consideringly. “The Malfoys aren’t religious.”

“My parents converted before I was born,” she explained. “I’m not fluent in Hebrew or anything.”

“I see,” he said slowly, and she wasn’t entirely sure that he did, but whatever. Most people didn’t understand shit about Judaism. After a long moment, he decided, “Well, you don’t need to celebrate Christmas in order to attend the ball.”

She scowled at the thought of the last ball she’d attended. “I don’t particularly want to dance with you again.”

“Why not?” he asked, flagging down a waitress to order a drink of his own.

“Because you’re a dick,” she informed him bluntly.

He snorted. “I do so enjoy your language, you know. Most witches titter and blush during a courtship. You don’t.”

“I don’t know how I’d behave,” she said slowly, “as I have never gotten an offer to be courted from someone I’d actually consider saying yes to.”

“You’re already being courted, darling,” he explained, an amused smile playing at his too-perfect lips.

She sipped her drink. “I don’t understand why you’d want to marry someone who doesn’t even like you.”

He hummed thoughtfully, accepting his drink from the waitress with a smile when it was brought over. “You don’t treat me the way most people of my acquaintance do,” he said slowly, “you’re intelligent and magically gifted. I’m unused to being around witches like you, and I find you fascinating, to be perfectly honest.” After a brief pause, he added, “And you’re exceptionally lovely. As for not liking me, I’m winning you over already.” She glared at him, but before she could say anything, he pointed at her novel and asked, “What are you reading?”

“A book,” she snapped, flushed and prickly with embarrassment at the compliments.

“I can see that,” Regulus drawled. “What kind of book?”

“Fiction.”

“Let me see.” Before she could object, he snatched it from her hands.

“Hey!” she griped.

Ignoring her, he read for a few seconds before bursting out laughing. “I never would’ve thought you the type!”

“It’s interesting!” she snapped. “I’ve never read magical novels before!”

“So you choose the ones with sex, do you?” He was smirking, the dickhead. “If you’re interested in it, my dear, just say the word—“

“Even if I was, it wouldn’t be with you,” she hissed, her face bright red.

He chuckled again. “All in due time.”

Regulus showed up on Hogsmeade weekends a lot after that.

One afternoon, they were having a relatively normal conversation when he suddenly asked, “Have you ever been involved with a man before?”

Sera coughed on her own spit. “Gag me with a spoon, what the fuck—“ she sputtered. “That is none of your business.”

He frowned. “I just want to know how to behave with you, that’s all.”

Glaring viciously at him, she crossed her arms and declared, “No, I haven’t. I’ve never met a boy who wasn’t either ugly, stupid, a wastoid, or a super fun combination of the three.”

He looked amused. “A wastoid, hm?”

“Yes.”

“Good to know.”

Okay, so maybe she liked him a teeny tiny bit. Seriously, though, it was only a little. It wasn’t even that big of a deal. People got meaningless crushes all the time, and it honestly wasn’t even her fault. She really, sincerely could not be blamed for wanting to French him just a little. She’d never done it before, and she wanted to see what all the fuss was about. And Regulus… Well, he reportedly knew what he was doing. He’d probably be pretty good at it, right?

So being around him was getting kinda awkward for her on account of her rapidly growing attraction to him. She was really trying not to like him, but he was so fucking dreamy, and she’d started noticing things about him and couldn’t seem to stop.

His hair, for example, hung in super soft-looking curls, falling over eyes that looked like the ocean after a storm. His lips were pink and perfectly shaped, and he had the most pronounced jawline and cheekbones she’d ever seen, even in movies. The point was, Regulus made Tom Cruise look unattractive.

To make matters even worse, he’d taken it upon himself to start cursing around her and calling her by her first name, citing “adequate familiarity”, whatever the hell that meant. The way his mouth looked when he formed the syllables of her name, the way ‘fuck’ rolled off his tongue— it shot sparks down her spine. 

He was so fucking sexy, and she really didn’t appreciate him getting all close to her and making her already-made decision to continuously reject him all the more difficult. The horrifying reality was, if he kissed her, she’d probably let him.

November, 1984

Hogwarts

Scotland

“Where are you going?” Yarrow asked one Saturday evening in November after even most of the seventh years had snuck back into the dorms. Sera zipped up her black dress and turned around, examining the way the leather made her ass look in the mirror. She had fishnets that went up to her thighs and were held up by garters, as well as her favorite pair of black combat boots, which Beo was currently rubbing against. She wasn’t thin or muscular the way most people seemed to find attractive, but it was a Queen concert, and dammit, she was gonna feel good about her appearance for a change.

She waved a hand around her, casting a quick warming charm to stop her from getting cold on the walk off the grounds. Taking out a tube of bright red lipstick, she addressed her friend. “I’m going to a concert.”

“How are you even leaving the school?”

“Uh, doy, I’m sneaking out.” Sera rolled her eyes. “I’ve been turning myself invisible since I was, like, fourteen. It’s whatever.” She applied the lipstick, tapped her lower lip once to charm it so it wouldn’t smudge or fade, and decided she was satisfied.

“Isn’t your beau coming to visit tonight?”

Sera turned slowly towards her friend. “What?”

“Uh, yeah,” Yarrow said, gesturing towards the pile of letters on Sera’s desk that she liked to pretend she’d never read. “He told you in the most recent one he was coming up for a visit. Said if you didn’t meet him, he’d come find you or something. Flitwick probably wouldn’t mind, but I’ve honestly no idea how he could convince Dumbledore.” Yarrow shrugged. “Whatever, I suppose.”

“Fuck,” Sera gasped. “Did he say when he was coming?” 

“No,” Yarrow said, delicately turning a page in the book they were reading.

“Better see if I can beat him, then,” she decided, and off she went.

Unfortunately, just as she passed the school gate, there was Regulus. 

Fuck.

She’d made herself visible again, which, in retrospect, was a bad idea, but making herself completely invisible was actually pretty difficult.

“Sera?” Regulus frowned, looking her up and down. “What’re you wearing?”

“Go away,” she snapped, irritated. “I’m busy.”

“I don’t understand,” he admitted. “You’ve come like I asked, so—“

“I didn’t know you’d asked,” she told him impatiently. “I have plans.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Plans that require you to sneak out of the castle at night?”

Sera glared up at him sharply. “Yes.”

He tensed, examining her outfit again. “Those are your Muggle clothes, yes?”

She pursed her lips and didn’t respond.

“Are you…” He gulped. “Are you meeting a Muggle boy?”

She stared at him in disbelief. She was so annoyed by his audacity that she sniffed and said, “In a manner of speaking.” Regulus looked so displeased at this that Sera couldn’t help but groan. “I’m going to a concert, you wastoid.”

“Oh.” He instantly relaxed. “I’ll come with you, then.”

She lurched back, though he wasn’t particularly close to her to begin with. “You most certainly will not.”

He hummed, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Where are we off to, then?”

She scowled at him, marching past him and away from the school gates to get outside the wards so she could relocate. 

“I don’t have my usual friends,” she snapped. “I last saw these guys a couple years ago, and I can’t go with my friends the way I did back then, and it sucks.”

“You can go with me,” he pointed out. 

“You’ve never even heard their music.” She paused. “Which is so fucking weird, by the way. Literally everyone’s heard Queen.”

“Why don’t you show me, then?” he asked. “I might like it.”

He sounded so hopeful that she just didn’t have it in her to turn him down. And, well… she actually enjoyed spending time with him, even though she’d never tell him that.

“Fine,” she eventually decided. “I just do magic to get in anyway. It won’t be hard to get you in, too.”

He fell into step beside her, his eyes wide. “Really? That’s illegal, you know.”

She shrugged. “All the best things are illegal.”

He looked down at her in bewilderment. “Are you quite certain you’ve never been involved with a man before?” he asked.

She glared up at him wordlessly. Once they were outside the wards, she said, “Shut up and hold still.” With that, she grabbed his arm and transported them off to London.

Sera charmed everyone who might otherwise get in their way with basic confusion spells, the same way she and Ta had always done. Her non-magic friends never understood how she and Ta got away with everything they did, but nobody ever questioned it. Not when the two of them could get away with damn near anything. 

When Freddie Mercury took the stage, Sera screamed, jumping up and down. 

She admittedly wasn’t paying much attention to Regulus, but he’d been looking at her for most of the show. She actually noticed some when he watched her dance and shake her ass to Fat Bottomed Girls (along with everybody else; it wasn’t like she was particularly special), but other than that, she didn’t think about him much.

Until the last song of the encore, halfway through Somebody To Love, when she had her eyes closed and was singing along with Freddie when he said, “Someday, I’m gonna be free.”

Suddenly, out of nowhere, she was turned around, a hand was in her hair, and lips were on hers.

Sera’s eyes snapped open in shock, but… but Regulus was kissing her. He was kissing her like he was dying.

She was frozen for a moment, and she really should’ve pushed him away, but there was alcohol buzzing in her veins, so she could do nothing but arch into him, clenching her hands in his shirt and trying her best to kiss him back.

Regulus pulled away after what felt like a delicious eternity of his mouth on hers, cupping her cheek with one hand, the other on the small of her back. His eyes were hooded and fixed on her lips, and Sera could only look up at him, breathing heavily and wishing he’d kiss her again.

They stumbled, giggling, up against the wall of a random building in the city.

“God, Sera,” he groaned into her throat.

She hauled his mouth back to hers wordlessly, winding her arms around his neck. Now that she’d given in, she couldn’t really recall why she’d bothered fighting this to begin with.

