#cruel world festival 2023

[nugothrhythms]

Video I caught of Austen, Texas-based darkwave trio Urban Heat performing the song "Trust" from their 2022 debut release Wellness while at Cruel World Festival 2023

[mxdwn]

Cruel World Festival Canceled Over Severe Weather Alert on Saturday To Resume on Sunday Following Lightning Storm

https://music.mxdwn.com/2023/05/21/news/cruel-world-festival-canceled-over-severe-weather-alert-on-saturday-to-resume-on-sunday-following-lightning-storm/

[bd-z]

[popgodz]

[just-j-really]

Another Dreamling fic I'm probably not going to write: amnesia AU, but played for comedy/fluff. Hob forgets everything from the night he met Dream onward because of some sort of curse. Dream decides to look after him until the curse wears off, because he is Being a Good Friend.

So from Hob's perspective, a Mysterious Hot Guy told him he'd see him in 100 years time and then he woke up in the future, with the Mysterious Hot Guy refusing to let him out of his sight.

Hob is under the impression he's being kidnapped/seduced by some fey creature, and "show him the delights the future has to offer" is just how this guy flirts.

Hob is not opposed.

Meanwhile Dream is being dragged along on a whirlwind tour of the year 2023 by a Manic Pixie Dream Medieval Peasant who wants to see absolutely everything there is to see in the future right now immediately.

(I am a little bit thinking of the festival dance scene in Tangled, with Hob as Rapunzel. Only instead of Festival Activities he is enthusiastically dragging Dream around to the various Sights of modern London.)

The Sights in Question are this bizarre mix of 'things a modern person would consider an attraction in modern London' and 'entirely banal parts of modern London' and Hob is having the time of his life. The future has stores full of more food than he's seen??? And types of food he's never seen??? And spices and off-season fruit just sitting there??? And fabric is so soft now???? And medication and pest control are just??? Available??? Life is so rich!!!!

(And on the other hand like. This man was excited about playing cards. Someone please show him an arcade. He is forcing Dream to play every multiplayer game available. Especially the driving ones. Neither of them knows how to drive.)

(Dream takes him to a museum and he's staring at a display from the 14-1500s marveling at how futuristic the technology is. He's actually more excited about that stuff than he is about the whole 'computers' thing because it's close enough for him to have some point of reference.)

(Also sidebar from the comedy- Maybe Dream shows Hob the ruins of the White Horse. Hob stares at the building for a long time, then starts crying. Not outright sobs, just tears steadily slipping down his face like he's not really aware of them. Dream panics and tries to comfort him, mentally kicking himself for showing Hob the one connection to the life he knows in ruins. But Hob, laughing now, explains that this was the first time it really hit him? That he's actually 600 years in the future, not in some fairyland Dream created. And that means that all the disease and starvation and war and world-ending horror he was staring down 600-odd years ago didn't. He was going to grit his teeth and live no matter what but the fact that the world made it here along with him? That humanity's still here? And managed to create antibiotics and planes and chimneys in the meantime? That's a goddamn miracle.)

And Dream is getting dragged along with Hob, at first reluctantly, but slowly falling for Hob's enthusiasm throughout the day/week/whatever. And this version of Hob is like. Outright flirting with him. He's outright flirting with a lot of people, fair, but Dream especially. And of course Dream's having a feeling about it, because of course the version of Hob who doesn't actually know him, doesn't know how cruel he was over the centuries, is the one who'd be interested in him.

The Manic Pixie Dream Medieval Peasant Tour of London ends up taking on a decidedly romantic note, after a few days. And one night, after an evening in a restaurant that Dream knows is one of Hob's favorites, where everyone around them was silently willing them to get a room because the tension between two people who are very carefully sitting on opposite sides of the table and not actually touching, just talking to each other, was far too palpable, Hob caves, and drags Dream into a kiss the second they get back to his flat.

It's a good kiss, and Dream lets himself enjoy it for a moment, because he'll never get to kiss Hob again so at least he can have the memory of this one. Then he gently breaks the kiss and tells Hob, equally gently, that they can't. That Hob doesn't remember the majority of their relationship, how cruel Dream has been to him. That his present self doesn't feel the same way.

And then Hob, who's been staring starry-eyed at Dream this whole conversation, says "I do, though."

And Dream is like "Yes I know you like me now with but the you with your memory intact does not."

And Hob's like "No, I do. I got my memory back right when I kissed you."

And there is, unfortunately, more confusion (Hob explaining that yes he has always liked Dream it's just that 600 years have made him minutely less reckless and also the current him remembers that they are friends and doesn't want to ruin that. But no, Dream is wrong on all counts, he remembers every moment of their friendship and he does like Dream the same way and holy shit??? There is a 'same way'???? Dream wanted to keep kissing him????)

And then they clear all that up and live happily ever after.

(Yes it was a True Love's Kiss thing)

[primoredial-jade]

to you, 500 years from now.

" i wonder if you remember me as i was. sometimes, i think of those days. do you? " —dishonored

prompt: he wishes to see you again one day, in a world that is kinder for a soul as beautiful as yours.

pairing: neuvillette x gn!reader

cw: reincarnation alternate universe, heavy themes and depictions of death, neuvillette story quest spoilers, fontaine archon quest spoilers, a light-hearted scene sprinkled in, reader is an oceanid in their past life, reader is a geoscientist in their current life

as a part of @seraphiism's 2023 writing event 🤍 merry christmas!

500 years ago.

seldom did visitors grace the presence of the hydro dragon.

adorned with shimmering scales that reflected the hues of the deepest ocean, piercing violet eyes that sparkled like the shiniest amethysts, and hailed as one of the strongest sovereigns of the world– his reputation preceded him. thus, the hydro dragon chose to live in seclusion in the salacia plains.

time worked differently for a being such as him. in a momentary lapse, the hydro dragon had shut his eyes for what he thought was a brief respite, only to be roused by the gentle murmur of bubbling water. as his eyes fluttered open, he remained unaware that several years had slipped away during his tranquil slumber.

with seemingly no fear at being in the presence of the hydro dragon, a beautiful oceanid floated before him, blowing bubbles in his direction. twirling around him, the oceanid radiated a warmth that the hydro dragon could not resist. drawn by the mesmerizing glow of his scales, the oceanid came closer.

the hydro dragon sat up in his full form, extending his wings and towering over the oceanid, gauging its reaction. he knew he was terrifying like this. the oceanid did not flee in fear, rather, gazed up at him in amazement and wonder.

"what is your name?" the hydro dragon asks.

you offer it to him, easily.

days turned into nights into years as the hydro dragon finally had someone to call his companion. you followed him everywhere he went, offering him countless condessence crystals on your trips, "because it resembles your eyes."

with time, the hydro dragon had discovered a love that transcended ordinary within you.

fate, as cruel as it could be, had other plans. the heavenly principles had descended to wage war against the seven sovereigns. the hydro dragon urged you to stay away, to not get involved. yet, you refused, promising that you would never leave his side.

the heavenly principles, having sensed the unconventional bond between the hydro dragon and his oceanid, instantly killed you before the hydro dragon could even think to intervene. dying in his hands, you apologized.

"hydro dragon, hydro dragon, don't cry," you murmur, placing one last condessence crystal in his palm.

filled with agony and rage, the hydro dragon unleashed his elemental fury upon the heavenly principles.

still, it wasn't enough. he couldn't save you, he couldn't avenge you, and now, he was to also perish by the hands of fate.

as he lay dying with the condessence crystal in his hand, he wishes to see you again one day. in a world that is kinder, and more forgiving for a soul as beautiful as yours.

