#Deep Bible History

[msclaritea]

UNDERSTANDING ISRAEL: PART 1 THE IMPORTANCE OF ISRAEL, BY TRUTHUNEDITED

History Time.

I'm not saying I'm completely there yet on some of his personal views, but the historical research done by this channel is unparalleled. This is part of a series, of approximately 9 videos (One of controversy, available on the channel's website)

Up to individuals if they want to watch the entire series. I recommend it. But get ready, because we have all been lied to, in the most abominable way.

UNDERSTANDING ISRAEL: PART, THE IMPORTANCE OF ISRAEL, BY TRUTHUNEDITED

[alsofullofflies]

I’d like to bring this to the attention of Tumblr- it’s very funny and very interesting (official academic research into fandom and fanfiction!)

Love You’re Dead To Me, and was very excited when this episode came out! There’s more episodes about literally anything you could want as well!

[littlebittywildflower]

God was definitely an Alien so idk where that leaves you guys

* pats the pope on the head*

[elbiotipo]

Many books of the Bible that didn't make it to the official canon(s) and other incredibly important pieces of scripture and literature are only known today because they were preserved in the Ge'ez script in Ethiopia. It is very likely that there are lots of other texts dating to the earliest days of Christianity that are still to be "found", only because there aren't enough international scholars who know the Ge'ez script or work in Ethiopia. There are many, but not as much as it deserves. (Important note is that Ge'ez is both a liturgical language, like Latin, and also is a script, much like Latin or Chinese characters, used by many Ethiopian languages, but others can be written and indeed are written in Ge'ez script, this is why it has preserved such a range of literature)

Ge'ez looks like this:

ሀሎ! ይህ በአማርኛ ቋንቋ እና በግእዝ ፊደል የተጻፈ ነው! ለእርስዎ እና ለቤተሰብዎ በረከቶች!

There was briefly a very bad taste meme calling it a "demon language", with people even copypasting random religious literature in Ge'ez thus making it seem more "sinister". I won't comment on how ignorant and offensive that is.

Ge'ez is an important script and language, much like Greek or Latin, because of its connection to major religions like Christianity, Judaism and Islam. Ethiopia is a wonderful country with a deep, rich history, and is an example of how Africa has always been part of world history. But like all languages, it's also a cultural heritage on its own, worth cherising, preserving, and learning about, regardless of its importance to the rest of the world. Instead of being ignorant for a racist joke, we could always take our time and learn and appreciate such things.

[thewriteadviceforwriters]

How To Plan A Book Series: Ultimate Guide

Writing a book series can be an incredibly rewarding experience for authors, but it also requires careful planning and execution. A well-crafted book series can captivate readers, build a loyal fan base, and provide a steady stream of income for writers. However, planning a successful book series is no easy feat.

It demands a deep understanding of world-building, character development, and plot progression. In this ultimate guide, I'll help you explore the essential steps to help you plan a compelling and cohesive book series that will keep your readers hooked from start to finish.

Develop a Compelling Premise The foundation of any successful book series is a strong premise. Your premise should be unique, engaging, and have the potential to sustain multiple books. Consider exploring a complex world, a captivating concept, or a character with a rich backstory that can evolve over the course of several books. Ask yourself: What makes your premise stand out? What will keep readers invested in the story for multiple installments?

Create a Detailed Outline Before you dive into writing, it's crucial to create a detailed outline for your entire book series. This outline should include the overarching plot, major story arcs, character development, and key events for each book. Having a solid outline will help you maintain consistency, avoid plot holes, and ensure that each book contributes to the overall narrative. Don't be afraid to make adjustments as you write, but having a roadmap will keep you on track.

World-Building: Crafting a Vivid and Consistent Universe One of the hallmarks of a successful book series is a richly developed and immersive world. Whether you're creating a fantasy realm, a futuristic society, or a contemporary setting, pay close attention to world-building. Establish the rules, customs, histories, and geography of your fictional world. Consistency is key, so ensure that the details align across all books in the series. Consider creating a "bible" or a comprehensive guide that outlines the intricacies of your world, making it easier to maintain continuity.

Develop Compelling Characters Great characters are the heart and soul of any book series. Your protagonists, antagonists, and supporting characters should be well-rounded, multi-dimensional, and undergo significant growth and transformation throughout the series. Craft backstories, motivations, flaws, and strengths for each character, and ensure that their actions and decisions drive the plot forward. Remember, character development is an ongoing process, so be prepared to explore new facets of your characters as the series progresses.

Establish Recurring Themes and Motifs Themes and motifs are powerful tools that can add depth and resonance to your book series. Identify the central themes you want to explore, such as love, redemption, power, or identity. Weave these themes throughout the series, allowing them to evolve and deepen with each installment. Motifs, like recurring symbols or imagery, can also create a sense of cohesion and add layers of meaning to your narrative.

Plan for Cliffhangers and Resolutions One of the key strategies for keeping readers engaged in a book series is the strategic use of cliffhangers and resolutions. Cliffhangers create anticipation and leave readers craving for the next installment. However, be cautious not to overuse this technique, as it can become frustrating for readers. Balance cliffhangers with satisfying resolutions that tie up loose ends and provide a sense of closure, while still leaving room for the story to continue.

Consider Pacing and Narrative Structure Pacing and narrative structure are crucial elements to consider when planning a book series. Each book should have its own narrative arc, with a beginning, middle, and end, while also contributing to the overall story progression. Vary the pacing between books to maintain reader interest, alternating between action-packed and slower, more introspective sections. Experiment with different narrative structures, such as multiple perspectives, non-linear timelines, or frame narratives, to keep the series fresh and engaging.

Manage Continuity and Consistency As your book series grows, maintaining continuity and consistency becomes increasingly important. Keep detailed records of character descriptions, plot points, world-building elements, and timelines. Regularly refer back to these notes to ensure that you're not introducing contradictions or inconsistencies. Consider creating a series bible or a wiki to help you keep track of all the moving parts.

Plan for Character Growth and Evolution In a book series, characters should undergo significant growth and evolution. Plan for character arcs that span multiple books, allowing your protagonists and supporting characters to face challenges, make difficult choices, and emerge as changed individuals. This character development will not only add depth to your narrative but also keep readers invested in the journey of your characters.

Anticipate and Address Potential Plot Holes As your book series expands, the potential for plot holes and inconsistencies increases. Be vigilant in identifying and addressing these issues during the planning stage. Regularly review your outline and notes, looking for any logical gaps or contradictions. Enlist the help of beta readers or critique partners to provide fresh perspectives and catch any potential plot holes you may have missed.

Consider the Overarching Story Arc While each book in your series should have its own narrative arc, it's essential to plan for an overarching story arc that spans the entire series. This overarching arc should tie together the individual books, building towards a climactic conclusion that resolves the central conflict or mystery. Ensure that each book contributes to this larger narrative, advancing the plot and raising the stakes for the characters.

Plan for Marketing and Promotion Finally, as you plan your book series, don't overlook the importance of marketing and promotion. Develop a strategy for building buzz and engaging with your audience throughout the release of each book. Leverage social media, author events, book tours, and other promotional opportunities to keep your readers excited and invested in your series.

Remember, writing a book series is a marathon, not a sprint, so be prepared to invest time, effort, and dedication into crafting a truly remarkable literary journey. Hope this helped!

Happy Writing - Rin T.

Hey fellow writers! I'm super excited to share that I've just launched a Tumblr community. I'm inviting all of you to join my community. All you have to do is fill out this Google form, and I'll personally send you an invitation to join the Write Right Society on Tumblr! Can't wait to see your posts!

[dailyadventureprompts]

So one of my favourite things to listen to in my off time is debunked conspiracy theories, mainly because it mixes several of my interests: politics, history, and being pedantically right about stuff with objective fact to back it up.

Part of me wishes I could draw more inspiration from this particular well, but doing so risks propagating the same brainworms that create conspiracy theorists in the first place. The grand canyon is a lichtenberg figure carved by a colossal space lightning bolt/energy weapon hitting the earth, which consumed the world in a pyroclasm that caused stone structures melt which we can see across ancient cultures Is a FASCINATING bit of worldbuilding by someone being in denial about the concept of erosion. I don't want to use it however because then my story becomes a transmission point for this bad idea, a psychic parasite that might take root in someone's subconscious and warp their worldview to the point of nonsense.