“We should— we should talk about this—“ he said between gulps of air.

“God, shut up,” she complained. “Just kiss me.”

“I’m supposed to be a gentleman,” he muttered, mouthing wetly at her throat. “You just make it so fucking difficult in these sexy little outfits. Damn near show me your arse, fuck.” He grabbed her ass then, squeezing it roughly. She took a sharp intake of breath, arching into him, her breasts against his chest. “But we have to talk about this.”

“Ugh,” she grumbled in frustration, shoving him away from her. Her head thunked on the brick wall of the building she was leaning against, and she fixed him with a glare. “What do we have to talk about?”

“Us,” he explained, sounding terribly impatient for reasons that most likely directly related to the large tent in his pants. “I’ve been trying to court you properly for months, and tonight, I— I know I shouldn’t have kissed you. I’m sorry, I couldn’t help myself. You are just…” He exhaled, his eyes roving over her form, pausing briefly on where the zipper of her dress revealed her cleavage. “You’re so fucking gorgeous, so I kissed you. Sorry. It wasn’t how I planned to…” He took a deep breath. “Look, Sera, I fancy you. More than I have done anyone so quickly before. I would very much like it if you would seriously give my offer some consideration.”

“Your offer?” she asked, raking a hand through her curls, still dazed by the kiss, the way he’d touched her.

“I’m not proposing,” he said slowly, carefully, “but if this continues, if you allow me to kiss you again, touch you again, I…” He looked down. “If there is no chance of you ever consenting to marry me, tell me now.”

She was silent for a long moment.

She really did have feelings for him, didn’t she? She was falling for the prick. 

Oh, fuck it.

“I dunno how all this courtship stuff works,” she admitted quietly, “but I do like you, Regulus. A lot. Normally, that’d mean, like, dating. Here, I guess it means—“

“An engagement,” he said flatly. “It means an engagement, if your aunt agrees as your Head of Household. It’s generally… expedited in the event of genuine interest between prospective spouses.”

“You said you weren’t proposing,” she pointed out shakily.

“I’m not. But if you allow me to, I’ll court you with that goal in mind.”

“I thought you were just getting to know me,” Sera recalled.

He nodded once. “I was. I’m satisfied. I want you.” She blushed to the roots of her hair at that, but he continued, “If you’ll allow it, I would like to court you properly with the intent of marriage.”

“I mean…” She gulped, anxiously twirling a curl around her finger. “That’s kinda what all dating is, if it’s serious.”

“This is serious,” he informed her, his voice stern. “Do you want me?”

She looked at his feet, the fancy shoes that were somehow spotless despite having just attended a fucking concert. “Y— yeah.”

He cupped her cheek, lifting her face up—up, up, up. Fucking hell, he really was a tall bastard, wasn’t he?—to his. “Agreeing to allow me to properly court you is to agree to marry me, assuming all goes well. Do you agree?”

She looked up at him with wide, nervous eyes. It was just like they were dating, right? He’d just be her boyfriend. That wasn’t a big deal, really. After a moment, she breathed, “Yes.”

He kissed her before the word was fully out of her mouth.

Yeah, a Queen concert, we’re ignoring what the set list was and the exact date that Queen was in London, okay, cut a bitch some slack and lemme be self indulgent here

Big thanks to @lilmaymayy for betaing!

Tag list:

@ellamaianderson @shika1200 @blackqueenstarseed1 @gatoenlaciudad @esmaada @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @softhecreator @timolaurence @timmymyluv @oddlyenoughiamweird @leecrunchybones @s-we-e-t-t-ea @almostg @leespparker @bubblebuttwade @glizzymcguirex @starberry-cake @camille-1019 @lixzey @shycreationdreamland @gossamer19

To be added, please ask 💗

#my writing #fanfiction #fanfic #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter #mauraders #mauraders era #Regulus #Regulus black #regulus arcturus black #Regulus smut #Regulus black smut #regulus x reader #regulus x y/n #regulus x you #regulus x oc #Regulus x original character #Regulus x original female character #Regulus x ofc #Regulus x female reader #regulus black x reader #regulus black x y/n #regulus black x you #regulus black x female reader #regulus black x oc #Regulus black x original character #Regulus black x original female character #Regulus black x ofc #regulus deserved better #original character

[vampireposter]

i do think it makes sense to interpret vampirism as being disabling, and it’s a very interesting place to go in fiction with untapped potential. focusing heavily on the limitations of a vampire character changes the tone and opens up the question of “would you really trade anything to be turned?” when i feel a lot of longtime vampire appreciators including myself have become accustomed to saying yes without difficulty.

the sunlight restriction is the strongest part, because i think the core of it is exclusion from the “normal” world. if vampires have only from sunset to sunrise to interact with the world, they are socially isolated. how do they integrate with society when they can only participate in nightlife and 24-hour businesses? what if they have a personality best suited to saturday morning potlucks? they must spend so much time alone. they must move past locked buildings at night and wonder what it would be like to be welcomed inside.

feeding on blood & only blood has a lot of parallels with dietary restrictions and allergies. it sucks to be left out of everyone else’s mealtime bonding because you physically can’t join them. maybe they indulge you, set an empty plate out for you, or find some last-minute snack that’s safe enough for you, but you can’t participate. i have spent a lot of time hiding my restrictions. it is an art. order a drink, lie that you’re not too hungry, rush through the menu for something you can either tolerate or make it look like you’ve eaten. immortal vampires would be masters of this, hiding their shame.

for those who don’t want to kill/bite, blood bags have an obvious medical feeling. i like when media shows the vampires breaking into the hospital or running a fake blood drive, it’s silly and there’s intrigue in the contrast between monster & medicine. i would be very interested to see the medical nature of blood bags explored more. i have a vampire character who gets most of his nutrition through IV transfusions, and struggles with the feeling that he’s lost the ability to actually eat instead of just be sustained in an indefinite animation. it is another kind of isolation, a lost marker of humanity but also life. living things eat, dead things don’t, undead things occupy the unpleasant space between.

aversion to religion is something i like in vampire fiction & wish was more present. i found simon lewis in the mortal instruments’ experiences as a jewish vampire, who was magically prevented from finding comfort in that when he most needed it, to be very compelling. i have so many opinions about true blood but i was fascinated by the church-vampire dynamic in the earlier part of the show. what would different religious groups think about vampires? what would a vampire with your beliefs do if they very suddenly were incapable of accessing faith? do you know where the wheelchair accessible seats in your place of worship are? would your vampire hover by the doorstep and listen in? it’s isolating, humiliating, there’s so much dread and angst to tap into.

i like playing with ideas for odd biological quirks that the vampires would forget about, because they’re so insignificant, until it becomes another marker of their difference. dead bodies don’t conduct electricity properly for touch screens. voice-control and similar adaptive equipment would be helpful for them, if they’re connected to society enough to know it exists. do they sleep, and if so, is it the same as in life? i think twilight-style constantly awake vampires would be profoundly mentally affected by the lack of rest. a vampire who can’t dream during sleep, but who can read minds, might spend the nights looking for dreams to experience parasitically. i have a character whose body physically dies every time he “sleeps,” and his expectation that this natural function will disgust his human partner creates a literal distance between them in bed/coffin.

i see similarities with non-physical disabilities, too. heightened senses would be overwhelming without coping skills. a permanently fixed body, unchangeable, would exacerbate any existing dysmorphia or dysphoria. extremely long lifespans might cause memory issues, difficulty with appropriate social behavior, atypical styles of thinking, or trouble forming emotional attachments. i have a vampire from the late roman empire whose modern human friends have decided is not being rude on purpose, he’s just autistic with PTSD. there’s conflict between his understanding of himself as an inherently pained monster vs. the friends’ push for him to accept his differences and learn coping mechanisms.

actual disabilities in fiction are very much worth exploring, but sometimes that is too close to my reality to be an enjoyable read. vampirism lets the story be escapist even while it addresses the real world’s human worries.

#i am doing better emotionally after having my vampire fiction moment #so what if i am officially genetically abnormal. iulius from new rome does not even have genes anymore so i am doing better than him #vampireposted #my writing #writeblr #vampire #vampire oc

[rebuke-me]

“I mean, that’s why I like doing sports. It gets me out of the house.” Jake said, and Jeremy felt a little bit like throwing up. “Like, travel baseball-” 

“You have to be good at playing sports to play sports.” He said, cutting the other boy off. “And I’m not. And- and even if I did get on, for whatever reason, you still have to pay for your uniforms.” 

Jake looked over at him, and Jeremy stared at his knees, which were bouncing again. “They’re, like, fifteen bucks. It’s not bad.” 

“Some of us work because we need the money to live, Dillinger.” Jeremy gestured at the parking lot. “Your house is probably still standing somewhere. Mine’s a pizza place. Because some of us can’t even afford to keep a house, much less pay money to play a sport we’re bad at.” He realized his voice had risen, and he was gripping his book tightly on his lap. “I just- never mind. Sorry. I- I shouldn’t have said anything.” 

Jake didn’t speak for a moment, before he nodded. “Yeah. I… didn’t really consider that before now.” He said, slowly. “I didn’t mean to, y’know. Do that to you. I just figured…” 

“What, that since I’m Jewish I’m rich?” Jeremy couldn’t help the horrible bitterness that crept into his voice. He’d dealt with enough assumptions from people around him about his Judaism. Enough hatred. “Because that’s stupid, even for you, Dillinger.” 

“I’m not stupid.” Jake crushed a leaf in his hands, scattering it on the ground in front of him. “I didn’t even think of it that way.” 