500 years later.

the stars are keeping you up tonight.

ever since furina had given up her position as the hydro archon and the prophecy was deemed to be untrue, you had felt a shift within yourself that you could not really explain. when you had been enveloped by the water of the primordial sea, you had felt... at home. tranquil, even.

fontaine's winter festivities were in full swing, and the city's lights twinkle slow as children zip past you through the streets. red and green decorations are adorned on every wall and lamp post. you raise a hand to catch a delicate snowflake– rarely did snow ever reach fontaine, but it was a welcomed change for the season.

you shiver, pulling your coat closer to your neck. it was probably reckless to be out this late when the night was this chilly, but you just couldn't shake the feeling of having to be out here. something was pulling you here, but you didn't know what.

"good evening," a voice calls your name and you startle, hand over your heart. you turn to meet piercing violet eyes and an easygoing smile, one that you meet sheepishly.

"good evening, monsieur neuvillette," you answer, inadvertently straightening your posture.

"i thought it was you i saw..." neuvillette trails off, clearing his throat. he gestures up to the palais mermonia, quite a ways away. you tilt your head in bewilderment.

"you could see me from there?"

"well, not at first," he answers, lightly tapping his cane on the floor. "you could say it was instinct, perhaps. i cannot find the words to really explain it, but it had to be you."

you would be lying if you said that one of the reasons as to why you had felt so on edge since the flooding didn't have anything to do with neuvillette.

as a geoscientist investigator for the marechaussee phantom, most of your interactions in the past had been strictly professional in solving cases and exonerating or indicting those on stand. after the failed prophecy, neuvillette had begun to seek you out for casual conversation. of course, you welcomed it. you were easily drawn to him, like a moth to a flame.

something about the way he had interacted with you since then with a longing gaze in his eyes had you feeling as if he knew something that you didn't.

it did not do any favors to your heart. he was a gorgeous man with a kind and respectful personality to boot.

you shouldn't get this excited about him finding you, but your blood thumping in your ears betrays you.

"ah- i see... it's funny you say that, because, well- likewise," you manage to say, flustered and feeling the urge to bolt on the spot.

neuvillette smiles at you, nodding toward the brightly lit street. "would you take a walk with me?"

speechless, you nod. what would fontaine think seeing you strolling around town with neuvillette this late at night, shoulders so close?

"there are a few stands around with festive goods and the likes. there's actually a..." you pause, a sudden memory making you laugh, "a water taste-testing booth made by your fanclub. would you want to check it out?"

neuvillette's eyebrows raise in amusement. "it would be my pleasure. i had not even been aware i harbored a fanclub."

you absentmindedly lean closer to his side, "well, you are quite popular among fontainians, monsieur neuvillette. many of them admire you for everything you have done for fontaine."

"and what about you?" his eyes meet yours expectantly.

you're caught off guard by his teasing. ears burning, you focus your attention on the path. "well, of course, i do too," you mumble. you can't see it, but he smiles.

a brightly lit booth in blue finally comes into view. its banner reads, "water around the world!" with a small, cute drawing of neuvillette's face in the corner.

"surely that's breaking a law in copyright infringement?" you joke.

"the oratrice would surely find them guilty," he nods, and you cannot suppress your laugh.

"hello, and welcome to- monsieur neuvillette?!" the teenager running the stand jumps out of her seat at the sight. she sputters, waving her hands around frantically. "it- it's so nice to see you, monsieur! are you interested in trying out some of the water we've collected?" her outburst spawns members of neuvillette's fanclub whispering excitedly behind her, to your amusement.

"i would be delighted to, along with my companion, if you would be so kind." he gestures to you, and it is only now that the fanclub seems to notice you. a few of them audibly gasp, and you already feel the dread of having your name front and center on the steambird come tomorrow morning. "monsieur neuvillette and the esteemed geoscientist: on a late-night excursion?"

they're quick to place multiple cups of water in front of you. respectively labeled cider lake, samudra coast, dadaupa gorge, sal terrae, and the suigetsu pool. neuvillette takes the one from cider lake, swirling it, and taking a leisurely sip not unlike wine. he hums, encouraging you to take your sip as well.

as you go down the line, truthfully you cannot tell much difference between them all. but, your heart warms seeing neuvillette take this very seriously, to the delight of his fanclub.

"did you like them?" you ask as you both depart from the booth, truly curious.

neuvillette nods, a smile on his face. "they all tasted quite fresh."

you cannot repress your own grin at his honesty. "i'm glad, monsieur neuvillette."

as the snow gets heavier and the night turns darker, booths begin to shut their lights down with people scurrying back to their abodes. you get the occasional double take at being with the chief justice, of course.

you watch neuvillette as he slows to a stop to stare up into the sky. delicate snowflakes fall into his long hair and eyelashes, and yet he seems completely unbothered by the cold. he's beautiful.

you heart suddenly aches in a way that feels like the breath has totally escaped you. the feeling is so unknown that you wonder if this moment is even real at all.

you'd had nightmares about it that you didn't dare tell a soul, of how you had died once. it was impossible- unfathomable.

but if it was, then how could you vividly remember in your last moments the feeling of being held by warm, protective hands?

neuvillette is already looking at you when you come to, like he knows.

"maybe we should call it a night." your voice is thinned.

neuvillette takes a step closer. "may i?"

you can only nod, breath hitching. he's standing closer than how he usually allows himself to be. you move, but one of his hands lift to gently cup your cheeks.

instantly, tears begin to well up in your eyes. his touch feels so familiar. "i'm sorry," you whisper.

with his free hand, neuvillette unclips the brooch at his neck and places it in your hand. seeing it up this close, your eyes widen.

"this is a condessence crystal."

neuvillette's eyes meet your own. he closes both of your hands around the crystal, and you see white.

"what is your name?"

"it resembles your eyes."

"i love you."

"i won't ever leave your side."

"don't leave me by myself."

"hydro dragon, hydro dragon, don't cry."

your knees suddenly grow weak, but neuvillette is quick to catch you.

your mind is running at a thousand miles a minute, swirling with questions that repeat themselves in your head, what is wrong with you, what is wrong with him, what is wrong with fate.

"so it is real," he finally says, eyes so solemn yet relieved. his words, resolute and cutting, make you still.

"i– what is?"

"us."

you didn't realize that you needed to hear it from him to finally understand. his eyes are darting across your face, trying to get a read on your expression.

"ever since i was given my authority back on the day of the prophecy, i remembered everything of our past life together, traversing across the seas of the teyvat," he explains, thumbing a stray tear that escaped your eye.

“for a long time, i wondered why i had this when i was reborn into this form,” he squeezes your hand with the condessence crystal, “and then it all made sense.”

"i remember now too," you say, "neuvillette, i remember."

this world is much kinder for a soul that is as beautiful as yours.

"would you give it a chance?" he asks.

"why, neuvillette?"

"because i know," his beautiful eyes don't falter from your own. "i know of the one life i spent where i lost you."

the chill that runs up your spine is not from the cold.

"and now, i have finally found you again."

you don't know who moves first, but his lips are on yours in the next breath you take. you are anguished, confused, happy, at peace.

even in the snow and the pretty lights, all you can see is him.

[vague-humanoid]

she's been supporting Palestine and decrying the apartheid, even and especially last October where she published a book on it

anyway, her statement as mentioned here

https://www.writingafrica.com/zukiswa-wanner-surrenders-germanys-goethe-medal-over-gaza-genocide/

My name is Zukiswa Wanner.

I am a writer, editor, publisher and curator who considers the African continent my home. In 2020, I became the first woman on my continent to receive the Goethe Medaille alongside Bolivian artist and Museum Director Elvira Espejo Ayca and writer Ian McEwan from the United Kingdom. While the Goethe Medal is conferred by the Goethe-Institut to ‘non-Germans who have performed outstanding service for international cultural relations’, it is important to note that the award is an official decoration of the Federal Republic of Germany.