Take one I heard a few years ago: The word planet comes from the greek word planan, which means wanderer. This is the same word used by the original bible to refer to fallen angels. NASA is lying to us, there are no planets, the non-star lights we see moving in the night sky are fallen angels fixed there by god as punishment for their crimes of coming to earth and beggetting the nephilim, the giants that we can see evidence of in X,Y,Z mythologies.

You can see the narrative potential there right? The questhook about the scholar who invents a better sort of telescope and manages to peer deep enough into space to discover that one of the cosmic bodies is actually a being, only to become possessed by the fallen celestial and driven to free it, just like the extinct linage of giant warlords who rampaged across the region millennia ago. It's such a juicy hook because it plays on the same "aha" moments that the conspiracy theory uses to take root: Oh yeah there IS a linguistic connection between the world planet and the greek word for wandering because they were stars that wandered across the sky oh yeah there ARE a lot of ancient cultures that have myths about giants because it's really easy to imagine people that are big, wonder if there are any internet rabitholes that could teach me more about these thigns?

It's the Dan Brown DaVinci Code problem; It can be entertaining to play around with historical conspirasism as the background for a story but part of your audience are going to be in a vulnerable place and slip all the way down to Qanon levels. It's even worth with the Alex Jones types who can't seperate fiction from reality and take their inability to analyze iconography as a sign on NWO "preprogaming". I don't want to use conspiracy theories/bad archaeology as inspiration only for my work to be pinned up on the red-string board as evidence that everything's connected.

[chekovbeforeyouwrekovyourself]

“Let the tale seduce you, as I was seduced.”

Daniel Molloy you have been being seduced by the tale all along. Lestat breaks Armand’s heart, casts him aside, they both swear off love until they meet Louis, the shadow of a man, the smirking glaring flight risk of a man. You dare to think that you compare to Lestat, to Claudia. The gall the indignation of it almost cost you your life. Your humanity, your youthful fucking folly and drug fueled feeling of invincibility saved you. Your deep seeded need to question and critique and display and listen and follow up is what gets you on the plane to Dubai, where the hub of this all, god’s own sacrificial lamb and the flaming sword of truth meet. Daniel Molloy you are a butcher. You are an eagle eyed reporter with an interesting point of view. You’re a home wrecker, and I wouldn’t have you any other way.

That tale is the birth certificate, the wedding license, but never the death certificate. Never for you Daniel. There are miracles that happen that the Bible never spoke of, and there are tragedies that have been burned out of the pages of history. Daniel Molloy you are everything in between.

[earthstellar]

Currently combing through the Transformers Exodus novel, as I often do.

Some notes, by which I mean, this is going to be long:

Using an Abandoned Hydraulic Mining Facility as a Battle Arena: This Sort Of Happened in Real Life -- Know Your Labour History

The building in Kaon that is used by Megatron for gladiatorial battle is an abandoned hydraulics works, and on the page prior to this it refers to extremely deep slag pits, which indicates this hydraulics facility was almost certainly used for mining. The location is given specifically as "to the south of Kaon's centre".

This makes me wonder if the now-abandoned Orgreave Coking Plant may have been some inspiration to someone somewhere in building the backstory; A coking plant uses massive amounts of hydraulic machinery and components, and the location of this specific facility is to the south of the centre of Rotherham.

Plenty of Brits work on Transformers, and I wonder if any English people who may have been on the team for developing the Aligned Continuity bible/character backstories might have thought of Orgreave as some kind of inspiration.

It's worth noting Orgreave Coking Plant was famously the site of a huge labour dispute which turned into a borderline Battle of Harlan situation, called the Battle of Orgreave in 1984.

Which makes it excellent potential inspiration, both visually and in terms of historical significance in union/labour and working class struggle against the oppressive upper class- A significant theme in Transformers.

Nearby, there is also the abandoned Orgreave Colliery, and while all abandoned collieries would fit the mechanical and dark, heavy design of Kaon, Tarn (the location, not the bot) and so on, it's still worth pointing out that Orgreave has plenty of industrial ghosts (abandoned industrial facilities).

That having been said, hydraulic mining works could also refer to actual hydraulic mining methods rather than just any hydraulic machinery present, which would also explain the large pits that Orion Pax sees at the site in Kaon, and would add another level of horror: Using fluids to carry out this type of mining would be a huge hazard to bots. I'd imagine rusting was a common problem, not to mention gradual armour/frame wear, increased fall/slip hazards for most frame types, etc.

CONTENT WARNING: Here's where some medical conjecture begins, you might want to skip this section if you're sensitive to medical discussions! There is no detailed comparison to any particular real world cases in this segment, however there is brief mention of ableism in a fictional context.

This would also account for the description of optics and audials needing more frequent repair even prior to suffering any gladiatorial damage--

--In some frame types, these components/sensory systems may be more exposed to the environmental pollution as mentioned in the text, but also, would be sensitive to abrasive damage from spray back/high pressure soil/stone/crystal like particulate materials present in Cybertron's surface and sub-surface layers acting essentially as sand paper against their bodies as they worked in any such hydraulic mining sites.

This is the type of shit Kaonite workers in these mining facilities were likely exposed to on a regular basis, because they are Cybertronians and could physically tolerate this kind of thing without dying-- At least, not right away.

A combination of repeated extreme wear, chronic overwork, likely poor medical resources, and complicating factors like questionable access to healthy fuels etc. would have inevitably resulted in a generally very unwell population with high workplace casualty rates.

This was the type of life most low class/caste heavy labour designated frame types were assigned to, under the Functionist system.

I've talked about my headcanons re: hearing disabled Megatron before, and it's kind of interesting to see that canonically here, that's very much possible. Audial damage from mining, audial damage from the fighter's ring.

But in general, the Kaonite population is seriously at risk, especially medically. Same deal with other low class/caste designated regions across Cybertron. Much like many Appalachian mining populations, where COPD is as common as flies in summer, the chronically poor health of this population would be staggering in comparison to better-off polities like Iacon.

Rust in their optics, rotting their optical components from within, likely leaving many workers sightless--

--At which point they were probably deemed "useless" under the ableist Functionist system, as they would then likely be unable to work their prior jobs or would only be able to work in limited or different capacities; Any system that determines worth by perceived functionality is inherently ableist, and Primus knows there were almost certainly no disability accommodations provided or available potential repairs/treatments in places like Kaon on Cybertron.

As a result, these newly disabled bots were likely left unemployed and therefore without any income source for Shanix, therefore left to their deaths via fuel deprivation etc.--

--Unless they fell in with mob-controlled sources of materials or aid, as a last resort...

Apparently Megatron Displaced The Local Kaonite Mafia: Pit Bosses Could Be Mob Bosses Too

This is also a real thing, as a lot of productive industrial facilities (not just mining, but textiles etc.) were often tied into in local black market raw material goods and organised crime shit, owing to less than moral site owners and company bosses. (At least in the USA, it may have varied in other countries or from region to region.)

This is because if you have a productive facility, you can make a fuckload of money bypassing any common sense safety rules or proper waste/product handling or disposal protocols etc. and skip the whole regulated market and just go right to making a fuckzillion moneys from whoever will buy this shit illegally.

(This is part of why a lot of Appalachia is polluted to hell and back-- Even at the time, a lot of these industrial works and companies knew perfectly well that dumping coal ash and other horrible shit into every single river and creek available was a bad idea. They did it anyway. Why? It saved money overall and they didn't have to pay for more long distance drivers to reach actual approved waste sites etc.

For those of you who may not be familiar with this USA specific shit, let me introduce you to the concept of a Superfund Site. It's depressing. Most are former industrial illegal waste dumping sites. These places are so fucked up that even the American Government was forced to acknowledge how bad it is. Some of them are straight up literal nuclear waste sites.)

This has been a huge problem in American industrial history, because America can turn out some very, very productive sites using very, very unsafe and cruel means to force workers to work. Paying in scrip etc. were all methods to ensure a workforce could not leave. And so on.

Not to mention the horrendous impact on Native populations, the poor in general, immigrants in general, etc. who were all subject to the worst possible treatment throughout.