They sat in silence for a while, before Jake cleared his throat. 

“Do people really… think that about you? Just ‘cause you’re Jewish?” 

Jeremy stared at the rotating neon sign over the gravesite of his house, the place he’d grown up in, that was gone now. He wondered if they’d filled in their basement with concrete. If they’d burned the wood to the ground. And maybe, somewhere, he wished he’d been there to see it fall. 

“Someone wrote that I should’ve been gassed on my locker last year.” He finally said. “The day before my bar mitzvah. Stuck one of those, like, gross stink bomb things in my gym bag and everything. I couldn’t get the smell out of my clothes for weeks.” 

Jake was looking at him with the kind of look his dad gave him when he mentioned how bad school was for him. Pity and horror and disappointment all at once. He knew he was. 

“Whatever. It- it doesn’t matter. They’re definitely all fucking old or dead now anyways.” Jeremy bit his cheek. “Maybe in 2023, everyone decided that Jewish people just get to live their lives and no one cares. Or maybe we’re all just still stuck in the same cycle of everyone thinking that our religion means we own everything and everyone.” He kicked a stone. 

“I- I didn’t know that happened to you. That’s… really terrible, Jeremy.” Jake’s voice was so pitying. “When we get back, if anyone else does that shit to you, I’ll hit them with my bat.” 

Jeremy couldn’t help but laugh a little bit at the image of Jake Dillinger knocking heads of anti-Semitic assholes with his baseball bat. “Thanks. I… appreciate that.” 

Jake got to his feet, brushing crushed up leaves from his jeans. Older Rich hadn’t had jeans that fit Jake, but he’d gotten his washed and Jeremy could barely see the blood residue on them. “C’mon. I don’t even wanna look at how much more expensive the Sbarro’s pizza is. We should head back before they start looking for us.” 

Jeremy looked one last time at the place where he’d grown up, before he got up, trying for a smile. “Back to the camp with us, Master Frodo.” He said. 

Jake furrowed his brows at him. “What?”

“Never mind.” Jeremy couldn’t help but laugh at Jake’s confusion. He held up his book. “Lord of the Rings. Maybe I’ll read you a bedtime story when we’re back at Rich’s.”

#bmc paper boys au #be more chill #bmc #jeremy heere #jake dillinger #deere #dillinjer #jupescribbles #tw antisemitism #tw antisemitism mention

[moderndayamymarch]

ranking downton abbey characters:

edith’s newspaper man- died punching nazis, can’t get more iconic than that

2. rose- flapper icon!! best fashion sense, married a cute jewish man, living my dream life

3. cora’s family- PLAYED BY SHIRLEY MACLAINE AND PAUL GIAMATTI, move over england the twentieth-century is america’s time to shine, it’s just funny that the family acts like they’re so above the americans but they’re the only reason y'all still have a house, like you hate us until you want our money

4. maggie smith- 1900s lucille bluth

5. thomas- often diva a down, i love a good schemer, only one real enough to call out the class divide

6. tom- HE’D BE HIGHER BUT THE WRITERS HAD HIM SELL OUT HIS SOCIALIST, IRISH NATIONALIST IDEAS IN EXCHANGE FOR BECOMING A COG IN THE WHEEL OF BRITISH ARISTOCRACY AND SPOKESPERSON FOR CAPITALISM. why. let my man burn down symbols of imperialism. i was in love with him season 1 and 2 but after? as joyce would say he became a jester at the court of his masters.

7. sybil- feminist icon, she would’ve stopped tom’s whole arc if she’d lived

8. mrs. hughes- she’s the only one keeping these ppl alive, bad bitch, also only servant aware that this is a job in the end and while she respects her employers she doesn’t worship the ground they walk on

9. matthew- he was cool, is the reason the rich people know what a weekend is, mary’s best love interest and I miss him

10. cora- american dollar princess!!

11. bertie- i love that he’s like toby from the office but if toby was the one promoted to corporate (not ryan). like a w for dull, normal people everywhere! (not an insult this is most everyone)

12. matthew’s mom- she could be a bit much at times and a bit of a nancy pelosi kinda progressive! like the family rolled their eyes at her but she was the only one of them actually doing anything useful for society so i’m not a hater. also i love her friendship with queen maggie smith

13. edith- the best scene of the whole show is the one where she finally called mary a bitch.

14. the cook- she’s cool

15. the dad (what actually is his name?)- he’s such a dumbass, walking example of why we shouldn’t give money/land/power because you’re related to someone, i did like the scene where he vomits up blood in the middle of dinner like finally something interesting

16. anna- stand up girl. be your own individual person

17. carson- ugh

18. mary’s second husband (henry?)- the male version of the horse girl: car guy

19. mary- a bitch but she often ate I fear (except the time she was cold/uncaring and MADE JOKES about newspaper man being killed by the nazis… it’s giving melania when she wore that “i don’t care, do you” jacket. like the man died standing up against what will be a fascist regime. what exactly have you done? )

20. daisy- just annoying

21. bates- i hate this man. he is a sanctimonious, sydney carton wannabe who makes his wife’s assault ABOUT HIM. to the point that her main concern after it happens is that he doesn’t find out to avoid him getting angry. and when he does find out, he broods. he thinks he’s better than everyone and i hate him so much. like in the first season when he refuses to say why he was arrested for stealing silver because of virtue or whatever, like who gives a fuck, just tell em it was your wife. that’s how i know this show isn’t about americans. we have no problem throwing someone under the bus to save our job. americans are nothing if not the prioritization of self-interest/individualism in the name of retaining power in the marketplace.

#downton abbey #i enjoy a good period piece i mean it’s no mad men #WHO DO YOU THINK YOURE TALKING TO? MAMMA? YOUR MAID? I KNOW YOU #like the bitch line is rightfully infamous but there’s something so real about this line. like for years mary’s behavior’s been excused #and propped up by the family and the staff as they make excuses but edith just READS her like no one knows you better than a sister

[buttercupsandboys]

Sunshine & Rainbows — an Alfie Solomons x original character story — Chapter 6

18+ NSFW - minors don’t interact 🙅🏻‍♀️

MASTERLIST | READ ON AO3

CHAPTER 6: every man has his limits

Word count: 3037

TW: language typical of Peaky Blinders, attempted humour 😂

Livy meets up with an old friend, Thomas has a business proposal, and Alfie wants to strangle everyone.

— • — • —

Alfie Solomons is not known for being a patient man. 

Usually, it doesn’t matter because people just listen. When he shows up at a restaurant, he doesn’t wait for a fucking table. When rent is due on his properties, people pay their fucking bills. When his bookies are on the tracks, the right horse always fucking wins. 

People listen because they don’t want to find out what happens if they don’t. 

But apparently when he asks tiny redheaded women to simply get dressed and get out the fucking door … no one listens. He knows because he’s been sitting here waiting for twenty fucking minutes like an eager lad on his first trip to a whorehouse. 

“Oi!” He barks, catching the attention of Ishmael in the rearview mirror. “Five minutes, mate. Five more fucking minutes, and if her pretty arse ain’t in this car then you’re going in there, yeah? Toss her over your shoulder and drag her out if you have to.”

“Yes, Mr Solomons.” Ishmael nods obediently,  but Alfie doesn’t miss the amused look on his face. 

Fucking hell. 

That woman already has him wrapped around her finger; he knows it and evidently, so does everyone else. It’s why he didn’t want her around the bakery. Between the Blinders arriving later today and Sabini’s threats, there’s a lot on the line and he can’t risk being distracted.

But then he thinks there’s just no fucking point—because it’s too late, innit? Truth is he’s already distracted because she’s all he can think about since the moment she walked through that door. 

And maybe even before then. 

He goes still as he thinks of France; of those cold, wet days when it felt like every single beautiful thing in the world had faded to black under the mud and blood. And how he held Livy’s photo while her father died at his feet, and how he kept holding on while they dug shrapnel from his hip; and how he came home but he still couldn’t let go because he looked in the mirror and didn’t recognise his own fucking face. 

That photo has been with him all this time because he needed to believe that something pure and beautiful still existed in this wicked world. 

But then she showed up—a cloud of sunshine and rainbows in this filthy, fucking town—looking up at him with those beautiful golden eyes like he’s some kind of man that he knows he’ll never be. 

So yes, he’s distracted. 

He doesn’t know how to navigate these waters—and now he’s gone and fucked her at the breakfast table, which is the exact opposite of how he imagined it would be. Because he’s not a soft man but he wants to be soft with her. 

Alfie can’t even remember the last time he met a woman brave enough to look him in the eye. But she’s still scared of the dark, ain’t she? 

He drags a hand through his hair, shaking free from his thoughts, before checking his watch. 

It’s been ten fucking minutes. 

Ishmael catches his attention, raising an eyebrow as he waits for further instructions.  “Sir?”

“Just … fuck off, mate.” Alfie grunts in defeat. 

“Yes, sir.”

— • — • —

Livy is flashing a brilliant smile as she chats with David, a young Jewish baker, and it’s the only reason Alfie hasn’t crossed the room and smashed that fucker’s teeth in. 

He told his men to keep their distance and mind their fucking manners because they’re all dirty bastards, and he should know because so is he. But it’s clear that Livy’s been lonely, and she likes people even though most are idiots, and well, he can only keep her hidden away for so fucking long.

So here he is, showing considerable restraint and letting her flutter around the bakery like a fucking butterfly, but it doesn’t mean he‘s happy about it. He’ll be sending her out when Thomas arrives because he does not trust those gentile fuckers, and he’ll be keeping a close eye on her in the meantime. 