I note and appreciate Goethe-Institut President Carola Lentz’ statement from an article of 14 January, 2024 in Der Spiegel where she says, and I quote, Longstanding partners in the international cultural world are losing trust in the liberality of Germany’s democracy and poses the question, should the Aaswartige Kultur und Bildungspolitik (AKPB) support only persons or groups who accommodate the political/moral agenda of the respective German government? She concludes otherwise and notes that organisations like Goethe-Institut must not become the extended arm of the government, particularly in difficult political times. In the same vein, Goethe-Institut Johannesburg, which is the regional headquarters for Sub Saharan Africa stated in a statement on 7th February, 2024 ‘As to the current war in Gaza – we are convinced that in view of the catastrophic situation, a new ceasefire is urgently needed. The rising number of civilian victims is unacceptable. It’s important to state this so I highlight that this is NOT a statement surrendering the medal because of the Goethe-Institut and its position even where we may not always agree. I mention the Goethe-Institut’ statement by way of explaining that my actions are not a critique of the cultural institution but rather of the government.

In May 2023, while attending Palestine Festival of Literature and months before October 7, I was in the Occupied Palestine Territories and travelled to Ramallah, Nabi Saleh, East Jerusalem, Hebron and Lydd. As a writer coming from a country with a history of apartheid, what I experienced shook me and resulted in my writing a long essay Vignettes of a People in an Apartheid State. One did not need to be from a country with a history of apartheid to see the daily injustices and indignities visited on Palestinians. Palestinians have separate roads, different number plates and are constantly under threat from strangers from the United States or white South Africans with apartheid nostalgia who come with guns and the protection of Israeli Defence Forces to settle into their homes. Indeed, unlike most literature festivals, PalFest takes the writers to multiple cities since Palestinians are unable to travel without permission from Israel, much like South Africa during apartheid, just more cruel.

This is why I am giving up the medal.

I understand Germany’s guilt for the Holocaust.

I do.

That guilt is appropriate and has enabled Germany to face its unconscionable past.

But it is this that makes its position on a current genocide in Palestine all the more shameful. As an aside and as an African, I wish the German government exhibited the same regret for their history in Namibia with the Herero-Nama genocide and for the genocide during the Maji Maji Rebellion in Tanzania. Equally important, I wish that the German government, in reflection and saying ‘never again’ would acknowledge that NEVER AGAIN should be for ANYBODY. Instead, what I see is Germany being on the wrong side of a genocide again (as per International Court of Justice provisional ruling to the case brought on by South Africa). Additionally, according to the United Nations High Commission for Refugees, Federal Republic of Germany and United States of America are the biggest arms exporters to Israel. With more than 30 thousand killed in Gaza, this should have been a mea culpa moment for the Federal Republic of Germany, instead, they seem to have doubled their support for a very problematic government.

Culturally, since October 7, 2023, I have seen Germany disengaging from artists for their position on the colonial state that is Israel even in light of Israel’s failures to adhere to the Oslo Accord (which was a super mediocre document for Palestinians). I am reading that of the cultural events cancelled by Germany, 30 percent are by Jewish artists who are anti-Zionist. This has failed to make sense to me that Jews can be considered antisemitic (obviously ignoring that Palestinians are a semitic people as those in support of the Israeli government seem intent on forgetting). More recently, during the Berlin Film Festival, Palestinian filmmaker Basel Adra and Israeli journalist Yuval Abraham won best documentary prize for their film No Other Lands which shows the eradication of Palestinian villages in the West Bank. The German Cultural Minister is reported to have stated her applause was only for the Israeli half of the filmmaking duo. South African history has a phrase for this. Petty Apartheid.

I thus find myself unable to stay silent or keep an official decoration from a government that is this callous to human suffering.

Ends.

[perseephoneee]

decorating the tree (kol mikaelson x f!reader) {ficmas day 5}

꒰ ࿁ ˙ ˖ ໑ happy day 5 of ficmas!

warnings: kind of angsty, mostly fluffy, a little steamy. but most importantly, festive.

a/n: i got a little carried away with this one. kol is just my baby boy. also the formatting is horrendous because tumblr was being a little bitch.

↳ masterlist  ↳ ship exchange ↳ join my taglist ↳ ficmas 2023

The holidays could be the most bittersweet time of the year. Observing everyone with their friends and families without having your own was lonely and often damaging. You usually could go home for the holidays, see your loved ones, or sleep in at your childhood home, but not this year. This year, because of all the shit happening in the French Quarter, you were forced to be alone.

You hated every second of it.

But, being the go-getter you were, you decided to make the most of it. And you involved the Mikaelsons in this scheme (they were part of the reason you were stuck in this mess anyway).

You had dragged Kol with you to get a Christmas tree. More like, Rebekah had convinced him to go with you. You harbored a massive crush on the original vampire, and Bex, your newest friend, was fully aware of it. It’s why she engineered him to spend more time with you. He helped drag the tree to your tiny apartment and lounged on your couch like a cat as you finished setting it up and dragging out your holiday ornaments.

“Should I go for a color scheme or just hang up whatever?” You asked Kol, holding up a box of white and gold ornaments. He was posed on your couch like a Greek statue, hand thrown over his eyes and legs sprawled out like he couldn’t give a damn. He opened one eye to look at your ornaments. You held up your box of random accouterments, including an abominable snowman and a glittery baguette ornament.

“I like the random ones,” Kol mumbled, laying his head back and letting out a sigh like the world was oh so cruel.

“Am I boring you?” You chastised, a frown marring your features.

“Darling, you could never bore me,” Kol coos. “I just find this to be obtuse.”

“What about it is obtuse?”

“When will you get to enjoy all of this?” Kol finally sat up, gesturing to your apartment. “With everything going on…you’d be lucky to have a Christmas.”

You deflated at his words, clutching your box of ornaments between your hands. Kol was right, but you loathed it. You wanted to just have a holiday, that was all.

He took notice of your somber mood and got off the couch to crouch in front of you.

“Don’t worry, Y/N,” he sighed, picking up an ornament and hanging it on the tree. “Maybe I’ll be wrong.”

He wasn’t entirely wrong; you wanted to hate him for that. But you never could, not really. You spent your whole life feeling like you were holding your breath, but it was like you could actually breathe with him. He made you smile and also frustrated you to no end. Kol saved your life once, and you wondered there and then if it was physically possible to give him your heart. You never figured that part out.Later that week, you were at the Mikaelson compound preparing for a war meeting slash holiday dinner. Dinner was your idea, and Elijah backed you up. Some poor soul they compelled was likely making you food as you sat on Rebekah’s bed, flipping through a book.

“Did you ever have any holiday traditions?” You asked the blond, not looking up as you spoke. You could hear her rifling around at her vanity when she turned to you.

“Bonfire,” Bex answered. “We’d write our wishes and throw them in the fire.”

“We should do that!” You exclaimed, looking up at her. She chuckled at your excitement, even as a melancholy look crossed her features.

“What would you wish for?”

Rebekah took a beat.

“My family, together, at peace,” she said softly, looking down. You repositioned yourself to sit at the end of the bed, looking at her sadly.

“I won’t leave you, you know,” you murmured. “Even if I should’ve hit the hills a while ago.”

“I know that, dove,” Rebekah sighed. “You’re as much a part of this family as I am. I’m…grateful for that.” She tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, and you were hit by the realization that she was just a girl in a woman’s body. “Because you’re my family, I know exactly what you’d wish for.”

“Oh?” You lifted a brow at that.