And there are many modern examples too-- Not just in the USA, but in many places around the world, such as Peru. Note that capitalism is often the facilitator of mistreatment, pollution, etc. and serves as the motivating factor for much of this fuckery worldwide. This also includes factors like western companies wanting to appear more "green", so they simply go abroad to abuse people in other nations and exploit their labour and raw labour products instead.

Capitalism is the root problem, on Earth and evidently, likely on Cybertron as well.

Can you imagine the amount of Shanix these fucking Kaonite mob bosses were making, possibly from selling raw materials and energon crystals mined in Kaon to other polities with fewer natural resources, arranging illicit under the table deals with large energy distributors etc. in other regions? Depriving Kaon of its own natural goods and stealing the near-entirety of their labour, constantly, endlessly?

(If this all reminds you a bit of Marx's Theory of Alienation, you are correct.)

Much of Kaon is, essentially, a Superfund Site. Dangerous industrial waste, materials, and abandoned facilities, all affecting the population in all sorts of ways into perpetuity even long after one industry dies and another rises-- Or a new industry never comes along, and you end up with even worse off sections of an already brutally deprived area, living in the remnants of an equally hellish past that was just marginally better enough to make some bots yearn for the good old days of having a job to be worked to death at.

If this is relatable or frustrating to you, you are correct. These are all real world problems. It's easy to relate to the plight of the Kaonites-- Megatron, at this time, is still largely a sympathetic figure to many.

Because of course, even from the outside, it is clear that this degree of suffering cannot be sustained. Even Orion Pax recognises this, despite his own total lack of exposure and lack of class awareness at the time in which he initially starts speaking with Megatron.

Anyway. Briefly back to our real world example, because it's important here:

All of this capitalist corruption is another example of systemic level rot; A lot of the time regulators knew that facilities were engaging in illegal dumping and worker rights abuses etc. but couldn't do anything about it due to a lack of federal involvement and lack of means or resources to raise a larger case or investigation on the scale that would be needed.

And of course, some regulators and investigators were paid off. Sigh.

It's genuinely impressive that Megatron was able to run off an industrial crime syndicate, because that shit goes very deep and has lots of tendrils that tie into pretty much everything else going on in a given area, especially in towns or regions where only one or two industries make up the entirety of everything.

It doesn't surprise me at all that Megatron gained such a large following so quickly.

Nobody else in Cybertron was willing or able to acknowledge (let alone try to address) the horrible abuses going on in Kaon.

Endless, brutal labour, often resulting in horrible deaths. No reward for any of their work, with much of their meagre pay going to the mob and likely to companies based in other polities around Cybertron, so none of the materials or money ever stayed local. No care was put into their living conditions or standard of living, with most bots being used up and worn down with nothing to show for it but the industrial hell that consumed their own region.

And by getting the organised crime rings out of the local industries and community, by turning this abandoned facility into a gladiatorial ring, that provided both a more personally rewarding use of their physical skills developed through hard manual labour and gives an opportunity to gain legitimate funds and potentially fame-- Granting a social status previously completely unattainable to Kaonites, while clearly being built up on the legacy of all of their prior labour.

No wonder the appeal to follow Megatron was so strong, even in the early days.

Not even Primus helped these people, none of the Primes helped these people--- But Megatron did.

And that is powerful, to be liberated by one of your own, someone you know truly understands the difficulty and suffering and misery of a cruel, unending grind.

All that most of these bots could ever look forward to previously was dying in a hopefully not-as-painful way.

Now, there is potential for a genuinely tangibly better future, quite possibly for the first time in Kaon's history. Certainly for the first time within living memory.

Megatron turned an immiserated local population with no hope and no prospects beyond being worked to death into up-and-coming athletic stars with a burgeoning sports industry, using their local culture and previously disparaged frame types to prove the inherent wrongness of the class/caste system to a literal mass audience.

Megatron essentially took waste from the Cybertronian equivalent of colliery spoil tips and used it to forcibly create some kind of real hope and better future for every Kaonite, both individually and gradually on a larger regional scale, while living under an oppressive system that was just as likely to kill him in the same way as it had been killing everyone else around him his entire existence.

Megatron turned an industrial hell into a revolutionary city-state.

And he started local, he started with the injustices closest to him, what was visible rot to him in the environment he grew up in. Start small, strategize, your morals are your fuel-- In part because they keep stealing the fuel we mine. Does that seem fair? Does that seem just? What sense does it make, to have a system in which your most important workers are kept deprived and struggling into perpetuity?

He is the perfect Cybertronian revolutionary, he is the figurehead the people of Kaon needed, and his words were heard planet-wide from an arena he facilitated the building of himself, that he reclaimed from decay and loss.

From the bare frame structure of an abandoned mining pit, Megatron spoke words that inspired the downtrodden and lifted up countless impoverished populations through solidarity, the collective power of the working class, the low caste bots, the low class frame types.

The people that were previously discarded, were now using their means and their frames for their own purposes, gradually weakening the grip of the Council, gradually proving to more and more bots that this system is broken and this world can be better and we deserve better, and by any means, we will obtain better. We will make it better, with or without your permission.

No wonder Megatron became so powerful, so quickly.

He appealed perfectly to his people and others in similar living conditions, he articulated perfectly the flaws in oppressive Cybertronian society, he showed that different frame types can and do have multiple uses beyond the classist interpretation of their build schematics--

--All Megatron did, fundamentally, was care.

He cared about what was happening around him, he did not buy into the idea that life has to be miserable and this is the way things are and it can never change or get better, he saw and lived the awful conditions and suffered discrimination and understood that working together for each other would improve things for all.

And he acted on this understanding. There is always someone who is first to act, because there must be.

And Megatron does not act in half-measures.

I like that they mention him getting rid of the crime syndicates, here; It gives you a good idea of his morality pre-war.

It would have been easy to collaborate with these crime syndicates for some time, to secure funds for a new gladiatorial ring.

But instead, he took out the crime syndicates entirely and opted to build his arena inside an abandoned facility.

No capitulation to capital.

No money was exchanged, not a single Shanix, no deals made. No fucking around. This is Kaon, and you are no longer powerful here.

Megatron is increasingly powerful, however, because he embodied to the people the collective power of the people; He reflected themselves and their experiences back at them. But actions like this also played a large part in gaining that trust, in proving his skills and worth as a revolutionary and potential leader. It's not enough to be like everyone else. You have to prove you're not just another asshole looking to exploit everyone for influence or other personal benefit.

If you want a collective movement, it has to be about the collective. And for Megatron, it very much was. And things like this helped him prove that from very early on.

The Council and the mobs effectively have no authority anymore; They are losing control. Megatron, very quickly, becomes the accepted authority. Kaon becomes a freed city-state, it escapes the grasp of Functionism.

Standing up to one crime syndicate may not seem significant in the grander scheme of things, knowing how things occur in the story from this point onward.

But it is hugely significant-- It is a very important thing to highlight.

Because it is "smaller" things like this which are actually massively important and impactful.

And each "smaller" thing built up, and improved things for people to the point where Kaon could function entirely independently with a better off population of previously severely oppressed peoples.

Every "smaller" thing counts. Every "smaller" thing is the entire world to someone, or to a lot of someones.

How many lives were saved and debts erased, when Megatron took out this one crime syndicate?

How immediately did that improve a lot of lives, how quickly did that endear those people to him, to his ideology, to his plans for their collective future? How fast did they start listening, when he started speaking?

This is how revolution happens.

--

Anyway, thank you as always if you read any of this-- I know this got very long and it is nearly 2 AM now where I'm at, so it may have lost a bit of coherency here and there.

tl;dr labour history is important, fuck capitalism (this includes fictional capitalism), and intersectional solidarity is key to collective survival in general but especially among the working class and all groups subject to systemic oppression/discrimination in various forms

[dunmeshistash]

Do you have anything on the aristocracy of the DM world?

Sorry took me a while to get to this ask.

I don't think there's anything definitive about how the aristocracy works in general there? My vague understanding is that it varies depending on region. The elves seem to be the ones with the biggest monarchy since they seem to be united for the most part (perhaps because there is less of them than of the others?)

From the Adventurer's Bible page about Elves.