In fact, he’s just about talked himself into going for a little ‘stroll’ when Ollie comes rushing around the corner. 

“Mr Shelby has just arrived, sir. His men are nearly here.”

“Well that’s just fucking wonderful, ain’t it?” Alfie pinches his brow and allows himself a moment to grumble before pulling back his shoulders and getting on with business. “What I need, mate, is for you to take Livy outside. Near the loading dock, yeah? Just keep away from the fucking Blinders til we’re done here. Think you can handle that?”

“Yes, sir.” But then he hesitates. “But … what am I supposed to do with her?”

“Do with her?” Alfie repeats incredulously. “Do with her? Fucking hell, use your head, lad. Let her sample the bread, I don’t care. Just keep her occupied and away from these cunts.”

Ollie nods meekly as he thinks of the fiery redhead who Mr Solomons is clearly very fond of, and silently prays he doesn’t end up in a barrel before the end of the day. 

— • — • —

“There are fucking rules here, yeah? There are fucking rules for a fucking reason. Quite simply, they have to be obeyed.”

Alfie’s powerful voice echos against the barrels as he stands before the new bakers, who are lined up like soldiers. He’s looking them over, ready to elaborate on the fucking rules—when he spots Ollie from the corner of his eye. 

The lad’s standing by the door, shuffling from foot to foot, clearly trying to get his attention. 

Alfie decides to ignore him. 

“Rule number one. The distinction between bread and rum, yeah, is not discussed ...”

Ollie continues to fidget, looking more and more distressed, while Alfie tightens his grip on his cane and tries to resist the urge to smash someone in the face. 

He carries on with his speech. 

“… You do not go anywhere near them because Jewish women for you are off the fucking menu. The redhead too. Keep your fucking eyes off that one unless you want me to cut them out with a fucking spoon.”

Ollie looks ready to piss himself now. He locks eyes with Alfie and not so subtly nods his head in the direction of the door. 

Alfie imagines breaking Ollie’s fingers, snapping them one by one, but he keeps a straight face as he wraps things up. 

“All right, that's it, yeah.” Alfie turns and nods at Thomas. “Forgive me, I interrupted you.”

Then he calmly walks out of the room with Ollie hot on his heels, waiting until the door shuts before he spins around and slams the taller man against the wall. 

“What the fuck is so important that you can’t wait five fucking minutes?” Alfie roars, just inches from his face. “You come running in, yeah? Like a puppy keen for a fucking piss. That it mate? You need me to hold it for ya?”

“No boss, it’s just the girl—“

“What about the girl?” Alfie slams him again, twisting the fabric of his shirt in his iron grip. He’s growling now. “What about the girl?”

Ollie’s eyes are wide and his face is turning red, but he manages to croak, “She’s with a friend, sir. She says he’s an old friend?”

Alfie drops him abruptly. “What the fuck do you mean she’s with a friend?”

“I think you should see for yourself, sir.”

There’s a pause before the silence is violently shattered by Alfie as he kicks a nearby crate, sending empty bottles flying against the concrete. His boots crunch against the glass as he storms off towards the loading dock, leaving Ollie unsure of whether to follow or not. 

But then he hears the door open, and Livy’s voice rings out —“Stop, Johnny! That tickles!” — and Ollie decides it would be wise to make a hasty retreat. 

— • — • —

Alfie bursts through the door, raging like a bull, before coming to a sudden stop because he cannot believe his fucking eyes. 

He has to rub his brow and give his head a small shake before his brain will fully accept that there’s a man—a fucking gypsy—with his hands on Livy’s bare fucking thigh. 

“C’mon lass, I know what you’re hiding up there.” The man pulls Livy closer, hands fumbling with her skirt. “Let Johnny have a wee look.”

The world goes red and all control goes out the window. Alfie’s across the room in three strides and his strong hands are inches from snapping the pikey’s neck—when the strange man suddenly stands, grinning triumphantly as he thrusts three small blades in the air. 

“Ah-ha! I knew it, Livy Lou! Some things never change, eh? Up for a bit of sport, love?” 

The man—Johnny apparently—wiggles his eyebrows suggestively and Alfie is so fucking shocked that he temporarily forgets about wringing the fucker’s neck. 

Because … Livy Lou?

The woman in question responds by throwing her head back in laughter and wrapping an arm around Johnny. She’s wiping tears from her eyes when she finally notices Alfie, and she looks startled, as if surprised to see him in his own fucking bakery. 

“Oh! Hello there, darling!” 

Livy looks ready to say more, but then a loud, very unladylike burp escapes from her lovely red lips. Her eyes go round with shock and her hands fly to her mouth before she dissolves into giggles all over again.  

It suddenly dawns on Alfie that Ollie is a dumb cunt because Livy has most definitely been “sampling” the bread. 

He takes a deep fucking breath. 

“Livy, love—who the fuck is this?” Alfie grits his teeth and prays for patience as he’s tested for what must be the hundredth time today. 

“Ah, Johnny Dogs. Making friends, eh?” 

A familiar voice rings out from the doorway, and now Alfie knows he’s being punished. He always knew that he wouldn’t see heaven in this life or the next, but fuck, he wasn’t expecting to find himself at the gates of hell on this particular afternoon. But that’s clearly what’s happening because he turns around and finds Thomas fucking Shelby leaning casually against the door frame, lighting a cigarette and looking entirely too fucking pleased with himself. 

But now is not the time to dwell on his eternal damnation because he still needs to regain some semblance of control over this fucking shite show. 

“Oi! Tommy, this pikey one of yours?” Alfie demands accusingly while pointing a thick finger in Johnny’s direction. 

But before Thomas can respond, Livy stumbles forward and all of Alfie’s hopes for ‘control’ go out the window (along with his self-respect) because she pinches him by the ear and drags him down to face her. 

“Alfie Solomons, you behave yourself! Don’t use that nasty word!” She attempts a stern glare but her glassy eyes and rosy cheeks lessen the impact. But she does still manage a firm smack to his shoulder for good measure. 

“Ow! The fuck … “ 

Alfie trails off when he hears an amused snort from Thomas, and now he’s seriously debating who to strangle first. But before he can decide, Johnny jumps in with another fucking revelation. 

“Tom! This here’s Livy Lou—the lass used to camp with the Lees.”

“That right, Johnny?” Thomas tilts his head and nods slightly, digesting this new information as he inhales deeply from his cigarette. 

Fuck this just keeps getting better. 

Alfie ignores the two men and turns to Livy, catching her cheeks between his hands and gently stroking her face—before asking incredulously, “You were living with pikeys?”

“Alfie!” 

Livy swats at him again, but this time she loses her balance and pitches forward. Alfie manages to catch her before she ruins her pretty face on the concrete and he drags her back upright, securing her tight against him with a firm grip on her hip. She frowns, but then her fingers find their way down the front of his shirt and all seems forgiven when she starts fondling the buttons. 

“Yes, Alfie, for a while. The Lee’s were friends with Daddy,” she explains. 

“Aye, William was a good man. We were all sorry to hear that he passed, love.” Johnny removes his hat and lowers his eyes in respect. 

“Thank you, Johnny.” Livy’s voice is quiet, but then she hiccups and breaks into a wide smile. “So shall we have a throw then?”

She tries to wiggle free, but Alfie only wraps his arm tighter around her waist and pulls her back. “What you need a fucking glass of water, pet.”

Livy pouts and Johnny steps in, misinterpreting Alfie's concern. “Don’t ya worry ‘bout Livy Lou. She’s a crack shot, I taught her me’self!” 

He thumbs his jacket proudly before demonstrating his skill by flinging a knife, sending it dangerously close to Alfie’s head. Livy cheers and claps in delight when it lands smack dab in the centre of the barrel behind them, squealing as she holds out her hand. 

“My turn—“

“FUCKING ENOUGH!”

Alfie‘s pretty sure that he’s never shown this kind of restraint in his entire fucking life. But every man has his limits, and his have now been well and truly surpassed. 

“I know you’re all enjoying this little fucking circus, yeah?” Alfie releases Livy and turns slowly, pointing dangerously at each member of the impromptu gathering. “But there’ll be no more throwing knives, no more fucking drinking, and no more gypo fucking nonsense in my FUCKING bakery!

“Tom, get your man out of my fucking sight before I put my cane up his arse. Then meet me in my fucking office, yeah? And you—Livy, love—you need a fucking nap.”

And with that, Alfie throws Livy over his shoulder and heads for the door, while Livy blows kisses at Johnny and giggles madly. 

Thomas steps out of the way and takes another drag of his cigarette, his face expressionless except for the slight twitch of the lip as he watches the door slam shut behind them. 

— • — • —

“Not one fucking word, mate.“

Alfie has his feet on the desk and he’s casually reading the bookie reports. But he can sense the Blinder lurking in the doorway and knows his eyes are on Livy, who’s snoring softly on the sofa, tucked securely under Alfie’s jacket. 

“Know that I will not hesitate to put a bullet between your eyes after that little display earlier,” Alfie threatens, still refusing to look up. 

“Alfie …” Thomas puts his hands up in mock surrender before taking a seat. “Johnny’s just an old friend, nothing more.”

“Mate, I don’t want to hear about your gypsy brethren, you’re all fucking cousins and whatnot,” growls Alfie as he finally puts down the reports and removes his glasses. Then he props his elbows on the desk and steeples his fingers. “Talk to me about the Italians, Tom.”