“For someone to meet you under the mistletoe,” Rebekah teased, getting up from her chair and tackling you down on the bed in a fit of giggles.

“I have no clue what you’re talking about,” you gasped between laughter.

“Oh dear, Y/N, if only you could acknowledge how much he cares,” Rebekah sighed, and you poked her on the nose before rolling out of her reach.

“Don’t tell lies, Bex, it’s cruel,” you chastised.

“Is my darling sister being a vixen again?” Kol called from the doorway, catching both you and Rebekah’s attention. He leaned up against the door, arms crossed and a smirk on his face. You felt your heart rate pick up as you took him in.

“What do you want?” Rebekah inquired, looking bored.

“Dinner is ready; I came to fetch you,” Kol smirked, giving you a wink that sent your heart spiraling from the stratosphere. Rebekah grumbled and got up, pushing past you and out the door. You moved to follow, but Kol grabbed your arm, pulling you back towards him.

“Kol,” you breathed, looking up at him in question.

“Do I scare you?” He asked, peering at you. “What?”

“Or is it nerves?” He traced his thumb over the vein on your inner arm, and you could swear he was listening to how your heart thumped. “What makes your heart jump every time I come around?”

“I get startled,” you stutter, ignoring the look in his eyes at your lie. Kol hummed, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as his fingers traced your face.

“You know what I loathe about you?” Kol whispered. “You smell too sweet to resist…”

You wondered what would happen if you dared to kiss him right then, but the timing was never your forte, and you were interrupted by Rebekah yelling at the two of you to hurry up. You pulled yourself away, holding your breath, hoping to calm down as you descended the stairs. You could feel Kol following behind you.

Dinner was extravagant, as most things in the household were. You gored on rotisserie chicken and baked brie, letting the flavors coat your tongue. Elijah and Klaus bickered back and forth about a course of action with fighting the witches (they wanted Hope, of course). You could have been more helpful in these discussions anyway. Frankly, you weren’t sure why they kept you around. Maybe one day you’ll find out.

Dinner was interrupted by an explosion.

You felt yourself fly back, hitting the floor in the dust. The enemies had effectively retaliated, and the Mikaelsons fought back perfectly with tooth and claw. You brought yourself to a standing position, coming eye to eye with a witch who looked at you like you were a pawn on a chessboard. You sucker-punched her before she could make a move.

The Mikaelsons dealt with the threat in record time, and when the dust on their battlefield had settled, the arguments started. First, Klaus ranted about how they should’ve been more prepared, and then Elijah tried to explain how they made logical choices up to this point. Rebekah would occasionally butt in.

You just stood there hearing the noise build up in your head. You had the vague sense that you were bleeding, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. Someone came up next to you, and you turned to see it was Kol. He said something that you didn’t hear before biting his wrist and holding it up to you. You tentatively took it, letting his blood coat your throat before pulling away. The ringing stopped, and you felt your body stabilize.

The pressure from the family screaming match didn’t go away, though. Someone yelled, “Stop,” and everyone turned to look at you. You almost didn’t recognize your own voice breaking the chaos.

“Just stop,” you pleaded. You looked at each sibling, forcing them to really see you. “It’s the fucking holidays…why is there always fighting? Why are you always fighting?” Your voice broke. “You have each other, and you care so much even when you pretend you don’t, and you’re always fighting.”

“I would do anything to have my family right now, but I don’t, and it kills me,” you choked. “You guys have each other, and what do you do? Nothing. Nothing at all.”

You don’t know why you broke, but you did. Being alone during your favorite season hurt you way more than you let on. It felt like looking from outside your body as you walked out of the compound on the way home. You entered your apartment silently, flipping on the lights to absolute silence.

You took a shower and went out in pjs, bundling yourself up in front of your fireplace. It was one of the amenities that sold you on the apartment. You wrote out your wishes on a piece of paper, folding them into paper cranes (for the sake of being dramatic) and tossing them in the fire. You sniffled, hugging your knees to your chest and weeping. You missed home and your family. You felt terribly alone.

On your paper cranes, you wrote for your family, for being surrounded by loved ones during the holidays, and Kol liking you back. Simple, trivial wishes, but ones you had nonetheless. You debated calling it an early night when you heard a knock on your door.

You got up slowly to open it, recoiling in shock when Kol bounds in with Klaus following behind him. Both are wearing Santa hats.

“Mother of God—“ you curse, watching as Kol drops boxes of decorations on your couch and Klaus makes a beeline for your kitchen. “What are you doing here?”

“Celebrating Christmas,” Klaus says, pouring himself a drink (somehow finding your alcohol).

“What?”

“Elijah and Bex will be here shortly,” Kol chimes, taking out some lights and struggling to detangle them. You walk over to help him. As Kol says, Elijah and Rebekah come with more decor than you can handle and even some presents. Elijah gives you the early gift of a record player, a sleek Audio-Technica he sets up in the corner. He puts on a Christmas record and lets Elvis Presley’s “Blue Christmas” sound fill the space. Rebekah decides your apartment should be rearranged and goes to work pushing the furniture into their new places, making Klaus help her. You join Kol in decorating the tree. This mainly includes you redoing what he’s done since he’s absolutely dreadful at it. He pretends like he doesn’t notice you do it.

“This one reminds me of you,” Kol says, holding up a bright red apple ornament. It’s lightly dusted in glitter.

“Why? Because I’m the apple of your eye?” You jest, earning a slight chuckle.

“In Jewish tradition, the apple symbolized strength and hope for prosperity,” Kol explains. “In Wicca, it’s a powerful tool for protection. Much like you.”

You don’t have anything to respond to that, as Kol places the apple in the perfect place. You don’t move to rearrange it, it’s already in its home. You blush under Kol’s gaze and go back to decorating.

Rebekah claps her hands to capture everyone’s attention.

“Family photo time!” She announces, brandishing a camera she must’ve found stashed in one of your drawers. Klaus groans, and she swats him. You all gather in front of the tree. Elijah holds the camera with Klaus behind him, Kol, you, and Rebekah. Rebekah wraps an arm around your middle and props her head on your shoulder as you lean into Kol to fit better in the frame. Kol puts an arm around your shoulders and rests his head against yours.

“Smile,” Elijah says, taking the photo. You all gather around the screen, and you can’t help but smile at how well it turned out.

“You have a future in photography,” you chuckle, nudging Elijah. He rolls his eyes.

“No, thank you.”

Klaus pours everyone some champagne (again, where he was finding your alcohol is a mystery). You see the star at your tree's top and struggle to fit it on. Grabbing a chair, you nervously climb atop it.

“Here, let me help,” Kol says, grabbing your waist for support as you get on your tip toes and fit on the star. He holds you as you step off the chair, finding yourself in his arms. “Can we go somewhere quiet?” He asks, a hint of a tremble in his voice.

You gesture towards the bathroom, a place that’s already too noisy because of your rocky heater. He walks ahead of you, and you close the door behind him. You watch as Kol takes in the checkered floors, blue wallpaper, and clawfoot bathtub.

“Darling, this place is horrendous,” Kol states, and you laugh. “It works.” “It’s terrible.” “Not all of us are made of money,” you cross your arms, leaning against the counter.

“I have to get you a new place purely so I don’t have to look at this one,” Kol runs a hand through his hair, another hand on his hip. He looks ridiculous, and it makes you love him even more.

“What did you need the privacy for?” You ask.

“I have a gift for you,” Kol rifles through his pocket, pulling out a small red box. Your breath catches as he hands it to you. You open the box with trembling fingers to find a necklace inside. It’s simple, with a pendant of a moon eclipsing the sun. Your fingers trace with the charm with a delicacy reserved for beautiful things. “I saw it and thought of you.”