"The majority live on the Northern Central and Southern Central continents. Their largest nation, an absolute monarchy governed by a 372-year-old queen, is located on the Northern Central Continent. There are also primitive villages deep in the woods and underground, in some regions cannibalism is still practiced."

Meanwhile the dwarves seem to be more loyal to tribes rather than nations.

From the Adventurer's Bible page on dwarves

"Despite this, dwarfs have no group that's equivalent to the elves' Canaries. This may be because dwarfs' ties to their blood relatives run deep, and they're skeptical of national organizations; since they have no concept of coming together as a nation, putting together an investigative organization would be difficult."

Gnomes seem to have a similar way of living to dwarves so I imagine it might not be so different?

We do get a glimpse of important people from both races but it isnt clear what they are or I missed something.

Perhaps they do have a nation like the elves but just don't have as much control over their people?

Tallmen on the other hand seem to be as varied as real life, Laios comes from a Village where his father was a chief, Melini was a kingdom, The Island has a Governor (althought that was given to him by the long lived races as I understand they're in dwarf territory? Or was it elf?), Shuro's family is said to work for a "local lord" and I imagine things were different in Kabru's home continent too. Unfortunately I don't know enough about history to comment on that...

[matan4il]

To the lovely American Nonnie, who told me that all antisemitism is bad, but leftist antisemitism is the worst because "they are being protected and celebrated. By media, pop culture, and academia. With no middle ground," I agree. The anti-Israel type of antisemitism is, without a doubt, the most socially accepted kind. It's the only kind that someone can spew, and get publicly applauded. The only kind where someone can celebrate the massacre of Jews, and either there are no consequences to that, or there finally are, and then that person and their supporters can pretend they're a martyr, being "persecuted" for being "critical of Israel," when in reality legit criticism of Israel is a very different thing to bias against the only Jewish state, and that person is just another Jew hater.

But I don't think it's just that.

I think it's also the fact that most antisemites are at least honest about hating Jews. The anti-Israel type of antisemitism tries to pretend it's not Jew hatred. So you'll get the hypocrisy of wishing Jews a Happy Hanukkah, a Zionist holiday, while attacking Zionism, and claiming it's incompatible with Judaism. Or you'll have people telling you how important it is to them to combat antisemitism, then they'll turn around and spit out leftist antisemitic conspiracy theories, that instead of saying Jews use the blood of non-Jewish kids to bake matzos, claim the Jewish state only sent a field hospital to Haiti after the earthquake, to harvest human organs. Or they'll proudly announce they're not antisemitic, and to "prove" it, they'll tokenize Jews, which is an antisemitic act in itself. And the worst is when they won't even listen to Jews who tell them that they're being antisemitic, or worse, they'll claim Zionism is antisemitic, which would make 90% of Jews, as well as the Bible itself, antisemitic. It's gaslighting Jews and non-Jews on what is Judaism and what is antisemitic. Other types of antisemites don't do that.

I also think this kind of antisemitism is particularly infuriating, because of the deep discrepancy between the values the left is supposed to stand for, and how they abandon those values when it comes to Jews. "Believe all women!" suddenly isn't applied when Israeli Jewish women are mass raped. "Violence is never the answer! Taking a human life is always wrong!" Then suddenly when Israeli Jews are massacred, and we get explanations on why violence is legit if people are occupied, even when it's translated into mass murder.

And lastly, there's the discrimination, because the left would never treat any other marginalized group the way it does Jews. "Don't speak over a minority group! Listen to their lived experiences!" Then a Jew tries to explain why anti-Zionism is antisemitic, and suddenly all the non-Jew leftists are bigger experts than us on Jewish history and and hatred of Jews, and we're not listened to when we talk about our persecution in the Middle East pre-modern Zionism (meaning the persecution and repeated massacres of Jews in the Middle East is being denied, in a way no one on the left would dare deny, for example, that the transatlantic slave trade happened), or how much anti-Zionism threatens non-Israeli Jews. "Educate yourself" is a common call, but no one feels the need to properly educate themselves on Jewish history, identity and native rights, or worse, they read propaganda from anti-Israel sources only, and think that's the same as educating themselves, as if when they're about to write about any other marginalized group, they would only take in the "education" of those that the group says hate it. "Ethnic cleansing is the worst!" the left says, while chanting slogans that, at the very least, call for the ethnic cleansing of Jews from the Jewish ancestral homeland, and no one gives a damn about us when we point this out. "None of us is free until all of us are free!" goes the intersectionalist call of the left, but Jews are excluded from that. No one cares about modern Zionism being our liberation movement, and we are sometimes physically removed from spaces that are supposed to be dedicated to marginalized groups, as was done to my friend at the Chicago Dyke March, when she wanted to hold a Jewish pride flag, under the claim that the Jewish pride flag makes Palestinians at the march feel unsafe... How safe did queer Jews feel in that moment, or when learning about that incident? But no one cares.

Sending lots of hugs from Jerusalem to you, in the US! xoxox

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

[wishcamper]

Cassian Appreciation Week Day Two: Hair

Happy @cassianappreciationweek! Here is my first offering for Day Two: Hair. You can read it here or on ao3.

Enjoy!

My Sweetest Downfall

A Nessian re-telling of the biblical story of Samson and Delilah, set during the first war for human liberation.

CW: consensual sexual content, reference to sex trafficking

Art by Terry Strickland

Oh, we couldn't bring the columns down Yeah, we couldn't destroy a single one And the history books forgot about us And the Bible didn't mention us, not even once "Samson”, Regina Spektor

She was the most beautiful female Cassian had ever seen.

Woman, rather - the rounded edge of her ear had been what caught his eye, entranced by the freshness of her face, the self-possession of this human woman weaving through the sea of fae in the lower markets of Adriata. All visions of using his shore leave to drown himself in wine, blow all his wages at the tables, and bed as many females as possible vacated his mind the moment her blue-gray eyes met his over the heads of the crowd, the exact color of an Illyrian sunrise.

She belonged to one of the pleasure houses, as evidenced by the copper bands at her wrists and throat, likely one of the more expensive ones gives the fine silk of her gown, the glint of her golden brown hair braided about her head like a crown. He searched for days until he found the right one, coming across her at last at the Golden Thread. He wasn’t even really sure what he wanted, just to be near her, to feel the heat of her body, the thrum of mortality under her skin.

More than anything, he wanted to understand that tug in his chest, the pull that urged him to crash himself to the ground for her, even if it reduced him to rubble.

—

He was a force of nature, wild as a winter wind yet gentle as the crush of petals under bare feet, a mountain of a male whose waters ran deep and smooth.

And in spite of it all, she still had to break him.

She pushed down her guilt, her disgust at the task before her. They’d been all over each other for a week, stealing moments in hidden coves, remote beaches, even once behind a corner stall in the market when the vendor was away. Despite having paid for her, and handsomely, he seemed to want only what she gave freely of her time, her body. What he wanted lay beneath, he said, a chance to listen to the symphony of her human heart for however long she’d allow.

That same human heart condemned her, left her helpless to the forces of power and control that bound her tighter than any ropes ever could.

The stories of him in battle had spread across Prythian long before his arrival in the great Summer city, of the Illyrian foot soldier who razed armies with his deadly dance, blessed by the Mother herself. Enalius reborn, they called him, and the Lord of Spring wanted him eliminated in neutral territory if they were to have a chance at winning the war. Ten thousand gold marks they'd promised to her if she could find the source of his power.

She knew she condemned herself with this cursed bargain, much less her people, but there was no way around it. She’d never make enough with her body to free her family, to protect them from the ravages of the fae without the riches they dangled in front of her.

And so when he slipped through the lavender curtains of the Golden Thread, she hoped to hate him. Prayed he’d be despicable, possessive and brutish like the other males, head swollen large enough so just a single pinprick could deflate it. Instead, that first night he came to her plush, dark chambers she found a tenderness that stunned her and knew this would be so much more damning than she’d ever imagined.

He was willing to sacrifice everything for human freedom, he told her in the wake of their joining, dark curls clinging to his brow. The shame consumed her knowing he’d fulfill that promise, even if his martyrdom would come not on the daybright battlefield as he imagined, but rather with the breathless gasp of a knife in the night.

For the next week he worshiped her body in their beachside bungalow, ran his fingers over and under the copper cuffs as if he’d rip them off with his bare hands.