Thomas takes his time removing a cigarette from a silver case and rolling it across his lips before lighting it. 

“As we agreed, we’ve taken their pubs and clubs—including the Eden Club. I understand the girl was a dancer.”

Alfie sits up straight and eyes Thomas suspiciously. “What the fuck do you know about the girl?”

“I know Sabini wants her dead.” He pauses to bring his cigarette to his lips, inhaling deeply before continuing, his words cutting through a cloud of smoke. “I know she killed one of his men, in the lavatory, with a knife to his chest. Seems Johnny taught her well, eh Alfie?”

Alfie narrows his eyes but says nothing, so Thomas continues on. 

“Could use a girl like her back at the Club, I hear she was very popular. She’ll be under our protection and Arthur will keep an eye on her.”

“Fuck off. No. End of conversation.”

“I see …” Thomas raises an eyebrow and shrugs. “Just thought we might be doing you a favour, Alfie.” He tilts his head slightly and rolls his eyes towards the factory floor. “Not exactly the place for a lady, eh?”

“Let me worry about the girl, Tom. If you want to do me a fucking favour, you can finish things with Sabini.” Alfie picks up the abandoned bookie report and throws it across the desk, before leaning forward and prodding it with a thick finger. “What’s going on with the fucking races?” 

“Patience, Alfie.” 

Alfie snorts. He’s been nothing but patient today. 

“There hasn’t been much resistance and once we burn their licenses at Epsom, Sabini will be finished,” concludes Thomas. “We don’t anticipate any trouble.”

“Well, that’s that done.” Alfie wipes his hands before pushing back his chair. “So now why don’t you fuck off?”

Thomas reaches forward to extinguish his cigarette but ignores the dismissal. 

“I have a new proposal for you, Alfie.”

“And what‘s that, Tom? You want me to set you up with a little stand, so you can read fortunes down by the river?”

Alfie gives him a hard stare, but as always, Thomas is unaffected. 

“Liverpool, Alfie.”

“Liverpool.”

“Do know Bernard McCall and the High Rip Gang?”

Fucking hell. 

The last thing Alfie wants is to listen to another fucking ‘proposal’ from this man. He’s tired and he just wants to go home and, if he’s lucky, bury himself in Livy and let her make up for all the headaches she’s caused him today. 

But instead, he’s stuck in his shitty office listening to some ridiculous scheme involving a bunch of mad cunts from up north. 

“Yeah, mate, I’ve heard of him. But tell me why I should give two fucks about a gang of scousers, eh?

“They control the docks, Alfie. And ships from Liverpool go straight to America.“

“So do ships from London.”

Alfie is quick with an offhand remark, but the gears in his head have started turning. He can see the benefits of expanding to Liverpool—with the help of the Blinders—and Thomas only confirms his thoughts. 

“It’s about control. We expand our network and we have more leverage, which means more rum on more ships to America.”

Alfie sighs because he knows Thomas has a point, and even though it’s fucking late, business is business, innit?

So he opens his desk and removes a bottle of whiskey along with two glasses. 

“Alright, Thomas. Looks like we’ve got more to discuss after all.”

A/N: I googled Liverpool gangs and the High Rip Gang came up. Apparently, Bernard McCall was a real member but obviously, this is all fiction. Also, my British hubby tells me scouser is slang for people from Liverpool.

#alfie solomons #peaky blinders alfie #Alfie x original character #alfie solomons fanfic #alfie x oc #alfie solomons smut #alfie solomons fanfiction #peaky blinders fandom #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders #tom hardy #tom hardy fanfiction #tom hardy fic #livy x alfie

[wind-sage-serin]

If you aren’t interested in the baneful magic thing I’ve been doing to friggin move on with my life and let go, you should probably just keep scrolling. But if you’re interested, below this cut is my experience so far.

This spell work is entirely for the sake of ensuring that someone never ever comes into contact with me again by absolutely tearing the person several new ones.

After I placed red pepper and my nails into the curse box everything went nuts. I got called the next day by his wife as she assumed he was in an affair with me. I was not. I learned of a lot more disgusting actions he supposedly has taken so that’s also why I’m doing this— I’m no longer his only victim. For the sake of her privacy I won’t be discussing the gritty details of her side of things (not my place), but suffice it to say it’s enough that it drew blood.

Before you say “why would you put something that’s a part of your body in there??”— I don’t consider my nails a part of my body, not after I cut them, they end up in the trash otherwise. I have dissociated what was a “part of me” and thrown it away. Additionally, it’s more the hair that is associated with a witch’s magical power, and the nails are more negatively associated.

In Japanese tradition you’re not supposed to leave them in open spaces as spirits and witches will take and use them for evil. In a few Jewish traditions they’re meant to be disposed of ritually and kept short, especially during grieving periods. Nails, unlike hair, have less personal power attached to them as hair does.

Symbolically, I am giving the person the box was meant for the part of himself that he grafted onto me— the part he convinced me was “me” but was little more than an emulation of himself. By putting the nails in the box, I’m permitting the mirror he tried to construct within me the permission it needs to wreck his shit.

My nails are also really sharp when long, so putting them in the box is the grafted personality directly attacking. Animals use their claws, after all, to fight for their right to live. And I’ve earned it.

So no, I don’t think nails and hair work the same for baneful magic at all. Nails are attacking, hair is defensive. You’d be much better suited to use your own hair in a spell for loving yourself.

Another tip for that: if you don’t want to use your nails, get black nail polish that’s good at peeling off easily, get it in black for drawing out the negative energy, and when you feel it’s time, peel it off and use it instead of nails.

Now that it’s all sealed up, it’s time I tell you all the things that went into it:

1. A ceramic disc with a rare element in it (the cursed object that best encapsulates it all and the epicenter of attachment)

2. A thorn from a bush (the bitter side of sweet, it’s also a huge 2" thorn too, represents the knife stuck in my back)

3. Rose thorns from the decaying part of the bush (cursed with a decaying love)

4. A few rusty nails (items the fae wanted me to put in there, guess they’ll be getting in on the action)

5. A perfect “glove” of my pet gecko’s shed skin (to never feel comfortable in one’s skin again)

6. Every hematite ring I’ve ever broken (4-5 rings total, all the energy left over the years of agony will haunt the person)

7. Clipped fingernails (constant scratches and attacks from the fake personality he made up to harm me)

8. Red chili flakes (to make him stop talking about me)

9. A ticket to the 2018 Slender Man movie i saw with him (to invoke paranoia)

10. Crushed selenite/ “stardust” (simulates the Ash Phoenix Isthangr’s Cremated Remains, which are Ganim’s version of Hell)

11. A clipped feather dropped in our front yard from a small wild bird (I clip the upper plumulaceous portion and save it to burn so it can never be reunited with the lower plume and calamus, which are shoved into the box through a narrow crevice, represents “clipping one’s wings” to keep them from taking off)

12. Beeswax (seals the box closed pretty well, couldn’t brute force it if I tried, represents the Six sealing in the evil)

13. Teal candle wax (the least favorite color, used to add insult to injury)

14. Dolomite on Pyrite (standard “gift rock” he often gave when he didn’t have a gift, using that “gift” as an anchor that represents a stone-cold heart)

15. Black jute cord holding rock to box (binding the anchor to the box, ensnaring him in his final fate)

16. Black candle wax dropped all over rock (to blot out any positive associations with the rock and to completely seal the curse in place)

Since I’m going up to Wisconsin for vacation, the next step is (logically) to release it. I intend on ritually dropping it into the water. Though it isn’t anywhere near as many shipwrecks compared to Superior, Lake Michigan still is (in some places) a shipwreck graveyard. The final step, allowing the stone to drag the box into the deep, will have the intended effect of amplifying his greatest fears. He’s terrified of heights and that extends to not being able to touch the bottom when swimming, and he’s terrified of death, which the box will forever be surrounded by.

Am I a monster for going to this length? Perhaps. But after what I have gone through and what his wife is allegedly going through in this moment, I can’t stand for it any longer. Once I get back from vacation, I’ll be following up with a return-to-sender for the remaining malice (found through an egg cleanse) as well as a cord-cutting candle ritual for the sake of ridding myself of this wretch.

#baneful magic #serin.exe #pagan practice #magic of Ganim

[fdelopera]

In relation to Jake Lockley Wrestles with God.

As always your analysis is amazing! It's got my head reeling! And full of so many questions!

The frustrating bit is that we don't know when Jake was manifested! Steven was young enough to possibly study and learn about Jewish culture and traditions. Let's assume Jake didn't come around until Marc was mid teenager. How much may have been expected of him at that point to learn. He would have come around when all teenagers are in their most stressful and emotional time in their lives.

But what point in Jewish culture is he jumping headlong into? Assuming we are past the traditional Bar Mitzvah age, what are the next important steps? Things he would have been thrown into without prior intensive teaching and training.

Considering Jake has taken up the Hispanic heritage, presumably in Chicago, he is also thrown into other traditions that are expected of him. To be Hombre. To be tough and to always win.

I always saw Jake as the rebellious one. The one to take to heart the 'question' part of the Torah. Question the teachings. Demand answers of those around him. Demand that god be held accountable for his pain and mistreatment.

He will not only wrestle with god, but he will set out to stand over them and demand to be seen. So in talking to Harrow in Spanish, talking to Helen in Spanish, he is telling god "I am here. I will win. Because of this, you will lose."

Thank you @drifting-pieces-blog-blog for your Ask! Based on what we know about Jake, I have a feeling that his triggers to front have as much to do with protecting Marc from himself as protecting the system from outside threats.