“I don’t know what to say…” “Say you’ll let me take you on a date.”

Your head shoots up, and you look at Kol with wide eyes. For once, his expression isn’t one of a cocky vampire, but rather a nervous boy. “What?”

“I figured it out,” Kol starts, stepping closer to you and cornering you by the door. “Why your heart beat so fast around me…why Rebekah is always asking me to do things with you…why you look at me when you think I don’t notice.” Kol looks down at you, forcing you to look up to meet his gaze. “You like me.”

“I—“ “It’s alright, I like you too. A lot. More than anyone in the past centuries,” Kol whispers. You wonder if maybe that wish you threw in the fire possesses real magic as you see your dreams coming true.

“Okay.” “Okay?”

“You can take me on a date,” you answer, feeling your breath shaky as Kol steps closer.

“Can I call you my girlfriend?” He trails his fingers across your jaw, chin, and lips. Your body is on fire.

“You can call me your girlfriend,” you whimper as his nose brushes yours.

“Can I kiss you?” He lets his breath fan your face, and you can barely let out an affirmative before you grab him by the collar and drag his lips to yours. One of his hands boxes your head against the wall as the other holds your hip, pulling you closer. Your hands tangle in his hair, and you hear him let out a small groan at the action. You let him take control because you’re barely holding on with the way he kisses and touches you. You’re afraid you might break apart if he lets go, and you can barely hold in your gasp as his fingers brush under your shirt.

You would let him take you right there, and then if not for Rebekah knocking on the door.

“Stop snogging and finish the tree!” She yells, earning a growl from Kol as you hear her walk away cackling. He turns back to you, pressing a kiss to the corner of your lips as he looks at you with eyes the color of the night sky.

“How does 8pm tomorrow sound?” “Sounds like a date.”

[cool-thymus]

Rin Week 2023

A drabble and an illustration for the most special girl in Narutoverse.

Day 4 | November 15 Secret

Team Minato; Rin has a secret; Kakashi has a secret; Obito ...is asleep; they are all tipsy; this is supposed to be funny

The shinobi world is a cruel place. If you’re raised a ninja, it often feels like running naked through a nettle field. No matter how fast you are trying to get out, it always stings. Constant pain and misery touch your bare skin, and you slowly get used to it. The shinobi world is greedy too. It takes the people you love and hardly ever returns them. And you are expected to go with it, no questions asked. But as one Red-Hot Habanero shrewdly observed, this world had room for smiles, laughter, and occasional celebration, especially when your loved ones were given back to you. 

A team of three young shinobi of the Hidden Leaf was that lucky. But miracles didn’t just happen for them. They had to claw back their teammate from the darkness and then fight day and night for his life. Cry for each other and hold shaking hands; lose sleep and hug tight.   

Since then, the hardest and the happiest day of their lives turned into an anniversary that was celebrated as the team’s birthday, their own little festival. Kushina and Kakashi would prepare a feast making sure everybody’s favorite dish was on the menu. Rin was in charge of decorations and flowers. Every year she would make a special arrangement for the table and provide small bouquets for her teammates. The location for the celebration was Minato and Obito’s duty. They liked scouting out picturesque spots, preferably near water. The hike was their small ritual: they traveled alone, mostly in silence. Obito felt special because he was on the same task as the captain, but for Minato it was a pilgrimage to the day when he carried the dying boy back to the village cursing himself for every wrong choice he’d made. Now he let Obito lead the way watching how the 16-year-old jumped left and right like a puppy chasing a butterfly. He followed and silently renewed his vow to always have his back, always protect the kid he’d almost lost. 

This year they picked a cabin near a small waterfall. The view was worthy of the occasion, and there were enough rooms to stay overnight. The Namikaze-Uzumaki family had grown a new member who enjoyed the attention and liked making everything about himself. He was three. The baby added the ingenuousness that the team gradually grew out of, and he kept his parents occupied, so that Rin, Obito and Kakashi could have more privacy and party the way they wanted.

However, none of them was a party animal.  

***

“Isn’t he adorable?” Rin said quietly tugging at Kakashi’s sleeve. Obito had rested his head in her lap; his eyes were closed, lips parted; soft snuffling noises made it clear - he was fast asleep. 

“The word is ‘pathetic’, Rin. We didn’t even drink that much, and he’s already out like a light.” Kakashi took another sip of his beverage (being on good terms with the Sannin had its benefits: their favorite genius was allowed a drink of his choice now and then, in moderation though), “Or… maybe he just really wanted to get to his comfort place as soon as possible.”

“You mean he’s dreaming of something comforting?”

“I mean your lap.” 

Rin paused for a moment, startled with the misplaced sarcasm, but then smirked at him and continued stroking Obito’s hair. “Are you trying to be funny or irritating?” 

Kakashi’s snarky comments never worked on her; at least they never escalated into a full-scale fight like they did with Obito. Rin was just… smarter. If Kakashi all of a sudden started showing his sassy attitude, it only meant he was uncomfortable. She reached for his face and playfully squeezed his cheek like she would with their captain’s little son. 

“Rin, are you trying to be … cheeky right now?” He barely finished the sentence as they both started giggling. Making terrible jokes was their thing, especially when they were tipsy like that. 

“What is it, Kakashi? How did he piss you off this time?” 

“He didn’t. Everything’s fine.” 

“Come on now. You know you’ll feel better if you tell me. Is it because he kept teasing you about that girl?”

Kakashi pulled his mask down and drank some more, then he looked at Rin, the mask still under his chin. 

“Bingo,” said the girl with a half-smile. “You know he’s not trying to be insensitive, right? It’s just that you never talk to him about this kind of stuff, and he probably needs it. So he’s simply trying to start a conversation with you.”

Kakashi turned his gaze to the floor in front of him pulling his yukata over his knees.

“I know we’ve been over this, but… why don’t you just tell him?”

“Let’s not do this tonight, Rin.”

“You told me…”

“It was different with you! You had a thing for me, and it wouldn’t be fa…” 

Rin quickly pressed her finger to his lips, “Yeah-yeah! Let’s pretend you told me because I’m your best friend and not recollect the moment I made a fool of myself?”

Kakashi took her hand in his, bowed his head and pressed his forehead to the back of Rin’s hand, “I’m still sorry about that by the way.”

“Hatake Kakashi, stop being so suave, or my inappropriate feelings will return again!” 

They both started laughing causing Obito to stir in his sleep. Rin pulled Kakashi closer, and he moved to sit next to her, their attention returning to the sleeping teammate. 

“Although… he was kind of an ass to you today,” whispered Rin. “Do you want to teach him a lesson?”

“I might wanna teach him a lesson, yes. About the importance of respecting other people’s boundaries,” Kakashi whispered jokingly, but then, to his surprise, Rin carefully lifted Obito’s head, laid it onto Kakashi’s lap, and sprang to her feet.

“What are you doing?” 

“Be right back. Don’t wake him up!” she shot back and dashed to the hall.

Obito’s head felt heavy. Without Rin in the room, it was too quiet, and Kakashi could hear his friend’s breathing: in and out, the chest rising and falling, slowly, evenly; no gasping for air. “Good job, buddy. You’re doing a great job, just keep breathing, okay? Just like that.” His own words from a long time ago echoed in his mind, but he suppressed them right away reminding himself that there was no need to monitor Obito’s breathing anymore. He was okay now.     

Rin suddenly reappeared next to Kakashi, eyes sparkling with mischief. Noticing that his hands were still hovering near Obito’s temples, she gently nudged Kakashi out of his trance. When his eyes gained focus again she proudly demonstrated a black marker that she'd fished out from Kushina’s bag with the baby stuff.

“Are you actually going to draw on his face? Like a five-year-old?”