“And how would one shackle you, Lord of Bloodshed?”

“No bonds can hold me, sweetheart, save for those given by the Mother.”

He promised to smuggle her out between presses of his lips against her skin, or else to buy her freedom, to win the whole damn war by himself if that’s what it took. She only smiled and called them beautiful words, nothing less, nothing more. At night when he slept, she lay awake tracing the fresh scar cleaving his eyebrow, the lines of tattoos swirling over his chest and arms.

Make a bargain with me, he said, hazel eyes sparkling with something too painful to look at for more than a moment, like staring into the sun. Tell me what makes you so strong, she said, tell me what gives you the power of ten males, a hundred. She watched her warrior spar with his own heart, and though he denied her in the end she felt a relief in it, that they could have one more day, one more night with none to witness what bloomed save for the stars, the moonlit sea.

She’d ask him twice more, she told him, and he grinned in a way that broke something in her, something she could never repair.

In the cradle of seclusion, long-buried hurts began to emerge, the throes of pleasure giving way to tears that flowed like wine. He held her pain like a bird in his hand, stroking her jagged edges gently. Unafraid of what lay within her, the blink of her mortal life.

Why do you touch me so?, she asked, and he ran a hand up her thigh to the crook of her waist, following the path his mouth had blazed before they’d collapsed in satiety. 

She asked him the second time in the cove off the beach, the one he’d flown her to on those resplendent wings. The white sand floor glowed under turquoise water, casting his body in an unearthly light, their echoing moans giving way to laughter that ricocheted off the rock, through her chest. He told her of his days training, the foolish arrogance of his youth before it was shattered by the war. She shared a memory of stealing sweets from a shop when she was a child, the rush of her first taste of sugar, of the successful con.

“And is victory always sweet for you, siren?”

Mostly not, she told him, and a challenge sparkled in his eyes, one that made her blood go hot. She forgot for a moment why she was there, the trap at the center of the maze, and let him fly the long way home, skimming the waves with her fingertips as they chased a pod of dolphins playing in the surf.

When they returned, he disappeared for a short time while she bathed, stepping back through the leaning door frame as she was toweling off, arms laden with gifts from the market. That night she claimed her victory in all the ways she wanted to, the Lord of Bloodshed under command of his interim queen.

“Please,” she begged the Spring lord through the mirror he’d given her, the forget-me-nots in his golden hair either a cruel jest or devastating providence. “Please spare him. Take his power but do not take his life.”

The High Lord laughed in answer, and the guilt stretched her to the point of breaking, her skin a dull hide drying in the sun. “It seems the hearts of human sluts are as open as their legs.”

She knew he felt her sadness, her fear when he returned from a swim in the ocean, salt glittering on his wings like diamonds in the sunset glow. He lifted her into his arms and retreated to the bathing chamber, showed her where to touch them to bring him to his knees, to make him fall apart with her name on his lips.

Ask me, he said, ask me once more.

“No.”

“Why not? Have you given up on me, sweetheart?”

He couldn’t want everything that came with her, she told him, wouldn’t desire her if he knew the wickedness of her heart, the crumbling ruins of her soul.

“How can I prove it to you?”

Her fingers clutched at his shirtfront, begging him to stay, to run, to see the deception at her core.

“Tell me the source of your strength. Tell me what gives you the power of ten males, of a hundred. Show me your weakness and I shall show you mine.”

Her faithful lover brought his forehead down to hers, resting it lightly, drew her hand up to bury it in the soft curls at the nape of his neck.

“If my hair is cut, I lose my strength. I am as weak as any other until it grows long again.”

She grabbed a handful of it in her fist, pulling his head back sharply. But he only looked at her with that sun-bright devotion, the passages of his heart open to her to walk through as she pleased. She decided to leave a footprint there, the barest trace. Hoped it was enough for him to remember.

“I have a daughter to the south. She does not know what I am. All I do is for her.”

Something like understanding passed through him then, but she didn’t get the chance to question it for he captured her mouth with his own, sinking her down into the deep waters where only they lived, borne along by the current.

Moonlight glinted off the shears where she hovered over him hours later, praying for him to wake. To grab her wrists and throw her against the wall, or else to kiss her desperately and fly her as far as those wings could take them, past the edge of the world.

But he did not wake, and instead she cut each lock from his head, the thread in her chest ripping violently with each traitorous snip.

—

They paraded him through the temple in chains, the jeers and taunts hitting his back like a volley of arrows. The warrior god shackled like the slaves he so foolishly defended, reduced to the bastard-born nobody he feared lived at his core.

He found her at once among the crowd assembled, her beautiful face broken with agony, and even though he knew he should hate her the space where his anger lived felt hollow. The absence of her was more devastating than any of the whips that lashed at his back, the blunt blows to his chest, his legs.

His power gone, the feeble call of it sluggish in his veins, he could only watch as they brought the ropes forth. They lashed him to the great column at the center that held up the ceiling, painted with scenes of resplendent High Fae, their faces cold and cruel. He tried to tell her to go, to run, but he was too weak to speak, knew from the way she clutched the collar at her throat she’d never leave while he was still alive. He only hoped she’d be far enough away to miss the worst of it.

I’m sorry, he said as best he could, feeling the imprint of her body on his skin, in his bones. I’m sorry I couldn’t save us from this. I’m sorry I didn’t know until it was too late.

Hazel eyes lifted skyward, a prayer to the Mother on his dry, cracked lips. With a great heave he twisted, rammed his bound fists into the pillar he leaned against, ripping apart the world.

Stone rained down and there was screaming everywhere, thick dust pouring into his lungs and he waited for the crush, the flash of pain before it all went quiet and still. In the long tunnel of time he hoped to return as a tree somewhere in a quiet wood, to feel her sit in his shade, or else to be a clear pool she drank from, the splash of him over her face washing her clean.

And all at once he was shoved aside, a great boom echoing somewhere overhead, soft hair tickling his face, soothing his heated cheeks.

He opened his eyes to find her body splayed over him, taking the blow of the stone that would’ve been his death. A shimmer of gold disappeared into the dust engulfing the ruined temple, and he felt the pull in his chest begin to break, ever-reaching and grasping at the building darkness.

“Don’t go, sweetheart. I didn’t get enough. I want more. We should’ve had more.”

This brave human woman, his mate, her body broken and bleeding, reached a hand up and touched his face lightly, pain and love in her dawn-colored eyes.

“I’ll find you in the next world, the next life. I promise. And we will have time.”

A fierce, burning pain seared along his scalp. He heard someone shouting, felt a wave of night-dark power sweep over him before oblivion dragged him under, stealing the only thing he wanted, one last memory of her face.

But all he was left with were the spikes of an eight-pointed star on the crown of his head, the only remnant of her final words, his failures. Their future snatched away by the greed of death, the indifference of fate.

Five hundred years passed, and Cassian searched every face for hers, heart leaping at every flash of golden brown hair, every knowing grin in a crowded market. He’d almost given up the day he stepped into the Archeron manor when he saw her glaring across the room at him, when that thread in his chest yanked so violently he thought he’d been shot by an arrow, straight through. She didn’t remember him, of course, but he could’ve sworn a flicker of recognition passed through her, the past lingering in the core of their bones, woven into their skin.

And he knew in that moment, more than he’d ever known anything, that he’d rip every hair from his head for her. That no matter what war he had to win or building he had to shatter, he’d free her from the shackles of the world, from those in her heart, her mind. 

That they would have time.

---

Thank you if you got this far! I'm pretty proud of this one so I hope you enjoyed aka it didn't hurt too much. Shoutout to all the other awesome creators putting out amazing work this week. There is so much more to come!

[fdelopera]

ok that's it. tomorrow i'm gonna publish my longer piece on why the modern day Arab Palestinians are NOT the same as the Ancient Greek Philistines (who all died out around 604 BCE when the Babylonians sieged Jerusalem).