Marc is more than capable of taking care of business in a fight. He is skilled, he has military training, and he has an appetite for both giving and receiving punches.

In fact, I think that Marc enjoys taking hits. He gets high on the sweat and the blood. He encourages people to try to take him down: “What, are we dancin'? We fightin'? What are we gonna do?” When he gets onto that rooftop in Cairo, he’s not afraid. He’s excited to get into this brawl.

But he also uses fighting to self-punish. To self-flagellate. Khonshu knows this, too. He tells Marc in a voice that’s both sardonic and truthful, “I know that you enjoy the work I have for you.”

I’m going to put the rest under a read-more. And I’m adding a trigger warning to this post for self-harm.

Marc often follows Khonshu’s directives and fights evildoers as a way to self-harm. To punish himself for Roro’s death. To punish himself for all the deaths that have come after. To punish himself for being a killer. To let someone who is “the worst of the worst” (in his mind, just as bad as him) take him down. And that’s when Jake steps in. Because there are times when Marc takes it too far. As he says to Steven, “You try taking a life. See how quickly you forget. Kept wishing I'd fail and one of them would kill me instead. The healing ended up being a curse.” And that’s when the body is at risk. Not necessarily at risk of death; at least, not while they have Khonshu’s healing to preserve them. But at risk of harm. At risk of hopelessness. At risk of giving up. Because they might not die, but they can still feel the pain of death. And that’s Jake’s trigger to front. He decimates whoever they are fighting against. Cause it’s the only way to get Marc to stop.

There are other times, too, when Jake takes Marc out of a self-harm spiral. Because another method Marc has of self-harm is drinking. When you’re raised by a parent or a parental figure who is an alcoholic, drinking as a means of self-harm is a special kind of hell. It perpetuates the cycle of abuse, because now you’re becoming the thing you hated as a child. And I think there are times when Marc is drunk where he comes close to hurting himself in a way that he wouldn’t be able to recover from (or at least, not without Khonshu’s healing powers). And Jake steps in before he can get to that point.

Remember those gloves on the nightstand in their little hotel room in Cairo? At the beginning of the final scene in Ep. 2, the camera follows Steven’s gaze into the room. Steven has been kept on the inside for a while (represented by the sheet that briefly covers the mirror, before falling to the ground). Perhaps there was a fight between Steven and Marc, at which point Marc smashed the mirror and put the sheet over it. Both Steven’s and Marc’s hands are bloody from their fight at the mirror. However, there was more damage done to the room after Marc put the sheet up, because when Steven looks out, he appears genuinely shocked and distressed at the amount of destruction that Marc has caused in the room. He’s seeing this sight for the first time. Marc put up the “sheet” that symbolizes the barrier between them because he didn’t want Steven to see the destructive spiral he knew was coming. He’s ashamed of it. Marc sits on the floor, finishing a bottle of whisky. Then the camera pans over to the nightstand. We see the pair of black gloves. We don't realize until the very last scene of Ep. 6 what these gloves signify. These are Jake's gloves.

What was Jake doing? From what we know of him, he was probably wrestling Marc back from the cliff's edge, and then leaving without a trail to follow. Marc is at his lowest point. He’s lost the scarab, forcing him to “probably get himself killed running around Cairo” looking for Harrow’s followers, as Layla puts it. Layla has found him, which means that she’s in danger, and she has found out about Steven, which is a point of deep shame for Marc. As he says later, “For what it's worth, I had it under control until very recently.” Steven is “it” in this scenario. To put this in perspective, Marc is fine with Layla knowing that he’s killed people; however, her knowing about the way that his system has been shaped by their trauma is painful and humiliating — it’s more than he can bear. To make matters worse, Khonshu is furious with him, which Marc worries will cause the old god to double down on his threats to make Layla his next avatar. And worst of all, Steven has found out about him, and he’s seemed to have confirmed one of Marc’s greatest fears — if Steven knows WHO Marc is, he will hate Marc forever. And Marc will deserve that hatred. And I think there’s part of Marc that wishes he could just drink himself into oblivion. To thrash wildly against the room until he breaks himself to pieces. He’s hopeless and defeated. And that’s Jake’s cue.

Maybe Marc just thinks he blacked out for a while from the whisky. Jake’s gloves are symbolic of him being unknown to Marc and Steven. Jake doesn't even leave a trace of fingerprints for Marc and Steven to find. He is clandestine. Meticulous. Structured and organized. He has to be. If Marc or Steven knew about him, they could contend with him (like they do with each other), and those few seconds could mean the difference between life and death. Neither Marc nor Steven have gotten a more than a fleeting glimpse of Jake. A sense of someone, hovering on the edges of their awareness. But he’s there. And he keeps them safe. Jake Lockley has a JOB to do. His job is to protect the system from harm, even at the cost of his own connection with them.

As for when Jake came into being, I think it’s possible he first fronted during the MK system’s later childhood or early adolescence, at least based on my analysis that he protects against some specific types of self-harm. And while he might not have experienced their Jewish education in the way that Steven and Marc did, he would still have had plenty of Jewish experiences. The tutoring and training that prepares a child for their Bar Mitzvah is just the beginning of Jewish life. There is a world of Jewish experience that comes after. The Bar Mitzvah is the rite of passage in which a child becomes a responsible member of Jewish life. Once the child crosses that threshold, they now have duties to their family and to the community.

And Jake was there for that, I think. And he probably saw the utter hypocrisy in the MK system having to be performatively Jewish in public while being abused and neglected within an ostensibly Jewish home.

I can imagine he has his own associations with Jewishness — ways of being Jewish that are uniquely his, that he gets to own. I can empathize with Jake’s rejection of that thin veneer of performative faith that was used to cover up the abuse that lay just below the surface. I can also identify with his need to demand retribution for that abuse. He follows a doctrine of “an eye for an eye,” in which he demands accountability for the wrongs committed against him and the MK system; he wants to put an end to the cycle of abuse.

I agree that Jake would be likely to question God, as I wrote about in the post you mentioned. He would wrestle with the religious teachings that he received piecemeal and second-hand from his disjointed time growing up. He would have been the one most likely to experience their Jewishness as an outsider looking in. That kind of forced distance gives perspective. It’s an elevation above the chessboard — a vantage point that can allow for certain insights, like the insight not to take things at face value, but instead to fight back. To demand autonomy. To rebel. To follow one’s own path. Jake’s doctrine is one of LIFE, and he will wrestle with anyone who tries to take away his personhood. Including Marc.

As for his chosen communities, I can see him being drawn to explore his Latino heritage. To find strength in that. To reclaim that part of himself. To speak with others who are NOT the family. Because in Chicago in the 90s and 00s, he would have found some Latine Jewish community. But it would have primarily been older people; not teenagers. So I can imagine he would have sought out Hispanic community and learned about his heritage there. To go where the Spectors are not known, so that Jake can have at least a few people who know him by his name.

I can see him wrestling to form an identity that is his, and not handed down with the associated baggage from his forefathers. As he should. Because we who are outsiders often have the greatest claim to our cultural heritage. The greatest claim to be seen and acknowledged as having a RIGHT to it. Because it wasn’t handed to us; it doesn’t come to us easily. Instead, we have had to FIGHT to make it our own.

#drifting-pieces-blog-blog #moon knight #jake lockley #marc spector #steven grant #oscar isaac #self harm tw

[lesfeldickbiblestudy]

  Through the Bible with Les Feldick LESSON 1 * PART 1 * BOOK 78 CHRIST AS THE ROCK OF SCRIPTURE Various Scriptures Okay, it’s good to see everybody in this afternoon. For those of you joining us on television, again we want to thank you for joining us.  We have just come back from a rather long trip.  And you know, the thing that just rings in our ears when we get home is the word “every.”  They all say the same thing – we watch you every morning.  Well, you know we love to hear that.  And a couple right here just told us the same thing.  That tells us that there’s a hunger.  You’re not watching it just to kill half an hour from time-to-time, but to really get hooked on the Word of God. And as one of my listeners I was talking to last night said, “I never had an interest in this before, but now I just can’t get enough.”  Well, that’s as it should be. You know, just as soon as that new baby is born, it starts crying.  What triggers the cry?  Hunger.  They want to be fed.  And that’s the way it should be with a new believer.  So those of you out in television, again, we just thank you for your response.  We thank you for your kind letters and your financial help and everything that makes this possible. All right, we’re going to start a new book today.  It is book number 78. We finished our review of Genesis to Revelation in the last taping.  I’m going to be looking at something new today.  We’re going to look at the many times in Scripture that Jesus Christ is referred to as the Rock or the Stone.  And there’s a lot of confusion of that simply because of one verse.  The studio audience already has it, so those of you in television go with us to Matthew chapter 16.  We’re going to drop in at verse 13.  These are verses that we’ve used many times, but we’re going to comment when we get down to verse 18. Matthew 16:13-17 “When Jesus came into the borders of Caesarea Philippi, (up there in Northern Israel) he asked his disciples (the Twelve), saying, Whom do men say that I the Son of man am?  14. And they said, Some say that thou art John the Baptist: some, Elijah; and others, Jeremiah, or one of the prophets.  15. He saith unto them, But whom say ye that I am?  16. And Simon Peter answered and said, Thou art the Christ, the Son of the living God.  17. And Jesus answered and said unto him, Blessed art thou, Simon Bar-jona: for flesh and blood hath not revealed it unto thee, but my Father who is in heaven.”  Which, of course, is the normal way of enlightening people.  Peter isn’t the first nor the last.  Now here it comes in verse 18.  Jesus is speaking. Matthew 16:18 “And I say unto thee, That thou art Peter, and upon this rock I will build my church; (And remember, the word is always ecclesia, so it was a called-out assembly. Not necessarily the Body of Christ Church, but it would be a Jewish called-out assembly.)  and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it.” I’m not a Greek scholar, but I went into some of my Greek dictionaries and I didn’t find anything that I hadn’t heard before.  And that is that there’s a play on words here.  They’re pretty much the same—the Rock or Stone. One of the Hebrew words, or the Greek, is Cephas—from which we get Peter’s other name—which is the word for rock or stone.  The only difference is that when He says, “Thou art Peter,” it’s in the feminine, if I’ve got it right.  But when He speaks of the other, “upon this rock,” then it’s masculine.  Then I went to a couple of the other commentaries and they both maintain that, yes, indeed, He was speaking to Peter as the “little stone,” but upon Himself as “the Rock, I will build my church.” And then I was really shocked when I got into Augustine. You know I’ve been rather critical of Augustine, because after all he became the father of Roman Catholicism. Yet even Augustine maintained that the Rock on which Christ was speaking was Himself—not Peter, but Himself. Of course, we are all aware that Roman Catholicism stresses the fact that that’s why Peter became the first pope, because of this statement right here.