“Yep! Can you steady his head a bit, Mr. Boring?”

Kakashi’s hands reluctantly landed on Obito’s cheeks tilting his head in Rin’s direction. She proceeded to draw a funny-looking beard and a mustache. 

“You know, he can’t grow a beard anyway, so this is offensive as hell. Keep drawing.”

Rin raised her eyes at Kakashi covering her mouth to stifle a laugh. Then she started to draw a pair of very thick eyebrows. 

“Oh, that’s just cruel! He’ll never forgive you for making him look like Gai.”

“Me? Who said I was responsible for this? It’s totally your doing,” she said in a mockingly indignant tone as she traced out ‘Kakashi did this’ on Obito’s cheeks. 

“Hey! He’d happily let you off the hook, but me?! I’ll never see the end of it!”

Rin ignored Kakashi’s words, admiring her work. 

“Isn’t he adorable?” Having said that, she was carefully watching her friend whose left hand was still resting on Obito’s cheek. 

“Yeah… he is.”

“Kakashi, you can tell him. He’ll be okay with it, I promise.” 

There was a minute of silence between them.

“But you can’t promise me that, Rin. What if he’s simply weirded out by it? Or feels uncomfortable? What if he stops hanging out with me at all?”

“That’s not gonna ha…”

“I know! I know this is probably not gonna happen, but what if it does? What if I'm not a part of his life anymore? You were there, Rin; it was hell without him. I’m just… I’m not ready. I’m not ready to lose him… again.”

“Kakashi, you idiot! Did you really think I would…” Obito opened his eyes and tried to prop himself up with his elbows, but in an instant a very precise hand hit several chakra points on his neck knocking him unconscious. 

“Kakashi! You can’t do that! Why did you hit him?!” 

“It was a reflex, okay!” They both leaned over to check on Obito.

“Has he been awake the entire time?” Kakashi was getting worried.

“How should I know? Seriously, Kakashi, I just wanted you to be honest with your best friend, and you go and do this?!”

“I said I didn’t mean to knock him out, okay?! And by the way, maybe you should stop berating me? It’s not like you’re completely honest with him either. Did you have enough courage to tell him about your secret nurse-boyfriend?”

“Rin?! You have a bo…” Obito regained consciousness but only for a few seconds before another hand made him pass out again.

“RIN!”

“I’m sorry!” 

@rinweek2023

[suzannahnatters]

Flash Fic: The Gardens of Hades

The gardens of Hades are barren when I come.

He snatches me from the sunlit lands and carries me to the underworld, a dark chasm lit only by the distant flames of Tartarus. His house is of black marble, and as he drags me through the shadowed halls, I try to empty my mind of everything but this moment.

I know the stories. I know that the gods have cruel desires.

Instead, he opens the door to a walled garden. A black pool glitters at the centre. Naked sticks rattle in the earth, but nothing lives here.

“This is yours, Lady Persephone,” he says.

Then he leaves.

.

I’m just glad Hades leaves me alone, so I don’t ask questions. I infuse the pool with light and call grass and asphodel from the dead soil.

When he visits again, he comes with a gift.

“I have brought you a servant.” A veiled shade follows him into the garden.

I wonder if he wants me to thank him for giving me a slave when I once had friends, a desert when I once had flowers.

I wonder why he took me.

Hades inspects a young shrub. “What’s this?”

“A pomegranate,” I say.

For a moment, I think he’s going to speak. Then he swallows the impulse and leaves.

.

On the day my pomegranate tree blooms, I find the shade sitting beneath the tree wiping her eyes with her veil. She says her first word: Springtime.

Little by little, she remembers how to speak. She talks about finishing this garden and moving on, the underworld blooming under my touch.

She doesn’t remember her name, so I call her Lethe.

.

My pomegranate tree bears fruit, but as I peel it open Lethe grabs my wrist. “If you eat, you will become a creature of his realm.”

I hurl the fruit at the wall.

.

It’s only a matter of time till my mother finds me.

Hades keeps sending gifts: servants, seeds, pruning-hooks and shovels. As the garden fills with life, so do the shades. The third time he visits, he dismisses the servants and looks at me with tired eyes. I wonder if he is always this sad.

“Your mother grieves without hope. Crops and men die, and no one sacrifices to the gods.” He sighs. “I am to send you back.”

Back to the home he took from me. Back to mother and wind and sunlight, but first I have one question.

“Why did you take me?” I spit.

He is the lord of the dead. He cannot sugar his words, as other gods might. “I need you,” he admits.

I think of Lethe, and to my surprise, I understand. I am springtime, but he is pain. No wonder the dead suffer, if that is all he can give them.

Before he can stop me, I rip open a pomegranate, and the juice is sour on my tongue.

The gardens of Hades are barren when I come.

But where I tread, they bloom. ---- I wrote this flash fic for the Pilgrim Artists' Festival, a small Christian festival of art, music, and words which runs every year in Tasmania's Huon Valley. The theme for the 2019 festival was "Grief and Hope", and I at once thought of Dorothy Sayers' poem, Rex Doloris, which imagines Hades as the King of Grief. This is the 500-word short story that resulted. I'd been looking for a way of retelling the story for nearly as long as I can remember, and this ficlet is the first step in that process. I can promise you that it won't be the last.

The 2023 Pilgrim Artists' Festival is now open for submissions of fiction, non-fiction, poetry, art, and music from Christian, Nicene-Creed-affirming artists, including children and adults, anywhere in the world. This year's prompt is "Beauty in the Everyday" and there is a 500 word limit on literary entries. There are also dozens of prizes available - check them out and submit here.

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

By: Neil Shenvi and Pat Sawyer

Published: Feb 13, 2024

On October 7th, 2023, most Americans watched in horror as Israel experienced the deadliest terrorist attacks in its history. In the days and weeks that followed, some of that horror mingled with confusion.

For example, on Oct. 8th—before an Israeli counteroffensive was launched—BLM Grassroots issued a “Statement in Solidarity with the Palestinian People,” writing that they “stand unwaveringly on the side of the oppressed” and “see clear parallels between Black and Palestinian people.” Two days later, BLM Chicago posted a graphic featuring a paraglider with a Palestinian flag and the text “I stand with Palestine” (terrorists had used paraglides to attack a Music festival on Oct. 7th, killing over three hundred civilians). Even more bizarre posts began turning up on social media. The Slow Factory, a progressive group with over 600k followers on Instagram, posted a graphic stating “Free Palestine is a Feminist issue. It’s a reproductive rights issue. It’s an Indigenous Rights issue. It’s a Climate Justice issue, it’s a Queer Rights issue, it’s an Abolitionist Issue.” The group “Queers for Palestine” began showing up with signs at various demonstrations. A banner hanging from a building at the University of British Columbia announced, “Trans liberation cannot happen without Palestinian Liberation.”

What explains these signs and sentiments, which seem to be springing up organically around the country and other parts of the world? How is the Hamas-Israel war connected to climate change? Why is it a feminist issue? Why are “queers” standing in solidarity with Palestine when Israel’s government is far more permissive than Palestine’s (for example, same-sex activity is criminalized in Gaza)? What has inspired an outpouring of egregious and unconscionable antisemitic rhetoric and behavior in various cities and on a number of college campuses?

The answer is, in a word, intersectionality. In this article, we’ll explain the intersectional framework that undergirds these phenomena and will then offer a brief reflection on how it can be resisted.

* * *

Intersectionality was a term coined by critical race theorist Kimberlé Crenshaw in 1989. She used it to describe the discrimination faced by Black women, whose social location (that is, their relationship to power within U.S. society) was predicated on both their race and their sex simultaneously. In other words, a Black woman’s experience cannot be reduced to merely the sum of her race and sex experiences. Instead, she occupies a unique (and uniquely marginalized) category that is shaped by both her Blackness and femininity.