Edit: Click here to read the longer version, with links!

but the tl;dr version is this:

we know that the Philistines are Ancient Greeks based on DNA-testing that's been done on their skeletons, and based on their pottery and artifacts, which are Ancient Mycenaean Greek. (the Torah is consistent with this -- it records them as being from Crete, which at that time was under Mycenaean Greek control)

also, being Greeks, the Philistines were not indigenous to the Levant. they were interlopers. the native Israelites fought with the Philistines over and over. the story of David and Goliath is likely a cultural memory of this conflict.

in Hebrew, the Philistines are called Peleshet, and they are likely the same as the Peleset tribe -- one of the tribes of "Sea Peoples" who tried (and failed) to conquer Egypt at the end of the Bronze Age.

and like, duh. obviously the Arab Palestinians and the Greek Philistines are not the same people.

but there are some really bad actors (both in the conspiracy sense, and in the literal "drama" sense) on Tiktok who are trying to erase Jewish history by spreading conspiracy theories that somehow Philistines and Palestinians are "the same". (omg the people who believe this shit are so dumb!!)

they're doing it so they can claim that "Jesus was a Palestinian".

ugh, it gives me a headache even to write something as stupid as that.

no, ya dumb-dumbs. Jesus was a Judaean Jew. he was from Bethlehem. in Judaea.

you know, Judaea. the place where the Jews are from.

deep sigh.

and like, clearly these people have not read a Bible ... ever ... because being associated with the Philistines was NOT a good thing!! they were literally the worst!

the Philistines were Ancient Mycenaean Greeks from Crete.

and the Palestinians are modern day Arabs.

and there is zero connection between them.

the only "connection" is that after the Romans tried to murder all the Jews in the Levant, following the Jewish Bar Kochba revolt in 135 AD, the Romans renamed Judaea, and gave it the name "Syria-Palaestina". they did this to try to wipe the cultural memory of Jews "off the map". they literally went through the Torah, found the name of one of the Judaeans' historical enemies (the Philistines), and renamed the region using that name.

so by claiming that "Jesus was a Palestinian", not only are you calling him a Philistine (ew), you're also giving him the name that the ROMANS WHO CRUCIFIED HIM renamed Judaea after trying to murder LOTS OF OTHER JEWS.

G-d these people are so dumb!!!

[bucephaly]

Hi, um. I am very confused by this: why would people lie about being Cherokee? I'm white, I don't mean to overstep here, I just kind of flashed back to my History of Native Americans class and from what I can tell, being Native means a shit ton of mistreatment in the past and present, a lot of absolutely absurd stereotypes, weird fetishization and creepy dehumanizing language. My great grandfather was Cherokee and he hid that pretty consistently because he knew it was going to be an obstacle to his education, his career and basically his life in general. While some digging into genealogy later confirmed it was legit, I kind of already knew from the start because people don't usually lie about something they forbid you from mentioning outside the family and which they knew would take them from "one of the brightest minds in your field" to "[insert comment about being One Of The Good Ones here]". So why would someone lie about this? It feels like that'd backfire pretty hard given how racist everyone was/is in the US. I'm not doubting it happens - people are jackasses who'll lie about most things - but I just flat-out don't get why it happens. Why, of all the lies to pick, would someone go with a lie about their ethnicity? I know this might be veering into "please explain to whitey about racism" territory but if there's an article or a book or something on this, please let me know because this is so baffling to me. Who would want to be oppressed when oppression is so awful?

So I'm from the south. Everyone and their dog here claims to have cherokee ancestry and there are a number of origins for the stories. I think there's a factor of white people playing Indian being more accepted than real natives. To many of them it's a novelty or fun fact, some of them take it farther and establish fake 'tribes', usually recognized at the state level but not federally because they have no actual history.

During the confederacy, it actually became sorta a weird show of white southern pride to claim to have cherokee ancestry, basically saying 'my family has been here in the south long enough that we were here before the cherokees were removed.' So it was a way to show 'deep roots' in the south.

There was the Guion Miller roll, where cherokees were given a payout of $133 each because of a lawsuit. A lot of people applied knowing full well they weren't cherokee, just hoping to get some money. We even see lawyers advertising the payout to get people to apply just to see if they could get some. 2/3rds of the applicants were declined for having no proof of Cherokee ancestry, and I figure some family stories may have started there. If it wasnt the applicant themself keeping up the lie, maybe it was someone later finding the application and thinking it must have been truth.

In some cases, the cherokee land lotteries could be the origin. Once cherokees were forced out of north Georgia, their land and everything on it, including their houses and personal belongings, was raffled off. Settler families made themselves at home and even started passing down the cherokees belongings as heirlooms. Eventually the story got twisted into the family being cherokee instead of stealing from them.

Then there are some other things. Mixed people claiming to be native because it was less stigmatized than being mixed, ancestors that could've lived in a place called cherokee or near the cherokee and that got misunderstood. The stupidest origin was an ancestor that lived in the 1700s who had a funny name, so she got recorded as being cherokee in the family Bible despite being from Virginia and having sounds in her name that aren't present in the cherokee language.

And I imagine there are plenty that were just tall tales someone told a kid for fun and it got passed down.

I'm not sure about the history of when these fakes started cropping up more, but I know it's been on the rise a lot in the last few decades.

And of course, nowadays, people love hiring people that give them diversity points without actually being diverse. And fake state tribes can make money. Here in the south, there isn't that much of a legitimate native presence. There is one real tribe in my state, none in two neighboring states. People here don't really figure real natives still exist outside those people with a cherokee gg grandmother that gave them high cheekbones. You'd be surprised how many people I hear saying 'oh yea but I doubt there are actually any fullblood cherokees left' and shit like that.

Oh, and also. Nowadays people love to avoid having to accept that their ancestors were colonizers. Hell, even my aunt who is also cherokee has said stuff like 'I'm sad that we have English ancestry, I was hoping we'd be Irish. I don't wanna be descended from colonizers' like.. auntie the Irish were colonizers here too. People love to be seen as less white. Youll hear pretendians saying 'no don't call me white, I'm not white I'm cherokee!' Etc. And ofc there are the hippie types.

Idk. I hope that helps somewhat, basically society is a lot more willing to accept a pretendian than a real native in a lot of cases. Plus I think a chunk of the modern issues faced by native communities is generational from past oppression [on top of the very real current oppression in native communities] and pretendians just cannot understand that.

And ofc the obligatory disclaimer that I'm reconnecting, I'm new to this too so im not an expert.

If you wanna see how many fakes there are [note: many many from Alabama and Kentucky], join the cherokee research and genealogy Facebook. Just for fun, I'm putting a post of theirs under the cut [it's long] that lists all the wild excuses and stories people have given for why their ancestors don't show up as native in research.

[thatchickwiththecamera]

If I'm There

This is from a request sent to me by @lma1986

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x Female Reader

TW: Death, Loss, Grief.  

Any and all feedback is appreciated!

Y/N groaned upon entering the hotel room and flung her body onto the crisply made king sized bed. The pelican case she had been holding was discarded somewhere along her journey. Noah, her boyfriend of two years, simply smiled at her antics as he rolled their remaining bags into the entryway. 

Noah’s band, Bad Omens, had just wrapped up their latest North American tour with a four day run of shows across central and eastern Canada. Y/N was a member of the band’s visuals team and worked as the lighting and video technician alongside Matt at Front of House. Her and Noah met four years ago when she was running visuals for one of the bands supporting Bad Omens on tour. 

Noah, Matt, and Nicholas liked her work and decided to extend an offer to join their growing team prior to the next tour. After two years of working with Bad Omens and two years of tip-toeing around shared feelings, Noah finally asked her on a date and as they say, the rest is history. 

With this tour coming to a close, it meant that they had the next two weeks off to do whatever they wanted before the guys had to be back in Los Angeles to finish tracking the new album. Everyone was scheduled to fly back to their respective home states at various times throughout the next day. While all of the gear was to be freighted back to the LA to either be stored in the warehouse until the next tour or to be moved into the awaiting studio space for recording. 

“I am so ready to sleep in my own bed,” She exclaimed, voice slightly muffled by the pillows. “I think the mattresses in the bunks are getting worse with each tour.”

“Either that or we’re just finally starting to feel older.” he said, flopping down next to her, “I mean, we are almost thirty.” 

“Don’t remind me.” She groans.

Before she can raise the question of who gets first dibs at the shower, she is interrupted by the familiar sound of her sister’s ringtone chirping from the phone in the front pocket of her hoodie. 

“Yellow!” She tiredly exclaims, placing the phone on speaker. 