  But the Roman Catholics aren’t alone. There are a lot of other Protestant groups that adhere to the same thing.  That when Jesus said “upon this rock,” He was speaking of Peter.  And I’m going to show, hopefully from Scripture, contrary to the tradition of Christendom, that the Rock in Scripture is always Jesus Christ.  He is the Rock.  He is the Stone!  We’re going to chase them down and see if we can make sense. Now, before we go back and look up our Old Testament reference to that, I want you to go ahead with me to Romans chapter 15.  I think it’s either verse 3 or 4—verse 4.  This is the basis for our study today.  We’re going to go back to the Old Testament, and we’re going to look at these terms concerning Christ as the Rock or the Stone, because Paul writes and tells us that: Romans 15:4a “For whatsoever thing were written aforetime (in other words, back in the Old Testament) were written for our learning,…” And you know I’m always stressing there’s a big difference between learning and doctrine.  Doctrine is that which influences our behavior.  Doctrine is what brings us to salvation.  But learning is just simply background.  So all these Old Testament Scriptures are for background more than they are for our doctrine.  In the Old Testament we get a good understanding of how God has worked from the very onset of the human experience.  All right, reading on: Romans 15:4b “…were written for our learning, that we through patience and comfort of the scriptures might have hope.”  Now, we’re going to go back to Exodus. As you turn back to Exodus, I want you to be thinking of one or two instances in the Old Testament where that is so apropos. The first one that always comes to my mind is Joseph.  Now there was Joseph, the favored son, hated by the brethren.  And because of their hatred, they sold him into slavery, and where did he end up?  Down in Egypt!  And another unfortunate situation was in the house of Potiphar when Potiphar’s wife accused Joseph of trying to assault her, and he was consequently thrown into prison.  And if I’ve got my timing right, the poor guy must have been in prison about 10 years.  Did God ever give up on him?  Did God forget about him?  Why, no!  So it tells us—no matter how tough things may get, no matter how deep the valley we’re going through—God is there.  And in His own time He’s going to bring us out of it, even as He did Joseph. Well, I think that’s what Paul refers to then. That we study and learn from these Old Testament Scriptures so that we, too, may have the patience to wait on God—knowing that in His own time He’s going to bring us through to the fruition of everything. All right, now one of the first instances in Scripture where we have Christ as the Rock is here in Exodus chapter 17.  Of course, Israel is out there on the desert.  Not a very pleasant place to be in the Middle East.  And how much of our everyday resources are on the desert?  None.  There’s nothing.  You know, the best time I can picture the desert is, if any of you went with us, when we went down to Petra.  From Amman all the way down to Petra is an all day drive in that bus, and it’s just nothing but flat gravel, nothing even for an animal to eat.  There were a few camels out there.  I don’t know whether they eat rocks or what!  But that was the perfect picture of the desert.  There’s nothing! Well, that’s where these Israelites are.  They’re out there on the desert.  You know, it just happened that Iris was going through some of her stuff yesterday and she came up with a little internet article that somebody sent me several years ago.  I’m sure you’ve all seen it—where someone in our American Army took the time one day to put together the logistics that were necessary for Israel out there on the desert.  I’m sure most of you have read it and seen it.  And they were looking at the same figure that I have used over the years—three million people.  I remember the first time I taught this, I used Dallas-Fort Worth as an example.

 Because in the 1990 census, if I remember right, in Dallas-Fort Worth there were a little over three million people. So I used the example: can you imagine Dallas and Fort Worth moving out in mass and then ending out there on the desert with nothing of natural provision.  They were totally dependent on God.  Totally!  But they were human, so what did they do?  They griped.  And they complained.   And sometimes it got worse than others.  And Moses said, “God, these are not my people.  I didn’t conceive them.  You can have them.”  And God said, “No, they’re not Mine. They’re yours.” But nevertheless, get the picture?  The poor people were out there on that flat desert living in their tents.  I don’t image they even had the wherewithal for a pick-up basketball game or a softball game.  What did the poor people do for diversion?   And that’s why things got pretty difficult.  But nevertheless, the Nation of Israel is out there completely dependent on their God. Now what are we to learn from that?  Well, that’s where we are.  We are totally dependent.  We can’t do anything on our own, because as soon as a believer thinks he can do it on his own, he’s in trouble.  So here’s one of the lessons that we learn from this – that as Israel was totally dependent on their miracle-working God, so we have to be dependent day by day. Now, when I say miracle-working—as I was going over all this the last few weeks—has there ever been a greater miracle than God moving a Nation of three to five million people out of Egypt, across the Red Sea, out onto the desert, and taking care of them for forty years?  What a miracle! But anyway, imagine how many millions of gallons of water it took every day just for their routine use?  Cooking and bathing and what have you.  And the car loads of wood that it would take for their fires!  And we know they cooked the manna.  They fried it. They boiled it and everything, so they had to have fires.  This article, that I forgot to bring today, went through all the humongous amounts of material that those three million people needed—not just for a day or two, not just for a week of campout, but for forty years.  And yet God provided. Well, that brings us all the way up to Exodus 17.  Again, I’m going to start at verse 1, because we’ve got plenty of time. Exodus 17:1-2 “And all the congregation of the children of Israel journeyed from the wilderness of Sin, after their journeys, according to the commandment of the LORD, (See, this is all under the Lord’s direction day-by-day.) and pitched in Rephidim: and there was no water for the people to drink.  2.  Wherefore the people did chide (or began to complain) with Moses, and said, Give us water that we may drink.  And Moses said unto them, Why chide ye with me?  wherefore do ye tempt (test) the LORD?”  Well, I don’t know what Moses expected them to do.  You sure don’t get water on the desert. Exodus 17:3 “And the people thirsted there for water; and the people murmured against Moses, and said, Wherefore is this that thou hast brought us up out of Egypt, to kill us and our children and our cattle with thirst?”  That’s the other thing I think a lot of time we forget.  They didn’t just move out with humanity, but they had all their livestock.  And it must have been tremendous numbers of it.  Everything had to eat and drink.  Now what I’m building on is the miraculousness of it all, and how God constantly supplied their need. All right, now just to show you how they complained, I think it’s in Numbers 11.  Turn there with me.  Numbers 11 and jump down to verse 4.  Now, this was the attitude of these Israelites, I imagine, during the whole 40 years out there on that sandy desert. Numbers 11:4 “And the mixed multitude that was among them (Now, that was probably non-Israelites—maybe a few of the Egyptians.  We don’t know.) fell a lusting: and the children of Israel also wept again, and said, Who shall give us flesh to eat?”  Well, what have they been eating?  Manna.  The provided food, but they were getting sick and tired of manna.