Although Crenshaw’s first examples focused on race and gender, intersectionality was rapidly applied to other categories like sexuality, class, and disability, just as Crenshaw intended. Indeed, precursors to Crenshaw’s conception of intersectionality can be found in other Black feminist writings. For example, the Combahee River Collective Statement insisted in 1977 that it is “difficult to separate race from class from sex oppression because... they are most often experienced simultaneously” and feminist Beverly Lindsay argued in 1979 that sexism, racism, and classism exposed poor Black women to “triple jeopardy” (see Collins and Bilge, Intersectionality, p. 76).

So in what ways does intersectionality shape progressive views on the Israel-Hamas War?

First, through its embrace of the social binary; second, through its implicit adoption of the category of “whiteness,” and finally through its commitment to solidarity in liberation.

The Social Binary

While the concept of intersectionality can be understood narrowly to refer to the trivial claim that our identities are complex and multifaceted, Crenshaw intended a far more robust understanding rooted in a prominent feature of critical social theory, what we call the “social binary.” The social binary refers to the belief that society is divided into oppressed groups and oppressor groups along lines of race, class, gender, sexuality, physical ability, religion, and a host of other identity markers. Crenshaw did not merely believe that Black women (and White men, and Hispanic lesbians) all had different social locations, but that they had differently-valued social locations.

In a 1989 paper, Crenshaw asked the reader to “[imagine] a basement which contains all people who are disadvantaged on the basis of race, sex, class, sexual preference, age and/or physical ability” and who were then literally stacked “feet standing on shoulders with the multiply-disadvantaged at the bottom and the fully privilege at the very top.” This understanding of intersectionality necessarily assumes a hierarchy of oppression and privilege such that people can be ranked in order from most to least oppressed.

Although Crenshaw didn’t discuss “colonial status” in the body of her paper, she did state in a footnote that Third World feminism is inevitably subordinated to the fight against “international domination” and “imperialism.” It is at precisely this point that intersectionality affects progressive understanding of Israel-Palestinian relationships.

Later critical social theorists, and especially postcolonial scholars, believe that colonialism—like white supremacy, the patriarchy, and heterosexism—divides society into oppressed and oppressor groups. Because the Israeli government is positioned as a “colonizing foreign power,” it is therefore necessarily oppressive. Conversely, Palestinians are then necessarily positioned as a colonized, oppressed group. Never mind the spurious assessment of both. Note here that critical theorists make these judgments not on the basis of the actual history of the region (which is complex) or a careful analysis of particular Israeli policies (which are certainly open to debate). Rather, the mere identification of Israel as a “colonial power” is all that is needed to set up a social binary between the Israelis and Palestinians.

The social binary then explains why some progressives make such a quick, simplistic analysis: intersectionality deceptively primes them to see the world in these black-and-white terms.

Whiteness

A second factor that contributes to a reflexive pro-Palestinian perspective by some in the U.S. is the ascendance of critical race theory and an attendant understanding of “whiteness.”

CRT, which was birthed concurrently with intersectionality in the late 1980s, conceptualizes whiteness not as a skin color or even as an ethnicity, but as a social construct that provides tangible and intangible benefits to those raced as “White.” (Notwithstanding that white skin and whiteness are often conflated when it serves the interests of progressives). Whiteness as a social construct signals that “whiteness” is fluid and malleable and need not only include people traditionally understood as White. For example, in his important 2003 book Racism Without Racists, sociologist Eduardo Bonilla-Silva hypothesized that America could develop a “triracial order” consisting of “Whites,” “Honorary Whites,” and “Collective Black.” On Bonilla-Silva’s reading, Whites would include not just Anglo-Saxons, but also “Assimilated white Latinos,” “Some multiracials,” “Assimilated (urban) Native Americans,” and “A few Asian-origin people.” On the other hand, the “Collective Black” category would include “Vietnamese Americans,” “Dark-skinned Latinos,” and “Reservation-bound Native Americans” (see Bonilla-Silva, Racism Without Racists, 228).

Critical race theorists have long wrestled with the place of Jewish people within their racial hierarchy. On the one hand, Americans did not traditionally consider Jews “White” and the U.S. has explicitly discriminated against Jews in the recent past (Jewish admission quotas at Ivy League Schools being one glaring example). On the other hand, many critical race theorists today believe that most Jews have assimilated to whiteness and benefit from “White privilege” and therefore should be classified as White. In her chapter “Whiteness, Intersectionality, and the Contradictions of White Jewish Identity,” Jewish psychologist Jodie Kliman writes that,

As European Jews have slowly ‘become’ white over the last three generations (Brodkin, 1998), we have internalized White supremacy in general and anti-Black prejudice in particular...Immigrant Jews and their descendants assimilated into US society, becoming white, or sort of white...

Unfortunately, to the extent that American Jews are viewed as “White adjacent” while Palestinians are viewed as “Brown,” the former are members of an oppressor group and the latter of an oppressed group. This categorization adds another layer to knee-jerk progressive support for Palestinians.

Liberation

Finally, the glue that binds together pro-Palestinian, pro-LGBTQ, and feminist activists is a shared commitment to mutual liberation. Again, this commitment is not new; it is found in the earliest texts of critical race theory, including those authored by Crenshaw herself. For instance, in the 1993 anthology Words that Wound, she and other co-founders of CRT wrote that a “defining element” of CRT is the commitment to ending all forms of oppression: They write: 

Critical race theory works toward the end of eliminating racial oppression as part of the broader goal of ending all forms of oppression. Racial oppression is experienced by many in tandem with oppressions on grounds of gender, class, or sexual orientation. Critical race theory measures progress by a yardstick that looks to fundamental social transformation. The interests of all people of color necessarily require not just adjustments within the established hierarchies, but a challenge to hierarchy itself (Matusda et al., Words that Wound, 6-7).

This last point is crucial to understanding the automatic solidarity between, say, LGBTQ activists and decolonial activists. One could, in principle, accept that both LGBTQ people and Palestinians are oppressed groups and still conclude that their goals are mutually exclusive. For example, most Palestinians are Muslim and traditional Islam rejects the sexual autonomy demanded by LGBTQ activists. Yet an intersectional framework insists that homophobia, transphobia, Islamophobia, and colonialism are all “interlocking systems of oppression” that can and must be overturned simultaneously—never mind the details.

Lest anyone worry that we’re misinterpreting or overstating the degree to which popular progressive sentiments surrounding this issue are shaped by a fundamental commitment to intersectionality, consider the article “Palestine is a Feminist Issue” from the U.S. Campaign for Palestinian Rights. It begins with a quotation from Mariam Barghouti “Fundamentally speaking, feminism cannot support racism, supremacy and oppressive domination in any form” and immediately explains intersectionality in its opening paragraph: 

Intersectional feminism is a framework that holds that women’s overlapping, or intersecting, identities impact the way they experience oppression and discrimination. Intersectionality rejects the idea that a woman’s experience can be reduced to only her gender, and insists that we look at the multiple factors shaping her life: race, class, ethnicity, disability, citizenship status, sexual orientation, and others, as well as how systems of oppression are connected... When we look at the world through an intersectional feminist lens, it becomes clear that Palestine is a feminist issue.

Conclusions

While the reaction of some progressives to the Hamas-Israel war took many people, especially Jewish people, by surprise, it was largely predictable given the powerful influence that intersectionality exerts on our culture. Intersectionality can lead to a grotesque moral calculus that justifies Hamas’ rape of Israeli girls as an understandable response of the oppressed lashing out at their oppressor. It has caused university presidents at our elite institutions to shamefully equivocate and prevaricate when given opportunity to unapologetically condemn antisemitism. Unfortunately, these examples are natural outworkings of the intersectional worldview.