“Y/N” the serious tone of her sister's voice cuts through the speaker. 

She immediately sits up and looks over at Noah, now sporting a concerned look on his face that she was sure matched her own. 

Her sister rarely called her by her first name. Mainly using childhood nicknames. Never her given name. 

“What’s wrong?” Y/N questions. 

“Y/N…it's Olivia.” Her sister continued, voice shaky. “There’s been an accident.”

She went on to explain that Olivia, Y/N’s best friend since as long as she could remember, had been hit head on by a drunk driver on her way home from dinner with friends from work. She had been rushed to the local trauma center where the medical team had managed to stabilize her but they stated that the next 24 hours were going to be critical. 

Noah was immediately on the phone with Matt, who five minutes later knocked on their door ready to drive them to the airport. 

The small airport chapel was dark and empty. The smell of incense lingered in the air from a Mass held earlier in the day. Y/N sat quietly in the last pew staring up at the large crucifix hanging on the wall above the altar and tabernacle. 

Despite eventually developing a vehement disinterest in organized religion as an adult, Y/N had been raised in the Bible Belt of the deep south and had grown up in and out of church as a child and young adult. She had witnessed and experienced enough over the course of her life that made her unable to completely let go of the notion that there was a greater power at play somewhere in the universe. 

Her grandmother always expressed belief in the power of prayer and when her usual sage advice fell on the deaf ears of a stubborn teenager, she always told Y/N to ultimately pray about it. 

“Give it up to God,” she would say, “Put it in his hands.” 

There were no direct flights out of Toronto, which left them stuck at JFK in New York City for the next three hours due to a layover. Noah’s many years on the road made it possible for him to sleep pretty much anywhere despite his tall frame. But her anxiety prevented her from finding any respite of sleep on the uncomfortable metal chairs outside the gate. 

Which is why she now found herself sitting in the Our Lady of the Skies chapel talking to a wooden crucifix. 

“I don’t know how to talk to you or if you even are actually there and listening,” She states, eyes stinging from the tears that threatened to form, “But at this point I’m desperate.”

“If there is one person in this lifetime that deserves to live a long and fulfilling life it is her,” she continued, “she can be one of the most naive people I know, but she has only ever brought kindness and love into this world because of it.” 

“You’ve already taken so many from me…,” she pleads, unable to hold back the tears as a few escape and trail down her cheeks. “Please don’t take her too.” 

A moment later she felt the warmth of an arm wrap around her and turned to see Noah sit down next to her, their carry-ons bags sitting on the floor in the aisle next to the pew. 

She buried her face in his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, placed a tender kiss on her head and held her close as she finally let the tears pour out. 

Upon landing in South Carolina, Y/N's sister met them at baggage claim. She looked as tired and spread thin as Y/N did. She knew just how much Olivia meant to her little sister, and also considered her a good friend. But her bond of friendship was no wear near as unbreakable as the one that had been built between Olivia and Y/N over the years.

She wrapped Y/N up into a tight hug and let her know that Olivia had been rushed back into emergency surgery about an hour before they had landed. They had found internal bleeding that was previously missed due to the severity of the initial trauma sustained in the crash, causing her previously stable condition to quickly deteriorate. 

Upon arriving at Columbia Memorial Hospital, they quickly located Olivia’s parents in the waiting room outside the Intensive Care Unit. Olivia’s mother, Mary grabbed Y/N in a  bone crushing hug the second she saw her, thanking them for coming as quickly as they did. She followed the band and knew the journey they had made to be there. Before they could speak further, a man dressed in surgical scrubs emerged from the large bay door. She felt Noah take her hand and give it a squeeze.

Mary walked over to the doctor. He grabbed her hands and shook his head. Y/N couldn’t hear the words he spoke, but Mary’s reaction to them told her all she needed to know. 

Olivia was gone.

Y/N felt numb. She felt her emotions shut down. She wanted to cry, to scream, to fall to her knees but her body just remained frozen in place for what felt like an eternity. Noah’s hand never left hers and his grip never faltered.

They briefly expressed their condolences to Mary and other member’s of their family before leaving them space to grieve. There was no reason for them to stay at the hospital while Mary began the heartbreaking task of preparing for her only child’s funeral. 

The drive to her sister’s house was silent. She showed Y/N and Noah to the guest room and left them to unpack and prepare for bed. 

Y/N found little sleep that night. As sunlight began to stream in through the bedroom window, she turned to peer at the clock on the nightstand. 

It read 6:00am. She quietly rose so as not to disturb Noah’s sleeping form in the bed next to her. She quickly dressed, grabbed her sneakers, and headed out the front door. 

Y/N ran. 

She ran until her lungs felt like broken shards of glass. 

She ran until her legs felt like they were made of jello.

She ran until her feet were numb and weighed heavy like cinder blocks.

In school, she ran after her first heartbreak, she ran when her father died of cancer, she ran when her mother became absent in her own grief leaving her and her sister to fend for themselves, until she would eventually pass as well. 

She ran when all of life's problems seemed to pile up as high as the peaks of Mount Everest and bare down on her shoulders. 

When life didn’t make sense, Y/N ran. 

Olivia had always been the one to run with her. When her own body would grow tired she would remain on the bench at the trailhead of the old high school cross country course, making sure Y/N knew she wasn’t alone. 

But now Olivia was gone and the bench by the trailhead sat empty save for the water bottle Y/N had discarded at the start of her run. She tried to ignore the empty spot as she set out on her second loop. 

As she circled around again she spotted a second water bottle sitting next to hers on the bench. She felt the already growing agitation stir inside her further at the idea of having to interact with a stranger on the course. She prayed they would just run their route and leave her alone. 

Halfway through her third loop she heard the sound of another person coming up from behind her and expected them to call out what side they would be passing her and continue their run. 

Instead the person fell into stride next to her. She turned her head, ready to tell the stranger to politely fuck off, but stopped when she saw Noah running next to her.

He didn’t say anything, just kept running, never leaving her side as they continued to complete two more loops. He knew this was something she had to do, and despite his own fatigue, he wasn’t going to let her do it alone. 

Toward the end of her fifth loop, she felt her legs start to give way. Her toes snagged on a root sticking up in the middle of the path and she waited for her body to hit the dirt. She thought that maybe she would just lay there for a while and let the earth swallow her whole, but the impact never came. 

Instead she felt Noah wrap his arms around her. Pulling her firmly into his chest. The weight of everything she tried to hold inside started to fracture and crumble around her. The emotion she tried to run from rebounded back like a lightning bolt striking her directly in the heart. She thrashed against his hold and hit the bottom of her fists against his chest. 

She screamed out in rage as the hot tears streamed down her face. But despite her best attempts at getting him to let go, his hold remained firm. Noah was sure that his chest was red by the time she finally relaxed in his arms. He took the opportunity to kneel down and scooped the sobbing figure of the woman he loved into his arms. She didn’t have the energy to protest as he carefully carried her home. 

The funeral took place four days later. It was held at St. Joseph's Cathedral downtown where four generations of Olivia’s family had been baptized, confirmed, married, and eulogized. She could not deny that the Mass her family prepared had been beautiful despite Y/N not knowing much about the ways and traditions of the Catholic Church. 

After the service, Mary came up to the both of them and thanked them again for traveling back like they did and for staying for the service. 

“You were the closest thing Olivia had to a sister and even though it may not have seemed like it at times, you were and still are like my second child.” She stated. “Thank you for being her friend and being in our lives.” 

Tears once again formed in her eyes as Mary pulled her in for one of her soul squeezing motherly hugs that Y/N learned to cherish over the years. 

“I love you so much” she said, reaching up to grab either side of Y/N’s face, wiping away the tears with the pads of her thumbs. “And I am so proud of you.”

“I love you too.” Y/N replied, before hugging the woman once again. 

The next day they were scheduled to fly back to LA, but not before visiting Olivia’s grave. It was covered in layers of floral arrangements and marked by a temporary placard with ‘Olivia Renee Barber” and her dates of birth and death engraved on dark metal. 

Noah stayed back as Y/N paid her respects. He wished that he could take all of her grief and carry it on his own shoulders so she didn’t have to weather the burden. He knew from his own experiences that she had to go through this process at her own pace. Loss was not linear and there were no magical boxes to check as you grieve and heal.