  They cooked it.  They boiled it.  They fried it.  They baked it.  And it was still manna.  All right, so now they want flesh.  Now look at verse 5. Now all we think of these Israelites is that they had been in absolute slavery.  And slavery, we know, is never a very pleasant experience.  That meant that from the time the sun came up in the morning until it set at night they were under the slave masters.  But on the other hand, it wasn’t all bad, because look at the next verse. Numbers 11:5 “We remember the fish, which we did eat in Egypt freely; the cucumbers, and the melons, and the leaks, and the onions, and the garlick:” Isn’t that amazing?  And you know what?  That’s the favorite diet of a Jew today. My, our breakfasts over there when we go to Israel, that’s what it is.  It is cucumbers and fish and you name it.  It hasn’t changed.  So, you see, we don’t want to blot out certain parts of these things and be overcome by this.  Along with their slavery and the horrors of it, they still had the good things they were willing to eat.  They had their fish and their vegetables, and they had plenty of water.  They were up there in the richest area of Egypt. Now you want to remember, Goshen was the most productive part, agriculturally, of Egypt.  So we know that these are not just so many empty words.  They had the wherewithal to produce a lot of food.  Now, as they’re out there on the desert, I think we can appreciate the fact that they were reminiscing.  My goodness, back in Egypt, even though we did work all day, at least we could sit down and have a meal when we got home at night.  We were always with plenty of water to drink, and here we are with nothing to eat except this manna and nothing to drink.  There’s no water.  Okay, now let’s move on. Exodus 17:4-5a “And Moses cried unto the LORD, saying, What shall I do unto this people?  they be almost ready to stone me.  5. And the LORD said unto Moses, go on before the people, and take with thee of the elders of Israel; and thy rod,…” Now remember, that’s been an important thing from day one when Moses went back to Egypt with that shepherd’s rod.  All right, He said to be sure you take your rod. Exodus 17:5b-6a “…take the rod, wherewith thou smotest the river, (Back there when he was in Egypt and he smote the Nile—and all the things that would happen when he would use that shepherd’s rod.) take in thine hand, and go. 6. Behold, I will stand before thee there upon the rock (There’s your word.) in Horeb;…”  Now remember, that’s just the other name for Mount Sinai. Exodus 17:6b-7 “…and thou shalt smite the rock, and there shall come water out of it, that the people may drink.  And Moses did so in the sight of the elders of Israel.  7. And he called the name of the place Massah and Meribah, because of the chiding of the children of Israel, and because they tempted (or tested) the LORD, saying, Is the LORD among us, or not?” Now it doesn’t say here, but in another account we have what came out—a dribble or a river?  A river!  A river of water coming out there on the blank desert out of this rock, which was sufficient for these millions of Israelites plus all their livestock.  And what does that tell us?  God provided all their needs.  Well, what’s the lesson for us?  We’re going to see it more distinctly when we get back up into Matthew, when the woman at the well said, “Give me of this water.”  Well, what was Jesus talking about?  The water of Life!  And this was a picture of it.  This was simply a symbolic picture of what Christ would be to His own of any period of time.  So out came this river of water with which they were all satisfied.    Now the next verse is the next step after salvation, for us even today.  Things never change.  Verse 8: Exodus 17:8a “Then came Amalek,...” Amalek, you remember, was one of the sons or grandsons of Esau, and they were arch-enemies of the Jews.  They were their constant torment.  So these tribes of these Amalekites, when they saw this river of water

out there in the desert, what do you suppose they did?  Well, hey, they’re going to come and take their part.  And as they did, of course, it caused a fight. So we have a war between these Israelites and the Amalekites. But what’s the spiritual lesson?  Well, it’s the same way in the spiritual.  Just as soon as we feast on salvation, what’s the first thing that comes in?  Opposition from the devil and the evil part of the world.  They taunt and they torment.  So here’s the lesson.  But when you go on, of course, then we see that Israel prevailed. But anyway, here is a perfect illustration. Now we’re going to go back to the New Testament for confirmation.  Come back up to I Corinthians chapter 10, and see what Paul says concerning this Rock out there on the desert.  This is where we learn – when you compare Scripture with Scripture.  Otherwise you would never stop to think that just because Moses struck that rock that it was something special.  But it was.  And I’m going to let the Scripture tell you rather than myself. I Corinthians 10:1a “Moreover, brethren, I would not that ye should be ignorant, how that all our fathers (In other words, all of those Israelites that had come out of Egypt—three to five million of them.) were under the cloud,…”  In other words, it was their shade for that desert heat during the day and it became a pillar of fire at night that protected them as well as gave them the light that they needed. I Corinthians 10:1b-2 “…they were all under the cloud, and all passed through the sea; (the Red Sea experience) 2. And were all baptized (Not the water baptism that Christendom thinks of, but they were placed by an act of God--) unto Moses (Or under Moses, or into Moses; however you want to put it.  They were all placed.) in the cloud and in the sea;”  As they came through—they were under God’s protective care. I Corinthians 10:3-4 “And did all eat the same spiritual food; (The manna.  And then the experience that we just covered.) 4. And did all drink the same spiritual drink: for they drank of that spiritual Rock that followed them:(And now here it is.) and that Rock was (Who?) Christ.” Now, you see, that’s hard for our feeble little human minds to comprehend.  That piece of rock out there on the desert, over there on the other side of the Red Sea—that was Christ?  It’s what The Book says.  And what did Moses do?  He smote it.  Well, what was the smiting a picture of?  The Cross! When Christ was smitten for mankind, what did He become?  He became that river of life-giving water.  All the pictures and symbolisms fit.  Everything from Genesis to Revelation fits.  Here we have it as clear as language can make it.  When Moses struck that rock with his rod, he was smiting the Christ of eternity, and out came the water. So here is another perfect example of how Christ is the all-sufficient Rock.  He is the One that gives eternal life.  He supplies all the needs of not only Israel, but the whole human race.  It’s just a beautiful picture of symbolism, again, how that all these things are teaching us and preparing the Nation of Israel. Now, the point I want to make before we go any further, is that Israel is the primary recipient of the work and miraculousness of the Rock.  We’re going to come later this afternoon to when Paul speaks of the foundation of the Church.  But it won’t be a rock; it’s just going to be a foundation.  But for Israel, all these references to the Rock as being Jesus Christ were predominately between God and Israel. Now maybe I can make one point on that.  Turn ahead with me a little bit to I Peter chapter 2.  I’m going to come to it a little later.  But for now, just turn to I Peter chapter 2 and see how this is such an affinity between God and Israel—this role of the Rock and the Stone.  I Peter chapter 2 and dropping all the way down to verse 8. I Peter 2:8-9a “And a stone of stumbling, and a rock of offence, even to them who stumble at the word, being disobedient: whereunto also they were appointed.

 (But now verse 9, here’s where I really want to come in.) 9. But ye (These Jews to whom Peter is writing.  And remember, Peter is writing to Jews.  He’s writing to those who are scattered.  All right, he says--) are a chosen generation, a royal priesthood, an holy (or set apart) nation,...” You see, none of that applies to the Church like most people like to think.  This is Jewish language.  They are the chosen Nation.  They are the favored ones.  They’re the peculiar people.  They are the priestly nation. I Peter 2:9b “…that ye should show forth the praises of him who hath called you out of darkness into his marvelous light:”  Well, yes, in a degree that applies to us as believers, but this is all primarily God dealing with His chosen people.  They were the ones who were the Holy Priesthood.  Remember way back in Exodus, we used it over and over, “and you shall be unto me a kingdom of priests.”   Well, you see, the Scripture never tells you and me that in the Body of Christ.  But Christendom as a whole can’t separate all this and makes the mistake of telling us this all belongs to us.

[nightcoremoon]

I’m not hurt or sad because of things people say to me.

I am furious that you don’t love people as much as I do.

I do the barest fucking minimum of civility and respect and you can’t even do that. it takes 0 effort to do what I do and you don’t even do that. you go out of your way to do the opposite. if you spent half as much effort being a hateful fucking bitch on supporting your fellow man and woman and everyone in between nonbinary intersex or otherwise, maybe we would have healthier stronger and better communities online. I’d have a better time online if you weren’t such a toxic insufferable fucking prick. you step on my happiness by being a dickhead. you are lazy, discompassionate, and I’d go so far as to say that you are actively evil. IT WOULDN’T EVEN TAKE THAT MUCH WORK TO NOT BE A BIGOTED ASSHOLE. it’s so fucking easy to just open your mind to ideas not drilled into your head by society if you ever had one single thing you ever had to struggle through and weren’t privileged enough to be handed circumstances that help you through hard times every single time something inconvenient ever happened to you.

instead you spend your free time, which those of us who actually have to work at surviving from day to day, being a dark cloud raining on peoples parades because you don’t have to work for your happiness. you support a system that exterminates those who are different but because you don’t happen to be that exact demographic at this exact point in history, you’re okay with it. you’re a mason but the soapbox nazi hasn’t called to kill all of the masons yet, so you’re subservient. you’re complacent. you whine and cry and bitch and moan for your rights but when it’s anyone else you don’t give a single shit. you’re susan b anthony saying votes for white women.

you’re a bad person.

you should perform a shotgun lobotomy for the good of our society. you should make some toast in the bathtub. you should paint the sidewalk beneath a skyscraper with your blood. you should make a cocktail of codeine and whiskey. you should go hug a hungry wild grizzly bear. you should bathe in milk and honey and then swim in a colony of fire ants. you should go to brazil. ending your selfish horrid blighted existence is an improvement to millions of lives. I do not feel bad for hurting you in such a way, being so bluntly honest, because all of the things that I’m being mean to you for are things you’ve chosen.

you chose through your actions to be the person I wish death upon. when jewish holocaust survivors wanted to see justice carried out by executing nazi officials after the nuremberg trials, it did not make them bloodthirsty murderers. when escaped slaves joined the union army to fight the confederates during the civil war, it did not mean they were violent monsters. when ukrainians use makeshift explosions to fight back against the russian aggressors, it does not make them evil. when queers piss on ronald reagan’s grave because we can’t punch him in the face now that the motherfucker is dead, we are not subhuman filth. if a palestinian father gets his revenge on an israeli who killed his daughter, he is well within his rights to kill that guy. if a woman stabs her would-be rapist with the very knife he used to threaten her with, she is not culpable for the crime. you are lucky that I’m not next to you with a crowbar or baseball bat, and all I’m doing here is typing out strings of letters that you’ve discerned into a meaning that hurts your feefees. I am well within my rights, justified to say these things to you. and nobody can make me feel bad for saying this. I am not nearly as bad a person for this as you are for your actions.

I hope that if your life does not end relatively soon, that it is as full of as much suffering and misery as you deserve. I hope that the regrets will crush you on your deathbed. I wish every single plague the world can deliver upon you. I hope your restless conscience refuses to offer you even a moment of peace, as you struggle to find meaning in that empty shell you call a life. if you don’t change into a good person I hope that your life ends before you hurt a single other being.

either that or you can stop being a bigoted cunt. pick 1.