For those who are alarmed by what seems to be growing acceptance of anti-Semitism within some segments of the left, we offer the following action items.

First, we should resist critical theory’s simplistic moral categories of Oppressor vs. Oppressed. To the extent that we see every conflict as a battle between innocent victims and cruel victimizers, we will gloss over the moral complexities of reality.

Second, we need to see people primarily as individuals rather than as avatars of their demographic groups. It’s much easier to dehumanize abstract categories than the nervous old woman across the street or the energetic cashier at the grocery store. Personal connection is an antidote to demonization.

Finally, we need to be realistic about the perniciousness of “woke” ideology, which has been infiltrating our institutions, universities, businesses, and places of worship for decades. Many social movements have waved the banner of progress and justice while slaughtering tens of millions. If we don’t learn from history, we very well may repeat it.

[nugothrhythms]

If any of you are at Cruel World Fest tomorrow, I will be there too.

[bansept]

Ichihime week 2023!

Day 1: Tanabata

Tanabata, "七夕", also known as the "star festival", takes place on the 7th day of the 7th month of the year, when, according to a Chinese legend, the two stars Altair and Vega, which are usually separated from each other by the Milky Way, are able to meet.

--

There is a river in Karakura.

Crossing the Minamikase district, it used to be an uncrossable border splitting her world. The morning would come and she would wonder how he would feel as she got dressed for school. Was he sad, traveling down the path next to the river edge every day? Was this river a cruel reminder of what he believed was his incompetence to protect? Was he angry for the blinding light reflected on the calm water? The night would come at the end of the school day, and she would hope to float down this river, find its source and drench it, empty the sorrows she knew he carried. So many burdens on his young shoulders.

The river reminds her of her brother, of his gentle smile, of his soothing voice, of his laughter, so precious to her heart. Of how she had parted with him in anger and agony the first time. The river had been so agitated that day, so monstrously grey and muddy. For their second parting, she has a feeling the river was calm yet again, just as it was when she and Tatsuki had chased fireflies and gasped in awe at the fireworks.

After graduation, when they were still circling around each other, unsure how to word out their feelings, shy and silly, Ichigo once mentioned how calming the river was to him.

"When mom died... I walked by the bank of the river the entire day, way up to the Kitakawe district." He had smiled, something that was becoming more and more casual for him. "I thought I could find her again if it meant roaming around long enough. But, of course, I didn't. All I found was sadness, and... I don't know. Melancholy, I guess?"

They were sitting on the grass, on the hill by the river, the Saturday morning air gently waving through their hair. She placed a timid hand on his own, hoping to convey some comfort.

"I used to dislike this river, because it reminded me of that day, and the ones after that where a 9-year-old would use his shoes and get blisters from walking all day. But now... I find it a beautiful sight."

Ichigo had blushed deeply, taking Orihime's hand in a successful attempt to make her heart beat faster.

Orihime smiles.

She wished she could be the rain once. The rain that binds people together, that allows one to feel another's pain. She wanted to understand him, help him. She didn't know at the time he too was yearning to help her, shield her from her own tragic past.

Kazui coos in her arms, and she makes a silly face.

"Oh, what is it, baby? You're waiting for Papa, hm?" She raises her arms up to kiss her son on his soft and puffy cheek, which makes him gurgle happily.

She is by the river, watching the calm water sparkle with the dying sun, like oil. It doesn't let the wind break its surface, it stays still and glowing, like billions of gems.

Ichigo is trotting on the bridge to them. He looks so handsome in his two-piece costume, the white shirt two buttons opened for now, his forgotten tie in his hand as he jogs back to them with a dashing smile on his face. His hair is short after a fresh cut, courtesy of Yuzu.

He crosses the bridge separating them hurriedly, as if they have been apart for a whole year.

Kazui waves his little arms at his father, the same smile pulling at his lips. He may have a lot of Orihime's features, like her eyes and eyelashes, as well as her hair, but his smile is the spitting image of Ichigo's.

"Sorry for that, honey." He breathes out, not at all out of breath even after the kilometer he just ran back and forth from their home.

"I would be fine with you not wearing a tie, but since Rukia and Renji insisted on proper clothes..." Orihime teases him, and he winks back at her. "Kazui was growing impatient."

Ichigo kisses his son on the forehead, placing his finger next to the baby's hand for him to grab onto. Kazui immediately takes the opportunity and Orihime chuckles.

"Did I make you impatient too?"

"Of course. 5 minutes without you is enough to make me tap my foot." She jokes, and Ichigo shakes his head mockingly.

"I'll do my best to redeem myself after we visit the Soul Society. Let's get going." He smiles and takes Kazui, offering some relief to the young mother. Kazui is definitely going to get heavier very soon with the way he eats.

They walk together to Urahara's shop, hand in hand, joking and laughing, placing bets on how many people will want to hold Kazui, and how many times people will tease Ichigo for his not-so-new haircut.

She remembers the two lovers from the story. The forbidden love, the punishment. Forced to live separately for a year and allowed only once to see each other again. The weaver princess and her human husband.

Orihime smiles, sending a look at the river. The bridge has been crossed, and their time together is finally here. But never to end.

[bd-z]

This is gonna be interesting 😆 my poor legs.

[the-jack-gregory]

Iggy Pop gig poster illustrated and designed by Jack C. Gregory for Iggy Pop's appearance at the 2023 Cruel World Festival. Four color screen print.

[fiercynn]

from the open letter:

Award-winning Palestinian author Adania Shibli, who was a finalist for the 2020 National Book Award for her book Minor Detail (New Directions/Fitzcarraldo, translated by Elisabeth Jaquette), was to receive Germany’s 2023 LiBeraturpreis for the same book, published in German as Eine Nebensache (Berenberg Verlag, translated by Günther Orth) at the 2023 Frankfurt Book Fair, which begins next week. On October 13, the organizers of the prize, Litprom, which is funded in part by the German government and the Frankfurt Book Fair, released a statement saying Shibli would no longer receive the prize during the book fair. In addition, a public discussion with Adania Shibli and her translator Günther Orth at the book fair has also been canceled. The statement originally said that this decision had been made in accordance with the author, which was then relayed, without verification, by an article in The New York Times (now corrected). This is untrue; Adania Shibli has said the decision was not made with her, she was presented with the decision. If the ceremony were held, she said, she would have taken the opportunity to reflect on the role of literature in these cruel and painful times. (Litprom and The Times have since made corrections.) Shibli’s US publisher, Barbara Epler of New Directions, wrote a letter to the editor of The New York Times, which we excerpt here: With the unbelievable heartbreak that is now being suffered on all sides, it serves no one to put forward falsehoods, especially about the author of a novel about the Nakba that is so historically true. To cancel the ceremony and so try to silence the voice of Adania Shibli — “due to the war in Israel” — is cowardly. But to say Shibli agreed (amid all the suffering in Gaza) is worse. At a time when the fair has issued a statement saying it wants to make Israeli voices “especially visible at the fair,” they are closing out the space for a Palestinian voice.

you can view the the full list of signatories at arablit.

the frankfurt book festival itself, which is one of the largest publishing conventions in the world, is going on as scheduled, but has not reinstated shibli's prize-giving event. in response, numerous authors and publishing professionals have withdrawn from participation in the fair.

you can read adana shibli's short essay "stories too awful to believe: adania shibli on bombings in ramallah", at lithub, translated from arabic by wiam el-tamami.

you can also read a piece of shibli's short fiction, "a tin ball", at arablit, which has an anonymous translator.