There was one thing he knew for absolute certain. As long as he was around, she would never go through anything in this world alone. He’d be there to catch her when she’d fall and just as he knew she’d do the same for him in return.

[readyforevolution]

𝗗𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗗𝗟𝗢𝗖𝗞𝗦

In the 1930s, dreadlocks were a fashionable hairstyle among Rastafarians. The Rastafarian movement, which originated in Jamaica, is based on a blend of Christian and African spiritual ideas. Rastafarians believe that their hair represents the power and energy of their African ancestors, and they wear dreadlocks to reflect this belief. Dreadlocks are religious, but they have also become a sign of defiance and counterculture.

In the 1960s and 1970s, hippies and other groups who didn't like mainstream culture liked to wear dreadlocks. People have used locs for a variety of reasons throughout history. The Maasai warriors of Africa, for example, are renowned for wearing long, thin red dreadlocks dyed with red root extracts or red ochre. However, in Nigeria, infants who are born with naturally locked hair are referred to as "Dada" by the Yoruba.

The Rastafari movement thinks that dreadlocks are a sign of the Lion of Judah, which sometimes shows up on the Ethiopian flag. Rastafari supporters believe that Haile Selassie is a direct descendant of King Solomon and Queen Sheba through their son Menelik I and that the Nazarites recorded in the Bible inspired them to wear dreadlocks.

People of all races and ethnicities now sport dreadlocks as a fashionable hairstyle in many parts of the world. While they have religious and cultural value for some, many individuals just wear them as a fashion statement. Despite their rising popularity, dreadlocks have caused controversy and prejudice.

They have been outlawed in several businesses and schools, and some people have encountered prejudice due to their haircut. In the end, the history of dreadlocks is long and varied. They have deep roots in ancient cultures and are still important to culture today.

[lilbrattyratty]

A Guide to Lewis Hamilton and Peter Bonnington

Recently I have been convincing people to become obsessed with whatever Lewis and Bono have so instead of repeating myself unnecessarily I have decided to make this handy dandy Bible guide to their journey together!

1. The Basics

Lewis and Bono have the longest running engineer and driver pairing in the history of the sport.

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Sir Lewis Hamilton: if you don’t know who he is then I’m slightly surprised you are here but I am not here to judge. Sir Lewis Hamilton is a British F1 driver who has won 7 world championship titles with the Mercedes team! He’s a legend in the sport. He made his debut with McLaren in 2007 and has been with Mercedes since 2013.

Peter “Bono” Bonnington: Bono is senior race engineer for Mercedes. He has been race engineer since 2011 where he worked with other 7 time world champion Michael Schumacher. After Schumacher left Bono was paired with Lewis and they have been together ever since! He has been widely regarded as the most successful and most well known race engineer.

Note: for some reason there was a misconception going around that Bono was 10 years older than he really was. Let’s put this to rest: his birthday is 12 February 1975. Source

It’s Hammertime: maybe one of the most famous Lewis radio messages. Bono explains that during the years where radio messages were more strict they needed a code word to let Lewis know it was time to really go all out. So they suggested “put the hammer down” before it became “it’s hammertime”. Source (timestamp 18:17)

Austrian GP 2014: the very first Hammertime. Link

2. The Partnership

Out on track the race engineer is the critical link from the team in the garage to the driver. They must analyze all the data and determine what the driver needs to know without overwhelming them.

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Platonic or romantic or brotherly no matter how you may view their relationship it has been stated many times by both of them that their relationship takes a lot of trust and open communication. They share a deep bond and connection that they feel is integral to their success.

In this interview you will find Lewis speaking about the depth of their trust and love for each other. Link

“It’s like a marriage, I guess.”

“There’s love, and real friendship, and loyalty.”

This interview is where Lewis speaks about the support that they show for each other. How he feels that they are always there for each other to bring out the best. Link

“I don’t know if I can do this for you…”

This interview where Lewis again talks about how much he loves Bono and how important their bond is to him. Link

“I think he is also one of the few people who can handle me on good and bad days.”

In this Instagram post you can read that Lewis is always thankful for Bono and recognizes that his success is thanks for many people but Bono in particular… Link

“Forever grateful for my guy Bono, blessed to have him by my side.”

Now Bono may be more media shy but he does have this interview where he talks about working with Lewis. Link

“He’s the rockstar and I’m the one in charge.”

Occasionally Bono will not be working with Lewis and you can see how awkward it is sometimes when you aren’t used to the replacement. Link

“That was a lot of information, I don’t understand what you just said.”

A moment when you can hear Lewis trying to calm Bono rather than the other way around. Link

The Egg: Bono brought an egg to the 2021 Brazil and Jeddah GP because Lewis loves the movie ‘Cool Runnings’ and it really inspired him when he was younger. In the movie they kiss their lucky egg. Source

Podiums: Bono has been on the podium a few times with Lewis and each one is super fun and special! A full list can be found here!

3. The Fandom

“I love Bono and I wouldn’t want to work with anyone else. Don’t write that I love him because I haven’t told him.” -Lewis Hamilton

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Below I have compiled fic recs as well as just shippy moments from the two of them.

Notable Moments:

British GP 2014: Lewis wins his home GP and Bono tells him to “lap it up, boy”. Link

Austin GP 2015: who can forget the iconic hug? (pictured above) The way Bono leaps into his arms and he bounced him up and down… simply iconic. Video link of the hug

US GP 2018: Lewis tells Bono he’s not gonna go steady. Link

Russian GP 2019: Bono tries to hide behind the crowd but Lewis won’t let him. Link

ALSO at that same GP! They stared at each other from the podium in beautiful iconic cinematography… link

Abu Dhabi GP 2019: Lewis (and others) dump champagne on Bono’s head and make him very very wet… link

Lewis Hamilton and Valentino Rossi: Where Rossi asks Lewis if “this is your guy?” And Lewis replied “yeah.” Link (timestamp 2:39)

Mexico GP 2019: Lewis dedicated his win to Bono. Link

British GP 2024: Lewis tells Bono he loves him ❤️ Link

Also from that same GP, Lewis says he always feels safe with Bono Link

Notable Blogs:

@storm3326: creates wonderful Bono and Lewis fanart

@queerbenched: makes beautiful Bono and Lewis edits

@still-we-rise @teamroscoes @princemick @l8tof1 @husbono @flatspot: All post a lot of good Bono and Lewis content. I scrolled through a lot of their blogs a lot while making this post.

There are of course plenty of other wonderful blogs out there and I appreciate every single one of them.

Fic Recs:

This thing called us by Dutchiedragon Rated: Gen.

Summary: Brazil 2021 brought so many emotions, it left the Mercedes team completely burnt out. Lewis ends up alone in his hotelroom with a thousand thoughts running through his head, so he seeks out the one person who might bring him peace.

Or: Lewis needs help taking out his braids. Bono is there.

So long, longing by ohfrecklefreckle Rated: Mature.

Summary: Engineering is a dirty job but someone's got to do it. What happens when you're almost telepathic but still can't say what you need to?

The contours of things by The_Orange_one Rated: Mature.

Summary: Lewis belongs to so many people, but Bono mostly just belongs to Lewis.

Love in the major key by ambiguouspace Rated: Teen.

Summary: Bono, in particular, looks surprisingly alert tonight.

In fact, James notices, as his brain clicks out of analysis mode and into observation, he’s positively glowing. His eyes are bright, face a little flushed like he’s been working out. James looks down, catalogues the rest of his appearance. Bono’s t-shirt hangs slightly loose on him, nothing like the cut he normally favours, and the print on the front is unusual, an oversized image of something James can’t quite see but looks oddly familiar and—ah.

Lewis and Bono and the unsubtle art of workplace flirtation.

Lost in My Own Incidents by glasscushion Rated: Explicit.

Summary: “What do you need, Lewis? This bit I can do.”

“This,” he says, his eyes still closed. “Can we just stay like this?”

Lewis lifts one side of the blanket for Bono to take and he grabs a handful, laying it over his own lap, the wool heated from where it’s been resting against Lewis’ skin. The urge to reach out beneath, to soothe, to touch, is almost suffocating.

“Not a problem mate. No problem at all.”

Author’s Note: This is not a complete list and may be updated as they continue to be insane about each other!